Poem #5-2012 Immortality

Immortality*


I want to care - I want people to think

I do - I really give a shit

or maybe I think I’m  supposed to care - It’s only a phantom

all that guilt-driven shame - the constant harping

heaped on me - dosed in good measure

by a well-meaning but fascist parent - applied with “love”

comes to fruition - leaving welts

late in life - on tender skin

Too late? - “Not enough,” I scream

The “what is” and the “what should be” - unnecessarily

wage war in my crimson thoughts - But they do make it seem like

I really really don’t give a good goddamn - at times

about much of anything others think of me - yes, not even you

yet I still act like I do - understand completely

Am I in control? -  A lack of empathy

Or is it she—still? - Shrew-bitch!

And the gray elephantine weight of it all - Bearing down unmercifully

colors and smothers my every labor - crushing any effort

to write, speak, move, feel - to love!

If I could drive a stake - with abandon

through the heart of darkness - to the hilt

I would—ending it - forever

But there is immortality - with her blessings

and her name is “mother” – Amen

*This is a “cleave poem.” It can be read three different ways: left-to-right in its entirety, just the left side (in bold), or just the right side (in italics).

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

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Poem #4-2012 Dragon's Breath

She said, awkwardly,
"Thanks for the compliment"
Her tone almost a question
I said something even more ridiculous
She walked away
I sat in silent disgrace

That is how it's always been:
I am no good on my feet

And although I have charmed the monster
a time or two
Exactly "how" escapes me
No learning takes place

Now I'm in a place
where I don't want to,
don't need to,
and wouldn't act on it anyway

But it's fun to see if tempting
the dragon's fire (without getting burned) is still . . .
possible

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

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Poem #3-2012 One of the Secrets

I will tell you
one
of the secrets.

It is to stand
silently and gaze
at a full moon
on a clear night
until the word
"AWESOME"
arises spontaneously
in your soul
and then - suddenly -
the world will make sense.

But only for a moment.

And that is just one
of the secrets -
doing one reveals
the others.

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

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Poem #2-2012 Parts

In suffering silence

wounded warriors

exist without:

arms

legs

hands

feet

But whither the

less obvious parts?

innocence

compassion

trust

hope

Missing limbs

are still felt

(they say)

But when innocence

and the like are lopped away –

Is there a residue?

Psychic scars must surely

outlive the corporeal

Ask a ghost

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

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Poem #1-2012 You Are Not Your Body

Unless you are some

Hollywood aberration

you did not make your nose

you didn’t have anything to do

with your hair’s perfection

or

the shape of your ass

or

the size or your tits

(or the size of your cock, for that matter)

and unless you’re some mad scientist,

you didn’t instruct your genes

toward society’s ideal

So why do you feel so

RESPONSIBLE for it all?

As if all of that is you?

I’d rather know if you’d

take in a stray kitten

or tell a cashier they undercharged you

or put a quarter in a stranger’s expired parking meter

or leave a waitperson a big tip “just because”

or cry at sad movies

or remember your first kiss

or if you have a quirky habit only you know about

or got the point of this poem . . .

Yair!

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.
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Poem #16-2011 A Promise Kept

A Promise Kept
          for Cindy but not for Bob

I wrote a poem once. and it was a good poem
as I recall
but I don’t know where it went at all
I mean – not where the paper I wrote it on went
(Hell, I’m sure it went the way of my baseball cards – unmercifully bent)
I mean
          where did that passion go?

Is it gone forever?
For. Ever.

One summer
Between schooling
A promise made
A promise kept: a poem each day

Hand-delivered first day back
         must have been 90 or so:June-July-August

My pay a thank you
and seeing her walk down the hall holding hands with my mortal enemy
          poetless soul-less blond hunk of fiery loin-grinding nemesis

didn’t keep a copy (pre-Xerox)
never saw them again

Her?

Once – lame class reunion
didn’t have the balls to ask

I rather think that good poem was in that batch
and now it’s in her
but tomorrow it will be in me again This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.
Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

Poem #15-2011 The Artist

The Artist

Loneliness would be

lonely

here

a vase sits

empty

but for a

dried-up paintbrush

you once used

to create me

from where

I hadn’t been

I miss your hands

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.
Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.