I don’t really want to die, though

poetry

Once I crawled through the depths
of a long, dark cave
and when you turned out the lights
you could hear the planet breathing
and though it was cold and damp
it was proper I think
and I felt closer to God then
than I ever have up top
I think
and sometimes I’m tired and I’m
just a little off but then
I remember that time when once
I crawled through the depths
of a long, dark cave
and it was peaceful I think
even if it scared me
every inch of the way

or praying and not being able to see the fruit of those prayers. prayers which seem like they’d be the first He’d answer. but alas who am i to question? as foolish and strange as that sounds, i think i’m starting to get it.

poetry

and so i’ll be boarding a plane
in no time really
and heading to africa
because it’s time to start being
a dad to my boys
and i’ll be away from my family
for christmas.
well 1/2 my family anyhow,
but that was unavoidable
as the shit has been hitting
the fan in a steady stream for
some time now and the fan is starting
to slow.
and so i’ll be boarding a plane
in no time really
because before that fan stops
i want to stop saying goodbye.

to mock one’s self

poetry

he always liked the sex better
when she would tell him how
big his cock was

made him really feel like he
had something

she would chase those words
with cigarette smoke
take the cash and find the
nearest bathroom

it was like shitting or eating

and sometimes on the walks
home she would think about
how great love seemed in books
and often times she would
break down and cry because
no one would love her
not a hooker

she would never have the
perception to understand that
the millions of people whose
weight felt heavy
on top of her
all of that of society
were just like her, mostly

and just like her trick
they all just want to have
something

so putting her down makes
them feel important

but without that truth her
tears fell all silent
and sad, and the trick
went on to manage a business
with his huge cock, of course.

11.21.2012

poetry

though my body makes
the crescent of moon
that is nightly
wrapped around you,
it is the night
of your sky, the bright
of your stars, and
the holy that fills
your heavens which
allows my sleeping moon
to shine while
waiting for your sun
to rise.

beighartman

poetry

I read your words
to the samba beat of a fantastic
Afro-Cuban horn band
and I think
it was well,
for without Mr. Sandoval’s
fantastic Afro-Cuban
horn band,
why,
I think that I’d be crying
instead of just so
morose

pride

poetry

i can’t help but wonder
when i see your smile and
feel your self-worth oozing
through your fabrics
and hear you on the pulpit
biting the heads off the
daisies with such dreadful
and precise repitition:

if this were gaza,
would you be dead?

and if it were

and you were alive

would you drive that

Ford Excursion?

would you import it
on your peasant’s wage
and walk around shaming
everyone for not
saving as you had?

would you be so loud
with a mouth full of sand
or blood?

Set the House on Fire

poetry

keep close to me
you and your mistress
american dream
soon you and your wet feet
will be hot as ifrit’s armpits

your lovemaking was like old books
burning the truth from your head
camping on the carpet of cowardice
a tent made from blankets
but your trailing yellow streak thinks
we’re outside
where

between the madness and the blind she is waiting
her breath is graveyards
she spits headstones and banal epitaphs
dead decades before the deceased
what are you sprinkling on cold biers for?

you hide it so well
you’re so dead inside

so set the house on fire
sweep up your dreams with dust pans
burn her picketed prison
as skuzzy as motel linens

Deep Down

poetry

This life is:

A collection of
Words
Misdirections
Puns and bad jokes
Open ended questions
and one way streets
Spreadsheets
Trailblazers
Square ones

East Sides
West Ends
and all the avenues
Jigsaws and equations
Between
the next traffic light
and equal sign =

Do you hear me?
He loves you.
He loves you!

What are you
going to do about it?

amos. tiger. come on God.

poetry

my sons are held hostage by spiritual forces
which have been hassling me for some time
but are really starting to piss me off.

it’s been two years and they’re still there
waiting to be James Bonded out, and i’m still
here in my pajamas checking email powerless
to change things because of international laws,
bureaucratic foolishness, and folks with
power-trips.

my boys are held hostage and i’m on my knees
with all the power of the Almighty listening
in to my requests but He’s not answering the
way i’d like Him to.

The anatomy of a cold dark night in Honey Brook, Pennsylvania is more or less the same as one in St. Louis or Chicago or Newport (I would imagine. Having never been to Newport I couldn’t say certainly). It’s cold, It’s dark, and being alone could be the best or worst thing in the whole wide world.

poetry

I laundered thoughts
so they were untraceable
in case I am accosted
in the darkness tonight,
out there

No one must know that
I’m so up-beat and
devil-may-care when
this depression’s about

Why, they’d lock me up,
or shoot me dead, or
at the very worst,
detest me.

How dare I make
the best of things
when there’s such a chill
and the wind is
wailing so?

How dare I

for the places i fear boldly going

poetry

where there is no air to breathe
or folks with whom i can commiserate
in a tongue i call my own.

a place where the food brings me joy
but makes me dizzy, threatens fainting

a place where the lack of sun and it’s healing warmth remind me that i’m to look to a city that is not seen, which is not here, that is to come.

a place where i go foolishly by any man’s standard, but where i don’t measure by the standard of men. a place which fills me with utter fear but i haven’t any choice if i hope to speak of greater things to my sons. and hope they’ll remember.

Uncertainty is never certain

poetry

Your whispers mingled with the cold night
and were lost to all but the Devil,
I’m sure,
and I held tight as a precaution
second
and as a comfort
first

and your whispers sounded once more
with my life pressed against your own.
But they were lost once more
except that the Devil that night
was me,
but only in the details.