Poem #20-2012 Empty dreams

Help me lose my way
Layer me with marble
I'm on my last shakes
and the police don't care
Can you tell?
My dreams are empty
     as a miscarried womb
--misery bloodworm canker cancer rotten meat --
Feel it in your deep down!
Anesthesia
Tangled up in blood
Shit-filled fantasies
Wheelbound and
hellbent
Dark headspace
     spins me out of orbit
Black thighs
  squeezing my brain
     instead of my soul
Scorched in sin
swollen to bursting
Eat with me
Sleep with me
Be with me
           Tristessa

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #19-2012 Falling Thoughts

She fell hard

hard like steel

hard like real

and she never made excuses

or completely lost her way

and she never got the blues

Hell, she was the blues:

Horn-splayed

drum-scattered

liquid thighed

vibrato-laden . . .

God! What a woman,

rain-soaked

Saturday afternoon

delight, tight

right up to dangerous --

fall off a cliff

headlong travesty

juicy wet lips beckoning --

(He fell, too,

hard as a rock

deepening vee

"You can't get pregnant

on top, baby")

How fast can you go

when the end is assured?

Pubic sore

Neither one ready to 

say "no more"

There was nothing more

than this falling fucking feeling

Falling!

Like a rock

Like a cock

"There's got to be more,"

she thought

And he licked her

where thought became

impossible

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

Open Link Night

Poem #18 Not today

Today I shall not
use the word "like"
to introduce a metaphor
in a poem

I shall not
mention Jack Kerouac
more than 5 times
(zero seemed too lofty)

Today I shall not
forget to be thankful
for something,
no matter how small

I shall not
forget to buy
flowers on the way home
(for no reason than to
brighten her day)

Today I shall not
be a deliberate
obstacle to change

I shall not
get drunk
except on ideas

Today I shall not
should on myself
excessively

I shall not
foist my views
on others

Today I shall not
assume the worst
about others

I shall not
overburden myself
with "rules"

It's kind of like
a forced march
with no destination

...oops

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #17-2012 Pittsburgh

We're in Pittsburgh

We stop at a restaurant

The waitress says,

"What'll yinz have?"

We are definitely in Pittsburgh

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #16-2012 Nature Lessons

A raven
(which is a crow but not vice versa)
will chase a chipmunk

I've seen it happen

An argument over the pile of seed I leave
under the maple tree
(I guess - ravens don't kill for meat, do they?)

Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,
the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush....

Round the trunk twice
Raven hop-running
Chipmunk scurrying
Then, a bee-line for cover

The raven takes wing
chasing the competitor clear over
to my brush pile

and safety

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #15-2012 Fire Danger Today

Hearth visitors
drown in the miracle
of my fire

It lures them close
before
turning them to instant ash

Neither fire nor victim
aware of the danger
until survival
is out of the question

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #14-2012 Jack Attack

Jack, Jack, Jack

Ti Jean

Kerouac

Ti Pousse

Mickey, Michael, Leo

Francis, Peter

Zagg, Wesley

Sal, Ray

Mike, Robert

Richard

Maggie Cassidy, Tristessa, Satori in Paris, Doctor Sax, Visions of Cody, Desolation Angels, Big Sur, Visions of Gerard,The Town and the City, Orpheus Emerged, The Subterraneans,
Atop an Underwood, Book of Dreams, Vanity of Duluoz, The Sea is My Brother, On the Road,
The Dharma Bums, And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks

Richard

Mike, Robert

Sal, Ray

Zagg, Wesley

Francis, Peter

Mickey, Michael, Leo

Ti Pousse

Kerouac

Ti Jean

Jack, Jack, Jack

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

Open Link Night

This is a slam poem meant to be recited aloud from memory. It's a riff on all the characters that Jack Kerouac used for himself in his books (the latter in italics). I plan to perform it at Lowell Celebrates Kerouac this October. Wish me luck - memorization ain't easy at my age.

Poem #13-2012 Cut-Up Journal

I hope your fickle uterus disappears in a rage without explanation
Every dream dies
Good enough
A season full of lessons
Listen with the possibility of being changed
The language of deficits
Every human being is of incalculable value
Education is not neutral
What did I do today?
Maybe it's time
Destiny henceforth
You made your bed
But how short?
It's kind of a clamor
Soup sounds better
I censored myself at least 40%
Drinking bad beer is out
Sometimes nothing makes sense
Writers write
All dead as are their husbands
More is welcome -- what's been is sufficient
The Buddha was the first one to see it
Cake for everyone
Jack wrote at least 1,500 words/day
I need to stop that
The blank page
A Child's Garden of Verses
The best unknown poet alive
I am no good on my feet
I assume I'll be alone
More impressive in person
What the elders said is true
Does this help or hurt the future?
The muse comes from any direction
Poetry ought to be a refuge
Infucking competent
Wrongs I committed out of selfishness
The mindset of discovery
Generating ideas
Because of a fucking meeting
There is a poem that will save you
A psychic toll, indeed
"Order up!"
Sometimes it is all one can do
A second look
Trust me
When am I happy?
Should we get a convertible?
Timing
Creative thought is dead to me
"Who are you to ask me such a thing?"
What makes something "fun"?
Naked Lunch
In my wildest dreams
PARADOX!
For an undetermined period of time
I have been the betrayer
Sparkling sin
Hovering death
Tribes
It's not. You know that.
Something needs a poem written about it today
Quit whining and do your work
Nothing matters
Tighten up
Make me believe your corvette skin
Needs too much work
No problems identified
Trust me, you are not that important
"What would you like to dip your chicken tenders in?"
I have a whole new appreciation of Cake
Beats the shit out of me
Death transcends such things
Close your trunk using a bungee cord
Waiting for the tab

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #12-2012 Death From Above

Hovering
black-and-white death
a few false drops
teasing the watery prey
then, head first, at
bullet speed
Spaaaa-looossssh (talons first)
Wet pause
airborne again -
one quick hover and shake

Look -  a flying fish !

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #11-2012 Velveteen Bird

"Why?'
asks the little bird.

"Because," I say,
"they told me all these
things are real."

"Are they?"
the little bird asks.

"Who are you to ask
me such a thing?" I say.

"Why don't you ask me
why I sing?"
the little bird asks.

"What's the point?
I know why you sing," I say.

"You do?"
the little bird asks.

"Of course," I say.

"Why?"
the little bird asks.

"Instinct," I say.

"And do your instincts
tell you that these
things are real?"
the little bird asks.

". . . No," I say.

And I begin to sing.

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #10-2012 The On Road*

My wife and I
had something miserably dead
coming before planning
perfect
naively intellectual letters
shrouded out of New York

The beautiful cafeteria
reminded me of leftover things
so I went flat
jumping to sex
sweat
curse
like a young Gene Autry
blonde ringlets
hanging like a serious
gloomy fluctuating crystallization



*This is a "cut-up poem" (a la William S. Burroughs) using words (in the order they appear) from the first four paragraphs of Jack Kerouac's On The Road.

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

Open Link Night

Poem #9-2012 Colored Things

Ribbons

Rainbows

Flags

Sunsets

Color is light –

made, lost, or moved

Black is coldest

Then red, orange, yellow-white, bluish-white

Yarn

Hair

Bowling balls

Flowers

Stripped to its essence,

color is perception

Wielded by the artist,

color is passion

Birthday candles

Backpacks

Construction paper

Socks

Taken for granted,

color retreats

Seen through bias,

color condemns

Songbirds

Sunday comics

Traffic lights

Crayons

If music is what feelings sound like, then

color is what music looks like

Don’t just see the colors –

Hear them

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #8-2012 Equality

Sitting.
Coffee.
An old book.
Windows.
Bright morning glare.

My fingernails amaze me,
As do the wine bottles
reflecting the
streaming sunlight.

That anything exists --
chairs,
coffee,
books,
windows,
the sun,
fingernails,
wine --

is equally wondrous
and . . .
wondrously equal.

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #7-2012 The Lowry Day

Mother always called

a day like this

a “lowry” day

the sun hidden

only a threat of rain

not cold – chilly

she said it’s what

Dad called days like this

(something about his Irish heritage)

something else, though –

beneath the weather –

makes it lowry

an attitude, a state of things in general

an unnameable sadness for what could be

a miasma

a desire to wrap oneself in

a cozy blanket and

sit fireside 

pondering not much of anything

feeling…

               ...lowry

Contributed to dVersePoets.com

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Poem #6-2012 Writing the Sky

I want to tell you about the sky

About what it does to me

Especially when it’s clear

like today

I want to tell you about the sky

About what it does to me

Because I wonder

Does it affect you this way, too?

Does it strip out your guts

and stomp them into ragged puddles

of submission?

Does it reflect your crazed soul

back at you and leave

your skin night sweaty and electric tingling?

Does it tell you things no one knows,

things that would scare a dead man into

singing a dirge for Satan?

Does it color your perception about

everything

and sweep your gloom off its feet?

Does it promise you endless love yet never delivers—

like a jilting lover?

Does it empty your silver-lined pockets

with greedy bone-licking fingers dressed in

full wedding pomp? 

I wanted to tell you about the sky

because that’s what it does to me

but it only does what I let it

It only does me for me

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

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.

Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

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.

Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

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 -
finding one will reveal
the others.

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

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.

Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.

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.
Follow them on Twitter @dVersePoets.