April192014

Crazy Robertson

maxmundan:

"When people have nothing left
But their own shit to fight with,
They will fight with
Their own shit”
—-ancient fortune cookie wisdom


Crazy Robertson was famous.
He had his own website to prove it.
Double u double u double u dot
Crazy Robertson dot com.
Look it up, if you don’t believe me.
And
Tour busses would stop to display him,
So that visiting gawkers could bathe
In the glow of his celebrity.
Many would find his cardboard box
And his shopping cart
The most interesting star’s home
They would get to witness.
And he would dance;
All day, every day;
Poppin’ and lockin’ and walkin’ the moon;
The white Michael Jackson of the streets.
He was 70 years old, if he was a day
But you’d be hard pressed
To find an ounce of fat on him.
His most prominent feature
Was his ever present erection,
Which he could scarcely conceal
Beneath his tight, black spandex pants.
No Viagra needed for him.
He frightened many a young filly
With his protruding largess.
There are those who were enchanted by him
But Crazy Robertson was my enemy,
Since it was my place of business
In front of which he chose to strut his stuff.
It wasn’t the dancing I minded
Or even the incessantly pounding funk,
Both of which I had learned to enjoy,
It’s that he would barge into my restaurant,
Five times a day,
Waving his protrusion
At customers and staff,
Demanding free cups
Filled with water and ice.
Now, I’m as charitable as the next guy
And I don’t mind providing sustenance
For someone down on their luck
But when I, one day, added it up in my head
And deduced I was providing him with
Over two-thousand dollars a year
In easily refillable plastic,
I requested that he bring the cups back
Instead of requiring a new one each time.
This seemed exceedingly reasonable to me
But it must have rubbed Crazy Robertson
Entirely the wrong way,
For, later that day
On the way to my car
What did I find, sitting innocently
In the middle of my windshield?
Simply, one hot, steaming pile
Of human fecal matter.
Crazy Robertson’s, I had no doubt.
This was, of course, only to be
The initial salvo
In what was to become
A very long war
But before it was finished
It would escalate wildly out of control.
The upshot, as you can imagine is this-
If you were to drive by the restaurant today
You would find Crazy Robertson
Standing and dancing there still,
Whilst I am long gone
And nowhere to be found.
The moral of the story is-
Never fight or provoke
The hopelessly mad.
They will never take your shit
But they sure as hell can sling it.


© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

April182014
10AM

Crazy Robertson

"When people have nothing left
But their own shit to fight with,
They will fight with
Their own shit”
—-ancient fortune cookie wisdom


Crazy Robertson was famous.
He had his own website to prove it.
Double u double u double u dot
Crazy Robertson dot com.
Look it up, if you don’t believe me.
And
Tour busses would stop to display him,
So that visiting gawkers could bathe
In the glow of his celebrity.
Many would find his cardboard box
And his shopping cart
The most interesting star’s home
They would get to witness.
And he would dance;
All day, every day;
Poppin’ and lockin’ and walkin’ the moon;
The white Michael Jackson of the streets.
He was 70 years old, if he was a day
But you’d be hard pressed
To find an ounce of fat on him.
His most prominent feature
Was his ever present erection,
Which he could scarcely conceal
Beneath his tight, black spandex pants.
No Viagra needed for him.
He frightened many a young filly
With his protruding largess.
There are those who were enchanted by him
But Crazy Robertson was my enemy,
Since it was my place of business
In front of which he chose to strut his stuff.
It wasn’t the dancing I minded
Or even the incessantly pounding funk,
Both of which I had learned to enjoy,
It’s that he would barge into my restaurant,
Five times a day,
Waving his protrusion
At customers and staff,
Demanding free cups
Filled with water and ice.
Now, I’m as charitable as the next guy
And I don’t mind providing sustenance
For someone down on their luck
But when I, one day, added it up in my head
And deduced I was providing him with
Over two-thousand dollars a year
In easily refillable plastic,
I requested that he bring the cups back
Instead of requiring a new one each time.
This seemed exceedingly reasonable to me
But it must have rubbed Crazy Robertson
Entirely the wrong way,
For, later that day
On the way to my car
What did I find, sitting innocently
In the middle of my windshield?
Simply, one hot, steaming pile
Of human fecal matter.
Crazy Robertson’s, I had no doubt.
This was, of course, only to be
The initial salvo
In what was to become
A very long war
But before it was finished
It would escalate wildly out of control.
The upshot, as you can imagine is this-
If you were to drive by the restaurant today
You would find Crazy Robertson
Standing and dancing there still,
Whilst I am long gone
And nowhere to be found.
The moral of the story is-
Never fight or provoke
The hopelessly mad.
They will never take your shit
But they sure as hell can sling it.


© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

April172014

Some Have to Die So That Others Can Live

I was hard, so hard
A battle shield, a shell
An impenetrable prison
A petrified forest
I only started to soften
When I felt your rigor mortis
Some have to die
So that others can live

I was empty, so empty
A bottomless well, a black hole
A waterless desert
A dark and dusty mine
I could not begin to fill
Till I looked in your lifeless eyes
Some have to die
So that others can live

I was cold, so cold
An ice cap, a forest
A killer’s gaze
The heart of a tyrant
There was no way to get warm
Before I held your bitter hand
Some have to die
So that others can live

I was dead, so dead
A believer, a pilgrim
A forgotten language
A naive, quaint idea
For me to come to life
I had to watch you disappear
Some have to die
So that others can live

© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

10AM

My Blank Pages

There is an empty space
At the back of my book
That has been waiting
For your name to be inscribed
The flat, white paper
Calls out for your color
I want you to fill
My blank pages

I have an unfinished chapter
That has the shape of your face
Your body is its landscape
Your smile is its theme
It’s words will only come alive
When you breathe life into them
I want you to fill
My blank pages

My story begs an ending
I cannot find without you
My pen is shaking so badly
Trying to jot down the words
I would never be able to write it
Unless you can steady my hand
Please help me fill
My blank pages


© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

April162014
A NEW WRINKLE



Why are wrinkles,
Which denote survival
Through hardship;
Triumph over adversity;
Victory against time;
Associated with ugliness?
What if we accentuated;
Emphasized; embellished;
Decorated
Our wrinkles?
What if we said,
“Our wrinkles aren’t our shame,
They are our glory.”?
What if we turned our wrinkles
Into rainbows?


This beautiful piece of artwork was done in response to my poem “A New Wrinkle” by the very talented sconesandswords. I am honored and flattered.

A NEW WRINKLE

Why are wrinkles,
Which denote survival
Through hardship;
Triumph over adversity;
Victory against time;
Associated with ugliness?
What if we accentuated;
Emphasized; embellished;
Decorated
Our wrinkles?
What if we said,
“Our wrinkles aren’t our shame,
They are our glory.”?
What if we turned our wrinkles
Into rainbows?


This beautiful piece of artwork was done in response to my poem “A New Wrinkle” by the very talented sconesandswords. I am honored and flattered.

10AM

Why?

Why did you do it?
I was in a foreign country…and…
…I thought…
Didn’t you want…
…to experience this…adventure
Before you died?

Why did you do it?
I was watching a great movie…and…
…I thought…
Wouldn’t you have liked…
…to see…one more
Before you died?

Why did you do it?
I was eating an ice cream cone…and…
…I thought…
What could be better…
…than a little…taste
Before you died?

Why did you do it?
I was swimming in a river…and…
…I thought…
Don’t you wish…
…you’d had another…refreshing dip
Before you died?

Why did you do it?
I was looking at your picture…and…
…I thought…
Isn’t there something…
…you wanted…to say
Before you died?

© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

April152014

Thyra

The vibration of your name
Thyra
Spilling from my tongue
Tear ah
Rolling over my lips
Teeeeeeer aaaaahhhh
Dancing into the air
Tere a tere a tere a
Floating into the sky
Teeeeeeeeeeeee raaaaaaaahhhh
A prismatic bubble of sound
Tyyyyyyyrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaa

I wanted to make a poem
A poem of your name
So that everyone could hear
The music
I hear

© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

10AM

Why Can’t I Surrender Your Faults?

The defects of your character
Are a cliff that I cling to
Fingers straining
For if I relinquish my grip
I will fall
Headlong into the unknown
And who would I be
Then?

I have been known to despise
The reflection of myself
I see in you

Daunted to discover
My vitriol, my anger
Yes, indeed, my hate
Are nothing but the glue
That binds my disparate parts
Together

Perhaps
This lack of forgiveness
Is a bunker
That I’ve enclosed myself in
Waiting out the end of the world
While life goes on
All around me

I expect I’ll slowly perish
Of starvation and neglect
Craving nothing
But a human touch


© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

April142014

Ruby

No one had ever called her pretty
(and no one ever would)
But she was sexy…yes, she was
In the way that chewed up bubble gum
And wadded balls of toilet paper
In the corner of a public restroom…
…are sexy…yes, she was
And she worked the floor
Of Leon’s Clam Lounge
Like she was performing Shakespeare
On a sunny day in Central Park
With a wild flourish and a wink
As if to say to the crowd,
“Don’t take it too seriously.”
She served nothing but clams
Steamed clams
Fried clams
Stewed clams
Clam chowder and Clams Marinara
It was a clam lounge, after all but
She thought of herself
As a shrimp
Making her way
Through the muck and the scum
At the bottom
Of the sea

© David Rutter 2014

Visit me at http://www.maxmundan.com/

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