ScrutinyAnd when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,Scrutiny7 years ago in Open More Like This
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect
I am lost in my own depth, I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic princes love)
and they, floating through their channels deep
dare to drown me in my sleep and in their orisons remember
So shall I be a queen bone and ash,
of crawling worms and sullied, melting flesh.
Kissed by death, I shall burn upon a pyre
knowing only distance and desire and, rising from the fire,
I shall step with soft, unfettered feet
The Poet's DreamLast night I dreamt that life was sleeping,The Poet's Dream7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And a man held in his keeping
All the souls of all the dying,
Cold and crying, lost and lying,
Harvest of the reapers reaping
And Gods vacant sighing.
With troubled mind I paused his pacing,
Asked him, though my heart was racing,
Will I, sir, end here someday
With all these souls like pallid clay?
Tell me what it is Im facing
And whether I will end this way?
The man just laughed and turned aside,
But still the truth he could not hide;
Said, When you wake upon the morrow,
One day hence will fall your sorrow,
For nothing pushes Death aside
That you can beg or borrow.
I cried out then and cursed my fate,
Can I not my own Death abate?
A poet I, and think while living
What fair gifts I have been giving
To this world of fear and hate
With poems that breed forgiving.
If that is so, my child, he said,
Death may not be your lot when dead,
For though you soon must pass away
Love In A MouseholeBecause we would not show our love like wares,Love In A Mousehole7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Like bright and nacreous baubles fading fast,
Displayed for all to see at passing fairs,
The world of cynics claimed it should not last;
Yet who are they to say what sacred things
Have slipped between the cracks of mortal sight
And slid to rest upon the lustrous wings
Of something less than wrong and more than right?
And there in some forgotten, downy lair,
Concealed within but slinking ever higher
Along the groove that shields it from the air,
It spins to higher heights than eyes aspire.
And thus our love by loving in a chink
Can grow more deep and high than man can think.
FlyFly9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The great fallacy of my generation is
the foolish belief that one can take
two beautiful birds (each with
a single broken wing)
sew them together
oh so tight
of doorknobs and love poemsyou remind me ofof doorknobs and love poems7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the stars in the sky,
the key under the doormat,
(when its pouring
and i locked myself out)
a whispered promise,
last piece of a jigsaw,
and a brass doorknob
that opens up to my heart.
The last bar in the MojaveClouds arrive at the paceThe last bar in the Mojave4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of oxen, stopping to drink
at the misshapen TV dish
picking up NASA signals.
The petrified cactus
near a humming Wurlitzer
says nothing. Lost travellers
stare at it by the bar,
hoping it might show them
the way, the bubbles in their
I want to go home
I want to go home
I want to go home
not noticing the clouds glowing
like lightbulbs with their electricity
and the entire desert moving
closer, ready to circle like moths.
Ginsberg in the ParkAnd now Im that little lame balloonman,Ginsberg in the Park7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all knobbled feet and goat face.
I twist balloon animals from discarded condoms to make
a Durex poodle and a Trojan horse.
I offer them freely, hoping for nothing
more than a smile to steal, but no
one smiles anymore.
I steel at autumn, the winter-come-lately,
and lounge stiff against a light-and-ice pole.
I see him there, Ginsberg, shivering man of rags, and he
leers the old man at the chessboard, the one playing with no partner,
the one tasting the king and swallowing a pawn.
Who is waiting for whom, I wonder?
They both look hungry.
I startle as the Great Figure rolls a quiet, ruby line by.
The emergency is over or not yet begun.
In the humdrum silence of the crisp air,
I tell secrets and secrets.
To the expectant ducks I give away
the last of you, the little bits held between youandme
that I have no place for in myself.
I speak your secrets like an ancient religion,
something beautiful and forgotten. I say to the trees
how you told me yo
the seed greeted the asphalt -the seed greeted the asphalt with surprisethe seed greeted the asphalt -8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
, said it was set upon by early morning winds,
that they came from under the bridge by the bay,
rose up and turned like a freight train down the street;
ignoring the stop sign completely, causing an early commuter
to lean into it, squinting. discoloured leaves
rushed to fill its absence, falling over each other,
it said the heavy mass of pure air hit with such momentum
as to shake it off deliberately, making it a helpless
and unwilling hitchhiker for some 20 metres.
i don't have the wordsI'm getting used to this feelingnot because it's comfortable. In fact, it's lodged itself between my lungs and my ribcages and makes every moment a gasp for air. But I've grown into itinto relearning how to breathe, into talking in more of a whisper so that people feel like they need to be closer just to hear what I'm saying, into rewiring my circuitry so that every waking moment isn't spent deciphering what's in my head.i don't have the words5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Since the thing is explaining that would be like trying to hold up the sky with just the palm of your hand. Millions of years of the atmosphere and gravity existingcompletely unyieldingall reduced to you with the entire world in your grasps. That's how big this feeling is. The size of the sky couldn't even hold it. Trying to tell you what I'm thinking is like figuring out what actually keeps our hearts beating even when we have no idea. Or reasoning how it is that even after someone leaves there's a piece of them alive in every person that's st
if you loved me you would callWe could talk about bad TV andif you loved me you would call5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how I came home to a swarm of flies,
attacked them with hairspray and a shoe,
the book I read last night or a song that
reminded me of who you used to be -
if you loved me you would call and
the sound of your laughter would
make the world seem a bit smaller and maybe
I would sleep wrapped up in different dreams.
Instead of writing someone else love letters
and the quiet of my nights telling me what I knew
from the start. Maybe you never did
feel the way you wanted to.
OrigamiYou're a flat, two dimensional,Origami5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tabula Rasa. I fold you up,
Give you shape; life and depth.
Capturing the Midnight Skylooking upon the midnight sky as the clouds drift,Capturing the Midnight Sky7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like voyagers among the stars, and I wonder
if I could find a net large enough to capture the sky
could you ever love me...
and I open my arms out wide as if trying to embrace the wind,
and if I breathe deep enough, my heart might start beating again.
but i hear only silence as I try to gather my composure
and learn to stand on my own two feet
yet it's hard to stand when you were once on a cloud
but when t
the atlantic was born todayoh,the atlantic was born today5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's raining very hard,
stones on a tin-can roof,
and my lips become the
shape of valley mouths,
fluttering in smiles
and antagonistic frowns,
as i remember dragging my
watering feet to
the balcony to let you
hear the rain i heard
while you were
Dream JobIf I dressed for the job I wanted, I'd be wearing a spacesuitDream Job5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When I grow up, I want to reach enlightenment
on the summit of Olympus Mons,
meditating on the words of Arthur C. Clarke
"there are no mountains on Mars."
This is what imagination risks.
Exploring we discover not that our knowledge is flawed,
but that we do not dream hard enough.
Even in the beginning, God expected us to name the world.
And we could only utter stumblings in that Ur-tongue,
inventing the invention of ideas.
Even before we tasted the tree,
even before we knew that we could ever be wrong,
we clung to the referential alchemy of language.
This world we think we've tamed
has mastered us, instead, because we mistake
our words for things.
Mystics and medicine men have been
trying to free us from our trespasses
So, I will listen to the sands of Mars,
build a tabernacle with red stones, and sing
a song of loss. Call out to that old dream that makes us young,