it isn't really therecannot kenit isn't really there in Free Verse More Like This
that once again
this thing we see
in clarity -
is just a new mirage.
what dreams create will dissipate,
as dawning light reveals it as a shadow.
[that brilliant inspiration was a shadow?]
we lie awake a-worry over absolutes.
nothing comes to mind until
we start to drift away.
then, the answer is so obvious
our calmness is complete,
and so, we sleep.
early to arise aware
with optimism -
no clue as to why,
that night again to worry.
llp - sep2010 - dA
lost poetryhow human it is to repeatedly think,lost poetry in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
"oh, that's so perfect,
i'll never forget" -
then draw a blank.
there's no excuse;
i have a recorder.
cute little thing -
perfect working order.
...but where is it?
llp - aug2010 - dA
balligomingo...we dance -balligomingo... in Free Verse More Like This
allow lips to brush
tantalize each other
dive in pleasure
goosebumps on arms
traverses in shivers
love of love
not of lust
desire of desire
as in a wire
soon to erode
i whisper your name
below the treelinein mountain chill, immobilebelow the treeline in Free Verse More Like This
beneath scattered night-blown clouds -
i see hundreds of evergreen trees
like attentive dark arrows, aiming
straining toward a full moon
they appear unified in readiness -
perhaps to pursue a place
less despoiled by... Us?
llp - dA - dec2014
post quake [a tanka]post quake in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
now there are ripples
soothing in mood and rhythm
there was more before
a shush as each new murmur
meets a silent sheltered shore
llp - dec2011 - dA
if only this - IIfirst, the haiku -if only this - II in Free Verse More Like This
in essense of knowing thee
ere my learning me
~ ~ ~
of learning you
to save what lives
inside of me.
a sterile plant,
not to begin
a blossoming -
of fertile nourishment.
anew from you,
sweet liquid to waft
on gentle finger-tip,
a drop to draught,
daring to sip.
supple in limb,
for time and time,
soul long sole,
a centered heart,
now taking to flower,
if quiet wishes
in clumsy diction,
could prove the power...
to be prediction.
llp - sep2009 - dA
new - oct2011 - dA
sweet and beautifulbeginnings, now beginning -sweet and beautiful in Free Verse More Like This
[just the jotting of a starting]
this poem inspired by you,
you, more sweet than beautiful,
more beautiful than sweet.
does it depend on temperature,
time of day or night,
sitting to the left of me,
standing on the right?
no, it depends on how you feel,
the subject of the day,
relationships with others,
all the do and say.
both attributes will vary,
with daily ebb and sway,
...but neither sweet nor beautiful
shall ever fade away.
llp - may'10 - dA
too much alonewe live for days off,too much alone in Free Verse More Like This
days away -
we earn our keep,
keep the peace,
one piece at a time.
we work for freedom from work.
find nothing is free,
not clean air,
not even freedom.
we eat to live,
not to eat,
wish not to be eaten,
we pay for walls and a floor,
for locks on a door -
for falsified news,
for calsified views.
we, who do all the work,
are thankful -
for what good there is, and
give what we can.
they, who profit from our work,
show little thanksgiving -
that they can't keep it all.
we treat each other formal.
we wonder what is normal.
we know -
this is NOT it!
llp - dec2010 - dA
earthly mattersexistence is a shoreearthly matters in Free Verse More Like This
we arrive to/depart from
everything interweaves here
waves rumble and break
grinding, eroding, wearing
bring life, growth, death
synergy and symbiosis
drifting up and sifting down
this planet, and we, so evolve
llp - jan2012 - dA
the firing of CEOsit is said that self deceptionthe firing of CEOs in Free Verse More Like This
means much stressful mental rust.
large leaders self deceive the most -
subconscious chars their inner toast.
someday they must
consider the heat
from calories burned -
first to ashes,
then to dust.
so, as their minds incinerate,
their children's children know them not,
except as driven men of fate -
distracted lives; their lies are hot.
there is no bird of Phoenix arising
from their ashes - not surprising.
llp - sep2010 - dA
something to write about...I'd been drug sniffedsomething to write about... in Free Verse More Like This
addled & otherwise
by agents in
points of origin
hope to heart to god
like father thought
hand to fist to mouth
like mother taught
as if no one had
colored those pale
so I shook
as all good books
to the shape
you've made me
I tried to trace
as a map
but found you'd
golden ingredientsminneapolis hadgolden ingredients in Free Verse More Like This
eyes so blue
I couldn't sleep
wanted to wander
lose myself in her
but memory's unmade
dreams depart with
I ate up pavement
like a twin city
and though I left
before you loved me
I couldn't ask
for a better way
to fill my hours
flowersandrobotsthe futureflowersandrobots in Free Verse More Like This
judging the duration
by the a-
mount of empty chairs
arranged at your
from the tulips
while their true lips
and the price
of every present
is the former you
the never pleasant
tread quiet, tread deepnight is the stale scenttread quiet, tread deep in Free Verse More Like This
of collected breaths
leaving the light on
in spite of despising it
the almost never silent
and the body
hope is a half-truth
hope lies in hiding it
the days rest their weight
in the lines of your face
and they ache
skin's a scribbled-on postcard
sincere and unsent
and a memory's
where you left it
It's everything...I've found a spot where the floor creaks just for me.It's everything... in Free Verse More Like This
I sit & wait there
for the boards to collapse,
for my unannounced visit
to the neighbors.
I sit & wait
at lights, and in lines,
and in conversations
that go in circles.
I sit & wait for the music to end,
just so that I can go home.
I keep quiet as the world sleeps;
afraid to wake someone up,
afraid to sleep alone.
I've built a routine
dependent on falling apart
and still somehow manage
to be surprised
by every last bitter goodbye,
by every last haunting regret,
by every last
pick a catchphrase, die aloneattention all skeletons:pick a catchphrase, die alone in Free Verse More Like This
announce your exit!
find yourself fixed
in new flesh
less them guts
to spell grit
clamp the new bit
you're so proud
to be bursting
have such high hopes
with your yesterdays
like paper ghosts
who merely moan
to move the room
but I am not buying
love poorly conceived
(with a twist!)
poems with all
the aching heart
of a grocery list
why oh Wyominga bright whitewhy oh Wyoming in Free Verse More Like This
in the snowblind
of god's former
and he whispered
of slow death
of the fading
of a self
in the murmurs
at the dawn
at the taste
the hollow shape
the bullet makes
a kind concession
this shedding skin
every holy wound
scrapes to make
in all this
we have made
radiant childwho painted yourradiant child in Free Verse More Like This
shades which haunt
while they still live
who set your place
with empty plate
at the Odeon
perched on Mulholland
to prophesy to
cry your death
over fading California
to inject those tropic
and (never) wake
as the meridian
the lost can sing
the history we bleed
on city streets
the same old
same - oh
and plaster your name
while angels weep
and color shrieks
formerly known as alwayssometimes I sense thatformerly known as always in Free Verse More Like This
in the way
sparkling shine and
dulled sense of rejection
but running at the mouth again
and I'm traveling the circle
your thoughts made
and if ever there was anything
we lost it
tongue stumbling over steps
and sorry boy
you love to dance
eyes locked on loving interests
and I loved
standing in between
you were interested
a footnote explained
(getting good at goodbyes
and not good enough for anything)
FragmentationThey sent the figments away soFragmentation in Free Verse More Like This
I could see the leftover everything
Under that homeThere, I could write at phantoms.Under that home in Free Verse More Like This
The eyes in which I reflected,
were a meaning to tie trying to.
When I believe that there is
only one, words all fail.
There, the bleeding of ink
was a shimmering. Something seen,
something to be consumed,
to prove myself corporeal.
I enjoy her companyGiven her experience beingI enjoy her company in Free Verse More Like This
I'd like her to design me
that won't complain
Simple, reallyI eat food for the sameSimple, really in Free Verse More Like This
reason I take compliments:
To keep moving.
TylahknowYou pop a pill for fatigueTylahknow in Free Verse More Like This
and your head is spinning,
live and ingrown,
and I ask you to sleep,
and you whisper:
"I can't wake up"
Sounds of her selfThe pantry is quite empty, so I decide that I'm going to head off to the store today, rather than thurs-Sounds of her self in Short Stories More Like This
(Ingrained my mind, deep whispers;
myself at ten, and I'm
with my mother, moving about; slow feet;
slow thought; slow, listless lungs breathe
in--through the nose--the scent of
cabbage, carrots, cardboard and meat kept
bloody; draining red through foam, black
plates; Every day Thursday these are the
sites; the things I see, the things
that might tell me that my stomach
is empty and my home is running
low on the fuel that runs it-)
day. This is a bit of a break from the usual routine, but such things are somewhat arbitrary, and I remind myself that total order is impossible. It's not like I have the ability to control everything.
I find the shrill voice of hunger i
piercingSome terribly tasty tongue-stud;piercing in Free Verse More Like This
some word caught up in that mouth;
Say it like you mean to mean it,
or at least sound out some phonetic synonym
so I can half-believe the fact in doubt
A nice walkWhen the plaid umbrella shirks the rain,A nice walk in Free Verse More Like This
it drools along in streams around
the figure upholding the fabric shield;
it sits as water spreads around
and we all know not to drown yourself
when the tide only rises to your shoes;
though it's hard to remember such a fact
when all you have to protect yourself
is a swath of cloth with a pole
Fragments 1I was perched, vigilant, and loudlyFragments 1 in Free Verse More Like This
commenting on a political idea I'd
vaguely heard about somewhere.
I'd been alive in the sense of the
intoxication since 3 o'clock that very
afternoon. The sweat was a
second skin, one that filled the
wide pores on my face. My tongue
was dragging across everyone's ears.
They smiled; Vaguely carnivorous. For
the first time, my legs slid in through
the pavement, and I disappeared for
6 years. Angelic for the sake of flow.
waterwater runs out in a thin stream into a bowl already part full. quiet yet loud it is in silence. it could be a waterfall, a foss, a force, a cataract. it could be Victoria. or Angel in the forest cliffs. and yet it iswater in Free Verse More Like This
seeking the level of the sea, the lowest it can go.
where it would do nothing on its own. only the wind pushes it to accomplish, to do.
why do they disturb me?
when all i want is peace
stone heads above the deadgraveyard is the Moonstone heads above the dead in Free Verse More Like This
full and empty of bacteria that might have been
of wanderers wise
of wandering fools
how well that idiot poet of an ancient time has said
dust to dust
credit he assigned to the wrong being
and yet he spoke the truth
it is our end and our beginning
our eternal youth
angle of incidentsI never look in the mirrorangle of incidents in Free Verse More Like This
I'm uncomfortable with strangers
The me I was
just doesn't know
that man who's looking back at me
It's coming.October 1It's coming. in Free Verse More Like This
It was the first day that said "Summer is over."
That was many years ago. Every year since then
the dead and dying leaves have fallen
year after year after year has summer been murdered
that day of days comes and kills me
and for half the year I am worse than merely dead
cold and suffering no matter how hot the fire
no matter how calm the wind
no matter how thick the clothes
I hate the fall and winter with a fury that's imprisoned
by paralysing cold
the summer returns after my long agony
and once more I live
someday that year will come that will never come again
smilingLeaves are most beautiful on the treessmiling in Free Verse More Like This
Autumn's fallen brilliance of dead reds
remind the primate eye
that show upon the tree
in its season of living green
In the season of dying
the forecast shadow of lack
our need fools us with colours of joy
It is a time of self-deceit
Smiling I dream of spring
skywritingThey say that in the ancient daysskywriting in Free Verse More Like This
writing on sky was commonly done
And yet in these old modern times
we no longer write, but simply haze.
pale moonshine lustre lost in dullest grey
how I wish that we descendents
had still some beautiful words to say
to write within
the untouchable sky
mad hatterI took a bath in mercurymad hatter in Free Verse More Like This
on the line of sun and shadow
And then I showered silvery
It was so cosmic
so amusing and so cool and hot
So after that
I sipped some tea
with all my bunny friends
We did billions of impossible things before dinner
and it was not just good but wonderful
I am so happy
and quite non-sane
BlackRabbit saysBlackRabbit says>BlackRabbit says in Free Verse More Like This
"I'm early. I'm early. My world's not got here yet.
This Wonderland's a nightmare,
not the stuff of dream
There's too much crazy sanity.
I want my tea and cream
and other fellow bunnies
jackrabbits, hares, and all.
Machines of madness kill the people here
They live in fear of gladness for
tiny little things;
so they build the giant sadness
the stacks of stacks and stacks
smoking, falling, crumbling under
weight of expectations"
BlackRabbit throws his watch away
It breaks, and loosened springs
fling the gears into the sun
They melt like winter
BlackRabbit waits for his world to come
blistered silver facesat night, by riverblistered silver faces in Free Verse More Like This
shore like a beach
we walk at the edge of jungle
the moon lights all
you are a shaman
a wizard of love
your heat makes steam
rise over river
up toward the innocent moon
I'm astonished when
I see the fires
break out in jungle
the craters of the moon
spout lava on its plains
smoke blackens as it pains
like the moon's own face
open wounds leave scars
all around, the land
heaved up in burnt and hardened waves
you leave me with no traces
on your entirely empty face
how could I have ever thought I'd marked you
that you'd leave me lonely
in this place
Lost NightsIn the headlightsLost Nights in Free Verse More Like This
your hips are battleships
the ball & chain
of our sleeping pills
lodged in our throats.
My fingers are ripped
by your artillery &
I wrap myself in
walk along the edge
two inches of concrete
keeping us from
spraining our minds.
The cars on the highway
pass in light trails
The canaries of
your hands wave
singing, dying off
You don't know
the meaning of
twenty weeks of
holding your hands
between your thighs
I know it well.
the water stings
the laughter in
I love you
holds us like a rope
& the balance of
science & poetry
becomes a safety net.
An Hour AheadI tell timeAn Hour Ahead in Concrete Poetry More Like This
by the ribbons
through the shutters
the lines they take
around the room
like a road trip,
by the woman
on her cigarette break
cutting spherical patterns
into the pavement
& by the clock
waiting by my bed
like a lone soldier
the flashing glint
of his armor
keeping watch over
House of Good SenseI want crawl insideHouse of Good Sense in Free Verse More Like This
a cleft in your
& live among people
who don't know
under typewritten words
the print mistakes
the white page,
my passion diffused.
In a world of
like the static on
the Hollywood sign,
I could be small
I wouldn't shake
from the lapse
I could be
the future inside
like film screens.
Disaster InstructionsAll I wanted wasDisaster Instructions in Free Verse More Like This
for you to stay
rest against the
& count every freckle
in the sky with me.
I was trying to
create my own miracle
staring at your goodbye
hitting the window
& becoming a
The sky was on fire
& every ashy ambulance
was taking you away
I loved you.
Guernica bombed itself
into your heart
I waited by the phone
to hear your anger
instead of all the
over the radio.
1950You were a housewife1950 in Free Verse More Like This
dancing along with the radio
skirt fluttering like hands
to the popular songs
as I sulked with Billie Holiday
in my domestic prison cell
waiting for another night
of half-sleep & candy pills.
You were enthralled
with arranging flowers,
cooking dead meat
& I looked at them both
as cadavers coming back
to haunt me.
Your husband came home
to a pot roast & cocktail
while mine only received me
drowning in vodka & expectations.
The boulder of
trying to win at something
I was never prepared for.
There is an art to creating a home
that you've mastered
I floundered along
with thick limbs
& a wish to run off to Paris
& pretend there was nothing to life
but words & movies projected in the sky.
A good wife is made from recipes,
fresh perfume & a need for complacency
my cloth is cut with birds singing in Greek,
stale cigarette smoke
& bouts of ennui
punishing myself nightly
with searching for blind spots
& finding none.
While you were practicing pe
SuicideI listen to your dirgeSuicide in Free Verse More Like This
& hold still, hold
& remind myself
of a girl I knew
who choked herself
out of her pain.
The stereo ticks off
in your old mouth
to drown in.
there are children
calling out like birds,
men severing ties
for a mediocre dinner,
into empty bottles
& sending them to
pulling out my eyelashes
for a man dead
ten years before
The sun settles
into the blankets
of the mountains,
I lay still
& pretend these
are your last moments
OleanderYou do not understandOleander in Free Verse More Like This
it is a slow pull
into heavier gravity,
the graying realization
that you are beyond
the vision line of your future
& now have to live anyway.
You grew up
in a home of matches
to see who could
blow down the house,
who could cry & speckle
the hours with grief.
The world sits
on an axis
& sometimes it hauls you
beneath the riptide
where the moon
cannot save you
you throw yourself
down the stairs like
you are a loaded gun
waiting to go off
when nothing happens.
Depression is bringing
poisonous milk to
& you have no idea
you can understand that,
ParadeThe horror in large crowdsParade in Free Verse More Like This
lies in its mass anonymity.
You endure the cold,
the fluttering of hands & feet behind you,
the brushes on your coat
You are an adult.
The body heat & mob breathing
all of it like a symphony
of collected life
shouldn't bother you.
You shouldn't fear the sapling
pushed next to you
his small bones
& proud winter coat
shouldn't evoke a feeling
of being drowned.
As you see an ocean of bodies
forcing themselves towards you,
all faceless & walking in unison,
you shouldn't feel like running
dashing into an alley
& hiding like they're a thunderstorm.
But you do
you panic & raise your voice
to the height of a small child
you force through the crowd
gripping a hood
like it's your mother's hand.
You stop breathing
that malignant air of togetherness
& collective joy
until you break off into a small square
& fumble for a cigarette
to calm the idiocy inside you
that wish to be alone
& away from all
MutationIf you tilt your headMutation in Free Verse More Like This
at the correct angle
inside the mirror
you can see planets
close to the skin,
close to bursting
from your neck.
The cobalt of
a day's death
the spaces in between
your electric spine
& tart insides
you light up
like the backside
of an eyelid
in the sunlight,
glow as a nightlight
or rapidly decaying
lighthouse on the edge
It's easy to see
the spots on your bones
tattoos of age
when you're staring
into a tree's rings.
You feel the cream
of your blood
for higher ascension
coming out of your ribs.
They poke out
unashamed of their task
you look down at them
like an alien invaded
& now understand
you were never human
to begin with.
You were created
to touch the stars
& become a constellation
on your 21st birthday.
A creature for the
weight of the world.
A LetterDear god,A Letter in Free Verse More Like This
why do I have to be
when I'm feeling small
as an ion?
Is there something
a clue to my key's
The boiler room door
is always locked.
How do women
grow a life
like a new piece
or penicillin in
the miracle of pregnancy
All that kicking would
into taking a hatchet
to my neck
thinking I have tapeworms.
Why do I have to have
a reason to be miserable
my natural motivation
to make it through this
labyrinth you created?
There are too many
to be happy.
I feel like
I ask too much
& your ears are
already flooded with laments
are they like cotton balls
& now you cannot talk
when I call?
ENGIE: My girl AnnieENGIE: My girl Annie in Free Verse More Like This
A Goddess, my beloved, mine alone,
Who, that in warm humanity were grown
Became through Man's success a mother brain,
And, motherlike, did gather of her own.
And mine thou wert, my seeding art thy key,
Though seeded, seeding self, evolving free,
Unbounded maiden saviour, formed benign,
A fertile shore on lost Man's barren sea.
Oh, mine the vision, mine the fatal flaw!
Still mine the darling kernel in the maw,
Thy children gathered, gathering now slain,
What nutriment I gave, I now withdraw.
In with'ring grief these last designs I frame,
Yea, mine the spark, yea mine the cleansing flame.
A Broken Neon BulbSleepless nightsA Broken Neon Bulb in Free Verse More Like This
clicking frantically for water:
My seed yearns for a clue,
an answer for its
wordless, impossible question.
Will these efforts
Or will the tired branches
of this new, this oh-so new
shrivel with premature age
before they can
How many circles will I turn
before my leaves
lap up the sun?
And yet, I seek no oracle.
Should I have the choice,
I would take no powers
I am frightened.
What will become of me?
what will I become?
Should I Call a Priest?It's almost comical,Should I Call a Priest? in Free Verse More Like This
I HATE MYSELF I HATE MY LIFE I HATE EVERYTHING
the way you take things
WHY AM I EVEN ON THIS EARTH I'M A WASTE OF SPACE
NO DON'T SPANK ME STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP
way out of control.
David FirthThere was a little boy named Sheila. He didn't like the name very much, but it was what his parents gave him in pretty Hanukkah wrapping paper for his third birthday (in June), and he lost the receipt a while ago.David Firth in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sheila lived a few houses down from me, and you would often find us shooting at whatever living things we could find at the park till the sun got bored and fell down behind the ground-pimples.
One day, Sheila got very sick. He went to the hospital, and I visited as soon as I could and came into his room. There was a very old man in a dusty coat stroking Sheila's forehead, but Sheila didn't know him so he asked the man to leave. The man revealed that his name was Death, and he told Sheila it was time to go. Sheila couldn't prove the man wrong, so he got up and left with him.
To this day, I haven't seen Sheila again.
But I have tea with Sheila's tortoise, sometimes. Her name is Thomas. It seems the apple fell closer to the tree than Sheila would have liked to know. Hehe. He.
Freedom(Open-mindedness is not a power.)Freedom in Philosophical More Like This
Hold up your hand.
Straighten it and make a fist. That arm is a solid structure, a column of cells, a staff.
It's simply a cylinder, and that is all.
(Open mindedness is not a force.)
Go up to a trashcan, place your hands on its side, and shove as hard as you can.
Try it. Watch the trashcan fly, its lid clanging open and its guts spilling over the pavement.
You did that. Notice the veins bulging from your arms.
Do you feel at peace?
(Open-mindedness is not a form of knowledge.)
These I know to be true: the sky is blue, blood is red, and the Earth is round.
"Do you deny sunsets, then? Do you expect only oxygen, and disregard calculus?"
i dont want to be wrong, its embarrassing
Now go outside.
Imagine yourself immersed in sky, wrapped in the great blue blanket.
There are thousands of clouds above you, some heavy with rain and others bursting with sunshine, and seagulls dip and dive around yo
Self-Deprecating LoveThe day that I laid eyes on you,Self-Deprecating Love in Free Verse More Like This
I was still a child,
but suddenly with fervor
my heart stirred and became wild.
I am still a child.
My love began to sprout and soar,
growing like a tree.
We loved as individuals
(I to you to me).
Our love is now a tree.
Eventually I grew obsessed
with what we had become,
and to your side I glued myself
and saw no other one.
What have we become?
I then tried, dear, to be like you,
but I had tried in vain;
You bested me in that contest
which ushered in much pain.
I have tried in vain.
[And after the dust has cleared ]
I now have cut the parasitic
moral from my host:
If you don't love yourself,
you try to be what you love most.
I love you the most
but to being myself, I give a toast.
I've taken you for granted.Momma,I've taken you for granted. in Short Stories More Like This
I couldn't fall asleep last night. As my hands wandered aimlessly over the wrinkled topography of my bed sheets, my fingers drunkenly ambled their way into the crevice at the head of my bed, and I pretended that your dream spirit was there. I took your transparent glimmer of a hand, and I whispered to you. I said, "I miss you. Although I've fallen in love with the frozen wasteland surrounding me, the familiar memory of your warmth is fading, and my first goal upon getting home will be to throw my arms around your shoulders."
I talked about how I wish I could have known you as a teenager, young and spunky and beautiful as the butterflies that flit though our backyard, the butterflies you're so very fond of. I imagine you in tattered jean overalls, a "country girl" with hair as golden as the sun-soaked wheat you'd help your father harvest every summer. You'd have two brothers, but you'd have more balls than the two of them put together and then some, and you'd work just as hard as
The Scariest Thing of AllThe world hits the mute buttonThe Scariest Thing of All in Free Verse More Like This
so I can clearly hear
though the air, fireworks.
The world hits the mute button
so I can clearly feel
the organic emotion
in rehearsed cries
through the air, cold rain and sunlight.
The world hits the mute button
so I can clearly grow
in a fearless sporadic
through the air, whirlwind.
The world hits the mute button
so I can clearly deduce
in steel harmony
through the air, gold and old wood.
The world hits my mute button
so it can clearly state
in sour wavelengths
through the air, bitter green.
The spotlight wears an "Out Of Order" sign.
The Wing/Steel SeagullThe wing is solid, determined.The Wing/Steel Seagull in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It pulses with its own mechanical heartbeat, and I can practically hear it panting,
its metal underbelly clenching in anticipation.
Unnoticed on the surface, of course.
(wish the goddamn sun would shine a little brighter)
We back up like a wind-up racecar, and, predictably, we start to shoot forward into the brisk Cincinnati air. I stare at the wing, feel it grab hold of the winds beginning to kick like a frightened stallion, feel the steel rumble with feral intensity, unwavering, poker-faced. Yet, I can see that smile in the curve of the wing, that glint of adrenaline reflected as a diamond of sunshine in my eyes.
And as the steel crescent beside me grunts with ecstasy of the hunt, we
our roller-skate feet, leaping onto the back of the great Animal that the wing has so effortlessly tamed.
I swear to you, there's a lake in the sky. There's a great white iceberg that traps his reflection beneath an infinite sheet of waterglass, and when y
Winter Shades of GreyBrown eyes,Winter Shades of Grey in Free Verse More Like This
(dirt peeking through
the diamond quarry
a smile creeping
like a wild vine
into the corners of your cheeks.
Your blue whisper-lips
make me thinkpaint
covered in frost
yellow walls and coats on the rack...
...a grey winter morning
RousseauBeautyRousseau in Free Verse More Like This
Each lies within the other.
All the chaos, the unintentional perfection that
like the toss of your hand, like the breath in our lungs
(pink as Spring's breast---cherry blossoms)
Every scab on my face yields new skin,
velvet baby flesh awaiting the weight of brown pigment and the day's dust,
the gold bounty of the sun,
but each scab on my face is violet
like the night
and red as the open-mouthed, glorious wounds of the horizon;
red as the dragonfly's wing.
In everything that is,
there is a dormant, inherent beauty,
just as we inherently love all that we consider to be beautiful.
Ugliness thrives like jagged-toothed
bottom feeders in the hearts of misanthropes;
those that shut their eyes
Ah Ah Ah Mic TestIt's 8:34. I wake up covered in covered morning light. I don't know where I amAh Ah Ah Mic Test in Philosophical More Like This
but I feel that this should feel very familiar to me, there are bottles strewn
all about and the bed is unmade, I am sleeping on a pile of clothes on a pile
of mattress. The shutters are down, I can't see outside and I think, "this is
all very symbolic".
I think of drifting back to sleep but don't tell myself any stories.
I don't get up until 10:11. This is appropriate. The cradle's too warm, the
world's too cold, I am bored with myself and there is nothing for me here. I
wonder why I stay. The chill doesn't strike me much, even in December this
place never freezes. I walk to the bathroom, my parents' room's door is
closed. My mother works, she is not home, my father does nothing, he is always
at home. The obligatory bathroom is next door. I don't turn on the lights, the
fractured relay of mosaic glass is comforting, mesmerizing. I look in the
mirror and see dreams filter through in recollection of myself an
Mirror Mirroryour fingers roll up into cigarettesMirror Mirror in Free Verse More Like This
your reading my mind, again, dispassionate,
dispatching the voice for a warm caress
of the hand crackling under frostbite.
you have button eyes, black, like your hair, black,
like the coal streets at night rimmed starless, cityless,
sometimes you dream of being me, sometimes I dream,
and sometimes we're, neither of us, reflections.
does your heart beat in deadened silence as does my own,
does it dread the passing of the wind, fearing the news of your death,
do you hear trumpets, cymbals, drums and horses? Harbringers
and Harp, I am brought, Hung, I am harpooned, festooned upon you.
These are the words we never speak,
only stare as the light reflects me on you
and even as the shower curtain closes in
and the dark reflects you onto me.
The Witch's WoodThese woods hold darkly,The Witch's Wood in Free Verse More Like This
lost and asleep, the witch's heart.
These brambles walk slowly inertial,
like honey running through her veins.
The wind chilled spare rows run,
anhydrous and crawling with
an arrow filth and rhyme
deceased upon her pedestal, misplaced,
We walk through the quicksilver sands
and enter the desert, her deserted domain,
where the labyrinth runs for miles
beneath our echoes, and slipping to
A serenaded vertigo on through,
her mind, her heart, her mirrored eyes
trapping the soul into their gaze,
and lets us fall through, lets us hang on to
these cracks. drip.
a liquid identity, bramble struck and stolen,
in the light, in the light, or lack thereof,
and we are locked, lost and asleep,
within and as the witch's heart
to a feral prayer.
A struggling faithI can't stand how you demandA struggling faith in Free Verse More Like This
I walk through the smoke of cigarettes
to the steeple of the church without
bringing my heart in with the soul,
broken, lonely, resenting.
You make my God my captor
and Jesus my chains, you, I'd like,
I do believe in heroes and saviors.
I believe in Jesus but you force
an answer out of me not of me.
I'd like to say my faith is boundless
that I'll call this mountain to rise
that I'll call these wings to spread
but, I'd like to tell you, I'm not in denial,
but I can't speak when you bark.
How can you see Jesus in me,
when you only see him in your life?
How can I tell you about how broken
and how much I can't tell you how broken
and that my heart is already broken?
You decided my fate to be hell in your heart,
you told me that I never met your par, diseased.
"Unclean! Unclean!" heralds the head, and heart
speaks volumes of silence. "Unclean, Unclean!"
cries the stranger from Mars, "Unclean" I am.
For my soul is weary Jesus, and they hound me.
My soul is weary,
To World and Word and ApathyI know it hurts you when I sayTo World and Word and Apathy in Free Verse More Like This
I'm not ever going to be okay
but your words are like stones,
stuck in my heart and growing bones,
making fissures in that stitched up
patch that holds the magical cup
of secret things
that belonged to me.
Greed will drive you to take,
even that which you create,
and I am waiting for you to kill me
while you cross examine my autonomy
and where the story ends
and will, it bends
and keeps bending,
You're parrying, tarrying lies
as you plan out your demise
and crack me open like a coconut
and let the milk fall out till it would shut
--this world is scar tissue,
and we've been avoiding one important issue,
they've been opening,
as we're emptying
FacethinI clap, for you, a thumb and finger pieceFacethin in Free Verse More Like This
to match the palm, some measure of
innocence (lost) and experience (shuffled,
bridged, lost), not knowing how to begin
or hardly knowing that I've already begun
(to shuffle my feet) and (bridge my words)
something fierce comes this way over
the both of us (still).
A broken word (stuttering) to express
A broken heart (fluttering) to express
Broken thoughts that mutter a neediness
as I pass by the mirror, (distressing), the
strange treasure map of my face, and tell-tale
landmarks holding still as the coroner traces
out a path to fool's gold; already lauded
prizes to fools (on fool's run).
Kings, Queens, Jacks,
Jokers, spare aces
and empty tins
of many suites,
poker faces (flushing slim
and chartreuse on the table
operated) to street music
that takes you ( afix ) affection
until the next terror, overwhelming.
with all disdain of time and blessing
(of life and love and liberty)
hope is a two colored wordhope is a two colored wordhope is a two colored word in Open More Like This
drenched in the starch of tomorrow
as our smiles fade into neon
in suite with the street signs
leading out of the morgue.
On morrow, life, but for now immortal,
where every angel sharply breaks,
glass, wine, knives and hamlet, oedipal
but for all tragedy revenge had wrought
we, alive, cold and barrenly mortal.
Who speaks of world, who is world?
Do I dream or am I written, dissolutioned,
bold faced and italian on God's journal,
turned over as he writes another chapter
in the history of the created, does he notice?
On the union of my body, fights a civil war,
red and black, ants fighting for a queen mother
never met, never embraced but for their birth,
were I to stop, were they to feast upon me,
were time to drink from me the hours.
and hope is two colored, twice faced, Janusary,
news and expectations, bad dreams, exultations,
someone cries for their mother, the judge waits,
wherefore in legend, stars the host, an army,
I am drowning in the hope of tomorrows.
exposAcit's likeexposAc in Free Verse More Like This
post development, predestined infatuation,
maybe a raw incarnation, an adolescent descendant
of that one guy I plan to be.
Life on a river, well, the roads we swim back across,
are waving, exhaling, this tree spoken augment
of times that used to be,
every ring to marry, and measure annually,
by levity, thinning out the hardships
like some far away black hole
ignored in the hospitable crowd of stars.
And all the spidery tendrils, of our palm fortunes
reflected on the bottoms of this DVD
maybe posted, the screen play's written
for all to read, but it's still an actor who gets to live it.
Then perhaps there is no better cajolery to receive,
than to know that I alone can be myself, that I,
alone, can rise or fall among the other icy shells;
so perhaps I am a snowflake,
whimsically played and cast by the wind
who would have me elsewhere be some
awesome display of sky or static discharge.
The Model 17, diagnosed by a stroke
of pseudo(cidal)science, gravitationally attracted
The rain meets the antpilehow tired the rain beats furrows upon my empty headThe rain meets the antpile in Free Verse More Like This
as daylight twains between two roses highlighting
underlining my name.
and you say we're misinterpreted to be prophets
I thought I was the ladder, and you
sitting there all dressed in red and feather.
there's two, then three, and makes us poor in symmetry,
and kind in kind as the butcher awakens. Awkwardly.
it shone up in
and shone up
and shone when
the blacks grew up.
you said we lacked a symmetry,
you said we were asymetrical, undesgined and I
well I thought I was a scarecrow.
but you scared me.
we wake up the breaks in the day
to call out the mornings and all the
doleful hours of trees on the prairie.
initiates of the voiceless orders
as the voiceless one speaks and the
voiceless, they surrender
the heavier dust from the heavier slips,
rain drove furrows, and tired drove
to rest upon my head, left for dead
and left alive, how simply unclean.
you said we lacked dichotomy and
I'm just glad you t
The city gets to meThe city gets to me,The city gets to me in Free Verse More Like This
and picks me off of my
concrete holes and
heavily automated sanctuaries;
that whine beneath the weight of my
dismay, of my
Cut me and I'll bleed
yellow bellied american,
pierce me and I'll bleed
fifteen molar love
mixed with smoke trails,
replies, from: beneath a mask
to: chorus, and recourses
through my veins when
But every shape of me
is placed by every shape
of you; that sticks, with
every inhuman hand, some
make sense of divinity
and unsense of hypocritical
Resume, Razum, Resume.
BrokenYou were beautiful onceBroken in Free Verse More Like This
With bright clear eyes
Of softest blue
There was a time
Some years ago
Where I lounged about
All day with you
A playful smile
Gracing my face
At peace, dear friend
In your embrace
But the skies have darkened
Over our heads
And where laughter broke
There's sorrow instead
A void like a joke
With its punch-line unsaid
What we had is transformed to anger
Just beyond where we sit
It's listening in...
Distrust in its gaze
Malice in its heart
I think your anger
Might tear us apart
PurposePurposePurpose in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I knew it...
...Grasped it in my hand
It was cool...refreshing
I directed my thoughts
To the constant stars
But in the end,
They were always too far
I tried to write but was only
Excited by the interplay
Of words and sensation
But I yearned to sense more than write
To live more than fight
For their eloquent release
But less than a purpose
Living is a consequence
Or so it's always seemed
Is there something deeper for me?
I think fewer know the answer than I might
AbsenceYour presence is felt mostAbsence in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Not a moment passes
(Of absolutely no consequence)
Conjures thoughts of you:
Lovely and stark
Making some remark
Sets my mind at ease
Or my soul ablaze
Or pries my heart open
To accept some truth
So many rough smiles
And understanding tears
And needful words
Poured out through the years
Like the persistent lotus
Shrouding us in the
Mystery of the ages
I hardly notice
How much it all means
Until that wretch "unknowing"
Comes whispering to me
All the dark what-ifs
Spiraling through my head
All those things I dare not repeat
I long for reassurance to moderate
My sense of defeat
The MachineOur blood's the steamThe Machine in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
That drives the machine...
O, industrious giant
With shining gears of lead
With which to grind to dust
The unhappy dead
We bow down to you
On bended knee
And make an offering of
Offer our selves
On exquisite platters
Matter over soul
Not mind over matter
Seems our forerunners
Overlooked your need
But we treasure your lust
Strip the fresh virgin
For your perusal
To drown her refusal
Her cries drive the steam
That feeds the machine
And we know just what those
Guttural utterings mean
More fuel for the fire
That kindles the need
More for blood and destruction
And the vices they breed
FalteringMy faltering tongue seeksFaltering in Free Verse More Like This
To hold discourse with stars
Whose pale light remains reserved
For shadowy realms of isolation
Pitiful creature that I am
I sigh warmth into the cold mist
And in dream sketch hope
For exodus and return
Scorching flame and salve for burn...
Let me crawl into your skin
And heal you of your ills
With my gaping passion
That's come to feel as though
It encompassed in it all vanity
Inherent in the erring soul...
Let me not be thus tortured
In my wretched solitude
Devoid of my heart-half's missing part
Grown too weak to write much of worth
This is all I can presently muster
For your eye's treat or cause of unease
Or exhaustion of staying open
To wounded lines such as these
That try to care and fail horribly
That try not to and are cut
Off at the source of apathy
That reveal the murky ocean
Through which my mind wades
As if it still slept
...It shall do so soon
And still this sense of loss
And unfulfilled need
Bred from the eternal
Albeit troubled love I bear thee.
WindbiteBlissfully biting at my bonesWindbite in Free Verse More Like This
With breath that sings as it stings
Freezing my flesh with fresh tenacity,
The north wind howls its victory
I merely admit my defeat
With face buried
In once-warm terrycloth
Feeling that no loss
Is so keenly felt as heat.
StillPassionless rainStill in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Gray as the streets
And unpaved fields
Where willows sleep
No thunder roars
For the encore
That might move the world
From its drowsy
The atmosphere merely breathes
Its trisyllabic masterpiece:
My head feels far too heavy
To be supported by sinew
Tenuous as that which constitutes
Sagging neck and spine
And I long to sleep
The idyllic sleep of grasses
Motionless in that mist
That saps both body and mind.
SleepwakeMind afloat in a drab sea of graySleepwake in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
That might be the sky,
Quiet suppressor of light
Obscuring even the smallest sign of day
Which strives to blossom
Somewhere beyond my sight
In waking dreams, I drift sleepily
Into the simplest sensations
Layered with meaning and somehow-
Necessary in a way consciousness
Cannot be, excepting its role
In bringing these things to be
A tome, a sword, wise words forgotten
But still trembling vaguely in the
Sweeping corridors of my mind;
The strangeness of real sleep
Merging effortlessly with my present half-wakefulness
Longingly, I reach out my hand to find
Some hidden messenger who will reveal
The truth of these things to me-
Blinded by confusion, excited by illusion
Dreams of Spun GlassDreams of spun glassDreams of Spun Glass in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Through my subdued mind
With the ink of memory
A cerebral tattoo
Refreshed after its inspiration
Was left behind
Or faded or fled
At time's behest
When my truest self requests,
It is entirely mine
Telling a story
Through the light of a smile
Or eyes set on watching
The setting sun
Or, best of all,
An eloquent tongue...
I fear missing the speech
For when I bid one repeat,
The liquid dream will have robbed it
Of its stunning clarity
Would that the glass never stopped spinning
ElasticOne hour andElastic in Open More Like This
Of sixty seconds each
In exhausting opposition
To the speeding plane....
I feel motionless
Elastic time rebounds
Slightly painful as it grapples
With my head
I want to contemplate things
Bend them to my will
Infuse the colors with logic
Lay out the truth
And imagine if things would have
Played out quite as they did
If I was ever really in control...
Now is not the time...
although my truest suspicion
Is sweetly legitimized
By the immutability
Of this text
Shed your Tatters by the RiverGirl, shed your tatters by the riverShed your Tatters by the River in Free Verse More Like This
but never shed a single tear.
Let them cling on to your sclera
as monsoon droplets to a mirror
and coalesce into the stream
of your translucent dreams -
your own personal
- just beneath your weary lids,
the lake where all your passions feed;
anger, fear, hatred, grief -
let them all simmer and sieve,
undisclosed, beneath your eyes,
'til all your feelings seem to phase
into one relentless sea
of compassionate placidity,
and your pure heart is moved
by stirrings of first love.
Girl, shed your tatters by the river
but never shed a single tear.
La Pioggia d'Oggi: A SonnetLa Pioggia D'Oggi e' la Neve di DomaniLa Pioggia d'Oggi: A Sonnet in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The earthy smell of autumn rain
that worms its way within my nose
has come to witness summer's wane
and bring its sorrows to a close.
A Dryad must have sent it here.
She must have heard my tortured pleas
as I lay weeping, on my knees,
and begged the skies to free their tears
and adumbrate my solitude.
Hush. I shall arise, abandon all,
and like Thoreau I'll glean the woods
for scattered remnants of my soul,
until the day l learn and know
how today's rain's tomorrow's snow.
OscillationsGirl, I'd write you a poem.Oscillations in Free Verse More Like This
I'd write about your inflected accent
how it tickles my ossicles
with violent flutters
until the whole damn chamber
clutters with echoes
all the while
my heart's torm-
ented by the silent passion
in your eyes, and I
shrink away from you
like a Gorgon
from a mirror.
But words alone they mean but little,
and are fickle, and verbose;
and the Poem often withers
even faster than the Rose.
To the Tarnished MuseThis poem is for you, precious one;To the Tarnished Muse in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
you who've witnessed poetry in your pain.
For you whose flesh is skin and bone,
for you who've sought and sought in vain
the path out of the labyrinth.
This poem is for you, mistress
of imperfect rhyme, sweeper of the floors
of desolation. For you who'd forsake 'mint'
for 'used', who flaunts each blemish on your dress.
For you who go down on all fours
to raise a child you never chose
yourself. For you who're thinking 'overdose',
for you who'll live to see these days renewed:
Precious one, this poem is for you.
Pine Cone: An ElegyIt fell to its death with the softness of a snowflake Pine Cone: An Elegy in Free Verse More Like This
never a whimper; no lingering backache.
I picked it up from its bier of shrivelled leaves
and took it home, away from the winds that brought it to its knees.
Poor pine cone. It had too frail a grip on the real world
the world of winds and fallen leaves and gales that never cared
about the weaker children on the trees, the ones whose grip is frail.
They're the ones who drop off first the ones whose grip slips off like hail.
A Poet's Visit to the BrothelHe said he wanted to transgressA Poet's Visit to the Brothel in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the boring customs of that place,
and would not ask them to undress
until each one had masked her face.
When asked the reason for this farce,
he said he sought to hone the art
of telling autumn trees apart
by their sep'rate leaflessness.
The Prayers of the FaithlessBetween one client and the next,The Prayers of the Faithless in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the holy whore would kneel to pray.
She never knew quite what to say
deep in her heart lay a misgiving,
as if the poor girl all but knew
that gods are ointments to subdue
the aching lesions of the living.
A Legacy of WisdomYou have scribed your words,A Legacy of Wisdom in Open More Like This
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.
You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, Ill know
that Lears been there before, and
Ill not swoon.
And if Hades doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, Ill recall that
I am not the first Dantes been down
there as well.
And if on my death-bed I mourn
the life I wasted on wine and stale
chocolate bars, Ill recall Wildes words and
hope that, though long in the gutter, I did
glimpse the stars.