Teak, The Poet Tree

  “Cowgirls” at the Bridge By Teak Kilmer   I suspect the girls are playing bridge right up until we round the ridge Most think that all they do is wag and moo and munch and maybe brag of milk cans filled for little babes I confess I have not seen them otherwise   Yet I can feel it in my thighs and in my medulla oblongata I just know that bridge they ‘gotta’ These girls they gather every day and contest for trips to Mandalay as tournaments of bridge, they play   Second prize is Monterrey The losers bracket plays croquet while Midge and Peg serve Chardonnay and the younger set does horseplay cause ‘cow-play’ is not a term today then once per year the main soiree   wherein winning cow gets special pay To the winner, the herd cow-tows and for her prays massages her parts and namastes presents a white convertible Cabriolet and enough methane gas to go all the way to the cow spa in the sky known as ‘Hay Day’   so next time you’re

  Just Plane Food By Teak Kilmer   Eating on airplanes is more dangerous than fun The sandwich I call “Attila the Hun” Inside is grease, white paste is the bun   The yogurt explodes when you peel back the seal while the coffee cup leaks all over your meal which isn’t that bad ─ less coffee to taste   and less likely palate and stomach to waste so the juice of the orange and fruit of the banana spare us the revenge of the late Santa Anna   The announcements are loud, TV’s in the ceiling Even food that is grown is in our guts reeling Grease and caffeine undulate the white flour   that stuck to intestines in less than an hour so the lines to the biffy are long and they’re slow cause the guts can’t decide to stay put or to flow

A Note of Appreciation By Teak Kilmer     West Eagle Lake Drive, Maple Grove, MN, summer, 1987… rural mail boxes about 400 feet from my girlfriend’s townhouse … door bell rings; mail man: “Hi, I thought you’d like to know. There’s no stamp on this envelope. Wouldn’t want it to be late for someone’s birthday or something, so I rang the bell.” “Wow,” I replied, “thanks. I’ll go get a stamp.”  We introduced ourselves when I returned and did our ‘good byes.’   I then reflected that he had (for a time-harried mailman) gone considerably out of his way and ultimately took time from his own personal life; I wondered how often he might be so generous. I wondered if he has been appreciated.  I, with nephews’ crayons doodled some crude art and wrote thank you sentiments – acknowledged his kindness and sacrifice (especially for someone he had never met) and left it in the mail box.   When we retrieved the post two days later, there was an unstamped envelope with my name on it.  The note inside rea

                                                                             Summer, 1946                                                                                                               May 11, 2007                                                                                                                 By Teak Kilmer                                                                                                                        Summer, 1946 … I don’t know exactly when it started. My childhood was so compressed with trauma that such distant memories refuse the recollection; but I think I was about six when the dream began.   The narrow bed was next to the outer wall, an open window at my feet and another near my head, summer fragrant breezes hoping to nudge the day’s miseries out of mind; but the task was Sisaphysisian, and so the nightmare  – nightly.   Mostly I could not even nod-off for fear of yet another visit amid my sleep. It was to last f

  Ode to the Fart: Or…to Air Is Human   A similar sound to squeezing the mustard comes the fart ─ but a lower chakra shout ─ apparently just dying to get out.   Farting may offend the masses but all do it who have asses.

  More Jokes and Stuff   I was with my sister Elizabeth and my wife JoAnn at a cabin in Big Lake, MN.   I came back from an early morning canoe trip where I was snuggling up with to some loons, and I entered a cabin and JoAnn, and Elizabeth were both screaming.   I said, “what’s wrong?”   They said, “there’s a dead mouse in the dish water.” I replied, “I suppose you want me to rescue you from this mousewash?”     Since there appears by a science and Zen that there is no time, I think someone should start a magazine called There is no Time magazine.   I like to call Deepak Chopra deeppockets shopper.   ─Spiritually, emotionally and lifestyle wise he is indeed a deeppockets shopper. ─     I was taking a class one day regarding mental health and on a break, I engaged the instructor in conservation and asked her what kinds of music she likes?   And she replied, “oh, country.”   So, I said, “oh which country?”   I was faced with a blank look and a long pause, and then she sa

  MINNESOTA SEASONS By Teak Kilmer     Spring   Sprang   Sprung I’m glad I have a lung. The nose too is convenient, As in Spring’s air I swoon obedient.   Summer   Wummer   Woo The air’s too hot to moo. But if I go soak my head I might not fall down dead.   Fall   Faller   Fallest Trees vie to see who’s baldest. Birds…take a powder For Louisiana chowder.   Winter   Wander   Wonder Ya gotta wonder did God blunder, But “no”, says he, Mr. G “Winter’s to be grateful for the other three”.