Who Needs a Man(when you got a broom)

It doesn't take...

a master plan...

to drive a man...

to change the world...

just be a man...

there aren't to many...

left of them...

god help us...

few there are...

out living under...

bridges cold...

a trash barrel fire....

to warm the bits...

you left of men...

while all...

you ex old ladies...

do the cha cha...

with some witch...

you haven't...

got the tits...

to call a witch...

so...

clean her up...

and...

she's a goddess...

suddenly..

who really deeply...

doesn't like us...

to all of those...

empowered women...

living in...

those houses...

husbands bought...

for them...

ex husbands now...

I guess...

you ever  think...

one bitter moment...

how the guy...

that gave you...

everything...

while you...

were planning...

world domination...

could so...

truly use...

a hand...

a shave...

hot meal...

kind word...

I mean...

self confidence...

is key...

to being anything...

I know you know...

you and...

your lawyer...

took all that...

away from him...

and then...

the kids...

to really stir...

the pot...

to bring it...

to a rich...

and steamy froth...

who gets the brats...

who stood there...

whining...

by your side...

while you...

dishonored him...

it really is...

a Halloween kitsch...

son of a bitch...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Art: by unknown

The Visitors

Have you ever...

wondered why...

you have...

no friends...

they don't...

stop by...

they never chat...

they never spin...

they never whisper...

to begin a...

love affair...

or conversation...

what the crap...

is stopping them...

am I...

so ripe...

like...

week old meat...

I look...

like hell...

I smell...

like feet...

or never bathe...

or wear...

too much cologne...

I tell you...

friend...

you aren't alone...

they have us...

all in solitary...

who are we...

so awful'y bad...

or well informed...

they...

don't want out...

what we...

could blab...

or are we...

fenced...

corralled...

confined...

for some...

entirely other...

arbitrary thing...

now...

I ask you...

is this all...

a test...

a frikkin...

nightmare dream...

some psycho...

governmental scream...

on drugs...

they slipped in...

our ice cream...

or...

mushroom ring...

that keep's us...

down in basements...

maybe...

we are writers...

who are building...

on our characters...

or actors...

who are seeking...

someone's motivation...

maybe...

baby maybe...

we are on...

some creep'n vessel...

out in...

deep black space...

and we have...

damn well...

been abducted...

and we'd...

never know...

aside from...

real nasty music...

piped in...

just days away...

from some...

illicit destination...

where we...

wake up...

with a finger...

in our ass...

and...

some jerk...

telling us...

it's just business...

or...

s'pose they didn't...

do a thing...

and we...

really are...

that different...

cause...

we don't need...

backing cameras...

or GPS...

to navigate...

from...

block to block...

or little writings...

coming out...

our toilet roll...

instructing us...

to wipe...

our butt...

I watch them...

all on laptops...

and their smartphones...

and their artpads...

and their emotes...

and they're not...

from here...

they won't...

say hi...

nor show...

one sign...

acknowledging...

we live...

or die...

or breath...

the ample...

toxic air...

they've made...

the chemtrail soup...

that suits them...

to a tee...

they're not...

down here...

for you...

or me...

and have...

this damned...

antennae wire...

dangl'ing...

from their ear...

who are they...

dear  the hell...

you say...

well...

all I know's...

there's more...

humanity in...

a stool sample...

these days...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Pan's Garden

Oh Pan...

great guardian...

in nature...

pastor'l god...

of faun Arcadia...

blessings...

reign...

with all...

your people ever...

from a land...

demoralized...

of doubt...

and dying...

of it's error...

I knock...

one shepherd...

with...

a tiny flock...

upon...

your forest portal...

please...

lord...

of pleasured pastures...

mountain fastnesses...

whose sweet...

erotic air's...

so quicken we...

thy quiet piping's...

stir...

thou rustic...

innocence so free...

we humb'ly bow...

whose door...

pray eros open...

to us now...

for...

life of love...

itself...

I know...

you honor here...

so twigs from...

that eternal dew...

thy progeny...

may spring...

to play...

upon the hills...

as God inspired...

of poetry...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Art: Pan's Garden, by Edward Burne-Jones

Here it is

I look around...

and this is...

what I see...

as vast...

as ocean...

unsustainability...

governments...

no longer can...

nor schools...

nor cures...

nor work...

in all unsuitability...

yet...

let us all...

pretend...

it will not...

end...

in any brutal way...

though...

every single day...

more certainty...

is heaped...

and war...

stands waiting...

to unleash...

it's horror...

do humans now...

feel overwhelmed...

alone with death...

confess the fear...

unspoken of...

affecting...

all of us...

of earth itself...

and...

here it is...

our one true...

test...

is honesty...

have we...

the gall...

to look it...

in the face...

have we...

the testicles...

of faith...

to change...

our awful ways...

that we might...

all begin again...

or...

would we rather...

in our selfish...

misery...

contend it hopeless...

to commit...

to end...

our long journey...

nothing's ever easy...

yet...

in order to...

correct those things...

we must...

we must undo...

those things...

we've done...

and rather quickly...

nothing is impossible...

the opposite...

of death...

for all...

is life...

for all...

and good to...

come of history...

the choice...

seems crystal clear...

as one example...

here...

let men assume...

their lives...

by cancelling...

assembly lines...

and gadgetry...

and robot'ry...

and endlessly configuring...

why flesh...

must go away...

to be replaced...

by cold...

and soul'ess apogees...

of your brilliance...

so...

so what...

you can...

so what...

must life...

then...

end...

for your allure...

to get...

it's head out...

of it's ass...

must I speak...

LOUDER...

are you deaf...

JESUS CHRIST...

we haven't time...

for this...

we haven't time...

for this...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Play Ball!

Each and every...

disappointment...

now...

a further revelation...

liniment...

the pitcher's arm...

if there's...

the slightest indication...

of a likelihood...

to score...

and bench him...

for...

an inning more...

or three...

the best...

are benched...

the worst...

are wooed...

the crowd...

goes wild...

the vict'ry skewed...

sport sure isn't...

what it once...

was dude...

there are no...

balls...

upon the field...

now...

just segments...

of complete control...

from press booths...

where...

the cam'ras...

roll and glitch...

and owners...

off the sides...

are counting billions...

getting rich...

in ev'ry game...

it is the same...

as long as...

people stand..

in cues...

allowing scalpers...

gratitude...

for robbing them...

for rules...

were written...

as a token...

once...

when honest men...

were playing...

ev'ry child believed...

in hero's...

now...

the whole...

damn thing...

is gone...

and all...

that you believed...

is wrong...

and...

you...

sport's fans...

have...

made it happen...

victory...

at any cost...

to hell...

so...

all the rules...

were tossed...

to satisfy...

your selves...

now...

the lions...

eat the christians...

gladiators...

beat the piss...

from anyone...

and you just...

ROAR...

and cast...

your little...

devil sign...

and scream...

for more...

how sad...

how sad...

and small...

you are...

and this...

is what...

it's all become...

the beast alive...

in every one...

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Old times

The older he gets...

the more he regrets...

that he hadn't...

got here before...

cause...

his analog way's...

from the...

good old days...

are all...

he's hanker'n for...

the digital crap...

done faded back...

as he hum's...

what his soul...

can hear...

the Dorsey brothers...

Tommy and Jimmy...

and Goodman...

come clear'r...

and clear'r...

he's a hardwired...

fart...

with a glow...

in his heart...

from...

an old time...

vacuum tube...

he loves those...

high fidelity tunes...

that helped men...

win a war...

he spins a dish...

with his...

kitchen miss...

standing...

by his side...

he's glad... 

she chose...

back...

fifty years ago...

to be his bride...

she's an analog chic...

with her...

dear old stick...

and she...

lets him know...

as they... 

dance away

the night...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Tea bag romance

If you are a bag...

steeped in tradition...

what is...

your teacup's...

mad ambition...

how far...

will it go...

does it warm...

to you only...

lean over...

and pluck...

on your string...

and say...

honey...

or cream...

is the water...

all right...

a bit hot...

to my taste...

well...

why not...

oh...

you rake...

are you trying...

to spoon with me...

cozy...

come here...

I'm a listener...

let it all go...

ahhh...

that's what I...

wanted to hear...

how sweet...

my dear...

sip slowly...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015