The Sad Truth

seaside shadowsadtruth

Thank you to Fish Food Magazine for publishing this photo-poem. Check it out.


How to find poetry

drop letters down wishing

wells that could be sewer drains

or take them home

send them back to sea

or return them to rain.

each word an empty carriage

or street sign to some highland emotion

or basement sentiment.

hold them with empty palms

weave them into psalms.

a poem is a city pigeon secretly having singing lessons

that don’t amount to much

or debuts Opera seria at Carnegie Hall.

or remains camouflaged in winter clouds

or counter-clockwise flight.

poetry comes easy

when it decides to make it on time

or it know nothing of time

or it is timeless.

why should poems come easy?

it’s not like they make you

coffee each morning.

they are coffee-

they are each


Home-made fly-poems.

2014-04-01 23.36.38




We have drained the metaphors of magic-

Angels playing peek-a-boo in nimbo-

Cumulus, fighting over forks of fire,

Mermaids lacing their hair in seaweed crowns.

Drifted from algae-drenched Atlantis towns;

The gnomes, lugging their dark gold, are buried,

Jack Frost melted, the sandman put to sleep.

Still, you sit with me, watching for game,

Those who float around the room have assumed

Accustomed roles: the hard nose, the comic,

The hysterical wife, the cool addict:

We have seen through their metamorphosis,

The japanese butterfly intrigues us

More than they-fine shimmering purple silk.

I’m not certain you want any answers:

They would not be formulae for planting

Mushrooms, nor how to baste a better gown

For walking late along the river banks

Many are the ways for catching rodents,

Seducing lovers, soliciting friends

They do not concern us: all are written.

The sperm does not stand upon his tail and laugh,

The egg does not whirl primly not proudly

Inviting bouquets in pre-urterine

Gardens cool with moon-dew, warm with pink suns;

A tired climb up a DNA stair,

Precise and circular, has supervened:

The bee builds his hive, sucks it dry, and dies.

At midnight, professors star at the starlight,

Lens upon lens simplifies the pattern:

There is no Hercules, no snake to kill,

The seven dancing sisters atoms

Beating time against the dull drum of chance

The universe revolves about a star

Itself wandering aimlessly and dark

Yet here you sit alive upon the lounge

Not quite tipsy, the hostess with the glass,

Acting as if someone sat between us

The way you careless the sofa’s fine fur,

That’s no game – you do not know you do it,

Some myth you never knew, keeps teaching you

To step out of the play-shine by your own light.

Ben McKulik, August 25th 1978


answer quote

Rambutan is a virgin face


– Ludwig Wittgenstein

rambutan faceless

After reading Wittgenstein’s, tractatus logico-philosophicus, I decided to look at the world of fruit, vegetables and nuts through Wittgenstein’s eyes and this series is what I came up with!