Category Archives: poems & short jabs

path finders

Path Finders

Psychopath
sociopath
homeopath
the root is
path–
pathetic
pathological
path finder.

 

Floating like
free radicals
in this
toxic soup
are the Regular
Joes, not free
not radical,
but if you
tell them
they are they’ll
believe it.
They’ll believe
anything you
tell them.

 

The world is
run by Paths.
This would be
news to the
Regular Joes.

 

Psychopaths &
Sociopaths
are the
higher echelon
Paths.
The difference
between them is
that the Sociopath
has no feelings
whereas the
Psychopath is a
cesspool of
feelings,
all of
them malignant.

 

Neither the
Sociopath nor
the Psychopath
has a
conscience,
which is
the tie that
binds them.
The Regular Joe
has no
conscience either,
that he
thinks he
does is
just a
notion spoon
fed him
by the
Paths,
along with
all his
other notions,
including his
sense of
right & wrong.

 

There’s another
class of
people that
has no
no name,
but let’s
call them
Stealth Bombers.

 

Stealth Bombers
cause uneasiness
in the
Regular Joes
& paranoia
in the Paths.
What they’re
best at
is silence.
To them
life is a
waiting game.
They’re waiting
for the
whole edifice
to come
crashing down,
at which
time they’ll
step in &
take control
of everything.

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a begging bowl & a smile

A Begging Bowl & a Smile

When I
sent out a
short jab
saying I
had enough
money saved to
get thru
the rest of
my life with a
begging bowl
& a
smile a
number of
people wrote
back that
they couldn’t
afford a
begging bowl.

 

I figure
they must
not have
realized that
a begging
bowl is a
state of
mind &
went
on line
where
begging bowls
sell for
anywhere from
fifty to
two thousand
dollars.

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talking

Talking

Gradually he
realized
he was
talking to
himself but
he still
didn’t listen.

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the message

D.R. Wagner & Ann Menebroker

D.R. Wagner & Ann Menebroker

The Message

A poet
trying to
communicate
a deep message
is like
a shipwreck
survivor
floating
on a
board
far out
at sea,
waving at
jet vapor
in the sky.

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the hard truth

The Hard Truth

Happiness
is a
crutch.

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the down side of solitude

The Down Side of Solitude

I need
an agent
a secretary
a live-in
file clerk who
can also cook &
give back rubs
someone with a
wide streak of
devotion to
save me from
myself to
scoop up this
avalanche of
words &
shape it
form it
get it
out there
someone to
make contacts
someone
charming who
can sell
do lunches
make phone calls
fly off for some
face time
sign on the
dotted line.

 

I need a
Maxwell Perkins
or a
John Martin to
bridge the gap
between the
stormy tundra I
wander &
wherever it is
the rest of you
live.

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