poetry

Don’t Pretend

poetry

I don’t pretend
To pretend I know
Where I’m headed
Or need to go
If I live life too fast
Or live too slow
I don’t pretend
To pretend I know
All these thoughts
That come and go
If I live for today
Or for years ago
I don’t pretend
To pretend I know
What seeds to plant
Or seeds to sow
And once they are
If they’ll grow
I don’t pretend
To pretend I know
How or when
Harsh winds will blow
What I should keep
And what to throw
I don’t pretend
To pretend I know
But this is true
Yes, this is so
It is through God
Who all things flow

Dont stop

poetry

when the french come
tell them I’m gone
er
tell them anything they’re french

(and for some reason in this country
french racism just isn’t)

when they come just tell them
i left
er
tell them the truth. they’re french

Authorship is Next to Godliness

poetry

over seven years,
i watched you grow
and watched you learn
what love could be,
and now i return
to your beginning
in preparation to witnessing
your penultimate story;

because i know so well
how it all will end,
i can’t help but wonder
what premonitions you had
and whether you were aware
of your maker’s plan,
just like i hunger to know
God’s plan for me.

MJ

poetry

No one had mentioned a word about him in months.
And if they did, it was to gawp at his absurdities.
So how come now that he’s dead,
Suddenly, we were all his best friends?
Lamenting what a wonderful human being he was,
Crowding the streets,
Dancing the macabre,
Enamored with tragedy.
Meanwhile, the economy is flailing,
There’s starving children in impoverished homes,
Integrity is archaic.
Our savior is a pop singer.
Here’s an idea:
How about we stop obsessing over the dead,
And focus on the living.

laundry day

poetry

put it all in the bag;
it all is filthy
from the accumulated use
of these last two weeks
from everywhere we’ve been
and everywhere we’ve gone
and from when we stayed in
sweating in the Texas heat;

clean out your closet
and find the set of clothes
that you’d been saving out
for just the right time
that never seems to come
before the next laundry call;
so put it in the bag
along with your dreams;

i bring you home a basket
all nice and neat,
folded and ready to be put away,
all snugglable and reeking
of cleanliness and sanitization
so that all of the character
has been washed away
by laundry day.

intimidation

poetry

why i always feel this way
i can’t really very clearly say
for after all you’re just a man
and not very tall when you stand
but whenever i’m in your presence
my mind is filled with interference
and i can’t think of anything to say
to make my reticence go away
which only makes the situation more awkward
as i watch our relationship move backward.

Awkward Silences

poetry

Sometimes
I’ll stop talking all at once,
Just to see what the silence feels like.
Is it still uncomfortable?
Or does she understand
That there aren’t any awkward silences anymore.
They’re all very comfortable.

That Old Dog

poetry

I grabbed Dad’s favorite rock
and I jammed it
in the loose earth
near the head of where
my dear old friend lay buried

and I thought I was done
Crying
then my brother came home
Early
and the whole damn family
gathered round and
had a cry again

And the collar’s in the shed
with the leash, it’s in the shed
and I’ll miss my dear friend dearly
underneath Dad’s favorite rock –
the one that’s actually
an ancient tree.

(Goodbye)

an incomplete divinity

poetry

the divine emanates
from undeveloped
parts of this planet
this is that tranquility
sensed while perched
atop a mountain
forest at its feet
lakes living on
the horizon

an incomplete divinity
though
without you

like that time i
went to russia
only to see st. basil’s in scaffolding

this is why two days early
mosquito-ravaged
muddied and
missing you
i returned to civilization.

overdone afternoon naps

poetry

slowly returning to consciousness,
confusion reigns,
as my muddled mind tries to sift
through too many thoughts at once,
not coming to any answers
but only being left with
fuzziness, perplexity, and sweatiness,
having no idea how i slept this long
and no idea who i am even,
except that my head wants to explode,
and my eyes don’t seem to work,
and every sound is only white noise,
so that thinking just one thought
takes me nearly as long as it would
a person of normal intelligence.

Just Before

poetry

Just before the rain began
The sky darkened
Dismal pewter gray
Sheath of nimbus clouds
Wind chortled wistfully
Tossed leaves violently
Towards nameless destinations
Overgrown grass field
Crippled to will of gusts
An unseen screen door
Thrashed against frame
Oak and maple branches rippled
The air like invisible icicles
Sliced chilling bullets
And the world seemed
To inhale one last breath