Category Archives: #poems

SUMMER SUN DRIPS ON ROOFTOPS

summer sun drips on rooftops let alone
seven divided by seven the digits line up
the age old math equation:
nine is the chosen number;
lithographs and insects steal souls
rising west i fell to my knees
playing snake with demons
how dare i dream
decimating everything!

As long as i crawl i’ll survive
one day you will take my eyes from me
leaving my tongue unfed
just then the world crumbles
the worms crawl their way back into
my pores and i will turn back into dust
but i promise you

it’s okay

she’ll make it through the night
as long as the human heart beats

:: 12.04.2021 ::


MY OWN DEATH

At night of the Hight of winter, when from the Netherlands comes the brutal sun, lightning without rain
and at the same time clouds with frost, rain for a while, hail, snow and wind of the elements, large and small.

No end in sight; it is a day with a change, storm of clouds, storm of winds, shipwreck, submarine, decomposition
and the four veils.

No beginning and no end.

WHEN the moon in the morning or at noon is as bright as an orb, or almost, and it becomes night before the fourth
evening of the lunar month.

I, to stand in your light as in a spotlight:
I to look into the eyes of a crescent: love, flame, bed. You, great, powerful, oh so distant, as luminous as stars.
A desert of fire. At night you search for me.

THE cypresss of the monasticism are under your feet, the nuns walking barefoot, when they keep time, when they sing
while tying themselves together and when they put their tongues to the left and to the right in the custom of zdrakas.
On the walls of their chapel, near the chapel and the curtain, there are female saints, goddesses, whom they adore,
and those that they cover with veils and they cover with gilded haws. It is as if they were entering a house and praying
in front of the altar. The angel of women, whom they saw in a dream and whom they know to be linked to the will of God,
blazed with stars when they looked at her.

To them she is a light, a light that penetrates them like the opening of a wound. And they throw their arms over her,
when they press her feet.

That is how they pray.

WHEN i heard them chanting, I felt like a stone, as if pierced by the time of their desires. The stones of the market of Damascus
by the way of the river.

How have they lived, with their desire, like dew in their eyes.

I, my feet up, the state of being crushed, felt also that I have attained my purpose and that nothing remains, nothing is more than dust,
nothing any longer is alive.

One wind against my whole body, threw me to dust.

These are days of longing, of vulnerability, of vulnerability. These days. I stand like a young woman in front of a mirror.
Who is that person staring at me? Someone long dead and buried.

Everything that had lasted for centuries is gone.

I am facing my own death.

:: 11.10.2020 ::


BURNED MY EYES OUT

I try to convince myself this one day
Will bring back the past
With all the other moments gone past

My imagination was a blind passion
forever doomed to take us down
i have become my mother’s child
Without understanding the cause
of my calling

Is it to burn my eyes out
before I get out?

Today is the greatest
day i’ve ever known
can’t wait for tomorrow
i might not have that long

i’ll tear my heart out
before i get out

for when the light turns my world black
i’ll burn my eyes out
before i get out

i burned my eyes out
before i got out

We were a dream
You knew all about it
Rode the bright light
But you were too young
To see what the sky was made out of
I swallowed my pride

So I ran.

The sky is the same as the day we lost
i stayed because i wanted to save the world
i never gave up on anyone
so i’ll burn my eyes out

before I get out
i can’t do it now
i’ll burn my eyes out
before I get out

Today is the greatest
day i’ve ever known
can’t wait for tomorrow
i might not have that long
i’ll tear my heart out
before I get out

i burned my eyes out
before i got out
We were a dream
you knew all about it
rode the bright light
but you were too young
to see what the sky was made out of
i swallowed my pride
and i ran.

:: 10.20.2020 ::


WHEN THE SKY CAME DOWN

WHEN the sky came down // when the wind left and the
oceans drained \ when the righteous sang, “by god.”
WE saw the creatures of life running to and fro
and saw how the machine held our hearts and eyes —
in chains.

When the sky came down.
when the night wept,
when the eyes of all creatures cried:
they hid from a perfect storm.

Everyone ran fron the wars and left the
desloation of Nations — when the purple
color and red became day when love screamed
we cried…for a god that never came.

Now, afterward we live life in the drifting horror
of dust and sand.

From the cruelty that defines
the small mouths of what humans are: let it be known
when the sky came down when the sun went away
and the Earth screamed and those who claimed
in God’s name he’ll save our skin; the light
burned our sight and killed our kin.

When the sky came down/ when the sun went dark\
and the universe wept and the righteous sang
to a dead god — we survived. Again.

:: 10.11.2020 ::


IF YOU

I F y o u go back to school give me your love — teach me
touch/ how electricity or god was invented by your hands (
subdued by the hand of an angel and buried eye)
LOVE: phenomena is such
being, conducted by a worthy Love
You’ve been cooling — fooling and mis-
using philosophy strictly within
the deep inside and slender/fragile
loooooooovvvvvvvve —————-
i imitate your beauty so shake
for me girl/ ooooooh expressing
oh oh oh oh (come on) i borrow a deep
mask learning and so fragile i borrow
way deep inside // sensations\
imiatating fatally exquisite < pulling
my skin carefully around it)
streamin down your face my dreams
love” — prettified. I give every inch
of my love – an awful big light squoits
down my spine way down inside: i am
dead er sumpn: next i
ah ah ah – ah ah ah —
shake for me girl/ down oh up sideways
oooooooooooooooh — some female within
the green field each fore crows drop into
sunset.

:: 09.28.2020 ::


FATAL THUNDER

fatal thunder was the best one had when she came to me for advice about his economic condition.

she was my first client, she said to me: My husband says I’m a fool for waiting for anything. I’ve been a mistress and a wife and a nurse, but I haven’t made a penny on my own. He makes a living as a taxi driver. I live in a modest bungalow and he has a sprawling country home. I make housework and keep the yard and the cars and two cars in good repair. We spend every weekend in our country home and whenever he is away he brings the mistress and the mistress’s boy and the mistress’s boyfriend and the three men together.

He was twenty-six and I was twenty-five when we married.

I’m not a fool, I told him, and here is how I earn my keep. First, I gather the money in envelopes when it is in my immediate possession. Then I write checks when I am told by the client to do so.
I keep the checkbook with me so I know who I have to go back and ask for more. I have a reliable mover. I have a reliable chauffeur. I have an accurate accountant.
This is how I do it.

When I get in the taxi, the driver asks me the destination and I tell him, and when I get there I get out of the taxi and tell him where to go, and when he takes me to the hotel or the house, I give him the key and when I am getting ready for bed I give him the bill for the room and then I turn out the light and go to bed myself.

In the morning I get up and say, “He’s a fool for waiting.”

I’ve been doing this a couple of years, but now I’m running out of the money I got when I first started.
I don’t get any more checks or checks with letters of explanation from my client, and the money is not growing with my business.
I’m sure if I wanted to I could get another job and earn more, but what would I do with all that time?

It might be difficult for me to do.

So silence and pain are my bed brothers. Love is my sister. Together we weep every night.

:: 09.26.2020 ::


MANY TIMES, MORE THAN TWICE

MANY times, more than twice have I seen the ghosts of family, friends and then some whose faces that I did not know.
Quaintly, with ethereal elegance they are silky touch, feather breath, and opal eye, outside of the tick-tock of father time. It is most inappropriate to ask of them to state their business or intended pleasure
extend your politeness over scorn I say. But if I may make a brief apparatus is there a paper in the room, a hall-cabinet or a desk on which a white sheet is available? Might I do with the sheet as a summons?
The respect that one owes one’s guests becomes tested with boredom, oft times probed with practicality of thrift for there is nothing useful to be erected in the holder of the sheet.
Only when it is needful to be done is the one supposed to write in it. The space for writing is too limited.
Must the words be in black to be read? Must they belong to make any good or neither would it do to pay homage to the white sheets anymore? Might I pour out some ink, some thread to fashion myself a gnomon of sorts. Searching the paper to be free from ink might I try another opal eye, like my mother and the razors my grandfather used?
To groom his hair, and his kinks, each time they wore them down, but never ending. Might I even fawn over a ghost. Might I shed a tear for no other reason than it would be distasteful, and uncivil, to not do so. The wrong that is done to ghosts, which is, who has time for them when there is death’s work that need be done?
It is said the uncle, being thin, frail with a rasping voice, would sit silent and tired; sleep nearly all day, never greeting the other relatives, as the family has dwindled to once, two at most.
That he would be found some hours before sunset, with no water and no food beside his dead little cousin. Who was his spitting image when his lips would open he would tarry another moment?
Recline again, only to open them and wander the empty halls, awaiting. Someone who could help him with his chores, is the scene I imagine. A half asleep and suffering ghost who will never rest as long as
he continues to obey the order of his keeper, waiting until someone pays his due respect.
Now the spirit, like some phantom to the nighthawks of the wind and the greens of the apple trees.
He moves as lightly as the wind.
He dances like the light of an airplane.
He looks to live yet again.
In a white sheet, with a black script which could read nothing.

:: 09.26.2020 ::
/maj. Rev.\


TIME FELL BEFORE MY ACHING FEET

TIME fell before my aching feet:
that i know little is more than
most who think they know all;
i watched time squirm before
me as a puddle of water —
i saw her dress make sounds,
silent before a breeze toward
trees.
i wept as a dew against
moist violets, as nature does;
and saw time die before me.
her greatest hand was sharp
dampness of a violet leaf
that cut my heart within approaching
exasperated winter hunger.
today i met space who cried;
having lost his best friend
called time his tongue was pale
searching for dead bodies and
broken teeth.

:: 09.21.2020 ::


WHAT DOES ANY LIVING THING WISH FOR?

IF i see you next to never
  that hour is mine
for ever that it takes,
thinking, burying thoughts
that spring forth in soil
by long fields of tulips.
  at times i get up late
other times early while
i untangle time within
my lost mind — the golden
gulp of sadness swallowed.
  my rage is sad smoothing
the waves of all oceans.
my thin body stretched
towards the sky.
 helicopter petals of
all brilliant colors
swirl upon my head;
at these times no less
than happy hours of bliss
and kisses.
    there is no reason for
love other than love.
it has been the best merger
of words and emotions
scarcely beginning upon your
lips.

:: 09.19.2020 ::


FERTILE SOIL

if i had two hearts;
one for your soul
the other for your beauty

if i were a farmer
i would tend to a garden
and gather today’s eggs

  but as a broken-hearted
  poetry i till words – so
  excuse me;  

you see, i am not here
nor there — and the worse
feeling is planting Love

and nothing Grows.

:: 09.17.2020 ::