Tag Archives: #suffering

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 ::


DYING & HUNGRY

I

Not a firefly but equal
to a glyph and less or more
as light within a cage of flesh
steals like riots —
my mind prowls the poverty of
Life.

Excommunicate while suffering
without shutting up  and hearing
past ghosts whisper:

“dying & hungry.”

08132020


NEVER WITH ME ALWAYS WITH YOU

never WITH me
always with you
kick the sand
kicking the dust
the rest is us:
i dream i
dreamed of Love;
screaming much
LOVE that which
burns brighter
than the Sun.

:: 07.23.2020 ::


THE TREMBLE OF TOADS

AGES of restless furnances
dancing among their own flames
eating death by untold wars

The Soul: a great warrior
and Earth the expansive battle-
ground that wring the necks of
evil ones; stamping & dancing
to kill the flames, vile hands
mottled flesh and skin.

Across the blue skies a Peace
while men scream and women cry;
babies giving up the life of youth
for the grave — turns the heads of
lambs!

while young men turn old and gnaw
their fingers; never praise madness
when it is madness of no purpose!

:: 07.05.2020 ::


IF YOU KNEW WHY

Far from me far from self
far from help like the stars
and all the props
of living large

is the hidden face
from the cruel
but smiling mirage
of eternal dreams

So i run away from my skin
far from me far from self
like a calm nest of rattlesnakes
or drowning Jesus aside passing ships

And in all despair i raise my arms
and leap into the air toward
the house that God has built
and wish upon that falling Star

far from me
far from help

:: 04-29-2019 ::


WITH MY SOLITARY LACRIMOSA NIGHTs

i wrote the word, “ax” and felt the deep cut (my
pain is nonexistent except for my tender heart \
\
and so i wept purple tears across a tender
pomade
full of black bruises
So i walk the sweating
cobble stones toward
oblivion knowing the next
word, “grief” will do
me in __!
My left foot became limp and as my eyes juggled
perception while the air opened a door to which
i flew within –i did!
who is right
who is wrong
who is strong
who is weak
And, importantly ask i:
WHO ARE YOU? I AM ME!
who are you?
Bruises are valiant awards
across the heart hatred something
else all together!

:: 01-11-2017 :


MARCHING bOOts

Thdawkch thdawkch Thdawkch
T-H-A-D-U-M-P T-H-A-D-U-M-P
machine weapon of war
machine human-heart
marching across the world
boots with feet dancing famine
and all the politicians cry
watching their votes dying
a twenty-first century horror

:: 09-01-2015 ::


THE SURFACE OF WATERY SKIES

UPON the surface of watery skies
below the waves of forgotten memory
you forgot the smile and her sun
and I drowned in daily life

And for just today you remember
a silent gaze for the moment
you saw my smile in your heart
upon the surface of watery skies

You swore a law you never abide
so you broke the half of sun
in my arms you fell inside
and the skies forever cry

If you ever stay in a place
i watch your feet as they run
always away into watery skies
i forgot the sun in his jealous way

And i swim up above reaching sky
while i see my heart drowning
below the waves of forgotten memory
and you forgot the smile and her sun

while i drown in daily life //

:: 11-10-2014 ::


LIFE AND DEATH

weird PEOPLE watching
defenseless dreaming
knowing my weakness
carefully retreating
I am just a piece
of angel meat wishing
to fall back into my
soft heaven birth trap
A perfect costly costume
high heels and gloss lips
but zombies love decay
and my heart is a dead
fish swimming when dead
I saw the salmon run
dead gill fish moving
Mother nature so cold
but your hug is warm
and tree and animal love
the strength you exude
Love me strong female
show us girls what to do
we bleed across horizons
and days and years too
ageless pain and suffer
for life and nature too

:: 04-13-2014 ::


My Life Met A Spectre

i

My sorrow surrounds me today
It is not a garment I wear
but a thing that sticks to me
Weep I do to one day leave it

ii

No, i do not dwell in sorrow
dear, i grab life and love
each time it my way passes
but my fingers are tired

iii

it is not a thing of flesh
but more-so a breath of air
and her scent is nature
to me she is Mother Nature

iv

What poem could i share
mere words of love and joy
but these are of fire-pain
run far-hide from my stanzas

v

but if the seven wonders come
and you should match them all
and if blood and fear is no thing
then my heart is yours forever

vi

a whisper escapes my spirit
my soul could not dare say
but i believe in you much so
it’s not of pain and fear

:: 03-21-2014 ::