Critisism

Looking into the mirror
At my own ugly mug
Can be hard
But I can still pretend to be beautiful
Can focus on the niceties
My eyes
Lips
Smile
All that gushy just soaring out
But
Looking out a window
Can be harder
When I can't pretend away
The shocked stare of passerby
The creased lines and the critical curves
Aimed towards me scope-like and hunting
Perhaps putting clothes on would help
Or just improving my posture
Either way I
Pull the shade
And try to write better poetry
(Or just stay in the mirror)

©2002 Harry R. Fagel
ARR

Crazy Hair

The crazy haired baby
Resplendent in jammies
Looks out through blue eyes and smiles
The wind flips his mop
This way and that
Like dandelions gently ruffling
He kvetches sometimes
Crying and sniffling
Wishing for a real nipple but
Mom is off to work
This plastic thing don't fool him much
So he lets me know in his only way
Communicating with a holler that
He knows better
I feel his aura
Truly a love beam that shines out from him
Lights my day
Lights everyone's day
Crazy haired baby
Chubby fists fight the air
Chubby legs kick and flail
He sees me and crinkles up
His smile is the end of suffering
You can't help but smile too
Beautiful crazy haired baby
I love you

For Jacob Copyright 2003 Harry R. Fagel arr

Carl

Carl was a muppet fucker
Kermit and the rest holed up and sitting on his night stand
He did the voices as he pumped in and out
In and out
They always screamed love for him in the end
His favorite was Yoda
Wise and ancient
His secrets were always fondly sought
Carl him loved yess yess
He always best loved him
One day Carl died
Puppet precariously perched when they found him
Naked and smiling
Pee-Wee's playhouse soundtrack in the background
Playing taps for him

Copyright 2002 Harry R. Fagel ARR

Booze Rant

Fighting back the Urge
To purge these words and
Erase myself again
Is uphill or bigger at times
But I sit and type anyway
Denying the frailty I face on a
Blank page
The sadly sad sad paper glaring white and
Unmarked
But for these mad ravings
The alcohol blurring my
Art like
Smeary skies or
wet sugar
or kisses in the sand
Gritty but bearable and
Lingering
Curse my art
And its demand but keep it as a
Sacred Lover
I walk with it like all great passions
Thin lines between Love and Hate and
Banality
Wisps of real
Real
Meaning spin out on occasion but mostly everything is
Autistic
Genius hidden in the
Moronity
Flowers in the
Manure
Shafts of light
Piercing storm clouds for seconds barely seen by
Naked eyes
Yet still the words flow
I hope Mankind will find them someday
Hidden in clay pots in mountain caves and
Brought forth into the light
Turned this way and that and beamed with
Radioactive isotopes
And creating wonder and puzzlement and questions of
Creation and in my long gone grave my long gone bones will
Laugh
Knowing it was all just a
Booze rant

Copyright 2002 Harry R. Fagel ARR

Batter

She hides the money ol' jelly jar
If he finds it he'll kill her for sure
She wants to run so far so far
The Righteous sit back and hypothesize the reason for his allure
But he beats her
And she goes back
She's simply too impure
Wide eyed little kiddies hold breath
Waitin' for the smacking sound
5 year old who prays for death
Rather than see mama on the ground
Again again again
Lost little angel child waitin to be found
Calling the cops it not an answer
Daddies fists just get more furious
Oh can't someone please cure this cancer
Its getting far to serious
The scholarly hold their chins and nod
Her behaviors oh so curious
So pennies and nickels and dimes go in
And slowly her nest egg builds
Shangri-la she'll take her brood her kin
If it's the good Lords will
But Daddy found the jelly jar
And that's why she was killed

Copyright 2001 Harry R. Fagel arr

Diet (Right)

I'm gonna have to lay off the diet thing. I will begin soon, and when I do this site will be the first to know. Wow, that really is super weak. Oh well.

Baby J

My thanks to the Editors of "Off the Cuffs" where this poem was first published. Check it out from soft skull press.

Moby walks down Twain Avenue
Searching for crack from the passing
Dealers
Carrying his 6 month old daughter in his arms
Like a shield against their violence
C'mon man jus' 10 dollars
Even the sharks don?t want to dance with him
His baby shivering in the post dusk chill
Wrapped loosely in a filthy blanket that
Reeks of burnt plastics
His skin is shiny to me
His leprosy showing through in places
Especially his eyes
As I stand him tall in front of my
Ghetto flagship
Red and blue lights bouncing wall to wall
Scaring up the roaches that scuttle endlessly
How the fuck
How the fuck
How the fuck
Can you do that man?
Buy crack with your daughter
In your arms
I imagine Some long lost episode of Twilight Zone
Where its Christmas in Hell and the Zombies shop
With the innocent in tow
Beckoning the shadow demons to
Come close
Come closer
Sell me my need
Don?t mind the little one
She?s just holdin? my soul for me
Back to the moment I'm just so
Amazed
Amazed
As I hold the Fragile Infant
In my arms
And see her look at me lost but not afraid
Knowing in her heart that I am here to save her perhaps
But me knowing that sooner than not she will be back
With her crack smoking
Mommy and Daddy
Wandering the world with them
Buying drugs until they die
Or she escapes
Metamorphosis to a butterfly and just
Sails away in the morning breeze
Leaving glass pipes and needle marks
Tattooed on the ground behind her
In a hovel where the miserable clutch themselves and cry
The clay in me becomes just a little
Harder but I let it crack a little so
Some honey can pour out
Just a drop
Just a drop
Enough to sweeten Heavens tongue in silent prayer
G-d protects drunks and little child-ren so I hope she
Flies I pray she Flies I Swear she'll fly
As I drop her off at the Clark County Child Protective Services
Building

Copyright 2000 Harry Fagel

Baby Dreams

Standing over you in
past midnight darkness
seeing your tiny form
nearly shapeless under blankets
Watching you sleep
little hands relaxed and arms
wide open
as if to hug the mattress and
thank it for its comfort
Sometimes hearing
Sometimes seeing
and Sometimes reaching out and
feeling for your
Baby breath that swooshes softly out
of you
in perfect rhythm with Mother Earth
What dreams have you
Spinning colors and floats of merriment
Or fantastic beings like angels and smiling dogs
Mommy sits with open eyes and Daddy soars you
Through endless airgames
What dreams have you
Simple things
Cookies that stay cookielike when bitten
and blades of grass that shoot cool sparks when you
Pluck them in amazement from endless parks
Talking balloons that laugh and play
Soaring around you like butterflies
What dreams have you
People in love
looking at each other in bliss and happiness
Strangers not conceptualized
All people are good.
What dreams have you
G-d and light
I hear you talk about la la la
Can you feel my heart across this room?
I watch. And wonder about baby dreams.
And wish I could dream them too.

Copyright 2003 Harry R. Fagel arr

Ass Pig

I am the ass pig
I can do anything

First day blown

Wow this diet started out fagnificient. First I had a "detour bar" then a rice bowl, then two bagels with turkey and mustard than a slice of birthday cake then some pistachios then some (7 or 8) Hershey's chocolate nuggets then some trail mix then some sunflower seeds and then
A bottled water.

So much for day one. Tommorow is a brand new start!!!

Weight Loss (again)

Fat is eminent...

Once again I have ballooned up to an unacceptable level of triglycerides, cholesterol and lipids. In other words, I have brought this fatness upon myself. Sure I'm not the obese sack of doo-doo that one would hide embarrassment for as they sauntered their way down the buffet dessert line, however, I am conscience of the fact that my pants are beginning to let me know..."Hey we're too fucking tight here pal!" So once again I dust off my motivation and make way for a new and brighter and skinnier me. So prepare to hear my trials and tribulations, my triumphs over french fries and my defeats by apple pie, as I embark on a "Real World" rendetion of "Fat Destroyer 2003" Starring...ME.
Enjoy

Antipoet

To me
Poetry is not a bridge game
Is not a crossword puzzle or a
Sewing circle
It does not transcend the stupid nor
Invigorate the lazy
It is not a mighty pedestal to lift the otherwise
talentless
It is one of two expressions
To the inner heart not meant to be shared
To the outer world
Meant to be understood by many
and hopefully
Appreciated
In other words
Art
If I write a poem am I then a poet?
If I sell it to someone am I then a poet?
If someone likes it or hates it or fucks it
Am I then a poet?
We are so self titled
My title then is
Antipoet
I am for the useful creation of words
To move me to
Lift me or to
Slaughter me
And I hear the self proclaimed poets
Speaking loudly (to themselves)
Masturbating and
Ejaculating self praise and calling it
Poetry
So I am the antipoet
I only write what I know
Feel
Think and
See
I don't give a
Shit if other poets like it
As long as
Non poets do
So I am the antipoet
And a
Hypocrite for putting this on the poetry web group
But
Still
The antipoet
Have some balls
Write what you really think
Instead of tossing off with
Scrabble

Copyright 2002 Harry R. Fagel ARR

Angerman

Reprinted from "Street Talk"

Angerman bobs down the street like
Cork on a river his foul mouth poppin' and pippin'
'Motherfuckers fucked me like a rectum change
my diaper motherfucker you got to see my love cock
Yeah Yeah?
Angerman jolts and rebounds
Curb taffty bending under deliberate prancing
Angerman don't mind he's really cooking
Afro? wild and deranged with baby birds drifting
Lazily in and out and shoelaces akimbo dunked with
Street poppies like crushed glass and empty baggies
Angerman sees you through the window and smells
your fear and loathing like Old Spice he is drawn
metal to magnet frothing bits of ancient Latin through
Fissure lips
Angerman knows you scared boy You scared fear is a womans
Scent
Fear is pussy fast cars money he ain't never seen a hot meal a lovers kiss
Not having to piss and shit in the back alleys of rundown donut houses
He on you now
Angerman raging ghetto prophet speaking in tounges
Motherfuck you white crackerspicwop man chickenbone eye
Don't don't don't electrocute me man....I don't fuck shit up shit up
Lock the door drive away
Angerman
Protect your children every day from
Angerman
Here he comes he's Angerman
Angerman got the magic power makes the heavy cars
flow around him rock in the river they never hit him I see
Him on the median every fucking day
Angerman Shaman Mojo Voodoo
He killed a man once
Told me it was self defense
Then went on to cast a spell
Shittttttt baked fries with applesauce pussy don't look at me
Ill kill you too Graham Cracker saltine bitch mother fucker
Anger man so funky
He so funky.
Angerman.
You know him. If not
He know you.

Copyright 1998-99 Harry R. Fagel

A.I.C.

Waking up I felt the inflamation in my anus
A thing that throbbed and whistled I needed
Desperately
to scratch it but you know once you scratch your butt the itch tends to get worse and worse and worser then the gift a bowel movement from somewhere deep inside the center of my colon an aching need for release that pounded my intestines like tiny fists I hoped it would be quick
So I sat on the bowl
Oh the humanity
Was all I could think as link after link of pain and frustration and misery and wheat germ uncoiled from me and
plopped plopped plopped in the azure water
It seemed I sat for a day but it was only about 48 minutes
I rose and surveyed
The ugliness was unsurpassed in these clean times so
I flushed it away gasping for breath in the uprising choking chlorine that suddenly seemed to rise from everywhere
Now the wipe
I prayed for a clean clip
for white paper to stare back at me after one or two diligent swipes
Alas it was not to be
swipe wipe swipe wipe swipe
like the fields of Alaska after the Valdez tragedy my ass was it's own
Prince William Sound
Peppering the landscape with endless smears of tar.
I knew I was doomed the itching now a Living twitching thing that tortured me my rectum an everlasting gobstopper of butt agony and
Wipe swipe wipe swipe wipe wrap paper around the finger jam it up again and again and still brown Crayola mocking me poisoning my world with its fetid redundancy
So I stood but clenching and unclenching urging me to itch
Itch itch
Honey let's go
And that day my clean white underwear nestled against the weirdly engorged button of my shame
Ageing gracefully is for people in "ensure" commercials I thought
As I cruised the aisles of the local Pharmacy praying for a swatch of carpet to rub my naked bum upon like some cracked-out beagle unicycling across the rug
but I had a cure in mind
Where do you keep your anal itch creams and ointments I shyly ask
AISLE #B yelled loudly and with just the barest hint of
Understanding
And I tromp over and find it emblazoned in mile high letters on the box
ANAL ITCH CREME
I carry my nasty little secret to the checkout
of course a Fine babe in front of me and one behind
the price check was inevitable
No I don't age gracefully
And I believe in Karma
Victim of my laughter
All my childhood long
At preparation H commercials and the
Suffering of Hemorrhoids
by the aged.

Copyright 2003 Harry R. Fagel ARR

Aging Again

Do you think I'm sexy?
Do you want my body?
Come on baby let me know...
I'm finding out without a doubt that the one thing that continues unabated
In my life is that
Without pause
for remorse
I just keep getting
Older
They (whoever they are) Say
The older you get the better you get
Sheeeeeeit
The older you get the fatter you get
Im suddenly encountering every bad embarrassing malady I used to pick on
One after another after another
Hemorrhoids swell and surge on my once pristine bung and I thought only
Chicks got Cellulite on their ass
Not to mention varicose veins and
yes the big one the alcoholic meat eater swollen joint incredibly painful
Gout
Got it!!!
And arthritis and moles and weird undulating sensations that are probably signs of
Thrombosis and
I've got Halitosis even though I floss It's just another sign I'm
getting older
and better
Sheeeeeeeeeeeit
The older you get the smarter you get
Except
Where did I put those car keys and
I'm sorry I forgot the appointment and
I could?ve sworn I wrote that check and
It's your birthday? Wow? Really?
Oops, sorry honey
Oh and those ensure commercials
Balanced nutrition for old farts I laugh but I catch myself
Pricing cans at the
Bulk supermarket
(when your old you buy in bulk you never know when you won't be able to shop)
My legs pop like champagne corks as I walk, announcing to the world
We're tired Dad! Give us a break! So I sit
and the piles say
Owwwwwwwwww were tired dad give us a break so
I lay down and
that is allright
Until it's time to get up the back creaks cracks and groans like some
Ghostly Ebeneezer Scrooge Bah humbugging the possibilities of walking
But I get up and go to the Gym
I'm fit real fit so fit but whats that smell
Ben gay Ben gay Ben gay
I can see my blue veins in my arm
Oh lord and everyone around looks like some MTV
Pretty
All dolled up ricky martin jennifer lopez style with
Hard bodies and minds
Sexin' each other for candy
And I'm relegated to finding new role models
It's obvious that Bob Dole should become my new
Idol
Viagra singin' in his soul making his weenie proud
So loud and proud and...
Hey everybody Gramps has a stiffy!
I awake sweat pooling on my chest
Bad dream nightmare not 80 yet
So I pull myself out of bed by my ear hair
And admire my baldness
I may be old.
But I'm defiantly
HOT
Don't you love my body
Don't you think I'm sexy
Come on baby
You know you do

Copyright 2003 Harry R. Fagel ARR

4 Way Stops

What is so hard about negotiating a four-way stop sign?

Again and again you hear about the shitty way people drive in Vegas. About the lack of consideration, the rude gestures, the blown red lights, the speeding or crawling, and the general disregard for the rest of the world.
I know that life is very complicated in the New Information Age, however, I just cannot figure out what is so damn difficult about the following concept:
1. The first person to arrive gets to go first
2. If two people arrive at the same time, the person on the right gets to go first.
3. Through traffic goes before turning traffic.

Thats it. No secret science or decoder ring needed. I don't think that people are too stupid to understand these concepts. What I do think it is can be summed up in one word: Cellular. Yes, cellular technology has halted the progress of peoples brains even further than ever thought possible. It's bad enough that folks are putting their make-up on, eating a ham sandwich, scratching their balls, picking their nose, or even reading a newspaper. Put someone on the phone and the rest of the world around them seems to become a gray hazy zone of infinite nothingness where only they and the lucky bastard on the other end of the line exist..

The only excusable reason for not being able to negotiate a simple stop sign is if you are on the recieving end of blowjob while driving. So for you smiling bastaads....my hats off to you. The rest of the world needs to hang up and get back to basics.

Abyss

Looking at a blank page
Seeking the rage that forms the art and
Finding only peace
Looking deeper searching the poison rivers
that once were lakes that once were
Oceans that once spanned space but now
Trickle along almost dehydrated from this complacency
I find myself in
Ennui creeping from the goodness I have found
To steal my passion and carry it far away from my minds eye
"Stop!" I cry and seek the blistering hole that has tortured me
Since childhood
Immerse
myself in its fetid depths and taste the rancor settled there the
Abuses and shamefulness and misery and failure
I wallow like a dog in filth
Catching bits and pieces of hell on my shifting skin
Memories painful slaps to bring me 'round to my angst
FATHER do you sleep well in thoughtlessness your little mensch all grown up and bearing your cross whittled down to a splinter small enough to fit in a vest pocket
I did not wither in your footsteps following you to endless liquor sunsets and seeking the dead ghosts of the past with passion better given to the living
I did not learn from you the lessons I carry now that time of fatherly teaching passing you by like the thick blood pumping past your heartlessness
I love you still just for making me but nothing more and remorse a faint nag that surfaces when I dream of being a professional football player or a rock star which is less than seldom now
I used to cry listening to Sting singing
Of taking his father away with him to strange lands and just being
But crying doesn't bring you here
MOTHER I see you lonely and feel my heart crack and sputter at all this time you sacrifice for others pretending your not but I know
I feel
I taste your sadness it spill from you in Angel tears that rip the world and stain the sky
You would never say it
But you do you just don't know it so you hide in others needs and magnify your self with pity sometimes at your being overworked but mostly overlooked and alone
Grandpa needs you now so your loneliness gets pushed to second place again
I forgave you long ago for standing fast with bad men I understand you had nowhere to go but home and so you eventually did and I'm still a good man regardless because I've always felt
Your love
The words bleeding from me now matching the tears that spill from my eyes as I wonder back
Back
Back
Regret is an easy rock to grasp to your belly
Letting it pull you down into the abyss
Feeling the sea walls rise above you as you
Cry and drown
But here is where I need to be
Tasting shit at the bottom my
Present world a paradise and free
Where I laugh with impunity and eat life like rare steak and dance
My wife and children my anchors to joy
I must visit the hell
Inside
The vault of bad things and bad ideas and just bad
And bask there for a time before I return to now the time I revel in
Thus creating the balance I need to create and
So the blank page fills with rage
And pain
and maybe hope
And I can go on again
Giving the inside out to the outside in and
Freeing those sins that
Are my buoyancy now
Catapulting me past those failures I articulated
and letting me taste a future of
Blossoming
A time of regrowth
And a harvest of change

Copyright 2003 Harry R. Fagel