Posts for June 5, 2020

Category
Poem

Windbags

Don’t cry
When hubristic decisions
Race back to haunt you.
Screaming through your dreams,
Perpetual reminders
That maybe you should better yourself.

But you’re so busy
Playing the victim
To see that you held the knife 
The whole time. 


Category
Poem

f'(x)

I’ve yet to not feel
derivative.

Maybe that’s
integral?


Category
Poem

The Way

The way of Kentucky
Is tried and true and tested tradition

The way of Kentucky is get the hell out of my way

The way of Kentucky is quietly beautiful

The way of Kentucky is water flowing under limestone and sultry svelte black basketball players

The way of Kentucky is seeing how many times you can get arrested before you’re 18 and have to get married

The way of Kentucky is rekindling a fire from the one ember of coal,

The way of Kentucky is never saying you can’t be doing that for too long.
These 80 yr old women have guns, fly airplanes.
The force of the female is strong in the overpowering, unending orgasm of Kentucky.


Category
Poem

Know When

Poets
know when
to be
silent. 


Category
Poem

I Need a Spell—-

a rhyme remembering dreams,

a night with loosened seams,

 

view to an arete

past my gendarmes,

 

       (I need, we need

              new mem’ries

                      in your arms)

 

a pair of lines

that, parallel, would lay

 

a coupled culpability,

a positive capability,

 

that Keats, in all his reason

would be

 

found and lost

in magick

 

and our song.


Category
Poem

It’s Quite Nice To See You Again

Energy,
something
I rarely
have.
Health problems
and
depression
stifling,
suffocating
every
cell,
atom,
molecule,
everything.
But,
even though
I
don’t
have a lot
of
energy,
I believe
I’m
beginning to
feel it 
elsewhere.
Not in
people
as much
anymore,
my intuition
a
flame,
extinguished
along
with my
hope
of becoming healthy,
but I
feel
energy
in
objects.
Not in
books
or
a pencil,
but in
seashells
and crystals.
It’s an
odd
feeling,
a new
feeling,
it feels like
a flower
in
my chest,
its blossom’s
size
changing
with the strength
of the
energy.
I hope
this feeling
stays.
Hope…
it’s
quite nice
to
see you
again.


Category
Poem

Pure Zen, Snapshot of Elle at Age 3

cheeks balloon
with water
lips purse
to hold it in
one drip escapes
pauses
on her chin

the novelty
of swigging water
from an old
vanilla extract bottle
crinkles
her chocolate eyes
with concentrated
delight

wisps of hair
curl
across her brow
shiny flairs
of sunlight

grassy lounge
back against a rock
fairy child
savors
her nectar
alight
in the moment


Category
Poem

Cow Branch

it was one of those roads
that felt like the people
living in those leaning
dust-covered buildings
had given up on finding
that real home
where a soul
can take root in that
yellow-white line
that spirals out of the center
of the earth
instead, they settled
and let themselves rot 
doing a daily grind
to make their daddies proud
saying things like
“When the kids take over this place”
but none of us really stayed
because we would not allow
their slow death
be handed over
in a soulless hollow
where monsters 
wore the masks
of
grand/father
grand/mother
uncle and aunt
or neighbor
so we let their
dreams and memories
stagnate 
like that thick water
in the middle of those hot
dog days


Category
Poem

Chocolate Shuffle

An old gas station

In the middle of the night

Deniece Williams on the radio

Shaking my chocolate milk

While shuffling my feet

And singing to the cashier

 

These little moments

Are what make me feel

Like I’m not wasting my life

And they make me feel

Like I’m really breathing


Category
Poem

Late into my dream of human moans

Arising from the street outside
Our son’s flat in Queens Astoria,
Your gentle shake brings me up
From deep water to the silence
of the resting world.  Then a low growl
Grows into the full snarl of life’s viscous
Game.  This is not Ditmars Boulevard
But Dividing Ridge Road where
In the garden below our sleeping
Window our stalwart dogs corner
A masked thief in the cabbage patch,
They force him to the open ground
Of emerging corn, whence the mortal
Struggle turns into a quarter hour
Of horror.  Too late for intervention
The fight ends in the stillness of death