Bible Bob

Bible Bob in his bib overalls
and his mid-chest beard
his bible and flag
went to preach to the prospectors of gold
he rode on the shoulders of a giant named Jerimiah
who with one arm conquered all arms at Petaluma
and Bible Bob scolded the gold diggers
the lillies who passed through the field
with short skirts and too much make-up
for which they were sure to hell damned
and through the megaphone crisply
his fire and brim stone drew laughter
as the giant let him down to earth
for as he rode on the shoulders of a giant
his union flap remained insecure
and one full buttock of Bob's
was exposed to the crowd he had drawn
and Jerimiah held the megaphone
while Bible Bob buttoned his flap

poem by George Murdock
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Weird Dream

In sleep I dream impossible things
I glacine down Mount Shasta
on a jumbo black trashbag which empties its contents
while blurred faces curse at me
The tin cans and wine bottles glisten like
Christmas ornaments
The ski patrol tries to stop my descent
while in the real world below
a woman has given birth to eight tiny babies
and people curse at her
A Sunday school teacher has murdered an eight year old girl
and stuffed her body in a suitcase
the teacher of God's eternal love
has a five year old daughter of her own
whom the eight year old was on her way to play with
I awake to the grip of the world
rescued from the clutches of the ski patrol
having escaped the troubled world of sleep

poem by George Murdock
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Dali Professes his Love

I must climb you like a spine
revel in you like a yodeler in a cave
devote a continent to you
have no conscience about driving
natives from your land
I must erect a statue to you
or an obsidian obelisk polished
till the sun can’t shine on you
and clouds are unable to
obscure your magnificence
I want to curl across you
As if you were a frozen pond
and I were a curling stone
I will ride upon you
like Captain Ahab
lashed to your side with flotsam
and ragged sails
and beckon you with my dead arm
I will sing to you
with a voice like the sirens

[...] Read more

poem by George Murdock
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W

While bodies bloated in dark water
floated past news dinghys
W was making mincemeat
of Karl on the ping pong table
Karl complained about W’s catlike moves
“You can’t beat me outright turdblossom”
“I’m on my game “ he said in his faux Texas jibe
Karl knew better than to play right handed
“You two better break this up, it’s lunchtime”
said the fawning wife who winked at Karl
Karl let W's weak slam sink the game
“ Good game tubby” snickered W
Karl thought of the big game in Florida
which he’d rigged for a W win
He felt glowing pride after lunch
like the virtuoso and his prodigy
watching W get in the golf cart
“I’m driving cause' I’m the Prez” drawled W
Karl thought, “If you only knew”.

poem by George Murdock
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Nuemenon

I dreamt I went for a walk
on the strip at Hermosa, naked,
gazing into the cloudless sky
and making animal noises, aphasic,
unable to express the view of Newton’s love.
Or speak of the stars like milk pouring from the chalice of Jupiter
l like some primal astronomer of Baka,
With my aiming stick pointing in awe
at a great black rip in the curtain of infinity.
I girded myself with a hastily fashioned
beer can pelvic gourd
Using a plastic six-pack holder for a waist band
And then sat near a fire ring
grunting with aphasic frustration
as towering policemen cuffed and lead me away
I tried to explain the incredible rip of space and time,
sitting somewhat naked in the cruiser,
to dull unbemused eyes behind the chicken wire.

poem by George Murdock
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Quintessence

Quintessence

From the scalar field it looked loose and playable
It appeared as if something were real and affordable
As if affordability was not an issue at all
As if the shorts of a chronic team had been pulled down
And they were wordless and agape
Einstein was rapidly combing the locks of his sparse hair
The ghost of Feynman was giving an interview in a stripper bar
It appeared from a drunk’s perspective
That tall lifeless boogey forms were serving brunch
To the rumor pecker
To the man who chased atoms into dark caverns
He speaks of a scalar field
One divorced from the rest of spatial reality
In the wing the snoopers were taking notes
They had obliterated the notion of space/time
Torn down the works of two hundred years
With the aid of a word processor.

poem by George Murdock
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Tikki

Met her in a record store in Downey
in 1963,
she was fourteen.
A coy smile and a round pretty face
golden hair and a yellow bow
over her ear.
she was quiet, shy, crossed her arms
and her chubby bare feet when she spoke
causing bedlam,
churning sensations, heart flutter
Miserlou pounding in my forehead.
Tikkis and coca mattes and “Angry Sea, ” Barefoot Adventure” “ Golden Breed”
posters next to a cut out of
Sammy Lee and his cannon ball wipeout,
pinned on sea green paisley wallpaper
In her surfer den bedroom.
Mindful to put my feet down
When her dad passed the open door
Or her mom came in with sandwiches
I had no idea what I was doing then,

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poem by George Murdock
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Nimal

Two scions sprung among the fennels of the countryside
They bid their own welcome because fennels say little to scions
These scions were of a sturdy stock themselves
Though new compared to the old stiff necked forrest
They were wise beyond their years
The scions grew as the seasons passed
Some slender stalks bowed their heads and withered
Others rigidly weathered the storms of cloud and stream
One day in the spring the fennels of the highest stalk
Noticed a shadow of leaf and trunk across their tethers
The scions had grown rapdily as the days had passed
The scions were tall, evergreen and entwined
They would never bow their heads as the fennels
Or become uprooted by cold rivulets
They had grown intrepid and wise
Knowing that
Persistence is the mother of success
And passion is her handmaiden.

poem by George Murdock
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Gaza

There is no God in the death camps of Gaza
God has chosen to ignore the genocide
There are no NEWS cameras of the big three
None speak disparaging remarks
against the holy state of Israel
In the center of Gaza is the army of the beast
against people ravaged by scarcity, hunger and thirst
and missiles made of match sticks
Caged in the bordered land of Gaza
captives of the Chosen Few
“Show me the Devil “ Tzipi says
They had open hands to show them
“Then show me your cards”
“We will beat you every time “ she adds
“We will beat you down like
Germany beat us, without considering humanity”.
“Like it says, we’re the chosen people”
She laid down the flush
Of raw sewage and blood
Of screaming babies, motherless and lost

[...] Read more

poem by George Murdock
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My Grandmother Tina

I was born under a bad sign
It had three letters missing
It buzzed noisily and kept
babys and paying tenants awake
my parents were poor irish folk
and I was wrapped in swaddling
diapered in newspaper
they would leave me with
handy relatives or my alcoholic grandmother
she would sing bawdy songs ….I had me a pinto
pony once a beautiful sight was he ….I left him with
a pretty little lass for to keep him company……
and then she’d say “stop playing with your tallywhacker”
when I could no more than talk and barely walk
I’d carry home three quarts of Burgie and a pack of Camels
In a carpet bag with wooden handles, bought with a fin pinned to my shirt
and a note to the liquor clerk
she told me she’d paddle my behind if I broke one of her quarts.
…..sometimes she’d give me a nickel to buy an Abazaba

poem by George Murdock
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