Goatsmell's Idea Box


Reflective of Stuff

I look in the mirror and see my father’s face

Lines are a-startin’ to draw

Down like a bad day in the Dow Jones

Sculpting a frown that only gravity will love

I look through space and see my father’s moves

So slick and fast compared to what he was

So destined to be entrenched

Into a Hall of Fame with only one exit

And one tiny entrance

Oh, those moves…

Pull my finger (I always did)

“That’s for nothing.  Wait until you do something.”

(I always did prefer nothing)

Or the famous thousand-yard stare

And 20 degrees down

It’s in the eyebrow, not the eye

Right at the apex of the hairy arch

Dawn of the Dad was long ago

Grandfathered away into long, farty nights

I wonder…will I?

Will I sleep in an easy chair instead of a bed?

Will John Wayne be on the television

As I slip into snorgly, gorgly sleep?

Could I hold a glass of scotch perfectly level

As my body slides, Cirque du les lune

Into near prone positions?

So easy in the easy chair

He has moves, my father

He has perfected them

His body bears the round, soft shape

Of a near sphere of ecstatic old age

Spare, Soft, Single

Sometimes you will encounter


So stupidly formidable

That all you can think to do

Is stare at it and try not to blink

And wonder how the hell

How the hell?

You’re going to get through it


All you can do is breathe

Breathe through it

And feel

Feel that thread of your own breath

That spare, soft, single line

Running through you

From your first cry

To your last rite

Feel the coolness as it

Graces your in-breath

Feel the warmth as it

Blesses your out-breath

Feel your chest expand

As you make room for your heart

Seemingly forever cramped into

That too, too

Too-small space

Feel the rocking, the oceanic roll

As your lungs hold and caress

Your once old, cold soul

Expand, expand

Feel the point where you end

And the universe begins

Expand, expand

Be gracious until the thread

Of your breath

Straightens and brightens

This is kindness

This is compassion

Apr 7
Apr 5
Apr 3

A Shatnerian Love Poem

When I find myself in times of trouble

Mother Mary never speaks to me anymore

So I ask Captain Kirk what he would do

That good ol’ smirk works his face

 And he says

Nothing much, just one, good flying leg kick

If that turns out to be not enough mustard

For that particular crap sandwich

Then, a well-placed karate chop

Right at the base of the neck

Will make sure the bastard stays down

Now that’s practical advice and It sure beats that love, kindness and compassion

But if you can’t fix something with your hands

And work that problem like sourdough

Then just work yourself up into parboiled rage

Yell:  “Khhhhhaaaaaannnn!”

Until your eyes water and twitch Until your diaphragm inverts Until your colon is spastic

Beats the hell out of Spock’s usual approach

Like a recipe for the galaxy’s driest cake:

Stoically apply logic to the problem

Analyze it in all shades of light Dispassionately

When that fails, just lose your Vulcan Shit

Rip off the offending prick’s head

And shit down his neck

Then smash the room, with his dead body

I’d think the Good Captain is more compassionate

Than his first officer

PEACE: it does not mean to be in place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

- (via theglasschild)

(Source: mountainmusing)


nothing will fuck you up as much as the realization that there’s no real reason the alphabet needs to be in order

Mar 5

These days I’m more afraid of warm beer than my own death.

- Me to the cat

Be strong. Be amazing. Do more than endure the days. Know that you are appreciated. Know that you are loved.

- Me to the cat

Feb 6

To avoid criticism say nothing, do nothing, be nothing.

- Aristotle (via anindelibleline)