Month: January 2012

No clever trickery, it’s there on the page.

poetry

For every stupid girl who let herself fall

Unbeknownst into the

Clutches of yet another reprehensible fool,

Know this.

 

It gets better. I know it sounds cliché but I promise. Maybe not

Tomorrow but some day, you’ll look back

 

And realize that nothing was ever really so bad.

Let yourself move on and you will see,

Life will go on.

again (?)

poetry

i don’t know if the
road to peace has any
mile markers on it but
i’s counting my footsteps
up ’till today and i
wish i knew how much longer
to go cuz i’m so so tired
hiking from atom to atom
to the tempo of all of the
multi
cellular
war
drums
and
their
chanting
sounds so beautiful, some
times
and their eyes are so
beautiful some
times

and i get up
things spread back out
and disappear
and that beauty is replaced
with waves of electrons
and even then things are
beautiful some
times
and lo my thumb hits the air.

Eating Buttons

poetry

That gentleman in the corner,
he is insane, I think.

He is eating buttons
like they are candies.

He swears they’re all he can afford,
but I gave him a bag,
last Sunday,
of the finest M and Ms
this side of the Mason-Dixon.

And yet he eats his buttons,
now, and his shirts don’t
stay done either. And
by the time he sews them up
he’s on to another.

But I gave him candies
not a week ago.

So let him sit in his corner,
I say,
and let him, bare and breathless,
chew another little hunk
of plastic for all it’s worth.

He deserves it.

But it’s really more than an investment

poetry

As another man in another life my
soul was up for grabs but
I got it back and now
It’s safe in a trust fund,
lock and key and all of that.

If I got the bank-man right
I’ll double my investment
in no time
(say a lifetime or so)
and that’s perfect, says I.

After all I’m not using it,
and since a lifetime is
exactly how long I plan to live,
I’d say things are working out
precisely.

As long as this bank don’t fail,
that is.

Silence/music part 2

poetry

Stilt walk me skyward on tree trunks
So I can catch you meteors
Or at least set rocks on fire
And throw them as high I can
Teach my legs
How to dance gently on sand
So I can spell you poems as graceful as
Salt water at your feet
Teach my hands
The violin curve of your swan long neck
My grasshopper music could use your accompaniment
When you sing sunrises
Before your lips ever know it
While I leg scratch melody
With the jittery anxiousness
Of the nights last ice cube
Shaking in the cup of
My moon chalked hands
As they master silence
Again

 

I’m still waiting for the punchline

poetry

I’m praying to a god I don’t believe in

I’m hoping to all hell this shit is true

I’m wondering if life has any meaning

I’m wishing I could get some sort of clue

You’re running from a life you can’t escape from

You’re hiding from a man who sees it all

You’re telling me there’s nothing to be scared of

You’re saying that you’re just too big to fall

We’re on a crash collision course with everything

We’re running out of time, you know it’s true

We’re gasping for fresh air but quickly sinking

We’re both thinking what we can’t deny is true

I sat late in to the evening with a bottle of warm Mountain Dew on the pillow of the couch next to the couch I was on. It was my only company. I stared at it, lounging and dozing and wishing someone would push to contact me. I felt as though I’d waited for years. I felt as though I would wait another year. I ached and I sighed. I made a realization. Perhaps a whole truth. It permeated me suddenly. I closed my eyes, leaving the soda to it’s own devices, and I knew, that

poetry

everyone has to be alone, sometimes.

Journey

poetry

10 hours from now I’ll be in the air
still agonizing over the length of the road ahead of me
14 hours from now I’ll be on the ground sprinting between man-made obstacles to prove I’m not a terrorist
15 hours from now I’ll be in the air
19 hours from now I’ll still be
24 hours from now I’ll be questioning my mental sanity, my own stamina, life.
26 hours from now I’ll again be on the ground between pain, but in a country where everything works right. It will be relaxing. There will be a meal consumed.
28 hours from now I’ll again be in the air
35 hours from now, for the first time in six months, I’ll be home.

Summer

poetry

I am a ghost.

Once lush and full,

I am now lost-empty-

floating through

the rooms of my memories

past.

 

I am no one,  I

am here, invisible,

filled and fueled only

on images of a finer day

which once held me

tightly in its arms.

To each room,

 

I am but scenery,

or rather, a

soft breath disturbing

crisp, sweet, putrid

air, in each pressing moment.

HolyDays

poetry

Moments spent
in front of a
mirror not mine in a
bathroom within a
bedroom not mine,
convulsing,
twisting endlessly
into who I am, or,
who I contain inside,
writhing ‘neath my
shell soft and sweet and
I can not let her out for
fear of shock, but
do you know her Power?
Do you know she’s there?
If and by chance you were
to see her
radiance unfold,
only then would you know-
understand- the grave errors of
your will to deny
such a Beast in lady’s
clothing, waiting to
Take you at the first
chance.

In the Bank Line

poetry

Silence filled every crater,

as you crept over Sarajevo Roses.

In the comfort of the night,

you left for life.

All covered in tatters

your soul flew for freedom.

All shrouded in swaddling clothes

you fled with your life.

Bullet casings and thousands of miles,

stood before you and safety.

A journey Mother Mary knew

and now you make your pilgrimage.

No star to give you guiding light,

a road into nothing,

a road into the unknown.

A leap of faith, made in faith.

Only God knew,

what pain you suffered.

Only gods knows,

though omniscience is failing.

A journey of tears,

left a trail in your wake,

but safety crept in,

with the morning fog.

And in the holy morning,

you arrived.

With mountains behind you

and infinity before you.

You brought your gifts,

with your holy child.

And in a bank line,

clouded in smoke.

You were murdered,

told your lives were worth nothing.

And as you trembled,

so did heaven.

And as you wept,

so did the holy city.

But as you died,

those gates did open.

 

flight, not much stresses me out, but a few years ago i had a couple of horrible experiences in airports and I have never recovered; man those folks made some bad decisions, but I’m still grateful they turned out the way they did. that be the case or not, i still panic before flying, what if our 1:25 minutes isn’t long enough between flights? what if we dont make it? what if that delays us several days? am i going to arrive mentally whole? i tend to panic. panic. panic and shake.

poetry

there are always things to worry about
there is never good reason to worry
and yet here i am quivering in my shoes
attempting to control my blood sugar
so my brain chemistry maintains itself
drinking my last beer for days
before my mind allows my body to shut down
panic, fear, more quivering.
there are always things to worry about
there is never good reason to worry
“behold, the LORD’s hand is not shortened
that it cannot save
or his ear dull, that it cannot hear;”
i ask
i fear
i am not heard
there are always things to worry about
there is never good reason to worry

I wish everything were a forest.

poetry

I’ve never been one for mornings

but with you I rise with the sun.

I crawl from the depths of my

heavy wollen blankets

up the trunks of trees that feel

like your soft skin

up to the emerald canopy

so that I can look out

through your green eyes

at the landscape of our

bodies, creating mountains

and rolling hills, between us,

the shallow valley that disappears

as you, still asleep, pull me closer

to your dreamstate.

And as forests grow together,

so that once a boundary is no more,

we slip together back toward darkness

to walk along the forest floor

He Said To Her,

poetry

“I took a sword one time
and I thrust it in to a heart
The heart stopped beating
The blood ran freely
The sword did nothing
and in a matter of seconds
was ready to thrust again

“and sometimes I feel like
you are that sword
and I wonder how you manage
and I wonder how you are allowed
and I tend to keep my distance
as far as hearts go,
I am fond of mine”