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
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
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.
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.
Breakfast At Connie'sSmall birdbones, brittleBreakfast At Connie's4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Large eggs over easy
Tiny dogs yip and nip at the feet
Under the table
A lock of hair in ashes
A crow cawing from the bookcase
Breakfast at Connie's is always
So damned surreal
Last chance for a smoke before the show begins
Light 'em if you got 'em, or just light a candle
Italian Catholic grey-eyed girls
A pumping heart dessert
Hidden in plain sight
Ignored by all as proper etiquette demands
They leave softly
Marching in softshoe-step rhythm
Crunching small bones beneath their feet
Wondering why it's still dark and why the
Show still goes on
New FaithOf course it would be foolish to assume that the relationship between us is linear:New Faith3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I touch your skin.
to meet the meaning in your eyes.
Of course it would be foolish to resume the old ways of believing:
There is no pain
that this moment
cannot bend into beauty.
ComforterComforter4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
(the triple lunes that
SanctuaryHer sanctuary is a treehouseSanctuary3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Down in the hallowed hollow
She dances with ghosts and dreams of things
Of paths that she might follow
The old songs play, the dolls watch quietly
She sings along and schemes
Of ways to turn back the clock and restart
With straighter, better-sewn seams
Three men on her mind, one now gone
One with her, one all alone
She wonders which one will be there
When life comes down to the bone
Sing, Joanie sing, sing out loud
Dance with your ghost and smile
One day the man from the faerytale
Will bring down the moon for a while
how strangethere is too much of me.how strange4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I do not fit neatly
into a box,
do not fold into a mattress-
no pair of hands
could encircle me.
I will not fit into your
that precious white thing:
I would loll
off of its edges,
I would fall.
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.
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
BitterBitter-sharp and angledBitter4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The stake through my heart
The brightest sun cannot penetrate
The cold seizures as I die
and die, everyday;
but still somehow remain.
You only had to die once.
I've died a thousand times
since you left.
Dying is no way to live.
Tallmy words are green tonightTall4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
written in the air in a neon glow
standing on the corner in the snow
reciting poetry from memory
i feel very tall
there is power in words
and tonight i'm in control
looming large and strong and
and feeling very tall
have i had too much? no,
just enough to clearly see
my shoulders are straight, my
head held high
speaking green words
and very, very tall
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.
TritanopiaI'll gladly weave the ashen wrath of a snow bank into my terrible flesh; I'll sprout new PrometheanTritanopia5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
nerves to beg the scorn off dark and drizzle, to settle the slow-riddle of bitter holes sold deep
within the waterchest ; I'll give back all the violent blue these faithless eyes had ever dared
to lure from the depths of the sleepless Dream;
but i'll never accept
the callous death
that is [....]
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
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
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
deafimagine that youdeaf4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
could not hear the rain
hitting the roof,
that windows provided a streaky view
of drops of rotting silences:
that a symphony was blank and
stagnant as a depth of
that opening mouths held no
and hands were more beautiful
would you be more afraid of the dark?
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.
A Dirty FloorThe yellowed linoleum is stained with uninterpretable patternsA Dirty Floor3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Perhaps ten thousand nights of decadence, maybe ten thousand days of happy children
Thin sunlight through dirty windows shows only battered confusion
Leaving traces of lives that never meant a goddamned thing
No more than abstract patterns on a dirty floor
limbsI drink your sinlimbs4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it froths
on my breath:
it tastes of ammonia
when I insert my tongue.
you've an orifice that seems to have no use
except as a place for a hook,
a thing engineered to glut itself
salty and debauched as oceanwater,
it devours me.