the ghost in the dumpster

And just where is it beauty hides, and truth amid dishonesty? One never knows. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So this is the pen (the enclosure) for my most recent poems and poemoids. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 2009-04-20 -- Brian A. J. Salchert

Monday, August 3, 2009

Presage of Afterlife

On a boulevard island a small tree above whose leaves a central antenna stick alive by one crow. tg00038

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Just Wondering

or Why Wars Will Never End My bowels are acting weird today like they're getting rid of everything they don't want because they're moving. You can never tell about such things. Maybe they're waiting for me to order them to go to sleep, not that they would care. Isn't this information just what you've been waiting for? Waiting? My bowels aren't waiting for anything. I mean, garbage in / garbage out, you know. Say, what do you make of five carrots and one tangerine? Or a crust of bread and a can of 3.75 ounces of sardines? tg00037

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A Life Litany

version 1 Born in the cold at the foot of a lake in a city of doubt as a boy. At war with my genes and my brain and my heart, betrothed to the wind as a boy. And so I declaimed from the kitchen tabletop, debating my dad as a boy. And slowly I grew enfolded in loves I could not understand as a boy. The piano was large and my fingers too short with measles my out as a boy. My dad I am sure hoped/ I would replace the son they had lost as a boy. But it wasn't to be for all I did learn, enthralled by my dreams as a boy. Yet in scouting I climbed, though not as in trees, to a safe second class as a boy. My lungs were too weak to allow me to swim a mere fifty yards as a boy. Toward the arts and the crafts and the skies and the stars it was I was pulled as a boy. So I dabbled with oils and the soundings of words, and birds, beasts, rocks, plants as a boy. Around year twelve I came to a truth unprepared, a shock of adieu as a boy. Though I changed, I did not with the pleasure I hid: in confusion remained as a boy. Years earlier, away on my trike, I chose risk: broke nose; skewed collar bone as a boy. And still to this day, though I'm now sixty-eight, I work, rest, pray, play as a boy. 2009/06/08 tg00036

Monday, June 15, 2009


Come to me hidden word, hidden word, hidden word. Come to me hunted word, hunted word, hunted word. Come to me hinted word, hinted word, hinted word. Come to me haunted word, haunted word, haunted word. Come to me hardy word, hardy word, hardy word. Come to me harbored word, harbored word, harbored word. Come to me hardened word, hardened word, hardened word. Come to me harping word, harping word, harping word. Come to me hellish word, hellish word, hellish word. Come to me heaven word, heaven word, heaven word. Come to me happy word, happy word, happy word. Come to me hungry word, hungry word, hungry word. Come to me humble word, humble word, humble word. Come to me holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word. tg00035

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Harsh Wind

Yet facing it atop a graveyard's tallest tree: three crows. tg00034

Friday, June 5, 2009


Crow, crow, where dost thou go over valleys far and wide? Caw caw caw caw caw. tg00033

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Ah Uh Oh

Where ducks waddle water puddles aficionados. tg00032

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


Come oh day oh comfort me as we float beneath the sea wondering what we can be swaying with anemone Come oh night oh comfort me as we float above the sea wondering what we can be in auroral mystery Come oh Being comfort me as we float through history wondering what we can be dancing round each thing we see Come oh word oh come oh song measuring the time along what went right and what went wrong in the whorls where we belong Masqueraders on parade trapped inside the things we've made gesturing towards light and shade so our lives go on. tg00031

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

About and About

My whole life, Lord. My whole life. . . . . . . It's amazing I've accomplished what I have accomplished: I, so often on edge. Before me is a poem: maybe seven/ versions of it. I do not like any of them. And yet, I want to salvage it.  . . .  Why? . . . Such highs and lows today. Earlier, spurred by what I had been reading, I drifted into wondering if there is such a thing as a perfect poem, if it even matters--the words in it, and their order-- given that the constant changes in authors and audiences inevitably change whatever symbols constitute an artifact. Oh, O Westron Wind came to me as a candidate for acceptable perfection, and of course similar others pass through shadows about and about, their pleasures pleasing. Still, none is perfect, and it seems to me near perfection resonates with a more lasting force. So, what's to be done? As I forgive, forgive the sins of Brian (Baj). tg00030

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Intro It

Diverge diverge said the demiurge for I am a scourge you cannot destroy. Deploy enjoy said the alter-Troy for I am a buoy you cannot submerge. Perhaps, if we coax all the poetry schools of I and of anti-I to the seas and oceans of what and why, we can bring those bodies renewals of life amid the bells of our notions set adance by whooeys and phooeys, and bury our hoax. [ Note: the above is not against anyone, and is somewhat obscure on purpose. ] tg00029

Friday, April 3, 2009

Have a Good Ride

I got what I got and you got what you got and I dont give a flirting snot for what you got and you dont give a leaky clot for what I got so I hope you are satisfied even though Im not. tg00028

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Do You Know Where Kyph Is?

He left me many years ago. Sometimes I'm glad he did. He left me many years ago. I don't know where he is. He left me many years ago. He's made no contact since. He left me many years ago. Perhaps he's not alive. He left me many years ago. Our love just wasn't right. He left me many years ago. The stars still shine and turn. He left me many years ago. He let me keep our house. He left me many years ago. He gave me wealth for ten. He left me many years ago. Buds were on the boughs. He left me many years ago. He walked up that blank road. He left me many years ago. I've told you all I know. tg00027

Friday, March 13, 2009


Bring it home, bring it home, bring it home, Haiku. - [ the above is a short-form haiku ] tg00026

Sunday, March 8, 2009

He Who

[ an instrumental melody ] he who he-who he-who he who he-who he-who he who he-who he-who who [ words to be spoken ] And Jesus said: Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. [ repeat instrumental melody ] [ words to be spoken ] But humans are not perfect beings, and those who have the ability to reason must deal with conflicts: inner outer, for none is without sin. [ repeat instrumental melody ] tg00025

Thursday, March 5, 2009

As I Am

Above me play clouds of heaven while gusts of weathers buffet and from my waist the long loops of bags of hell. tg00024

Monday, March 2, 2009


We have been observing your planet since its earliest days, we, from Zenopoli, a planet which orbits a similar star on the presently far side of Andromeda, the name you have given our galaxy, a name we favor, and so have adopted. It is none of our business, but you need to change the name you have given your galaxy. Milky Way is way too cloying. Do you stand aghast? Be not afraid. You could have been as immortal as we. We have long hoped you would discover how, but you have chosen paths leading to your extinction, and are now beyond saving. We could change that, but our federation prohibits us from formative interventions. So: Why are we here? We are here to let you know that once your planet has rid itself of you, we intend to revitalize and colonize it. Sound like a plan? tg00023

Friday, February 27, 2009


Thinking of Reading Silliman's The Alphabet A is for apples and aunties and ants and/ anagrams and asteroid at bats. B is for baseball and butter and blues and/ barometers and beddie-bye croons. C is for curry and children and chives and/ cinnamon and choo-choo dyes. tg00022

Friday, February 13, 2009


(new nickname for me from me) baj baj baj baj baj think i'm gonna live in a garage shadows can be my entourage baj baj baj baj baj tg00021

Monday, January 12, 2009

In Spiritu

In Spiritu Where are the Gods of Gaza? How is it they who made so much of, and rightly so, what they called The Holocaust, have now become the new not-sees? If it truly is a matter of kill or be killed, we (the whole human race) all are doomed. Take my body. Take my spirit. The dead will rise to the condemnation of the living. You can stuff your Old Testament sanctionings in Gehenna. Have you not seen the workings of the Holy Spirit? Have you not read how the Love between the Father and the Son has led us away, and continues to lead us away from fire and brimstone? We all say, who believe, that Abraham is our earthly father. Abel and Cain were from Adam, not from Abraham. I know. I too find many things hard to assimilate, but you do not even need to be a believer in a Supreme Being. You just need to believe in humanity, in its sacredness. All those who favor war need to be moved to the moon, or better yet, Mars, so the rest of us can-- and the ghost in the dumpster, like a mirage, faded in and faded out; and the best that was / the best that could be swirled beyond all understanding night after night, day after day. tg00020

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

ditty based on nursery rhyme

[ Note: The following ditty is not new, but I have revised it a touch; and, "Mary" could be any name. ] Goat Mary had a little goat. She used to grab it by the throat. But when the goat grew big and strong, Mary left the goat alone. And then one day the old goat died. Poor Mary, she was mystified. tg00019

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