Tag Archives: original poem

Partnernless and Stir Crazy

You should have said, yes

to the guy who asked you out at work

he could listen to your paranoia

so we wouldn’t have to

a lover would have better ears


Post Hoc Death Blues?

Traffic seemed to sludge by us and the sun hit our collective black shroud. While my sisters  son hid in front of me from pretty middle school girls yelling behind us, “Hey! Tyler!”, my sister, with red hair flowing and freckles gleaming in the light, said that Verona air smells like peaches and gasoline. Tyler’s friends were probably drinking cokes, eating disco fries and fun-dip, and talking about hot girls. Babies were being born somewhere, babies were dying somewhere, and I couldn’t deal with the intensity, so I put on my glasses to hide while we smiled to the girls because: What else do you do?!

It was a forgiving father that I saw at the post office smiling, but grimacing, because his daughter filled out a form wrong so they had to do it all over again.

And it was a smile because death is awkward and peaches and gasoline create beautifully fucked up tension.

So what else do you do besides calmly submit to the horrors of the endlessly intricate world, and smile in a confused transparent bubble.


Alone

I’m more alone

surrounded by thousands of peers

then I’ve ever been

on my own.


Lost At Sea

I am lost at sea

and this doggie paddle

ain’t doin’ much

against these twelve foot

monsters

that just keep

coming and coming and coming…


406

Don’t let go, don’t let go. What was once yours, slipping ever so slowly.

Lost focus. Carelessness. Pride.

Tighten your grip, C’mon, before it’s too late. Don’t let go.

Stop standing idle, take control, tighten your grip.

For God’s sake, DO NOT LET GO.

That’s what happens. Juggling the unnecessary and humoring the needless.

Softening your grip.

Now too late, losing all control.

A once bolstering man, reduced to nothing.

Sweaty hands.. Just Don’t let go. Don’t let her go.

 

How did this happen..


Oceanus (son of Uranus and Gaea)

I’m a fucking Hurricane

and you’re the coast of Florida.

I’m the Ocean exploding over Sea-walls

and blasting winds throwing showers of Salt down with waterfalls of rain.

I hope you know how to swim,

Because if you don’t,

you’re going to be drowned and battered

into the hull of a ship

Or buried in an instant

beneath 900 tons of water.

I’m going to fill your lungs

and pull you out to me,

where in a seascape of such immensity

and glorious horrifying Augustial fear

blended with a sky of

Saintly blue-grey smears and Lividus hues,

a soul shaking battle of light and Darkness,

the last thing you will see

is me,

In every direction

as far as you can see

Pulling you into my depths,

Beneath  the waves.

 

 

 


backyardea

remember our back-yard growing up?

all of those kingdoms and nations

and our Indian tribes?

The tree-house that we’d fill with waterballoons

by day

and sleeping-bags by night?

The secrets we’d tell

behind the garage

and the twigs and the mud

remember the hose in the summer-time

and the snow in the winter?

the forts and the acorns?

The cloudy days when we’d sit up the pine tree

or the clear warm nights

when we’d play man-hunt in

the neighborhood?

remember the sound of the leaves rushing through the trees

as the wind would blow?

the army men

and the bow that dad would let us shoot

the old pile of logs that we would find worms in?

remember trying to dig a swimming pool,

but it was just a hole?

when we would hide from Amir

behind those bushes?

remember when we had that old rope to swing on,

hanging from the big tree?

remember when we’d race down the sidewalk

on wagons and skateboards

with old plungers and fist-fulls

of pebbles?

remember going back there to hide

or to cry in the bushes

when we didn’t want to be found?

remember all the army-men

and the times when the world seemed to end

at the fence by Mr. Anseley’s house and the sidewalk

in the front yard?

Well I remember,

and I don’t know why

but it makes me cry


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