Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Thanksgiving poem of unalloyed gratitude and thnx (Inpsired by the first chapter of Marcus Aurelis' Mediatations) for those I love most in this cartoon comic strip bubble of reality (see b'low):


Thanksgiving canticle of Gratitude &Joy…


I’m thankful for leather wristbands, cool jewelry, my baja that comes replete with a hood

And for my cowboy hat which I always wear as I amble aimlessly into the woods

 I’m Thankful for religious freedom, gay rights, scraping by to afford rent

and for a good cup of coffee, scattered autumn leaves, Lutheran hymns and menial employment.

For cigars, country music, hoppy ale,  St. Mary’s cemetery at dusk, the calligraphic sight of a vacant tree bough,

And how this time of year the sight of a barn or wayward corn husk still destroys me, even now.

For soccer moms with short hair, internet recipes, drivin’ through backroads the sun a splattering yolk

 And for the waterfalls at Mathieson state park, Amazon dot com and for practical jokes.

For getting a text from a distant friend,  going out and hearing live tunes,

And for celebrating BLOOMSDAY (with copious vats of Guinness)  in the middle of June

When the waning light settles much later than on the silver November horizon, as if on a lark

I’m thankful for ten mile runs through the meadows of Bradley environs and for the Lagoon at Glen Oak Park.

 For local art openings, open mic poetry readings where we caterwaul and the audience shouts;

For late-night partying, chain smoking and loose-loined women who gratuitously put out

 Drunk and Scratching, limbs spread akimbo as if a wide Sargasso sea

For  Sports Centers top ten  and that I witnessed (first hand) the glory of the Chicago Bulls dynasty.

For health and good organs, my liver, resilient, as if peeled from Prometheus when tethered to a rock.

For French pressed coffee on Sunday mornings, reading the New York times while listening (LOUD!) to JS Bach.

For hot sauce, pomegranates, a slice of cucumbers in Pimms cup, and for  grated Colby jack cheese.

I’m Thankful for Moosehead, Denis Johnson, and overdue ATM fees.

And for those philosophers I go back to, even now more so

Esp. Wittgenstein, Immanuel Levinas, Battaile and Maurice Blanchot.

And for literature, Whitman is to autumn as Chaucer/Boccaccio is to spring

And for the searing intellect of

 Brianne, Hollyee, Daz, Mileece and sexy Barbara Antoniazzi

Books like White Noise,  READERS BLOCK, The Sun Also Rises ( about a wounded-war phallus)

I’m thankful for George Saunders, James Joyce, Lorrie Moore and my mentor the late David Foster Wallace.

For Robert A. Johnson whose book “We” is the greatest mediation on romantic love that I have ever perused,

I’m thankful for the women who inspire me to write, the obligatory poetic muse

Timeless creations like Cheri Lee, Valena Jackson,  Megan Sow and Arya Badiyan

And how nothing beats cookin’ homemade sweet potato soup on Saturday night, smoking my pipe while listen’ to Prairie Home Companion.

I’m thankful for TWIN PEAKS, for cheesy John Hughes 80’s movies the Breakfast club, sixteen candles and Ferris Bueller

And for cool neighbors, Melissa, Cliff, Roger and (intellectually riveting) Samantha Mueller.

I’m thankful for my writing desk, pummeling into the keyboard as if dueled-jousted into a fight

I’m thankful for the way in which my apartment catches the time-signature cradled in light

Like a Vodka screwdriver, so orange as if to be considered tangerine;

I’m thankful for those I love who have added meaning to my life, exponential human beings:

 John and Kelly whose wedding I severed my long wild man locks

And even though Ozzie’s gone, I’ll always be thankful for my eternal White Sox.

For my cousin Larry who is a rockstar and has been clean and sober now four years

And even though I imbibe too frequently I’m so thankful for a good cold beer.

I’m thankful for guy friends stuck together like metaphysical epoxy

Like Mcreynolds, Mike Nelson. Kyle and a bad-ass writer, named Roxy


Grappled friends whose adoption tried, quote Polonious, who would always be true

Such as David Thompson, Duck Mccover, Jasna, Diane Happ and Mark-Andrew

Friends’ I’ve been blessed with whose loyalty just has  never failed

And how, après twenty-five year in my life how thankful I am to still have my best friend david Hale

I’m thankful for Mike, Jeremy, Claire, Andrew Gary, Lil’ Phylica, all of whom now have passed on,

And how cool it always is to sit back and have a few beers with Jacob Long

Friends I love dearly,  whose rapport will never be severed

And that ( angelic-creature) six years ago who simply gave me the “Best Thanksgiving ever.”

I’m Thankful for late night writing jams to Metallica  ( oh where would we  be sans Lars???)

This holiday especially I’m thankful for the West Peoria dive Bars


Mike’s stand up which for years was stag and served cold brew from an oak barrel cask

Champs West where the poets’ congregate to drink beer while songwriter’s carol, basking in

Folk songs, while Gavra Lynn and Shannon Moore will serve you twice and not wince

The (seedy) Getaway and Jimmy’s where nothing beats drinking a Black and Tan compliments of good ol’ Vince.

And all the girls at the Tartan Inn who are admittedly good lookin’

Friday nights at the Owl’s Nest where (everyone is family) you just can ‘t beat Joe’s cookin’.

For my overtly overpriced college degree ferried on laurels, impotent tassel  useful as burnt Halloween plastic-ring spiders,

And for those days I just want to watch sports, drink cheap beer and eat (inane) amounts of White Castle Sliders

And while  it ended up heaped in frivolous streams of plutocratic lies and political controversy

I’m so blessed for the time I spent teaching, reading, working and writing at Bradley University

Who fired me claiming my prose was fraught with obsessive allusions to ass and tits

And how humbled I was when Natashia Deon invited me to be a part of Dirty Laundry Lit

Partying in Hollywood drinking a beer while carousing down the noted Boulevard of noted Fame

 And God damn after twenty years how blessed I feel to come into contact with the ravishing Sarah St. James,

Who touched my hand in a bookstore aisle, presaging that a writer one day I would be,

I’m thankful for my readers’ and that I’ve been granted the opportunity to entertain  my glorious souls such as cool Kristin,  ravishing Suzette,  numinous Brian,(can’t stop licking my husband) Becky and my poetic brother Larry Bradley.

For radiator heat, pissing hot showers, a shave with lots of lather,

And even though he’s been gone now ten years I’m so blessed that I got the opportunity to really know my father.

I’m thankful  for artistic ambitions, wayfaring wishes and dreams that perhaps will never come true,

And how the highlight of my life (baby) was when I buckled my arms around yer waist and was granted the privilege  simply to park bench hold you.

So this Black Friday while indulged in the materialistic neon rash that is commercial living,

Take time remember that it is not only the thanks, it is also the giving

To something greater than ones individual (intellectual) druthers

And to know somehow that its not about you, but it’s about “The Other”

Emptying  the interior of ones chest dry while asking for no return

Like Kerouac’s Roman candles, “the only people for me are the mad one’s who deeply burn burn burn!!!”

So happy holidays to those people who always inspire

Me to write every day, you are the forever flicker in my creative fire…


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