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.

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