Tag Archives: #sadness

FRAMELESS HEADS UPON EMPTY WALLS

On the single side of my art song—my parodic air—the loveliness is perfect
because I am “last in the line.” When you sit there pondering how you got
from here to there, you forget to be there, and the years hurry by like birds,
yet without wings.

Maybe that is what poets mean by the grass between the toes: it is the kind of beauty
that strikes me as singular, and then makes me forget where I was going.

Could that be the air I am inhaling, that gorgeous little dew, the sort of fragrance
that one asks questions about. That one is good, and leaves you for another week.
I am not asking about the individual, about the wit or the sex, that one; the other
thinks she is too good for poetry and wants to hang out her pants.

The trees on Central Park West have not only dimples, but very high struts.
Many passers-by make like jumping spiders and creep along the white beech bark,
tearing off the strange multicolored pods that are the leaves of the American locust
and varnish the unenclosed bark.

For a while they seem to be all yellow, then the green reasserts itself and they all turn red.
Red like earth, red like hell. I say what I mean. Why do we make so much of appearance
and so little of meaning? If you were to sneeze on a weekday you’d make a million dollars. I’m lucky
to get one or two dollars a day for my poems, and that’s all. All my life, I’ve been scraping
and clipping in hundreds of un-sexy places. I once walked out of an interview with a magazine
that had hired me because I was willing to work for peanuts. So I said to the editor,

“I think you have the wrong guy. I’ll get a job in a steel mill, or on a frickin’ airplane,
anywhere I want.” He seemed to like that, but I can’t remember what the magazine did later. I suppose
it was less than they wanted. But that’s what I mean by avoiding the cheap. I mean always for the mind
and the intellect, as if one day the outer world were going to fall apart. When it does, maybe it will be like a tenement balcony—the floor’s going to fall out from under us.

My best poems are about love and death. I think my best poems are about women and death.
The romantic poems give me pleasure. I don’t want to forget about them; I want
to love them. I don’t want to kill them; I want to hold them.
A love that is not really love doesn’t interest me.
It is interesting to see the Queen of Sheba swat away a red and yellow butterfly that comes to you
and likes to rest on your shoulder.

But there are different kinds of love—one that wants to hold someone in a tight embrace even though
you both know that someone is going to shake loose—one that wants to hold someone
even when she’s going to leave—one that wants to hold someone when she has long learnt the fine art
of saying no.

I’m always looking for “the little door.” But there is no little door, and if there were,
I’d probably find something I’d rather do.

:: 03.24.2021 ::


SO NOW

so now

That the Iris opens her eyes upon early morning sun
that the wind dances her showy flowers and is luck
the lost voice of forgotten lovers?

some Not

when wind forgets its dance and green devours
(feelings) by nature’s beauty shall the fisherMen
of hearts sail from continent to unknown places;
their gravely instilled by amorous desire.

some NullAS not would never go there.

:: 01.21.2021 ::


IN THE DARK

LIFE isn’t so easy from the weakest side
somehow it pulls you into the darkest life
and emotions, so hard to hide
and decisions you make are a habit
so hard to break!

Do you need a friend? would you take me
inside, alone in the dark?

Do you read the words you write —
are you sure sometimes the illusions
are not real?

Can you blame away the pain?
Can you leave me alone in the dark?
(in the dark?).

Do you need a friend that tells no lies?
Would you appreciate my words if i never
took a chance with your heart?

Habits, so hard to break.

Love, so hard to hide.\

In the dark.
In the dark.
In the dark.

:: 12.30.2020 ::


SUN AGAINST THE NIGHT

The nasty dark night ate the sun!

The farmers wailed against the dim moon,

“Be sane, or make it otherwise!”

Yesterday i awoke with a torn brain

against lover’s thousand acidic eyes

ripped apart by dying beds.

My screaming wish held but just Ourselves–
and Immortality.

:: 12.21.2020 ::


OH BY THE BY

Oh, by the by — oh my
how i wept upon a sigh
gently flowing on my side/
knowing emptiness within
my mind\  Oh, by the by —
creating worlds within my
lonely mind — never touching
tender female skin:  always
kissing empty spaces and
aching to die.

Oh, my.  

When death comes.  A deep
comfort.

:: 10.14.2020 ::

Oh, my.  

When death comes.  A deep
comfort.

:: 10.14.2020 ::


TO BE SO SAD

TO be so sad that your tears
flee you is the greatest depth
of sadness.

the perfect point to hit upon the
diamond:  shaving off all humanity
and anyone else…
     whoever gave
a damn is not anyone
i ever knew and that tears me apart.
breaks my heart.

I watch from the tiny window of my
decaying Soul.  

::: 08.02.2020 ::


NARCISSUS (An elaborate Dream)

IF YOU HAD A WILL and testament
would it be written and read
within your perfect shapes
of curves and s-plashing reds
and of dying flesh?
AND if everything around you
is not quite as what it seems?
so if everything you ever
knew was just an elaborate
dream? As Narcissus would you
look upon your image and find
yourself afraid to see?
Hunting forever(y)
things that mean nothing at
all but the treasures all always
around you.
ALL CREATIONS OF YOUR PAIN

:: 07.12.2020 ::


NO NEED FOR APOLOGIES

there is no need for apologies
the sun sat melting over
the stubborn day’s edge

as my love does for you

And tonight well this night
a messenger sent her touch
a message ultimately meant
for us

but the nightingale sang its
melodious voice and a
noblest wisdom ate the words

intentions are well meant but
ignorance an obscuring dusty
path

And the moon glow is a blanket for
jilted ghosts who have no
where to sleep
as me.

:: 09-03-2018 ::


Dew Pressed Evening Light

From the dew pressed evening light
there by the biding brightly might
of my somber receding life;
as others might lesser me could not
by depressed inner sigh
was and is my stormy life
depression within the fold.
From the earliest of my days
there within me sadness lay
And all the joy of my heart
by the same tone could not fight
for self unless i be torn;
my compassion extended long
beyond the reach of my needing
own — and now as time has stretched
it’s thinning arms i find myself
a stowaway upon the desolate spot
cast aside in stormy water
still my love and beating heart
sails across the vast dark void
to comfort afflicted tormented
souls- of blue and silver sparks
by striking words and thunder talk
the angel my guardian holds my
hand (now that Heaven hears
my tears) Of a day more near
than far when shall i too find
the love as my own to comfort me.

:: 08-03-2018 ::


THIS NIGHT THE WIND

this night the wind is speaking softly
to me as aloft as a feather never
touching the ground.

and my love is a distance away.

That love comes to me it comes
mainly at night; when night is
a determined Spirit as so Love.

So my love as we both endure
exhaust from growing emotions as
flowers from Spring and at times
flakes of brilliant snow in cold
moments it is your eternal
hands and heavenly fragance that
exceed all space and time.

It is we who desire to endure!

:: 09-15-2017 ::