Poetry: Selections from Ken Kakareka

Eat The Sun

 

The wear

n’ tear

of life

can ravage

one’s soul

like a pack

of vultures

on a

decaying

carcass.

But if you

protest

loud enough.

If you

remember

to take

control

and have fun.

Then your soul

will shine

so bright,

it might

blind

the sun

when you

crash

into it

like a blazing

asteroid.

 

Sonnet 130 Reboot

 

it was our

anniversary night;

my wife got mad

b/c i posted something

before running it

by her.

“what’s wrong?”

i said.

“you didn’t let me

edit it. that’s not

a good picture

of me.”

“every picture

with you in it

is a good one.”

that put me back

on the board.

her skin started

changing recently –

alopecia.

she felt insecure

about it.

“it’s all the

imperfect things

i love about you

that make you

beautiful to me.”

“which are?”

“your crooked teeth

and sprouting grey hairs.”

“what else?”

“your big nose

and bulging eyes.”

i had her licking

my palm.

“what else

is imperfect

about me?”

“well, i know

you miss

your skin tone

lately

but I love

all your new spots

like a big, sexy cow.”

WHACK!

she clubbed me

upside the head.

“what the fuck,

babe!”

“take down the post

you idiot.

no anniversary sex

for you tonight.”

i wobbled to

the living room

and turned on

the tube.

there was

j. fallon

with his stupid,

fake laugh.

i laughed along

with him b/c

what else

could you do?

 

 

Response to Flannery O’Connor

 

A good man

is hard to find

because

a good man

is hard to be.

You don’t think

I want to

run around

like the

fictionalized character

Hank Moody

and fuck

half of Venice?

My dad’s

like that.

It’s different when

it’s not glorified

on tv.

Women don’t want

a man-child;

they want

a man.

More coffee

than whiskey.

Shooting down

shenanigans

and burying them.

Flushing bullshit

down the toilet

and taking on

responsibility.

Now,

that’s a man

Ah-men.

 

Cunt Devil

 

I was in a room

with a bunch of

Hollywood writers

and producers.

They brought me in

to write after

the big strike,

which I wasn’t

a part of –

too passive.

Somehow,

I got a call

to come work.

Everyone in the room

was high.

LA was baked,

even the blue street signs

were faded.

This town loved

their weed.

An original thought

hadn’t pestered us

all morning.

We’d been sitting

around

pitching abysmal ones.

I was the only one

not high.

“What about

Cunt Devil?”

I said.

“The premise

is a pussy

that takes risks,

like a stunt devil.

Alongside her

is a douchey,

A-list actor

named Dick.”

We were going

for a new animated show

like Big Mouth.

The women winced.

I got up

to refill my coffee.

Where was Bukowski

when I needed him?

 

It

 

It’s more

important

to me

to be

prolific

than

profound.

I know

I don’t have

it,

I have

it.

The underdog

Philly blood

that sings

and chants

and climbs

light poles

after

they’ve been

greased.

Determination

that drives up

the Rocky steps

and boxes thin air

and hops around

on limber toes.

The bulldog

not the brains

that Brian Dawkin’s

its way

thru a wall

of 250 lb. men

in pads

and helmets.

I have it.

Wit

and grit

to haul my ass

as far as

I wanna go

to learn

as much as

I wanna know.

Ken Kakareka is the author of 2 novels - Summer of Irresponsibility (Alien Buddha Press, 2023) and Late to Bed, Late to Rise (Black Rose Writing, 2013). His words have appeared or are on their way in numerous rags including Gargoyle Magazine, Route 7 Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, New Pop Lit, and mas. A list of selected publications can be found at kenkakareka.com.