Sunday, May 3, 2015

Ralph Monday- Three Poems

Apocalypse Everyday

I was watching the History channel about
all the ways that the apocalypse could
happen, from another ice age to the sun
going red giant billions of years hence
and fry the earth like a bad sunburn.
Or a Buddhist fire, Aztec darkness, the great
wolf Ragnarok.
All the ways that the world could end now
that the Mayan termination never put in the
I got to thinking and wondered if all the TV
jockeys thought that the world ends everyday
for somebody. People die and that’s it. The
apocalypse now.
That and no more commercials.

Making Love to Julie Newmar

I make love to Julie Newmar every
night, on Google, Pinterest, YouTube.
She is a lion, you know, Leo the
leonine goddess, the reason why her
nature came out as catwoman.
She appreciates my love, at 81 there
is not much time left to slink around
in her tight black catsuit where with
or without the costume, dim witted
Batman was no match for her purrfect
As a lithe dancer was truly her search
for meaning, moving like summer
rain, like autumn grasses waving in
that living life, operational with the
grace of an ice skater, it was here
that she swayed for the avatars:
Buddha, Krishna, Jesus as he
kissed Mary Magdalene, the
Iroquois shaman drumming on animal
skin with petrified antlers dug from
the detritus of a melted glacier—
here that she moved through time and
space peering through the curtains
looking for the same dance as all do. 
She knows she needs my love, I
her long distance screen paramour,
she loves me back without knowing
me. I understand her, how she has
changed as she aged. I know her
haunted eyes that stare into a staring
back darkness, and so we love without
touching, ghost lovers who sense that
love's intuition is the only stay we have.

Let Us Sing Hymns to Degeneracy

Did the Romans become degenerate as a
model for now, or was it the gods
drinking,       playing old jokes like a
washboard musician at a country
The Puritans built fires to their own
cult, the Marquis de Sade honed skills
as a poker game         played out of a black
duffle bag.
Caligula dances in perfect tune for
American rappers tattooing out
rhythm in alley               graffiti about all
the women    as whores,    kill the cops,
slap the bitch          around, feed her the
fruit she ate a long time ago.
Models all or none
teaching enough in all the
past annuals, the lead smiles
golden blooms turned iron to
where we now    worship degeneracy
Topsy turvy circus whirlwind
these times when hymns fly out as
throated        savagery to the new
gods of pop and celebrity candy
pulled from the                 offering plate to
buy the shiny new church
In praise of degeneracy is the
national anthem,         reason swept
away to the land of     Oz,      no
way to again    walk    Kansas
wheat            fields.

Ralph Monday is Associate Professor of English at Roane State Community College in Harriman, TN., and published in over 50 journals. A chapbook, All American Girl and Other Poems, was published in July 2014. A book Lost Houses and American Renditions is scheduled for publication, May 2015 by Aldrich Press.

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