Thursday, May 2, 2024

Jay Passer

 

Lao Tsu Was an Alien



The orthodontist gets off on the torture

Provides wheelchairs to the victimized

Plus a lollipop but only lemon flavored.

He’s an old man, so old he just might’ve

Escaped that notorious scorched-earth regime

Back in the fascism of obvious dictators

Guys with bad haircuts and worse digestion.

Acts of desperation often lead to carelessness

Flying goats across enemy borders, misremembering

Passcodes to stashed vaults, sans parachutes or

Even airbags; remaining an issue today in simulation.

In his walnut-paneled office, the old man ruminates;

Sadly, the experiments were suspended due to

Survival mechanism and drained expense accounts:

Blaming hit-and-miss on the invading authorities.

High on nitrous and gentleman’s club well-juice

The hygienist confides to her dog-collared bestie

Says, He too old to make a move, but whoever heard

Of a toothless dentist anyway? Hip-hop pumping

Through the air-conditioning unit, pollutants swirling

Amidst casual conversation, bindles of finely-ground

Rhinoceros tusk palmed under the cocktail tables.

Erosion nearly complete, lying in rivers and streams

The stones in my mouth quit picking up Morse code.

Vagrant veteran, I’m a prime candidate, so the old boy

Croaks, "I vill count, zehn auf null, and you vill sleeeep…"



Marilyn Monroe 


could rise from the dead

naked as creation

with a million dollar bill clenched in her fist

diamonds encrusting her exalted smile

and saunter up to me

with that hip-shake and chin-jut

that dropped kings and Kennedys to their knees

and I would still turn around

with the sun pulsing through my heart

to look for you

"I am so lucky"








The poetry and prose of Jay Passer has appeared in print and online periodicals, magazines and anthologies, in subterranean basements and men's room stalls, cave walls and space shuttles, since 1988. He is the author of 15 collections of words, symbols, diatribes, missives, isms, schisms, rain drizzles and blood fizzles. A cook by trade, he's also dabbled in daubs, photo-montage, reverse Feng shui; while flailing at mortician's apprentice, news butcher, and criminal savant. Passer's most recent chapbook, Son of Alcatraz, was released in February of 2024 from Alien Buddha Press, and is available on Amazon.
but what isn't?





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Thursday, April 25, 2024

 




Today is 25th April. 3 years back Hungryalist poet Pradip Chowdhury passed on to the other room on this very day. It was sudden shock for all of us. A few months beforethat we were chatting over phone... his problems with his eyes... what new books he is reading even about the plant in my balcony. Before putting down the phone he said let this lock down days of Corona be over then we must meet. I have a project on my mind. Of course we will, I replied. Now I have only memories to hold on to.

Once in mid nineties we were in Shantiniketan Poush Mela. In the fairground we had a book stall. That was the only book stall I believe in the huge fair ground. A wild idea of course to have a book stall in midst of people selling clothes, utensils, knives etc. Shantiniketan usually is very crowded during this festival time. Somehow we arranged for a stay with a few bedsteads without bedrolls. I tried hiring but the person who gives bedrolls on rent was out of stock. Finally Chacha the cyclerikshaw puller our Herbert Huncke came to our rescue. Ah yes he supplied marijuana too. He arranged for stacks of straw which we spread on the bedstead and covered it up with a bed sheet.  It was winter and cold. But those days were days that will stay always in my memory. After coming back to Kolkata Pradip Chowdhury wrote- These nights together sleeping on straw beds will help us to stay out of the establishment for many days.   







Friday, April 19, 2024


 


We will be taking submissions again from May. Poems only. Pics and sketches and paintings are also welcome. Soon now.