By Luna Touched
Jeffrey R. Paine
The moon with its light
Touched me crazy
That night when I first saw you
Cold rays penetrating illuminating
Igniting passion searing
Soul embers love’s fire
Conflagration instigating consuming
All traces of sense from my mind
Madness.
Through a sea of sensation
I pursue you
The air of emotion
I breathe deep
Vague whispers of wind
Distractions to stay me
Shar odors impede
Subtle tastes recede
Thought submerged in flood
Touch scent sight sound taste
Reality a hallucinated vision
Illusion imagined as real
Distortions accepted without question
Answers fulfill desires I feel
Disturbed disordered
Conjoined by paltry light
Merging sensation emotion
The need for commotion
Affected within illumined night
Begone and rational logic
Desire and expectation
Now drive my being
Alogical
Inrational
Unsane
Sweet madness desires
Agony-edged rapture requires
Arousal devotion
Cascading emotion
Satisfaction the possession
Of you
Yes the moon with its light
Touched me crazy
Unexpected that night
Long ago
When the holding walls
Retaining containing
Burst asunder
The first time
I ever saw you
Decorative Handicrafts
Jeffrey R. Paine
(Originally appeared in my 2003 chapbook; revised 2020.)
“I hanged three angels over the weekend,”
Said the woman’s cheerful voice,
bragging of her accomplishment.
So Brash!
I wondered what possible offense
an angel could commit
to deserve capital punishment
at her hands…
Angelicide? Dove Rustling?
Smuggling Ambrosia Across Heavenly Borders?
Immoral acts with underage Cherubim?
She sounded like
she was planning to hang more,
In a window!
At a store!
HAS SHE NO SHAME? I wondered.
I don’t think she’ll
get away with it for long…
After all,
SOMEONE
Is bound to notice…
Jihad of the Literary Sort
Jeffrey R. Paine
(Written in the aftermath of 9-11, and a concurrent declaration of war against my writing style by a certain self-righteous editor, October 5, 2001)
Make no mistake about it
A literary jihad has been launched:
This is no mere moonlight and
Serendipity crusade;
The hallowed ivoried halls of
Orthodox expression
Are under attack and must be defended!
For those who refuse to perish
By the word
Will die by the pen unpublished
And be left underappreciated
To rot upon the editor’s cutting floor.
The conflict pits
The stalwart defenders of
Conventional idioms and form
Against those who might favor
Less academically validated
Expression
The weapons of choice will be
Incendiary words
Fragmenting phraseology
Bombastic verbal bombs hurled
And finally, most fatally,
Simple blockade, denial of access
to academically acceptable and
approved, controlled, outlets
(While the opposition will aim at disruption
To weaken our resolve
Distract from our objective
Judgment about poetic expression
They will seek to exploit new
Media and venues to
Undermine our orthodoxy)
The masses unsuspecting and unlettered
Will suffer shock and awe
In the demonstration of our inherent
Inherited learned superior tradition of
the finer points of the Western Wind,
(Built as they are from unfounded assumptions
Forcing all expression into
Preconceived categories
Inspired by shortsighted and
Self-serving interpretations
Missing in Action
By Jeffrey R. Paine
January 20, 2004
Do not be alarmed by
my absence
in recent times
from all my former haunts.
Do not call
out the guard,
for there is no need for
searching jaunts;
no, no one
has heard tell or tale of
or from me,
for quite some
time. But rest assured,
I’m alive and
feeling fine.
It would be, I assure
premature
to begin to
mourn, to hold a wake, or
peruse my
will, plan my
funeral, yet you look
and do not
see me here,
and you wonder, therefore
still, “Wherefore
art thou, old
friend, habituae of
this diner;
once-common
occupant of this place,
long-time a
barfly to
many known attendees
at meetings,
many long
discussions blown over,
a man oft
seen walking
or sitting in glade, or
glen, along
highways and
byways in public sight?”
Worry not!
For I shall
return to be with you
soon, to share
again food
and wine, and word, and rhyme,
swap tales and
verses many.
Yes, our comradery
shall once be
renewed, soon.
So, do not report me
absent with
out leave, nor
a person missing all
these long days
from home and
kin! For now, all you need
know is this:
I am not
missing in action, I’m
just missing
inaction.
Rollerboy
Jeffrey R. Paine
Crazy boy
Riding his skateboard
Down the cracked and
broken sidewalk
Weaving in and out
Of all those various people
The world seems to be falling apart
Nobody seems to be able to stop it
Fact is
Nobody seems to much care
The crazy boy on the skateboard doesn’t care
That’s okay, though
While the world may care for him
It certainly doesn’t care much about him, either
Sometimes I’d like to grab that crazy boy
Shake him by his shoulders and say
“My God, Man!
Shape Up!
The world is falling apart all around you
And all you do is ride
That silly board of yours!
You could do something!
You could at least try!”
Strangely enough, I know what he’d do
He’d smile,
Nod his head
He might even say
“Okay, sure, man!”
There’s that crazy boy
Riding his skateboard
Down the cracked and broken sidewalk
Weaving in and out
Of all those various people.
He wouldn’t say it
But he doesn’t care
That’s okay, though
Because the world just doesn’t much care
About him, either
He just keeps on riding.
Doesn’t care
Or as my lady once said to me,
“Tough noogies!”
Hell,
With any luck at all
This time tomorrow
I’ll be halfway to
Alpha Centauri