CRAZY WORLD

Penguins parade in the arctic air,
while butterflies swarm on the ginkgo
tree. Icarus mounts to the sky testing
his new steel wings.

Twisting and turning-haphazardly, the
labyrinths of reason are contorted things.
The snow burns brightly as the kangaroos
sing raunchy, ribald songs.

The elevator mounts to the sky piercing
purple clouds. A flock of ducks sing
The Hallelujah Chorus while pygmies gather
earth worms.

Hot air balloons fly upside down. Windows
rattle as the Eiffel Tower comes crashing
down. The penguins abandoned their
tuxedos in favor of warm winter coats.

Am I the only one sane one in this crazy
world?

- Mike Berger

(featured in the poetry forum 02.27.10)

FLOWER CHILD

She could easily be one hundred.
Dandelion wine still oozes from her
pores. She once wore daisies in
her hair.
She should just be hitting her stride
but she is haggard and bent.
The carefree years
are gone.
She once had dreamy
visions of changing a cruel world.
There were no mores to stifle her;
she banged a thousand guys.
But when you danced a
wild dance, the
piper must be paid. Gray matted hair
hangs in her face. Lines are etched
a mile deep. Her hips need to be
replaced;
she can't walk.
Life was once a plumb to be picked.
It was a lark, free and wild.
No more!
She exists in a state run center.

- Mike Berger

(featured in the poetry forum 06.27.09)

HE'S DYING

Chris reeks of urine. Bleeding needle marks turned his arms blue.
His eyes are glazed and he shows no emotion. Heroin has taken
its toll. He's unaware that I'm there.

He's dying.

Dying slowly dose by dose. He begins to shake and quiver. He
needs another fix. The methadone will stop the shakes but it is
as bad as the real stuff. I inject a syringe full. Serenity returns
in just a few seconds. Eyes closed and he smiles; not realizing

He's dying.

Usually we try to wean the user off-detoxify. Not Chris. He's burned
out his brain and his kidneys are failing. He looks ghastly pale and
his eyes are yellow. He doesn't respond to sound or light. He sits
like an amorphous lump of clay waiting to be returned to the earth.

He's dying

Once a businessman whose partner stole him blind. He never
recovered. He has robbed, stolen, begged and borrowed. He's
burned every bridge in town. He lived in a fleabag hotel and
survived on an SS check. His family disowned him. His wife has
remarried. He is now too far gone to cry. The deep tragedy is
that nobody cares

He's dying.

- Mike Berger

(featured in the poetry forum 06.01.09)

TATTERED CHILD

Eyes are the mirror;
they speak of ugly things.
Melancholy drips
from trusting eyes.

Tattered flesh; black and
torn where the belt buckle gouged.
Too traumatized to cry.
Suffering brought on by a
drunken stupor.

The child escapes his
drunken father's wrath
by hiding in the dark corners
of his mind; he watches fish
in a mental aquarium.

His scars will never fade.
He will turn to the dark
side with anger and violence or
become a cipher, walked on by
everyone.

Either way, we'll triple dose him
with meds and steal away
any chance of being
a real human being.

- Mike Berger

(added 06.01.09)

CHAMPION FOREVER

My friend won every match and
now he gets to wrestle the world's
champion. A giant of a man from
the heart of Russia; undefeated.
He stood like a rock pillar. They
call him the Russian Monster.

The first period was an exercise
of moves and counter moves.
Neither man gained an advantage.
In the second period my friend was on top.
The battle was fierce and it turned into
epic proportions. The battle was
momentarily stopped to wipe sweat
from the mat. No points were scored.

In the third. My friend used his secret
weapon. He came flying out and behind
the monster. The old Russian flayed
and fought to loosen the vices that
held his left wrist and right ankle.

The last few seconds seemed like hours
as the two Titans struggled. The whistle
blew and my friend had done the impossible.
He had beaten the Russian monster.

The monster stood; there was a smile on
his face. He approached my friend, took
his face in his huge hands and kissed
my friend's cheek. He grinned and nodded.
The old champ turned and walked off the mat
with his head held high. He was a champion
even in defeat. I wiped tears from my eyes.

- Mike Berger

(added 06.01.09)