If I Were A Woman
Can I be enigmatic, relevant
as a tiny ball of fission in the dark art of nothing?
Can I pull up all the lures and rule this aching planet
by proxy, without fumbling in ugly desperation
like an old decrepit dictator
hiding from the throng?
Can I be a woman?
Mother or whore or star nursery run-away,
I'll peel away the subscripts;
Name me in your poetry
and I'll put a fiery end
to the tiresome frontier
of a hundred men.
Stone me in old testament fists, it won't matter;
I'll laugh and lantern myself in pink stockings and garter,
shocking with blush wounds,
frosting my doe eyes
Stretch mine out to their wildest dimensions,
flattening ovals in weepy oceans,
and I'll lay deep in the bottom of your gravity well.
Crush me together and I'll learn how to beg you
to winter my brushfire and smother my lips
to their plumbs
in a black-light
for today God is Man,
and I'm made just for
Loom me with lusci
Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skiesGrass Angel4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams
except this one.
This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.
I'm going outside to make a grass angel.
Borderline PersonalityBorderline Personality4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I suppose I'm not the man that was promised (you)
demystified from between the ankles, and mothered
in a ritual plot, (still disentangling out of old supplications.)
I guess it's possible that I've no true colour, no hue essential,
and that I've turned to mirror transparencies,
waiting like a guilty prayer for the world to define my golem;
(I had hoped for a pilaster, a nuclear suit to match your aproning).
How do you draw my obsessor from your water glass? Did you file for abuse
or a pedestal? (A glimpse of my father's beard was like this personal Atlas,
the knight in search of famine, quick to martyr, proffering stability like the
drug of Christ, so I know I can go on unchanging for years, answering in rote
and fossilizing gestures.) Are you a bride for the vulnerable? I am an infantile
lobotomist, all I need is a scalpel and a cue! And so, just who is this embellisher
that limns my sadist from blind, atomic lead?
Whatever is out there, needing co
HollowdaysShortened dim days and long starless nightsHollowdays4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The wellspring, the windchimes, the starlings
Dreary tunes about razorblades, and ash, and bone
The lost man's song, the October sonata
The walkingman shoeheels clack empty sidewalks
Past blank storefronts and soapsmeared windows.
Summer is a distant fire, muted by mist, fog,
Hollow days are here again.
ComforterComforter5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
(the triple lunes that
Island BoyClean-smiling, eyes rising from theIsland Boy5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dark Caribbean depths, throwing ropes
with far strong strokes. You arrest me.
Moons pull and waves fade, but all attest
to this: that sunshine-crinkled faces and
freedom-filled embraces are calm blue bays.
My sloop is rough, wind-ragged sails sagging,
but deep in the cracks of the horizon, I see
palm trees, and underneath, ghost crabs grazing.
beekeeperthis transgression carries too much weightbeekeeper4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to be dissolved in tea
or perhaps on a tongue or the back
of a thigh.
(which you artfully tucked somewhere
between your labia)
tastes of wheat and
but you, even in your most
startlingly rare moments,
could not keep me out of you,
now could you?
my fingers drip with your honey.
DrownBlackness at three AMDrown4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Books of hymns
Ribbons, wreathes, smoke
Phone calls from the dead
These things I know
Breakfast in Bedshe awoke earlyBreakfast in Bed4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and sent him out
for bread and milk
and the morning glory
of larks just opening their eyes
on the evening star's retreat.
the bed would stay unmade
let the cat forage
for sunshine under the pillows
and curl up
on the windowsill
with its tail till noon.
we'll sip earl grey tea
and discover just how sweetly
Die Slowlyi'm tired of breaking up with meaning - she's as cageless and unfaithfulDie Slowly5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
as a life full of grace and hope and so am i, it seems.
i wear your unspoken wish as a dark clasp: the gleam of scales to abrade
the color-paper walls of your chest, thumbs pressing for your sweet dissolution
and open arms for the maniacal hysteria of a sad child's chaos machine
in a twist of hungry prongs that twirl your limbs into a vein wreath.
here, i was built to plunge your delusive dream back into the black hood;
i know it's blind and cruel as a storm, my dear;
dumbly, the grey weight of you will burst without a cloud
and the hellfire left cooling in your eyes will unbalance the galaxy
and gravities will rain your days back into a bottomless hollow.
perhaps i'm just an interloper, a demon trail running from each disaster
to feed a fetish for broken smiles.
quiet barbwire walls
sit and rust with no dispute
Summer, die slowly
American Dream1American Dream4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They brought America with them,
those Conquistadors who pillaged and destroyed,
who looted the very mountain rock and squandered
the lives of slaves in their silver mines.
America was the land they dreamed into existence,
They irrigated it with the blood of the many tribes
who had lived for centuries in a universe the invaders destroyed.
Their languages had saved the magical syllables of naming
for cities and tribes, forests, mountains and rivers,
entities they recognised. They had never aspired to name an entire world.
The demon invaders brought their magical beasts.
They seemed to merge with them, becoming
yet more like devils, with two heads and many limbs.
They trampled centuries of thriving culture under their fearsome hoofs.
They had enslaved fire too, containing it magic tools that destroyed
citadels with walls as thick as cliff faces, that shattered bodies
from afar, smashed the heart's cave, and tore off warriors' limbs
Of the few who survived, most died in pitiless slaver
Grandmother's HouseThe smell of hot concrete rising from the sidewalkGrandmother's House4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the tar on the wooden bridge
The sound of trains coming and going
So close that the small house was rattled
It was always summer, there.
Screen doors and a small rotator fan were enough
to keep out the mild heat of June
The train whistles sang me to sleep at night
With their wistful traveling tune
It was always summer, then.
Depressiondried food, caked and peeling on the counter.Depression2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the bread developed gangrene; it cannot be severed.
i am rotted meat with lowercase ego;
in the morning, chalk tablets pilfer tiny bits of soul.
The HillockThe box is grinningThe Hillock4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
untruths again. Skewed palms
crack skyward, and thick flies boil
on a hillock made of hollow men.
The deadpan delivery of evening news
(is a rattle.)
The paltry sanctions and the UN Court
How could anyone push charnel,
behind smiling weather and sport?
Without something swelling dark
inside and peering through their skin?
And empathy would stir if the story were true
but I don't feel a thing.
Memento MoriI have often felt death close to me,Memento Mori6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a stranger immersed in the crowd,
that surged around me. A figure
glimpsed from the corner of an eye,
who seemed to linger just behind me,
so that my arm was almost within
Frequently I dreamed of that certain
day when he would seek me, of the moment
when Id hear my name repeated in those
In my dream
I start to turn slowly, those pitiless features
almost close enough for breath to touch, if either
They speak in heliumTequila, miniatures, compliments of KLM.They speak in helium5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's half a dozen shots; maybe enough
to let me clean out your desk today.
I open the drawer a crack, then wider.
That meddling slut Pandora's been here.
She's stuffed it full of arguments
and stale conversation, leaking trouble,
oozing bad karma.
Balloons come flying out, sputtering,
sucking up to the ceiling, helium-high.
They speak in absurdities and riddles,
mad on myth and inert gas.
But I'm so free, smoking Black Devils,
crumpled pack, under a map of Boston;
empty matchbook, The Frog and Peach;
my number, in your drunken scrawl.
I aim lungfuls of Dutch smoke upward,
toward the balloons, high on noble gas.
They scuttle away, muttering sotto voce;
curses they mean for me to hear.
Pandora babbles on about culture wars,
aestheticized lust and cool, electric sex.
She says the drawer is leaking trouble;
I say my heart is leaking trouble and smoke
and these fucking, trash-talking balloons.
RecessionA man on fire walked calmly out of the building, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the bricks, pound the pavement, skin a cat or two. I saw what he was thinking, it formed a black cloud above his head.Recession4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He thought of old photographs and wicker furniture, of how dark it was inside for all of those plants to thrive. He thought of chances taken and opportunities missed. The monologue in his burning head was a constant buzzing fly, a death rattle.
Old TV shows, bad poetry, seasons, songs and metalworks; nothing could shut out the memories or calm the storm inside. Treading water, he wished that he could fly again. Over the horizon he walked, never seeing the starving child scuffling along behind.
A man on fire disappeared from the picture plane today, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the road, Jack, make tracks, don't step on a crack. Leaving dust and ash, smoke-feathers and birthday candles, he receded.
souls high kites with holessouls are high kites with holes, the sky is like a crystal ballsouls high kites with holes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Of the wolcen burnspot
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
A curling fern:
We slip around like
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
At the empty
Of an underwater statue-
Arms like levers:
Blackening the coats
And peeling back
Stripping time of
We see the sky
Where it is skyless;
It remains an opal;
In the bowl
song of the new orphando you recall that afternoon that we were together?song of the new orphan4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
of course you do.
there were so few.
like the first night I saw you. your skin pale as a
waterstain, body an empire of bones and
I wasn't supposed to be there.
The invisible worms could feel my lying
when I told you my name.
my ersatz skin was pulling and crawling,
telling me to get out. hungry. it is hungry.
when you sang, your muscles tore.
I love that sound.
That afternoon we were?
we collected dead leaves and ate nothing.
nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, you said,
and you screamed because you knew
when we looked up, we'd find
that our sky had been caked
with our own mutilations
and black blisters.
I wasn't supposed to be there.
The invisible beetles could feel my
breathing when I woke up and the
room spun. their wings burned up
my lungs with a droning pain, pain beyond the fields of bones.
hungry. it is hungry.
and my lungs are left empty shells with
tiny seeds left blooming
God of....ityGod of Ability.God of....ity3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
God of Brutality.
God of Creativity.
God of Diversity.
God of Equality.
God of Festivity.
God of Geniality.
God of Historicity.
God of Immortality.
God of Joviality.
God of Knowledgeability.
God of Longevity.
God of Mentality.
God of Naturality.
God of Opacity.
God of Paradoxicality.
God of Quality.
God of Responsibilty.
God of Sanity.
God of Toxicity.
God of University.
God of Visuality.
God of Workability.
God of Xelocity.
God of Youthability.
God of Zygosity.
ShowShowShow4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I clung to you like the leaves of a mid-autumn storm,
Plastered to the bottom of a boot;
With the same melancholy way
I too became cracked and dry,
Held together only by water and veins.
Oh, and those violent veins,
They pulsed for you,
Rippled with the hope of intoxication,
But no libations laved my lips.
No revelry would rise.
The jollity I held for two,
I never could impart.
Yet still I held tight, desperately,
Hoping for fireworks in winter,
Flashing lights I knew would only be swallowed by the sky.
As those blinding lights,
Those fiercest flares,
Wait only for a spark,
So I have waited too, like fingers to a dampened match,
Dying for a show.
Sunflower Field BurningStalks of sun ablaze turn heads down, shriveling;Sunflower Field Burning4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Smoke filled sky, blotting out the very thing they would see;
I pound the wall in helpless rage.
Broken DownShe speaks onlyBroken Down6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when spoken to,
her voice then loud
sometimes, in assertion
or sometimes barely audible
in mumbled dissent.
There is no spirit muted, trapped
all too sentient in prisoning flesh.
These are but firecrackers
of a memory decomposed,
small explosions triggered
by speechless voices,
hallucinations that echo
through the spirals
of her inner ear.
TiredTrying to get myself up.Tired2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Surrounded by dirty cups.
Really need some motivation.
Tired of this bored sensation.
Want to get up and clean.
Or go out and be seen.
Want to go out for a walk.
Or call a friend and talk.
Turn up the music and sing.
Just want to do something.
Hope that I don't get fired.
So tired of just being tired.