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Monday, January 6, 2020

Joe Balaz Sings of the Caracal, What's Beneath the Waves, and a Kite on the Moon

SLOW DOWNFALL


Dere’s da lynx and da caracal
by da cheetah and da cougar

standing next to da margay
and da leopard

along wit da serval and da jaguar

while da lion and da tiger
play tag wit da ocelot—


You get da idea
I like big cats

da moa wild da bettah.


Da key word heah dough
 is “wild”

cause I no like look at da buggahs
in wun cage.


Turn da prisoners loose
if you ask me.


Dose setups in city zoos
are just scientific circuses

witout da whips
and flaming hoops.


Dats why I no mind
da nature programs

filming da huge felines
in dere own habitats.


Even dough dey stay endangered
dey are bettah off

being wheah dey supposed to be.


If da buggahs go extinct
den dats da way it is.


It’s not like dis planet
nevah see radical changes before.

Go ask da saber-toothed tiger
about dat.


As da world is squeezed

in da face of development
and technology

some wonderful  tings
are gonna be lost.


While all of dis happens

I rather be wun neutral observer
to da slow downfall

rather den wun animal keeper
holding nature against its will

so dat its creatures
can exist as side shows

in pay to see jail cells.




CHALLENGING AS IS

Christine no can do it anymoa

visiting and trying to help out
wen she’s not even wun relative.

She feels kinnah bad
and hates to sound distant

but she knows
she gaddah tink about herself.


It must be wun very confusing
state of being

wen da sun is blotted
out of da sky

and all da familiar faces
no longer have any names.


Sitting deah
wit her ailing acquaintance

and observing da restless sea
from da surface

Christine fully realizes

dat she has no idea
wat is going on beneath da waves.


She’s struggling wit her compassion

and by no means can she imagine
wun halo above her head

cause lately she feels
as if she’s drawing inward.


Her world is hectic
and is challenging as is.

Dere’s no silver spoon
in her purse

dat she can fling at da clouds
to induce wun rainfall of plenty.


Christine has given everyting she can.


Wen she gets back to her own place
and accesses da  new reality

she rationalizes and lets go
like many people eventually do.


Opening her refrigerator
Christine finds

dat wit all of her recent running around

she needs to get some fast food again

cause da only ting worth eating
is wun box of uncooked chicken

but da pieces are frozen solid
harder den her newly changed heart.




LIKE LOTS OF TINGS

Like Buddha
taking wun selfie.

Like hunters
eating vegetable soup.

Like eternal peace
aftah da bomb explodes.

Like Santa and Satan
wit da same letters.

Like ants
in wun birdcage.

Like wun priest
in wun whorehouse.

Like wun kite
on da moon.

Like wun refrigerator
in wun igloo.

Like virgins
wit experience.

Like feelings
to wun robot.

Like wun monk
wit wun Mercedes.

Like convictions
made of vapors.

Like silver spoons
in wun orphanage.

Like wun praying mantis
witout claws.

Like dyslexia
to wun blind man.

Like light
to wun black hole.

Like concentric ripples
reversing.

Like mirrors
in wun parallel universe.

Like wun elephant’s trunk
searching through papers.

Like lots of tings 
dat keep you blinking and tinking.




Joe Balaz has created works in American English and Hawaiian Islands Pidgin (Hawai'i Creole English).

He presently lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and he is the author of Pidgin Eye.

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