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Alex Nodopaka

Goddess Durga

Goddess Durga

Astride on her tiger
in menstrual throes

She feels she has a
Tiger in her tank

But her retinue trumpets
that he lost his woodies

and that she should club
her Wood

~~~
Alex Nodopaka Mar©2010
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Ace of Hearts

Ace of Hearts

I ain’t goin’ nowhere
And that frickin’ raven
Ain’t gonna make me write
No Poe poem

Nor this goddam bridge
Ain’t goin’ nowhere either
Not even straddling
Sarah Palin’s arse to Russia

~~~
Alex Nodopaka ©2008
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I have a story that’ll

I have a story that’ll

bury Tiger Woods
under 6 feet of sand.
It’s the wishful thinking

of any golfer
to eagle their balls
in Alice’s hole.

But I wonder if anybody
wants their balls
to shrink fast enough

in the time they fly
from the golfing club
to birdie Wonderland.

~~~
Alex Nodopaka Apr©2010

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The M & M Candy Telephone

The M & M Candy Telephone

The device is switched to mute.
Not a sound comes from
the Raisin Bran guys except
for the pre-programmed
visual message on the LCD screen.

When the receiver flashes
instead of ringing
the Venus de Milo deodorant statue
doesn't move an arm
to pick up the handset.

~~~
Alex Nodopaka Feb©2010
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Stone Fog

Stone Fog

i think
she is your alter ego
someone you pine for

the dizziness
is your inebriation with her
and may be due

to atmospheric pressure
differentials
she comes and goes

like a fog sculpture
or a De Chirico muse
without a shadow

she's pure fog

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Love in Rubber Balls

From a seashore wedding
all that’s left at ebb’s tide are
discarded hot air balloons.

Once inflated egos
now in flaccid condoms
are the only ephemeral remnants

of flushed adulation
feeding foreign shores.
Lovers gone,

paramours in search of passion,
only barren lovers’ wishes
fill imaginary baby carriages.

~~~
Alex Nodopaka Sep©2009
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The Subject Of Death

The subject of death
or standing at night with a lit candle
under my chin in front of a mirror

prevents my humor
from spilling.

The stanza is romantic.
Makes me queasy.

And it's unfair to play
with silver dimes

when the dead
can see no more

nor have the will
to lift their lids.

Had they the capability

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A Lightweight Ode to Ars

A Lightweight Ode to Ars
or A Not So Fauve Muse

Fernand Leger watching me
Bloats my limbs
But when Salvador Dali comes

He makes my edges flow.
And if Pablo Picasso shows up
My face looks

Like it hit the fan.
Of them all I adore most
Marcel Duchamp’s tongue.

He says I taste like
A cubed sashimi roll from
A fauve Rousseau beast.

A the roaring sound

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Clowning in the City of Lights

I looked and looked
beyond the deep and the shallow
and connected the dexterity
of my fingers to your brain

Of course you want to know
if I can throw circles
round the Eiffel stake.
And after more looking

I convinced myself life is a circus
and I your smoking puppet
blowing rings
around your Fingers

Yes, YES your Sleight of thOughts
gOt me diZZy and oFF kilter
and I wAnt to be in Paris
a juGGling clOWN just like yOu

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Funeral Flowers never Fade

I’d rather remember
the colorful blossoms
surrounding the departed.

I’d rather remember
their character and their scent
not some waxen faces
straight out of the mold.

I’d rather remember the roses
and the reds and the yellows
and the whites and the pinks.

I’d rather forget the thorns
and the pricks and the angst
and the contradictions
between existence and extinction.

I’d rather forget
the pallidness of life

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