metaphorcast 39 i of a storm

the following poem was written in 2011 immediately following the huhbub surrounding Irene

​”Okay,
so there once was this big,
scary hurricane
or maybe it was a tropical storm…
basically
a little drizzle dribble
came and went
trains stopped,
concerts were cancelled
and oh, yeah,
a few billion dollars were spent.

Can’t we just raise
the wet ceiling
and stop all this whining?
Stupid clouds.
Look at the silver lining!
I caught up on the latest season of Weeds and had nothing but fun,
got to play Twister
with my friends
without being swooped up in one.
Sure a few musicians
missed their gigs,
trees fell
and some flights were delayed,
but I played cards, walked dogs
and got laid in spades.
We’re New Yorkers-
that storm was a joke!!!
I’ve had stronger winds
come out my ass
after a meatloaf!!!”

Woh.
Take a breath.
Let your ego drain
and let’s have a moment of violins
for those who’ve died in rain.
Floods, mud and melee
44 people drown
say what you will about FEMA,
Bloomberg did not fiddle around.

Go go gadget go bags
and leave your apartment uptown,
evacuate the area
before the subways
shut
down.
(Watch the closing doors)

“What?! You gotta A C D 1 2 3
J M Z B kidding me?”
tu ra loo ra tu rah loo ra aye
C’mon Irene…is that all you got
We’ve been through earthquakes, blackouts and a terrorist plot.

C’mon Irene, I’m sorry but my heart strings were not sufficiently tugged,
been shot at beat up and Louisville slugged.

Oh, C’mon Irene,
I wanted real cyclones
in Coney Island
and mermaids manning subs,
Rock Cats to beat Thunder and Mets
to lightning strike out Cubs.

And please, all these warnings
didn’t exactly help,
I was more irritated
by the coverage of the storm
than that of the storm itself”

Buddy, hold your horse n carriages
and get down
from your big apple box.
Even though very few of YOUS
actually own a car,
you fled in droves
via different route,
carpools overflowing
before the storm followed suit.
For some the only sun seen
was a streaker
flopping pants-less
on the TV screen.
Millions of kings in Queens without power, flowers deflowered and athletes with no showers
at their neighborhood Y’s.

No place to refrigerate
entire grocery lists
for a struggling family of five.
Construction workers
were cat-calling in sick
and vacationers
who may or may not have been
on psychedelics
postponed trips,
with other Jersey Shore residents
besides Snookie–
getting hardest hit.
There were
starving pizza delivery dudes saving slices for themselves,
and hedge fund owners
unable to charge cell-phones,
laser pointers
and electric toothbrushes.
Insurance agents
under double umbrellas
and dogs wearing rain coats.
Rich and poor
haves and have nots
all in the same boat.

Each sliding rainBows
across bridges
in a symphonic bond
with those foreclosed on.

For some it was
a new lease on life,
beautifully composed
through an orchestra
of wood windshield wipes,
a soothing song
for all those lost
bodies floating
in bodies of water
that had been torrentially tossed.

Harps lifting
soul after soul from the muck
sax and violins
as more music erupts.
Melodies overflow
notes pass away and we’re touched.

The beat drops. The water stops,
lest we never forget
all those
eternally resting wet veterans.

Hazel Hugo and Besty
Andrew Audrey Agnes
Edna Ike and Fran
Camille Carol Charley
Beulah Katrina Diane.

Bhola Galveston Nina Pauline
Ivan, Kenna, (Irma)
Irene.

Advertisements

metaphorcast 34 scoreless

Can’t skip the rough and tumble,
floats like a margarine eclipse stings like a bumble. oDrws and toghtsu a jumble.

It’s a diagonal diagnosis
with a replacement hypnosis. There’s lions and tigers and bears, oh mitosis.
A Scalia scoliosis.
Ho ho hocus pocus,
disappear Scrotal SCOTUS.
The final modus. Vinyl lotus. Little Redding Otis’
brittle wedding notices.
Nobody notices notices.
Random ransom notes kidnapped by kids napping.
The sound of one glan snapping.

Why should darkness win?
Not scared of
being towed
or not paying the meter,
but the other parking sins.
Oh brother dreading the tred
will we be flippers or fins?
Get a grip…more like orphans.
Knocked out of the park,
but he’s into the Parkinsons.
A few knots, a few spots.
Doowah ditty, ditty dum
heredity do or heredity do not.
The genetic tic boomerang
doesn’t have to ring so fast.

This is Scotty T Storm with this week’s Metaphorcast.

metaphorcast 33 connect

connect 4 score and some odd seconds ago I evened out, up a jumping bean stalk. Take a walk on the mild, medium or hot side, salsa dancing dirty with Swayze, Patrick and Squidward, but what about Sponge Bob? Planetarium mumbling My Very Entertaining Mother Serves Us Nine Placebos. Placebo knows this and placebo knows that, but what it doesn’t know is the difference between “IT” and “IT’s”. It’s a shame its raining but IT’s red curly hair is kind of like a makeshift umbrella, IT’s shoes sort of two miniature submarines, and IT’s nose, a reminder it’s okay to be scared if it’s just a movie you’re watching.

connect the dotted i’s at the beginning of sentences and you’ll find your lower case closed.

conneckted two giraffes tether to a kiss.

connect the cable, phone and internet. 

connect with each other and to the moon and the stars. connect .

metaphorcast 32 luke warm

Better than Vader
I’ve never seen a dark side.
Jedi of the tiger
to my lion’s pride,
in lieu of ever yelling
I’ve more often seen him cry.

So soft spoken now,
we Scrabble in silence
and talk sports over chicken.
I hold doors, take out his trash
and lift heavy things; pay for lunch,
plan trips
and some of the fun.
A son yet to become father
as father becomes son.

Back in NY I spot a dad
leading his young daughter
down a train platform
but I’m the one
a little lost
needing to tie my shoe.

Why do I do what I do?
If I forget who I am
who could I be?

A child bouncing on his knee
would give my dad
a renewed sense of purpose,
but what would it do to me?

Why’m I sadder today
than on Mother’s Day,
when I’ve already lost a mother
and a fiance?

I guess even with a dad in Florida and a mom no longer here to see
I still have part of the power
for a dad to appear in me.

But it hasn’t happened yet.
The giddy ups and down of upset.
In 2, 3, 5…why bet?
This is Scotty T Storm
trying to metaphorcast
a wide net.

metaphorcast 30 for keeps before sleeps

Blackjack with Jack Black
and Poker with Lady Gaga.
Roulette with Pat Sajack
and sober chats
with a shady llama.

A forced drama, a boxer’s boxers(,) and Oxford Commas.
Buffet or a la carte,
here’s why we start to obscure.
All you can eat, all you can open, all you can endure.

Stop, name drop and roll with
Two-Tupac Shakurs.
Channel Notorious Mediums.
Busta off rhyme
with funky homosapiens
and Aesop’s paper scissors.

He unzipped Bill Nye’s flies
and tripped up
Mr. Wizard’s lizards
to save the earth, save the stars,
savor the Bowies.
Snapped into a slim jim
and it was doughy,
keeping up with the
keeping out the Kims and Chloes.

Keeping up appearances
of our real selves showing up.
Keeping up with the crash.
Keeping up with the race
and the pace car dash.
Keeping up with the closest childhood friends I ever had
and could’ve asked,
their beautiful
and growing family units,
and their suburban masks.
Keeping up with keeping up.
Keeping up with slowing down
when going too fast.
Keeping away from freaking out
and keeping it together
when others are around.
And least but not last
keeping up with the present date and recent past.

This is Scotty T storm with this weeks metaphorcast.

metaphorcast 29 memorials

Lincoln sits in his chair,
NAM names and we stare.
Who’s fault our team didn’t score,
It’s an Oriole memorial
and we still want Balti-more?
This Raven ain’t misbehaving
just saving the best for laughs,
but flags are flying half mast.
London Bridges must go up
for giraffe rafts,
they’ll go down for ostrich hostages
and across for sea bass baths.
Manchester cheetahs were cheated,
disConcerted defeated.
A Grande burrito is needed.

Suspects of dust vaccumed up
Case closed caseless.
Gumshoe laceless.
Come through to stasis.
The most memorable memorials are ostentatiousless.
Have you seen the view
from the moon?
Simply stated
all of these were taken
too soon.

Winegarden
my fraternity brother and friend, Grandma Rosalie, Grandpa Lewis
and Bonnie my mommy
reaching her end.
Nick C, AZ, US, Erica and Tommy
who owned the comic book shop.
Each deserving of their own poem
and poems that never stop.
New tooth unflossed.
A ball never tossed.
Candles lit
with an eternal will to shine.

This is Scotty T Storm reflecting on nine lives lost
but still present in my mind.

metaphorcast 28 outback to the future

Australian Ken
puts another
shrimp on the Barbie barbie.
Eucalips sealed
this party’s too arty.
A dingo ate my baby back ribs,
they were hardly hearty.
Don’t rest on your floral Laurels.
Stan up and get smarty smarty.
I wear a lion’s pride
whether I’m ready
or totally unkoalafied.

Except,
here. now. 4 of 40,
there are three paths before me.
The old, the new
and the now for something completely different.
The Full Monty 3.14thon repeats,
outlining the rest of this piece:

To resign a lease, stay the course to fix the mind and build a home, or leave the country
skipping this town,
freeing quill from stone.

Pivotal point of pivot.
Grass is greener despite a divot.
Before heart hardens.
The next round’s starting,
If a tree falls in the forest
does it make a Soundgarden?

Ding. Ding. Ding.
To each his own
but what’s it mean
to no longer own
what was once within reach?
Will the orange become an impeach?
With the citrus squeezed out
the party
ensure a fuzzy fence
as another mistake maker
rePence.

Not non-alcoholic daiquiris
I’m just flirting
with different versions
and various love factories
ungloved flatteries.
Is this energizer outta batteries,
or a whirling dervish
of emerging perversions?

Either way,
this is Scotty T storm…
metaphorcasting aspersions.

metaphorcast 27 kittens and collies

Am I smitten with you
or with folly?
Golly! It IS you
as I olly olly play the fool,
you’re a polly volley
buffet of cool.
Dali’s dollies carry cameras
that stream my dreams
to pave the pool.
Freestylists mess the hair,
but save the school
one punchline at a time.
Unless they’re
here who find the rhyme
will blind the mind.
Third eye for an eye.
For instance. Four instants.
Breakfasts, replays and connections gratify.
Freshen breath, amend mints, ratify.

Wilson and Pryored all weekend,
That is to say it Rained –
not paid Bills and got Richar(d).
Didn’t spend a cent
but ascended senses
with someone special.
Ate and watched the Leftovers
with Miss October.
Jeter honored
but who cares when she’s over.

Past prominent
but fading.
The itsy bitsy’s
up the spout
and we happily stayed in.
Sun on its way no doubt today.
I hadn’t yet met this week’s metaphorcast
so didn’t know
what I was about to say,
but sure glad I did.
Carrey or Barker,
if you had to bid.
I kid. I kid.
Metaphorcasters been kissed
as priceless is right
despite the slightest in quid.

Id instinct is porn
but instead id winks and
enchants round the horn.
Id makes it rain
then begins ego go dancing
up a storm.
But do not pass ego
without advancing the norm.
Organize the swarm.
Bee yourself and take credit,
Let super ego take cash and
make edits.

This metaphorcasts a beast
and I fed it.
Serves up. Punch spiked.
She set it
then Scotty T Storm said it.

metaphorcast 26 sheet secrets (adult content)

(an earlier version of this persona poem was written for S.W.A.P. 2012 following the sex scandal involving 13 agents in Cartagena, Columbia)

I’ve seen three wars
and been on the force for four.
I’ve been inside stores
on boardroom floors
and guarded scores of A-list celebs,
top-models and business
heads.

I’ve also held court
with key members
of the CIA and FEDS.
I’ve seen thousands die
from where I’ve been stationed
all from inside the cabinet
during both the Clinton and Bush Administrations.

Somehow I made it out alive
where I’ve been appointed
to a prominent position
within homeland security’s
Latex Division.
After all these years
I can’t help but believe
that I’ve somehow earned this –
to become part of the
Victoria’s Secret Service.

I’ve taken a special oath
to serve and protect
the erect.

Sure it’s a…hard job,
and you can get lots of heat
But I’m good at what I do,
especially
when balls are to the wall,
even though on most assignments,
I don’t get used at all.
Still, there can be
a great deal of pressure,
affairs happen,
husbands and wives get hurt,
they shout and swear,
most people tell me
they feel better
without me even there.

We’re often ridiculed
for taking the lives
of so many innocents
which I think depends on
when you consider life begins
cuz it’s really up to me
who sinks or swims.

When all’s said and done
I’ve seen far too many
dead presidents
and could certainly do
without another one.

When I’m on the job
you can take a load off.
Come inside. You’ll be safe…
with me.
Well 98.9% safe,
but that’s still pretty good, right?

I mean there’s always a chance
that some crazy
has poked a hole
in the very fabric of our security
leaving a potential target
exposed and vulnerable
to only god knows what
or
without thinking
one of us slips off
after a night of hard partying
and heavy drinking.

But I don’t do that sort of thing.
I take my job very seriously.
All jobs. Except maybe hand jobs.
Yeah, on hand jobs I’m pretty lax.
Blow jobs too. No. No, y’know
it depends.
But in the end
(especially in the end)
I’m top shelf—
I work hard
and then slightly less hard
and try to keep to myself.

I see and hear it all—
the unzipped fly on the wall,
the birthday swim-suit,
the STD-DDT in full supply.

Actually, many of my closest friends have lived pretty high-class lives,
up to this point
far more exciting than mine.
I mean these guys have seen
Tiger Woods stroke his clubs
from the back nine
in more than one hole at once…
on more than one hole in one…
on more than one occasion.
And they’ve seen guys like
Eliot Spitzer, Marv Albert,
Anthony Weiner
and Charlie Sheen
do some pretty freaky shit.

Usually,
we’re just used and discarded,
but last night I caught wind of something big. Real big.

I mean
I got North Korean launch codes, vital location information
for Trump visits into Russia,
and covfefe strategies
for the next two elections.

In addition to a few goos,
gahs and giggity giggity giggities,
I was privy to
who’s next on the dictator hit list,
where we’re hiding UFOS,
IPOS and LMFAOS.

Hell, I even witnessed
a 30 dollar transaction
for services worth close to 875.

And after tonight
I know what it means
to be undercover under covers,
how size doesn’t really matter,
and not who shot JFK, but rather
who JFK shot…his final load on.

Anyway, too bad I’m lying here
in this hotel trash can
next to some cashew shells
and a half-eaten bag of cheetos.

Because only now do I realize
on the heels of this here
new health bill
how important it will be
coming forward
to use me
and or some helpful pill or IUD.
Or one of my closest associates
from here on in,
whenever moving fluids
and sharing skin.

Look,
the last thing I witnessed
was an orgasm. So I’m good –
with nothing more to lose.
But this ADmin’s
Robbin’ Planned ParentHood
giving to the rich
and taking away rights to choose.

To die, to sleep.
To sleep — perchance to dream:
ay,
there’s the rub
and the rubber is I,
for in this sheath of death
what dreams of cum
When we have shaken off
this mortal raincoat,
I am flung.

And there’s the last erection
that makes calamity
of so short a life;
For who would bear
the whips and scorns
of some sadomasochist’s safety pin,
The professor’s thong, the uncircumcised man’s foreskin,
The pangs of unloved glove,
the law’s last d-lay,
The insolence of not offering and the burning sensation to follow,
that impatience of packaging
before entering this churning,
salacious hollow.

When he himself might make love
without lambskin
who’s raw package could bear,
to grunt and sweat
risking yet another unwanted life
to spare.
But that the dread of worms in file breaking through the eggy glint
is halted by my spermicidal lubricant.