I cannot bear itI say, “I cannot bear it.” Then I do.I cannot bear it1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Unfair that you should catch me bearing up.
And that is why the world goes on with few
demurring, rather, bearing up and up.
One time I bore up hard and then I fell.
I fell so hard I could not tell an up
from down or right from left or hill from dell.
It looked as if I’d fully drained the cup.
But then I twitched and then I rolled and up
I came, both bearing up and bearing scars.
And when the daze was past, I knew corrupt
from good and lie from truth and space from stars.
You say, “I cannot bear it.” Then you do.
It’s fair that I should catch you bearing up.
Scrap and Dust and BoxesThe book you didn’t finish.Scrap and Dust and Boxes4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The skirt you cut but never sewed.
The music where you learned the right hand but not the left.
The story never read aloud.
And now the child’s grown up.
The scrapbook started when glue and paper were in vogue.
The tubes you bought but never learned to paint with.
Five balls of yarn and not a stitch.
The trip you planned but never took.
Tickets bought then canceled.
A dress, too nice, so never worn.
Collections stored in covered boxes.
Gifts in tissue paper, never sent.
And words of praise and sentiment
That never left your lips.
The moment, ready to become reality,
Died in every pause.
It will not come again in just that way.
You see the detritus and bones
In scrap and dust and boxes.
I am so brittleI am so brittle3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am so brittle I could crack
and fall in pieces at your feet.
Sweep me off into the corner -
all I want to do is sleep.
I am so hollow I could melt
into a smaller puddle than
you might expect to see.
No need to step on me -
I only want to sleep.
Is there a code I have to crack,
is there a solid I should melt?
Give me the key and raise the heat -
let me sleep!
StringTiny green spots on winter-dead branchesString11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
A holocaust, a death-march, a tiny string of hope
Braver souls than I have retreated, phoned it in
Fascinated by that string, I want to pull it, I
Want to know
Close to the borderline, red drops, white snow
A stench hovers over the city, mad yellow cabs
Ray of sunlight glints through broken window
I begin to pull the string towards me, heartbeat;
The string breaks
Old fallout shelters revived, black planes fly
God isn’t here today, playing cards with Buddha
I look for you in the empty Wal-Mart, still hoping
That none of the blood on the barbed-wire is yours
You’re not there
Out in the field of old televisions, night falls hard
Sleeping beneath cardboard by the blue-screen light
Tomorrow I will find you in an abandoned garage
We will find the string, follow it to freedom, I think
It will happen
Your Man BluesI don't want to be a fat man, so I can't find my feet.Your Man Blues3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I don't want to be a thin man, seeking something to eat.
I just want to be your man - not too fat and not too thin.
I want to ring your bell, babe, and know that you will let me in.
I don't want to be a strange man, so people try not to stare.
I don't want to be a plain man, so people can't see I'm there.
I just want to be your man - not too strange and not too plain.
I want you to feel love, babe, as natural as rain.
I don't want to be a wild man, like a mule kicking in a stall.
I don't want to be a tame man, with no surprises at all.
I just want to be your man - not too wild and not too tame.
I want to be with you, babe, and hear you call my name.
I don't want to be an X-Man, shooting power from my eyes.
I don't want to be the Batman, you know that he never cries.
I just want to be your man - not too X and not too Y.
I want to hold you close, babe, and know that you're satisfied.
I am a silenceI am a silence3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I am a silence, a small disturbance,
a flatness in the field of voices.
Voices rise like weeds and flowers,
rise like chimneys, rise like towers.
And there are voices high as hell
from whom we hear that all is well -
with some exceptions, we should know.
These are the fault of those below.
Weeds and flowers, for shame, for shame.
So much wrong and you to blame.
But I will not curse, I will not bless.
I am a silence, a small disturbance.
BirthBirthBirth3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because he swims in her womb,
the water she drinks blurs into wine.
Gnats land on her skin, black pearls,
they buzz like bells and she smiles.
He takes her pain. When she grinds wheat,
the pestle scrapes his skin raw.
Before he enters the world, he memorizes its pain.
But each time, the pain falls fresh,
an unbitten pear. Each bite startles him.
This is my flesh he thinks.
He wants to wake, a cool stone tomb,
the end, no more, please.
PluckingPluckingPlucking2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The table between us is a moon.
But the air is heavy. It lies
on us, muffled heat stilling
our breaths. You drop your fork,
but I still won't look at you. Even angels
would crawl if they were here.
"Why can't we be friends?"
I am thinking of a Flemish tapestry
I once saw in a white stone house,
walls dense and prickly with roses:
a line of stiff scarlet soldiers,
a rearing horse. The soldiers' thick fingers
grope at the blank cream cloth,
seeking purchase, gravity.
"What are you feeling?"
"I want to be a Flemish soldier,"
I tell you. Only my fingers
would constantly pluck at the expanse,
searching for the thread
that will unravel everything.