Raymond Keen- Three Poems

. . . Or Let Me Tell You The Story About The Man Who Came To Work With A Crack In His Head – (Originally published in Radius – February 9, 2012)

In the morning,

After the radiation treatments,

He told us he was the butler.

He told us he was their Catholic son.

He told us he had fucked their mother.

He told us many things,

Blaming it all on Eve.

His doctor,

Not a bad man,

Just another kind yet bewildered whore

Unable to read the brain scan,

Tore up his office records

And prescribed a dose of poison

Large enough to go around.

Fortunately, we have a way of

Monitoring the self-destruction.

A bad memory helps.

Can you name the four seasons of the year?

“Je crois que oui,” they said.

City planners,

Tired of thinking on tiptoes,

Bleeding, as it were, from all their orifices,

Thus displaying an unmanly sensitivity,

Where eagles once soared,

Where jackals once howled

(A drama of good and evil),

Are fully covered by insurance

If “accidents” happen

In “priority” tunnels.

“Don’t let him hug the baby,”

They said.

“He’s radioactive.  Very radioactive!”

Would you like a cigarette?

“Je crois que oui,” they said.

 

Tragedy, however, takes time.

Even when everything runs smoothly.

There’s not a lot to do,

But there’s a lot to pay for.

Oy vay iz mir.

Social workers,

In full pursuit

Of the American dream

Of not having to choose,

Explained to volunteers

The plight of the Third World.

“We’ll get right on it, sirs!

Hoot hoot zat!  For now,

All we want to do is look good!”

They said.  “A bad memory helps.”

Can you name the colors of the American flag?

“Je crois que oui,” they said.

After the radiation treatments

In this cold house,

Either way,

We need more liars

Who care about the truth.

. . . Or let me

Tell you

The story

About the man

Who came to work

With a crack

In his head.

 

Hic et Nunc – (Originally published in Pismire – November 2010 Issue)

One Christian empire

collapsing into another,

like fly wings

falling into infants’ milk,

or the worm-dog

with no legs

sleeping in the fog,

ichello briatsia

his little teeth

starting to rot,

tears seeping

from his single infected eye,

here and there and

everywhere his mouth

or similar opening,

like the devil’s hand,

lies heavily upon us.

Teme Mori

Remember Saturn

eating his own children,

or silver water

turning black.

A little bit terrifying,

when we wake up blind,

when we wake up blind.

Are those Siamese cats

playing dead?

Are those Mormon families

neatly arranged

in the order of their dying?

They will be numbered

before they are named,

a company spokesman said.

Mr. Safety Says – (Originally published in Love Poems for Cannibals by Raymond Keen – February 2013)

Mr. Safety says

the dead

have been

identified.

On his blueprint,

“Nirvana,”

the good guys

are supposed to win.

Nice script

for a sweet God

talking through

a bloody handkerchief.

Raymond Keen was educated at Case Western Reserve University and the University of Oklahoma.  He spent three years as a Navy clinical psychologist with a year in Vietnam (July 1967 – July 1968).  Since that time he has worked as a school psychologist and licensed mental health counselor in the USA and overseas, until his retirement in 2006.  He is a credentialed school psychologist in the states of California and Washington, and a licensed mental health counselor in the state of Washington. 

Raymond’s first volume of poetry, Love Poems for Cannibals, was published in February 2013.  He is also the author of a drama, The Private and Public Life of King Able, which will be published in 2015.  Raymond’s poetry has been published in 29 literary journals.