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What is the big deal

about a horse-head in a bed?

I’ve seen scarier things on the subway.

Don Corleon’s got nothing

on  The Dude,  Ricky Bobby

or Lieutenant Frank Drebin.

Mark Wahlberg is a scarier

hit-man. I’ve seen scarier mustaches

in James Bond movies,

and tougher men

in the aisles of Fairway.

I’d rather watch  a marathon of Star Wars.

  Scratch that – I’d rather watch

the prequels to Star Wars.

 

© Umansky 2013

You are not as holy as you think.

 

 

© Umansky 2013

 

No one cares, Piggy.

Find your own way out.

Transportation can be unreliable.

Boys will be boys.

 

 © Umansky 2013

Anti-Ode to Mustard

There is nothing deserving in you.

No great taste or color.  You are

putrid, in the way that puke is

putrid.  Your spice and scents are

ill-natured.  My hot dog shuns you.

My corned-beef shuns you. Even, I, shun you.

You are not allowed in my kitchen.

I don’t care who might someday

crave your stench. I forbid you cross this

threshold.  Mustard, you disgrace

the name of Seeds everywhere.

You disgrace all the fairies of

Midsummer Night’s Dream.

 

© Umansky 2013

Anti-Ode to Pickles

You ruin everything with your juice

and your pimples.

You don’t even  know how

to share. You hog everything.

Why do you think those

French Fries want your kiss?

You’re so entitled.  Why don’t

you just go back to your home?

We’re all stocked up, here.

 

© Umansky 2013

Love-Sweeted

 

 

 

I’ll try and play along; any word would not be able to be enabled into a good way of handling.

 

If a brass tendered; or a brass-membered a message changed in coloring, I’d discuss it here.

 

I would take three courses, (for I’ve got a nasty tongue) and a pile of saucers and these old stories would tell of the so-simple exchange. A fault in syllable and letter started with a right-jerk, andandand a left-jerk; and, where I left-off,I shall then begin again.

 

Again, any dull man can and any dull man could and would. There’s no more to explain of this dance;  it is a love-sweet thing and when salted or stale, it grows over-boiled and tart.

© Umansky 2013

I was so very proud to tell  fellow visitors today that I was a #bookdress made out of 5 copies of my1st book of poetry, Domestic Uncertainties . Some asked to touch me; Others wrote my name down or asked me to spin around. (#bookdress is made by Joseph A. W Quintela — http://footknots.com)

met 4

 

Let us count that you regard

            and I regard

 

the changing of the tides

the sea of the last

            We are tenaciously taking the tides

            in favored abandons.

 

We are contempting the contemporary

            or co-tempting the contemporary

            into a kind of sin.

 

We are doing more than channeling

When we laugh

When we strategize

In-my-day, I was a believer

            In-my-day        in my day

            In-my-day        in my day

 

The dial-up had a certain purr

That ruffled my roost.

That’s lost, now.

*

Now, you, you, let alone with the golden.

Let the golden wilt and wild.

We can construct the past

Potshot the pristine

 

Here, coordinate my sprawlings

Together, this could  be  nostalgia

© Umansky 2013

 

Happy National Poetry Month, friends.

 

[1]

 

There will be fat years and lean years,

but either way it’s going to rain.

 

[2]

 

There are men’s voices in our heads,

but every so often a woman goes to the top

every so often a woman takes two

stairs at a time                          two

 

Here’s an imperative: a reason to be.

This isn’t a slumber party.

I am not others.

I resend. I rescind. I recall.     I remind

 

                                    [what? I don’t

                                                …. recall]

 

[3]

 

Rounded. I am well-rounded.

Will I wear this box?

Will you?

Will you, with me?

Wear it with me.

 

 

© Umansky 2013