Blasting Caps From the Vault--The Lurker #2, et al...

[Steve Plonk]

“The Lurker, #2”

By Steve Plonk

Knows how to respond
He’s seen “On Golden Pond”
The Lurker—

Hangs around the blogs
Through bad posts he slogs
The Lurker—

He is not afraid
His “mouse” is not “day-aid”
The Lurker—

He’s always great to post
He gives the blogs his most
The Lurker—

Reacting in good time
Mirth is not a crime
The Lurker—

Likes satire and spunk
His posts have some funk
The Lurker—

Clichés are to his like
He uses them to spike
The Lurker—

Critique him, if you will
He’s a humor shill
The Lurker—

Responding back in kind
Only when he feels it’s time—
The Lurker.

[Steve Plonk]

"I, a pillar of mud, stood next to a rose and caught it's scent"
"Remember that Earth Day is every day..." Forty years of brilliance.
Clean air, clean water and saving endangered species...Also remember
that war is the most unhealthy thing for the environment.
Finally, remember that use of renewable resources is important
and wind, solar, geothermal, and
new sustainable technology will get us
to the future smelling like a rose.

[Steve Plonk]

Another blasting cap from the past! Still lurking to four-four time!

HELLO
By Steve Plonk

Hello, my name is...
I have been with you a long time--
Almost forty years now and you are
Tiring of me--why?
Why are you bored?
You have money.
You have success.
You have many friends.
You have many clothes.
You have a nice house.
Your shoes are shined.
Your hair is combed.
Your face is clean.
Why are you tired of me?
Why oh why are you bored?
Things are nice when I'm around.
You get a smile when you walk down the street.
Many people say hello and you pay attention.
Why don't you pay attention to me?
WHY?!
You have good health. Be courteous. Say
Hello. Hello? Hello? Helloooo?!...

Circa April 1967, Revised Oct. 2010.

[Steve Plonk]

PARANOID DREAM
By Steve Plonk

Oh, where am I going
I can feel the breeze softly blowing—
Dark illusions
Empty cries
Why can’t I
Dry my eyes
Running along the ridges,
Hated bridges
Spanning chasms--
Clawing at the rocks
Climbing higher
Looking at the
Towering mountain
Up above
Forbidding
Girding the high mountain—
Slowly upwards...
Losing air
Choking
Whose fire am I stoking—
Mine or his?
Should I stay
Down where there’s air?
Or ascend devilish heights
With my oxygen mask?
Oh where are we going—
Feel the breezes softly blowing?

Circa Jan. 1969, Revised Oct. 2010.

[joel]

But it was windy when I’d said hello—
with breeze that broke the focus of the street
with particles of air like little birds
that hit the eyes like window glass and die—
with draft that drove the overcrowded crowds
like cows to milking barns, like brooding sows,
that serve a purpose first and slaughter last—
with gust that gave away the waves that passed
from mind to hand (both mine) to foreign “How’s
it going” greetings. While the pride man prouds
himself on kindnesses exchanged, the I
man mostly just derides the absent words
of friendlinesses he had hoped to meet.
I’d said hello; you’d only heard hell, though.

[Steve Plonk]

Thanks, people. Finally, maybe I made a tighter connection, after digging a little deeper into the blasting caps in the vault.

[WIREMAN]

....digging deeper than we ever could imagine....

[Steve Plonk]

Thanks, I had to dig deep, before I did my midnight creep...
I'll keep them cards and epistles coming...

[Steve Plonk]

BEER (Lyric)

By Steve Plonk

I chug a can of beer &
Wonder why I’m here--
Sometimes I’d like to cry
But I don’t know why,
So I open up another can of beer.
Suddenly all is clear
There’s a feeling in the air,
I open up another can of beer.
I know why I am there
Pull me back upon the chair
To open up another can of beer.
Hey! Open up another can of beer!
(Circa New Year’s 1968-69) Revised Nov. 2010

[Steve Plonk]

TOO MUCH TO KNOW?
By Steve Plonk

This world is too much...
There is too much to know.
Too much to say in seventy years...
Mankind intends to see eternity.
Eternity will be seen when there
Is an end to the beginning of
Two hextillion stellar constellations, creeping
Through the void of the ethereal—
Too much—the sound reaches
Over, tantalizing my mind...
I am driving out of the driveway
Onto the street...Melting... I must be asleep, dreaming...
The street is melting before my eyes...
I am telekinetically transported to another time,
Another place—all is black, black, punctuated by stars—
Logos is here
The tao speaks
Him of which we doubt comes &
I am a nonentity... As far as I can witness, there are
Multitudes wailing, moaning, while there is heard the
Ticking of a counter-clockwise clock...I feel like a
Thread amongst a swarm of yarn...It is melting
Before my eyes...on a residential street, there is an
Ambulance taking a person away—dead on arrival—
A car is seen folded up against the pillar of an underpass—
Residentials cannot believe such a terrible autocide could
Happen in the quietude of their neighborhood...
While the blood runs dry... Lord, take me from this dark night!
Then I wake up...
Circa April, 1967, slightly revised Nov. 2010.

[jim turner]

Too much for a comprehensive (no such thing) response. Yet, it gets my nerves vibrating like unmusical musical strings. Something is speaking, so I'll have to listen again. jim

[Steve Plonk]

Jim, Glad the thread of poems rang some chords in your head, musical or no.
Thanks for reading and responding. A long thread to think about all at once...

[Steve Plonk]

WINDOWS OF YOUR MIND

By Steve Plonk

Wipe away the frost
From the windows of your mind...
Light your light inside--
Will they see or are they blind?
Wipe away the frost
From the windows of your mind...
You will find,
Some will see,
Some may misunderstand,
Light they drink,
Flowing like wine
From the windows of your mind.

--June 1970, Revised Nov. 2010.

Also posted on the GO forum on the "New Decade Jam..." page 18.

[Steve Plonk]

POEM FOR THE CLIFFS OF TIME

By Steve Plonk


Writing lyrics for music,
Writing poetry for life,
Playing harmonica or fife,
Writing songs for piano or guitar tunes,
Writing nonsense syllables like runes—

Speaking tongues for my pets.
Speaking tongues for the winds—
Language for the educated
Language for the street
Language for the uninitiated
Language sounding so sweet/

Poems for the sun & moon
Poems for the soup & spoon
Poems for the light hearted
Poems which end none to soon...

All of my life expressed in poems
For family, friends & the world’s soul
From many a mountain top,
From many a valley below—from
Many a ship on the ocean I remember,
From many a lake or sea,
From many a garden or field
Poetry is part of me...

Some poems sound terrific
Some poems sound droll
Some poems just are half empty
Some poems are just half full—
Some poems are written for crocks,
Some poems are written for the good—
If I wrote another line from now right on
I n them may you see my neighborhood/
***

-2-

The world I write to does not know
The path to my door,
Some family & friends I’ve written to
Have left for an eternal shore...
If you pass your eye by these lines,
I hope you’ll get some gist of my mind...


Remember some lines of mine
If they strike your fancy or ring true,
Remember this forever:
I write for the “eternal you”...
When I shout lines from the cliffs of time...
Will you hear the echo, oh my readers?
Will you glimpse the images in my mind?

[Steve Plonk]

AMERICAN PARODY #2
By Steve Plonk


What's not to like!? The Untied States of Aremica, my home sweet home. The base camp of Maw, Apple Pie, and the Fourth of July. I was born on the fourth of July when the candy went south, with a copper spoon in my mouth. I have seen the sheen of the pristine crenelation come fluffing up my way on a cold Chicago night in Lincoln Park. I have seen the sunset in Key West on a balmy spring day and smelled the sea breeze on the skin of my beloved. Country of groaning creation, of many faux speeding citations!

Aremica--New Orleans, of the great shining beast of the Aremican dream---that third coast of the Mardi Gras in St. Louis Cemetery #2, where I found you wandering with your pants down. Oh great soiled wonder in beads and vaginal puffs, plump charms sealed beneath a blue bra and matching panties. Oh Aremica, my Diana of the hunt that reaches up with her torch at the New York Gate. My Aremica, lady blue jean wonder bump-ugly in Thompson Park... Just before dark on the Lower East Side when you came up to me so sassy... "The Factory" visitation, along with the "Café Wha?" tunes... Cruising on the Tennessee River during Riverbend Festival...

Great pontoon bridge before Trenton victory Aremica, that Washington saved at Washington's Crossing when the river was low... Delaware River of the cream of the Patriotic Dream.
Oh California--I left my heart up on a hill in Frisco after you ate my burrito, my sweet funky baby doll. Hey, Golden Gate, should I get some now or should I wait! Oh Aremica, the Untieds States which I love so. Colorado River at sunrise after tubing down the Green River Gorge... Oh mounds of the Rocky Mountains deep in my soul... Oregon and the big dunes... Michigan and Indiana at Fourth of July picnics at the Great Lakes and morning fog... Hello, "Discovery",landing at dawn in Californy!

Go to page one only, Also, published on Litkicks.com's "Action Poetry" June 12, 2008. I retain reprint rights to this poem. (Author's note: TO administrator, I can't get it to stop printing two copies)