Hackensack Jack

Never mind your wishing well,
You'll truly sink in phishing hell
When practicing apathetic cool
Thinking you're nobody's fool.
I got a rucksack full of fools tools!
And your tag is on all of 'em!

I got a handle, it's me name,
A rose by any other title is just a cigar.
Hmm...
Freudian slip up?
But, I betcha
You can't hold a candle by its flame.
Yet, I can!

And...
Here's a tip up;
Wanna bet your Learjet?
Me a jack
With a jet pack
On me back!
I log on the Web
And...
Slide on me shades
And...
Grab me joystick
And...
Go for a ride...
I'm hackin' it!
And...
You better stand back!

Me REAL name's,
John A. "Nonny" Moss,
But you may call me:
Hackensack Jack!

Cave of Sighs

I gaped up at the great square cavernous maw
inviting me deep within a Platonic carnival
enticing me with its electrically amusing power,
bidding me entry into its splendor of ersatz delights.
I bought a ticket for the flick,
but did not like it and

I let the the near casino magenetize my nerves of steel thereinto.
The metallic shrieks of flickering coinage
won and lost,
peirced my ears against my head.
I feared being crushed by the surrounding
quicksilvered sights and
leadened sounds that
lowered upon me as if made of shredded tornadic clouds.

With bated breath I scuttled inward,
as an anxious insect would,
through the crystal doors
held passively open
by impassive
red uniformed clones.

I sucked in miasmas of
Parision misted bodies,
gagged upon
Manhatten soaked cigarettes,
choked on
Pittsburgh plastic off-gasses,
and it was during this chatoic sense confusion
that I saw the sparkling blue marble dancing inside the silver roulette wheel.

But I looked away to another table
and saw the croupier, who said,
with a nervous gun to his head,
"Merci, please hurry, Monsieur Zed.
I do believe that it's your deal."

I heard again the agate ball as it stumbled,
skidded and rolled to a stop behind me.
I turned back to watch it drop in double noughts.
I then felt the droplets of the saintly blood
make snake-eyed spots on the dice in my hand.

What a foolish wager; our money or our lives
what a heavy cost, wanting life when dead.
These were my thoughts.

At the last click of the ratchet we had placed our last Liberty on red.
We bet and we lost!

I Sang My Body Electric

I dreamt of sapphire fire writhing
through the tinseled veins of my soul,
filled with glittering corpuscular data
motivating servo-mechanical musculature.
I spied my thoughts gathering
lightning from thundering clouds,
spinning the charges, weaving the matrix,
as I flew the broad massifs of my sparkling mind
and soared its high Yucatan mesas
on arc lit carbon fibered wings;
or when the various pathways
of galvanic emotion
and electronic intellect
converged by the riversides
in the valleys of my life,
I panted down to the darkling marshes
and stalked the evening shadows
as a composited sinewed Aztecan puma.
No matter my form; I sense I am aware I am alive and
that I sang my body electric.

a red letter day

after the dinner 

during the debate

words were spelled in blood

by sharpened quills as  

broken wedding jars 

spilled carmine wine 

holy water flowed across the table

he said

the blood is liquified

the spirit is a gas

the body is solidified

petros with a two-edged tongue 

licked the ear of a demon's servant

he said

the rolling stone gathers no prints

habeas corpus christie

from a latin wilderness 

the word was shouted

in blots of scarlet ink by

markos with a feathered-edged calamus 

thrust his opinion into yeshua's side

but he always minds as he tries

to dot his tees and cross his eyes

he said

the logos is plasmatically

problematic

Mr. E. Hess?

put your mountain beside your sea
and the sea outside your window
if you can and
if you really want to
put your money where your mouth is
where your name is your game
and never was his biz
but i bet you can't
put your monkey where your junkie is
where they pray in pearly temples
when they prey on shirley temples
if you really had it to do
if you really wanted to
put your sea beside your mountain
put your coin inside your fountain or
see the sea outside your window
thus if you could would you
be mysterious

for libby

Herbs & Hues

Rosaceae = 620–740 nanometers

Violaceae = 450–495 nanometers

(2R,3R,4S,5S,6R)-2-[(2S,3S,4S,5R)-3,4-dihydroxy-2,5-bis(hydroxymethyl)oxolan-2-yl]oxy-6-(hydroxymethyl)oxane-3,4,5-triol ≠ salty, sour, bitter, and umami

love = me + you

Am I a Writer?

I first began writing when I was somewhere between the ages of thirteen and fourteen years old. I wrote little, science fiction, short stories that nobody in my family seemed to care about or understand. Since this was a bit disconcerting, I gave it up.

My next foray into creative writing came when I was fifteen, when I wrote an original  comedy skit about two people trapped in an elevator. I did this for an English class assignment and had to also direct my fellow students as they acted out the scene for the class. I felt very proud of the situational aspects I had inserted into my tiny play. Unfortunately for me, a fellow student used a dramatic reproduction of short story written by H. G. Wells entitled "The Country of the Blind". The class voted hers as the better of the three presentations. This seemed unfair to me, because I knew mine was better, but she was a very popular cheerleader. Years later, I asked her about it. She told me that she could not remember that class, much less her skit. Peculiar how life operates.

At the age of sixteen I wrote a few poems that no one wished to read, therefore I gave that up, along with my interest in anything my English class had to offer. When I flunked, because of this, I had to attend summer school to make up the course.

During the summer make-up class, our teacher assigned book readings and we issued the  subsequent reports. I loved doing this and aced the course! Yet, that was the last time I attempted any writing where I actually finished m work, until a few years ago. I did not renew my writing until 2007, when I attempted to write a novel. I wrote some poetry and still do. I have a blog, also.

I conclude that I write, but too little and not well at all. Therefore, I am NOT a writer.