Soma
Is is a bitter pill to swallow
But what is life but a bitter pill?
Then a feeling follows
That stuffs the Vedic gods to their gills.
Did it come from India or Persia,
Or only a lab in New Jersey?
Depending on your version
And what reaction it brings:
Skeleto-muscular relaxation
Lack of pain and spasms,
Flat-out beating an orgasm.
And the myth of soma is a truth-
No secret herb or root,
Just this bitter pill after all,
Indeed only a pharmaceutical.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Shrinking Lanscapes
Cluttered with the final blocks of glaciers
The Beaufort Sea, rotten ice,
Unlike the solid Antarctic
Settlied down like a swollen glabrous
Skin, solidly couching the earth,
Steadfast in polarity (for now) :
When the heat from the bowels of the Amazon
Contrives to smolder over Europe & North America,
The creatures of the south shall come north...
Our disadvantage is the crops that will wither,
As our minds melt in the confusion
Of this dire prediction.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Astonishing
Thinkers are posed with the question, is there a soul? Maybe
They approach an answer through neuroscience:
The synapses are passed on in death
To some universal warehouse;
There, accumulated, they bubble and squeak for many
Worlds to employ,
Recreating different or perhaps identical souls,
Spanning the white light awaiting,
The feeling of Love everywhere,
The joyous occasion when all hearts are one,
And the perfect balance of nature and brain coalesce.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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The Brief Lives of Lighthouses
Having entered many,
In New England-
Maine, Massachusetts,
(West Island) ,
I am aware of the importance of guiding sailors,
And though sturdy,
They often fall due to Tectonics,
Like the Pharos of Alexandria,
Dying for all its sturdy steps,
Falling into the sea
That it scrutinized,
Swallowed whole.
The Lighthouse of Alexandria,
As has been brilliantly documented,
Lies dormant under the waves,
Guiding nothing but cameramen, who are
Caught in the dim.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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the End Is Near
A bum walked the sidewalk
With a sign proclaiming THE END IS NEAR.
Passersby occasionally remarked,
'What is it the end of, fishing in the bay due to mercury contamination? '
-Or-
'Is it the intrusion of the sea due to the polar ice caps melting? '
But he never answered stupid questions;
He just kept walking with the sign.
A man asked him one day,
'Does that mean the end of all things is coming? '
The dosser handed him the sign, saying,
'It's now your turn.'
poem by Stan Petrovich
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A Nightmare
The rapid barometric stuttering
of a sudden downpour
vacating the streets
hurling rainbows
overhead:
I fear not.
the amble of a six-gun toting
troublemaker, intoxicated as all get out,
Shouting, 'I smash you head in! '
Him I fear.
The strength of arms
Against such a predator
Shall turn his head inside out;
This I command:
(At least in my mind's eye) ,
And the brunt of my hand
Can shatter his nose
So it goes into his brain.
Then I will dispose of his guns.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Walking Music
Celestial strains above
My walking frame
The pavement is a keyboard
And I dance a scale;
They will not rent me a piano
Because not such a thing
Is done. I want
To play, to exaggerate
My feelings with sound,
Make my world round,
Harmonize in E major
To flatten the enemies
Of peace. The stranger who looked at me
Twice, painting his eyes through
My nerve centre and lost
Betrayal of mind.
No one is kind.
Not the King;
Not my hands:
[...] Read more
poem by Stan Petrovich
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What I Believe (II)
That there is nothing beyond the universe
Except bubbling universes encroaching;
The back of one's head is the front someone's else;
What you and I are is determined by quantum enticement,
An accumulation of space/time/matter that just so happens
To dwell in consciousness right now. Also if love is intruding,
The outcome wil be shrouded in glorious mystery,
Mystery that must be unfolded,
And found to be an unwoven rainbow
That goes on forever, someplace....
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Galaxies
Averting my vision
I can see the smudge
Of a billion or more suns,
Many light years away.
They have telescopes as well, I think,
And I might blush in this torpid state;
For I am an ant-
They have fortresses of clarity.
The night moves on,
So I swing to another galaxy.
This one is in collision-
What suffering there must be.
If I stare into the blank regions
Of space, calmly in tune,
The chirping of earth-life all around,
I will only see the back of my head.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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A Brief History of Pain
One cell cringing
in commotion;
Sauropods succumbing
to gravity,
protecting doomed offspring;
The King of all Writers,
fishing in guts for plays,
dying unknown;
Then you, hobnobbing,
howling in torture
for things I cannot
or will not
do.
My shell is cracked;
I am here alone in a world
of grief. But I ply,
for though the pain is overwhelming,
in the end it is brief.
Breaking a plastic pen in two
[...] Read more
poem by Stan Petrovich
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