Chris LaMay-West

Five Poems

 

 

Jungian Encounters

 

Breath condensing into icy white clouds of clarity

as my legs strained up

the cracked cement sidewalk

I was hit

with shock quickened pulse

and catch in throat

at the sight of a shadow on the wall

lean and bent forward in the still, chill night,

making fast progress behind me.

Here He was:

the unwelcome

random

violent

stranger

who always lies in wait

on city streets at night.

Then I laughed to recognize it as my own Shadow

thrown backwards

by the astringent light of the yellow streetlamp

up the hill.

I am delighted

that He holds no more dread for me this night.

But I would have laughed less

and feared more

to run across my Anima

in some dark alleyway.

 

 

I Am Standing On the Portico of Doom

 

I am standing

on the portico of doom

being offered

the seat of doom

about to have

the lemonade and salted fruit of doom.

Doom plans to have a long leisurely chat with me.

As we watch towering thunderclouds of doom form

Doom complains

about how hot and humid it’s been recently.

Later we may move inside

to the living room of doom
and watch

the television of doom.

Perhaps we’ll see

the sitcoms of doom.

Or maybe the doom evening news

(which has very skimpy coverage

of international doom).

If something good is on

we may stay up late

as the cool flickering TV glow

dances across the couch of doom.

Then I’ll take the shower of doom

and retire

to the quilted bedspread and matching pillows

of the guest room of doom.

In the morning

Doom will fix

scrambled doom

fresh-squeezed doom

and doom and hominy.

That will be a nice start

to a fresh new day.

 

 

Humanity shivers, like that dog, in her embrace

 

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you

how much this will throw off

my evening—

 

I run across her

in the hazy, sun-slanted

late Afternoon

of Geary Boulevard

in San Francisco.

Blazing red hair,

long aquiline face

and frosty mirthful smile,

six feet if she was an inch,

carrying a thin gray dog

with the hollow, frightened eyes

of the damned.

 

She’s a tricky one, that Devil.

Always appears in a form

most likely to attract you,

least likely to be believed.

 

 

Talking Call of Cthulhu Apocalypse Blues

 

Do you not realize

that we are sitting kitty-corner

to the crack of doom?

 

Something is rising.

In expiation of what,

I do not know.

 

The First Woe is past.

The Second Two Woes

are yet to come.

 

And so I add my voice

to the chorus of twenty bloody centuries

crying out, “How long, oh Lord?”

 

And the Elder Gods

that we had so smartly

ushered off the stage

clamber back

tentacle

by slimy

tentacle.

 

 

The Next Step

 

I’ll let you in on a little secret

The next step in human evolution

Isn’t going to be a step

It’s going to be

A hundred yard dash

 

Of recombinant DNA

Unzipping helixes

Unleashing

Superior IQs

Resistance to cancer

Hundred and fifty year life spans

New eye colors, spots, stripes

And occasional tails

And that’s just the beginning

A hundred yard dash

 

Of reusable space planes

Hotels in low-Earth orbit

Bright lights

On the dark side

Of the Moon

Terraforming

And who knows?

Maybe even naked singularities

Space-time hypersurfing

Or bursts of negative energy

Fueling closed time-like loops

A hundred yard dash

 

Of fuzzy logic

Quantum computers

And nano-processors

Containing

Six millennia of civilization

On a single chip

Firing across

The synapse gap

Two hemispheres

Of the cerebral cortex

Working as one

Genetically maximized

Cybernetically sensitized

Cosmically mobilized

 

Hidden connections of

Quantum uncertainty

And cetacean communication

Will bloom forth

Hitting SETI paydirt

Finally having a coherent word to say

To the little gray bastards

Realizing the reality of Faeries

Weaving through

The flaming swords of the Kherubim

To the Trees of Life and Knowledge

 

Ending the turning

Of the wheel of Dharma

Dawning the age

Of Instant Karma

Entering into a collective Samadhi

Beyond the Buddha-mind

And the dance that ends the Kali Yuga

Seeing face to face

 

The peace that surpasses

All understanding

The Dao that cannot be named

The Dao of Allah

The compassionate, the merciful

The master of the Day of Judgment

The day on which

We will have taken

 

The next step

 

The hundred yard step

 

Into—

 

 

Chris LaMay-West believes in the power of rock music, Beat poetry, and the sanctity of Star Trek. He has appeared in Kitchen Sink and Morbid Curiosity, in various online venues including the Rumpus and the online edition of Opium, and in the Mortified reading series. A California native, Chris recently expatriated to Vermont, where he writes, works for a college, serves as the assistant poetry editor for Mud Season Review, and lives with his lovely bride and two cats. His exploits, literary and other, can be followed at: http://chris-west.blogspot.com/