absencesbut this isn't just distanceabsences4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as in space, not just distance as in
"i can't believe how far you
are from me, i miss you" -
this isn't just distance
in the way
that roads seem to spill over
hilltops for years,
stretching like skin across knuckles
but never ending,
this is the kind of distance
that isn't seen but instead felt,
that isn't marked by miles
or gas money and can't be pinned in two
spots on a map with red thumbtacks:
this is not hearing from you
and knowing you haven't noticed.
this is wanting to have you
and knowing you're just fine
this is the kind of distance
that knows broken bridges, that hurts
because it feels
like it can't be mended, and because
TortoisesOut the shell the neck' so thinTortoises5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that breaking would not be an evil
act, but mercy by a gesture friendly
as if betwixt a thumb and finger,
the slowly push of fiends together,
mashed into a creamy mixture.
They say not ready we begin:
our filling too soft, and so raw
if squeezed would leak.
But if atrocities they do not know,
then No. They will retract back into
their tortoise-shell and speak stay.
As night-time comes and lingers
day sustains in a denial's frozen-stasis,
for us, also she says, for us, with them.
Must always we be far-damn-right,
with our marches, parties, propagandic-prides,
as if once-again we cannot trust
that voice inner, that whisper calmly.
All that we've done repeats and repeatedly
admits us through.
Out of the shell the neck is so thin
that to break it would not be an evil act
but the mercy of a friendly gesture,
as if holding it between a thumb and a finger
and slowly push the two together,
mashing it into a beautiful mixture.
That HumAs I look at her, with her beautiful honey hairThat Hum6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.
JugularAnts keep together in disorderlyJugular6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
double and triple file
as the jugular of their procession
creeps through the undergrowth,
their skeletal bodies
rapidly glint from the light
that finds its flickering way
through the forest canopy,
every antennae and leg in motion
waving placards, a savage haul
floating on a living ocean...
razors and bottle caps,
beetle pincers and thighs,
the arm off a pair of eye specs,
and shoelace tips on the side
to share with moldy leaves
found with rotted gizzard of
striped, spotted poisonous lizard
that had dined on them yesterday-
all parading past tomorrow's
repast if any should fall today
from their roost or a perch,
to squirm and slowly die away
for the determined horde
to gather all they have room
and hoist what they can afford,
returning to the community womb.
Haikuthon July 2009Haikuthon July 20096 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
gnarled tree roots
stretch down into the pond
resting for a spell
a thousand flags
whip in the wind
praying for profits
in the cool building shadow
in the distance
beyond the looming storm —
hint of orange dusk
a golden half-moon
hangs near distant streetlights
amid gentle rapids
an old tire
over waves of tall
the city is a mouththe city is a mouth4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
says this is
my last cigarette
Reflection.We fuck next to the haunted lakeReflection.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with mirror-ocean eyes. It mutters as it watches our
whispers, hears our stifled cries in the dark.
Morning comes with a weak
peering sun, hesitant fingers brushing
the edges of the sky. I sit
with my legs in the water, watching
you pack your bags and drive on home, rattling by
in your cherry red car that shatters
the blue miasma hanging like a ghost
across the lake, a fog that rolls across the reeds.
Ripples stream away from my knees.
I write letters in the air to my lover back home
in Australia, who probably dreams vivid red-pink-love scenes
alone in the darkness. I stare at nothing.
My bags lie on the front porch, packed
with a bunch of flowers sitting on top, the orange fan
a smile, a sneer that screams: How! Could! You!
I dont know how.
Sharp lancing pain, a soft plea.
Dont stop. Dont stop! The lake lies quiescent,
but it hides demons that spring
and seize. They capture my whirlin
When Autumn ComesTwo white arches riseWhen Autumn Comes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
enclosing charred spirals,
a crumbling wall,
two gaped holes
windows darkened by sunset.
Underneath a crashing wave;
your tongue, your eyes.
Flowing to the rhythm,
some unforgiving DJ
and a shot or two.
A jazz bar by old theater,
three stories fly so fast;
this is where I go
when autumn comes this year
I just can't seem to wait.
Inside the LinesThey arrange in rows, vibrating,Inside the Lines6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
calculating the first move.
Decked each in bright colors, look at me
look at me, hi mom, do you see
sunlight glinting from glinting places
around a hundred faces, flush with nervous
waiting, and watching for the signal,
and it comes with raised arm and a sharp stroke
down, and down the rows the thunder rolls,
and so begins
the first movement.
lights out, child of mineshe wakes up to the sound of white bottlecaps shifting weightlights out, child of mine6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
like the boughs of a taciturn ship
only to realize thru bedcovers
and forgotten colours
that it was just her vacancy sign.
she hugs her knees to
the nausea that slithers along her major organs
bedposts and wire springs that construct her waking life
and now perturb the numbers in her head.
the streetlamp outside her window is
just a metaphor for something she shouldn't read into
but always does.
jettison cigarettes on her marline veins
more the colour of phosphene scarlet letters
like the one only Nathaniel Hawthorne could rectify
and she could embody.
stop. stomach wails won't be pacified.
through roundabout monkey knots and cheshire directions
she breathes in singsong tongue-lapses
. s t o p
A cigar is just a cigarFreud and the penis shaped cigar clenched between his teethA cigar is just a cigar5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stare at me from beneath everything I've ever written.
Clearly, he says, this obsession with monsters stems from
a childhood trauma. You're in love with deadly women
because your mother never loved you. You're in love with
the devil because your father never loved you. Your sexual
repression has led to isolation. Your isolation has led to
this anxious pathology.
Why darling, he says, and the cigar jumps, everyone
knows the girl you wrote into this labyrinth is you.
Once you address the source of your problems,
this unhealthy writing compulsion will cease.
So I cut my hair and left my basement for the first time
in twenty years. I took the bus to the center of the city
and spent half a lifetime in warm dens and nicotine smoke,
in bars full of women with amorphous eyes and gentle fingers,
in strip light burst my eyes light, in the back of a stranger's car
behind the abandoned earth. Like a wounded animal I touched
her face. I le
CenturyFrom beyond the meadow through which the young man traveled, snow flurries began to rise, bowing the treetops. The sloughing sound they made was a choir of voices singing forlornly, coming down from gray skies heavy-laden with snow that would soon swirl across the rolling countryside, and the trees at the edge of the meadow would rain down their white offerings upon the snow-covered ground.Century7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
He had no plans to turn back now that he was set on the path, even though he could see and feel the signs that showed how meager were his provisions, how impossible would become his quest. He smiled ironically as he pressed on, murmuring quietly while his thoughts returned to her, the reason for his journey...
If I hear your voice carried upon
the wind of a century storm,
I will struggle through the night
for the sight of you.
If I cannot see, and all I feel is the
frost that beats against my face
making diamonds of my tears,
my heart will steer the course.
If I stumble to the ground
Don't fall in loveI'm sunkDon't fall in love5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With poison darts;
The mercurial blood-sap.
Under the BedPapa! she calls. Through half-closed eyesUnder the Bed6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I try to focus - so tired. My lips move by themselves,
mumbled words slipping softly Yes, dear. Im here.
Papa! Come fast! Its there!
My feet shuffle automatically as I enter her room. Looking around,
the corner is empty; so is her closet and under the bed.
Honey, theres nothing here. Yes there is! It called my name!
What does it look like, dear? I sit, trying to understand.
It got black eyes, and mustache, long teeth and hairy hands!
Speaking hisses, go - rawr! And its still calling my name
Does it hide in your closet? No
Is it under the bed? Does it jump, blowing bubbles,
speaking French, clapping hands?
Papa! shes angry. Thats not funny at all. A monster is hiding
and its dark, and its tall, and its scary and mean! Papa,
SeasideThe rain's sharp patterSeaside5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the glass, as though tiny claws
without were scrabbling for
purchase. The November light
is feeble. It might not survive
much longer in this gloomy
I remember. The waves
lay dormant at the furthest limits
of the ebb. The horizon was hiding
from our sight behind a sopping
curtain of rain. I remember how
we trudged along the tidal margin,
with rubber boots, with yellow oilskin
coats and hats.
I was puny next to his great silent bulk.
"Look sharp!" was all he said,
"Walk fast, before the tide decides
it's time for coming back."
We collected shellfish
that felt stolen from the sea.
Mens undiesMen's undies are privateMens undies5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
offering big attractions
between candies and toffee apples.
Enchantment party for little kids,
paddling in cups of tea and splashing
It's always warm and crowded inside.
From time to time there is a
ray of light, revealing new
adventures and exciting discoveries.
Mountains to climb and rapids to raft,
deep in the jungle of India's Delta, hides
the Temple of the Forbidden Eye,
embraced with million stars
After intense emotions
it's time to close for a moment;
sometimes there are even holidays,
near the beach, feeling marine breeze.
What a pleasure it is!
I'd like to be a pubic hair
Boris the ManskinnerBoris the ManskinnerBoris the Manskinner11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When you skin a man you'll find
he peels like ripening fruit.
He will scream when he has nothing
to confess; pay no mind
when you hear him. If
he speaks, his words
do not equal our words.
The ineffable skinning is key.
The cryptography of silence
urges care in the carving. Between
the shoulder blades
and the base of the skull
lies an area of exquisite tenderness.
Here, the skin is a folding
map stretching across the back
each curve a lesson
in the nature of geodesics.
Lay the skull bare.
The face, perhaps now horrific,
is a primal glyph of the
inquisitive nature of man.
"no" or "why" will rise like
the water table in a storm.
The fruit is then ripe,
and a dream reader is called
to decrypt the contours
of the skull. What life was lost
will reveal itself.
I, Boris, can help you.
In Russia it was severe and cold
during the war.
First Lovei.First Love5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rows of fairy lights rope
towards the turbulent city
Warm evenings, playing in the park,
till your mam came shouting .
Every night of summer.
You never cared how different we were.
Toilet paper decorates leafless trees and
your lungs fill with newly discovered smoke as
You admire your handiwork.
The sexes split. You tease
the girls for attention.
Those amber lights merely rows
upon rows of ugly terraces all designed by the same architect.
We never talk.
You were seen
with your hands
down her trousers
tomorrow you will blame intoxication.
Under the red skies, we exchanged memories like
veterans warmly recalling fallen friends. Swings rocked
in the winds, squeaking slowly sharing our dynamic;
juxtaposed on that faithful bench. You told me you hated what
you had become.
Red turned grey turned black,
drizzle soaked our skin.
You held me close as we walked
back to your house--
It wasn't your first time
I ignored the pain.
You never visit the park anymore.