Furthering explaining what my dear friend Sanford Goldstein suggested I do at the beginning of each diary page, giving an explanation of the who, what, when, where, and why of my poetry and haiga; nothing that it will unravel the puzzle but at least clue you into it's WHAT, I share the following:
Unafraid like most to reveal my true self, including the dark secrets that'll secure my place on the wings of whisper, I share with you here what goes through my mind this day. Born on Friday the 13th, type A, genius IQ, more sensitive than the average female, unable to be like others, no matter how hard I try, talkative as hell, uncomfortable with crowds, and angry, I can be nothing else. Nobody calls me on the phone, writes, e-mails, or texts me except for my sister, my daughter Krissy and my brother Jim, unless they want something. I'm far from being on anyone's class anything list, and am not invited to parties. I was told by my dad, a perfectionist, whenever he got mad, that I was a sorry son of a bitch who couldn't do anything right, was whipped with the metal end of a belt on my back until welts appeared, made the target of jokes when I would step out of myself to be accepted . . . I became the rebel . . . the outcaste who defied the norm, made the impossible happen, a caped crusader who could save anyone but myself.
I was our conservative high school's first hippie. I commandeered the high school turntable communications system and played Suzie Cream Cheese by Frank Zappa and the Mother's of Invention during the morning break to a shocked campus. I stood up to teachers, bullshitted my way out of almost situation, and organized our region's first love-in. And, because I had good looks and was the high school body building champion, I won the hearts of several girls from more than one campus at once, using them to gratify my need for acceptance, carrying little about their feelings. But as karmic justice often has it, at the same time, I fell in love with a few, was blindsided by naivity, and given my just due. To make things more complicated, I helped the underdog and helped anyone in need, especially those who went without. I enlisted in the Navy because I was afraid of getting a girlfriend pregnant, who later dumped me, signed up to go to Vietnam and fight commies, and while there, discovered drugs, fucked bargirls, helped a Catholic orphanage, changed my mind about why America went to war, fought the system, and was booted out of the Navy with a with a General Discharge for Unadaptability under honorable conditions. My fiance dumped me when i returned stateside a minute after she answered my knock on her door, I got in a motorbike wreck high on hashish the first week of my return, organized all of the anti-war demonstrations in President Richard M. Nixon's hometown of Whittier, California (USA), followed Alice into a wonderland of LSD and Mescaline, laid in my own vomit, fought off madness, discovered Jesus, organized and preached at concerts and Christian rallies, enrolled in a baptist college, affected the norm there too, and that, dear reader, is the tip of the iceberg . . . doing this and that, my mind warped, angry, compassionate, helpful, a conglomerate of the good and the bad. I have five children, a stepson who's a son to me, 4 wives, went on a wild toad ride traveling between hell and heaven more than once, an unwillingly poster boy for those who preach against child abuse, drugs, the effects of war; taught the unwanted for 16 years in the public school system, and became the founder of the Wonderland Amusement Park, a place I'd never take one of my children to.... Read my poetry, view my haiga, discover a world only William Blake or Allen Ginsberg could relate to. Read on, ride on the wings of whisper to me what it was you dreamt the other night after downing several glasses of brandy. Good luck crossing the bridge between taurus and gemini during the year of the Ox:
the wind, the
rain, the typhoon between
canyon walls!
imagine
feeling something you've
never felt
before, mount pinatubo
between the thighs
*Pinatubo, an extinct volcano that exploded like an atom bomb
brown-out;
like we could give a damn . . .
pinatubo!
let yourself
just once, feel what
scares you,
going over the edge
without panic
taal . . .
the caldera in the
lake, climaxes
*Taal, pronounced ta al, the most active volcano in the world
don't push me
away at the moment
you feel like
you're going crazy . . .
the sky shooting stars
a sea
turtle's shell holding
my ashes
if you knew
me better, you'd see
madness pulse
through every nerve
ending and thought
breathe in
the elixir of spring . . .
remembering
the river
behind our house . . .
on a hot
day, the cool water
whispering, "more?"
winter's breath . . .
don't follow me into
the squid's mouth
i'm too far
gone to pull myself
out of hell . . .
i dance the dance
taught to me at birth
this mind, the
curse given to me . . .
weaving webs
i've failed
everyone i've loved . . .
a whisper
gathering dust in
my sister's garage
last winter . . .
only crows and flies
will mourn
before i
die, i want to give you
something to
remember me by . . .
lightening flashes!
peach blossoms . . .
ferdinand fooled himself
with dreams
i can't
remember the last
time someone
called
to say, hello . . .
friday the 13th
surprised? why?
when was the last time
you called?
the end,
morrison sang slowly
as if
he alone held the key
to eternity
deep breathing . . .
having sex with the air
of winter
at the dock,
a magic swirling ship
that may or
may not taken us to
the dragon's heart
mud springs . . .
waiting for you to
open up
Once again
i plunge into the
carp's mouth
hoping to find the
fish's temple
through my
window a snail looking
through his
go on,
enter my world, fill
my sandals . . .
fell the void that has
no intention of ending
under my
plate, a tiny ant
waits for dinner
fly your heart
on a paper kite,
its tail
festooned with a
thousand wordless prayers
tonight for
the reunion, pants
made of stars
your song when
i kissed your back
and neck
pulled me into a dream
i'd forgotten til now
this bright sun . . .
dreams of you laying in
a pool of blood
tease with me
the water wriggling
downstream in
a dark line at night
while milk fish spawn
vomit
people telling me
to come back
late evening . . .
i watch a thousand
stars sewn
together into
a moist full moon
dark, quiet . . .
hormones and hand
grenades
the dance of
your fingers at dawn
when light
fills your mind with
sampaguita blossoms
* Philippine national flower
grasshoppers . . .
singing empty
requiems
without the
other, we are halves
fastened
together with tape
on paper thin limbs
without you,
i'm a mango seed
sans water
robert d. wilson
©2009
