Featured Poet
D. C. Berry
The Adirondack Review
TAR
D. C. Berry
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Mel Gibson Dolls It
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Snail Peels Off
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: She Wheel
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: The Magnolia Closet
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Mona Gator
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Hambeau Heartbroke Horny
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Neutrinos Explain Suck-Uppers
HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Mel Gibson Dolls It

Mel Gibson's Hamlet stinks -- doll Mel. Wind up
Mel and Mel's eyes glaze into porcelain,
blue gulfs of earnestness, and Gertrude
sucks it up, swilling Mel's sincerity --
Makes me want to haul off and retch my speech
about the dew, dissolve into ADIEU.
My family doesn't understand water.
The closest dad ever shies to water's
when heading back into the flames to yell
A DEW, A DEW -- a joke lost on your Mel
Gibson, outplayed by even the castle.


D. C. Berry



HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Snail Peels Off

For quick mental hygiene, the snail's my white
mobile clinic, Dr. Hoodoo inside.
Seriously. The snail's my man. He's shy,
shows speedy patience and plays safe, keeps his
hard hat on should a curve come on too fast.
And paves his road in case he must return.
That's not timid. That's prudently Roman.


D. C. Berry



HAMLET OFF-STAGE: She Wheel

Ophelia puked hourly dawn till dusk,
retching mucous slobber, then spewing air.
Scum that I am, I never stopped thinking
what a beauty: small Icelandic hooters,
Femme d'Bumpers, on whom all fun depends.
Woman's the car, man the hood ornament.
She lay there so sick she wasn't human,
more an engine blowing jello gaskets.
Yet, because of her Helen of Troy throat
and Cleopatra eyes, the world still turned
because puking beauties are still beauties
and keep on moving us. They're still our Porsche,
our cop car, hearse, ambulance, and fire truck.
We couldn't cool her down. She was our bus,
she was our red-faced unicyclist
hauling us all. The earth her wheel, she lay
there wretching us all through the Pearly Gates.


D. C. Berry



HAMLET OFF-STAGE: The Magnolia Closet

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditations
of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight."
Whoever "Thy" is, that's the prayer to breathe,
words that chimed in my head while I stood under
the first magnolia blossom of the year,
gift of God? Elvis? Allah? or Liberace?
Who provides the rococo razzledazzle?
What's meditation, brain masturbation--
The mind when it's both candle and the moth
buzzing around it, bumping into Nothing?
Even cows meditate. Cats contemplate.
Cows do nirvana, cats do amnesia.
I do nirvana when I've amnesia.
And do it best under the magnolia,
it cold white blossom my stoic candle,
chew cud and and swish my invisible tail.


D. C. Berry




HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Mona Gator

Our mascot lives low, a baby alligator.
She's our happy-and-sad mask all at once,
Mona Lisa her name. She's my ideal,
her wrap-around grin both a smile and snarl.


D. C. Berry



HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Hambeau Heartbroke Horny

Ophelia claims we're dead and gives me back
all my Frank Zappa and the Mothers albums.
I nearly claw out of my shell and say,
"You can't," but for a moment I've nothing
to quote. I'm rot, mortis of broken heart.
Hog wash! Lovers don't die of broken hearts.
Lovebirds perish because of broken heads,
the brain a windshield shattered by Why? Why?
Hairless, my head looks like a turtle shell,
puzzle pieces of me that now don't fit.
What can a turtle Hamster do but crawl?
Can't pull in my six flags like a castle.
I crawl away, neck poked out like a prick --
head broke, heart broke, but balls in perfect health.


D. C. Berry



HAMLET OFF-STAGE: Neutrinos Explain Suck-Uppers

Neutrinos do zip but swap back and forth
into each other, much like Rosypoop
and Guildendoo do. For years it was thought
neutrinos hung out weightless as R&G.
No longer. Scientists have discovered
neutrinos possess mass. Though invisible,
neutrinos weigh as much as all the stars.
How could I have thought the R & G twins
weightless? All the brown stains on their schnozzes.
But I can't hold that against these shufflers.
We're all brownnosers suckuping the schmooze.
And that includes my dear pal Horatio,
his sucking up to me in the last scene.
Crowing to commit suicide for me
only proves he, too, has the long brown snoot
aimed point-blank at the audience's ass.
Horatio's no Roman stoic. He's just
another soul out to establish mass
and show the world he's not a weightless mole,
for proof there's the stain on his nose.


D. C. Berry

TAR
D.C. BERRY's recent book is Divorce Boxing, Eastern Washington University Press. This is his second appearance in The Adirondack Review.
Read TAR's interview with D. C. Berry
Read TAR's interview with D. C. Berry