Archive for December, 2010
Countless billions of branches.
Branches grabbing the water from freezing rains.
Water stretches to drip to the ground but is frozen.
Ice paralyzes the warm, cocoa brown of the wood.
Ice belittles and smashes the brown with her glorious gray.
Wide-eyed, focused down my quaint street,
There is nothing but this chaos in my world,
And all of the lines blot the sky,
More lines than sky, lines now black next to sky,
Branches are mysterious and powerful, bludgeoning the gray cover.
I could wander around my neighborhood street,
And count the branches forever, getting lost, starting over.
Everything is dead and the ice would fall and smother my face,
Splattering over and over, shattering and crunching the spirit.
I wish I were a photographer and I wonder how all of this is possible.
Her maroon heat
Making big, beautiful
Spot lit and multiplying,
Opening space and bringing
And she wrestles away,
She steals and
Flies away with
Taller than sky,
Bigger than whipped cream,
Sweeter than chocolate,
Just like hospitals, huge
Blaring frozen, clean,
My heart is stuffed
Back into my throat.
The throat is frozen.
It is starving for love.
Sometimes I read, but since that causes me to sleep, I tend to set my book on my lap, and I sit and watch the boards of the porch, the trees behind my house and the ground underneath them. I like to watch the boards of my porch change color very slowly. Sometimes the boards appear to be made of liquid, but that happens after I have been sitting too long. I sit in a cheap white plastic chair which is quite uncomfortable, but I can sit for hours. It was never lonely on my porch when I could read without putting myself to sleep, but now Read the rest of this entry »
I listen to my favorite music over and over and over again. If I stand back to observe my listening patterns, I might determine that I am grotesquely obsessed and perhaps insane.
This observance has occurred repeatedly over my entire life, but yesterday morning I was a particularly harsh critic. In the car CD player (it’s an old-fashioned one that only holds one disc, which perhaps points to a laziness as explanation for what is to be described) was the Nine Black Alps CD. I saw these guys with my friend TK. TK goes to a bazillion rock and pop concerts and once in a while I tag along. We saw them in a bar for a $10 show with maybe 50 people in the crowd. They played all of the music from the CD much faster so the entire show was one big adrenaline rush. They were incredibly talented and mechanically perfect, or tight as we like to say. Afterwards, we met them and bought a CD for $7. I’ll never forget how wasted those guys were. This was after I had quit drinking so I was punch-hyped on Diet Coke, but man oh man, those guys were wasted, and I remember wondering Read the rest of this entry »
Do not take my booze,
My meds, my relief.
I don’t live without. Without is
Life in prison with deadly awareness.
I don’t want to be grumpy.
Don’t take my joy.
Don’t take my colors.
Don’t flatten my soul.
Don’t make humans ugly.
Don’t make me shake Read the rest of this entry »
Perfection slinking away,
Draped in liquid enthusiasm.
I want her to come back to me.
But she is too fantastic.
Her slink is hot.
I want to jump up and down
On the floor with her,
To and fro, in and out.
She would do me
On the floor
She would take me into
The darkest places.
She would show me fire,
Blow me to heavenly
Her slink is hot.
She would take me,
Make me follow.
I would be a puppy,
Cocking my head each way,
Straining to track her mind,
Listening to every
I submitted this for One Shot Poetry Wednesday (Week 26). One Shot is terrific with lots of great people participating – Head over there!
When I try to log the day,
The black cat always presents herself.
She is barely known and has little impact,
But she is first.
The dogs announce her presence.
They are always angry,
Envious, jealous, resentful.
Sometimes, she struts to the door
as if she were about to ring the bell.
She wonders independently aimless,
She gets food dedications, free from
It is dark and we are under covers.
My legs and hands feel
A beautiful pearl-white softness,
Smooth and ready to glide on air.
Strings mixed beyond recognition,
A power and strength in those legs.
Small, tense, smooth warmth
From her ass. Her feet and legs
Comfort and grab me.
How they grab, I do not know,
But there is safety.
Shuddering waves streak
From her body to mine.
My finger tips and the padding
Of my thumbs glide and explore
Her breasts. We kiss and press and
Kiss and press.
We tell each other it is right
If this never stops.
At some point, it stops so that we can
Rest in a soft pillow of loving safety.
She scoots the back of her body into
The front of mine, and we sleep
Mashed and tangled gently, smoothly.
Why do I fondly miss
The one who threw me away?
Why do I long for the one
Who loved receiving my trust
And then betrayed every confidence?
I do not feel insane.
I am troubled and alone,
But I am not insane.
I long for life and engagement.
But I am glad she is gone.
Safe is coming back, my heart steady.
I miss her from a safe distance,
In my sanity cage.
I’m haunted by her radical energy
And she is good enough to know it.
I entered this one for the Thursday Poets Rally Week 36.
Thank you to Jingle for the flattering award!