| The Inappropriate Use Of World War Two Images In Poetry
Posted: 1/24/2006 11:24:13 PM | The Inappropriate Use Of World War Two Images In Poetry
Wherever Purgatory is
Ezra Pound sits ensconced
Upon a vast porcelin throne
Blasting his Cantos out of his ass
Hiroshimic blasts
Ooooh it smells so bad | |
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| Resisting The Inappropriate Use Of World War Two Images In Poetry
Posted: 1/24/2006 11:32:59 PM | Resisting The Inappropriate Use Of World War Two Images In Poetry
There are days when its hard
To stand in front of the mirror
And look the enemy
In the eyes
Those are the days when I find myself
Losing perspective, getting extreme
Wanting to write
The most ridiculous words
Lines like:
My life is a concentration camp
My own private Auschwitz
With me, its only inmate
And then the voice of reason
Kicks in
Oh? Really now?
A private Auschwitz?
A concentration camp inmate?
Would that be
Like Elie Wiesel?
Like Tadeuesz Borowski?
Like Josef Marcinkiewicz?
Like Robert Desnos?
Like Anne Frank? | |
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| A Cure For Self-Pity
Posted: 1/24/2006 11:41:59 PM | A Cure For Self-Pity
The next time I find myself
Running around on one of my
Metaphoric street corners
Ranting and raving like
Some syphilitic Nietzche
I need to remember
To go down to the public library
To the section on health
Pull down that book
On tropical diseases
Turn to chapter on elephantiasis
Look at the pictures
See the guy whose balls
Are twice the size of my head
Ten times the size of pain
Self-inflicted or not
Reach down
Grab my package
Smile
Put the book back
Walk out into the pure blue spark
Of an autumn sun | |
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| A February Rose For Rilke And You
Posted: 1/25/2006 12:43:25 AM | A February Rose For Rilke And You
Dawn rolls in on the waves, tracing green silver
Along the surface of intercostal waves
The moon is leaving now
Taking her reluctant children with her
I think they’re going to China for the day
And morning wakes in a cloudy robe
Of purple and gray, to make it warm today
Because winter
This dreadful heavy Winter
Has grown so weary
Within us
But ho! Only three weeks ago
You reported from your
House in the forest in the east
Of little flowers whispering
Pink and white
Whispering…
Soon the rest of us will come
Singing out Spring
In the wild language
Of our purple red fire
Ha! Now it’s up to the second story
Of the dock I climb
Where you and I made love
On the first night of the year 2000
And standing there, I think of you
And a Sufi legend of the Prince of Balkh
Of Ibrahim Adham, lost in the desert, hunting a stag
A magic stag that turned to him and asked
“Were you born for this?”
My fingers count my ribs.
Are they all there?
I don’t know but only know
I was born to live through everything
To live through it all
To arrive here in this moment
And watch the duck fleet pass below
The U.S.S. Mallard, the U.S.S. Wood Duck
To let their geometry, the perfect smoothness of their heads
Pierce me
Convince me
Of something
And with this
It comes home…It was
78 years ago today, Valentine’s Day
When Rilke finished the Elegies
Less than a year ago when
I heard his words on your lips
“Every angel is terrifying…”
Words that slipped through my ribs into who I am | |
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| Memory
Posted: 1/25/2006 10:43:45 AM | Memory
A pair of white pines
Uprooted
A patch of moss
The inside of a rose
A deluge of sighs
How will I ever forget you? | |
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| She Knows The Dragon, She Dreams The Sparrow
Posted: 1/25/2006 10:55:29 AM | She Knows The Dragon, She Dreams The Sparrow
(For Theresa-1999)
I know how
In the canyonlands
You wept with the dead
Wept right along with them
Like a Magdalene for Jesus
Each tear a Galilee
Of understanding
And I have seen how the Blues
Affect you
How each note
Drives into you
Each note...The Story Of Man...
Finding its home
In the intrinsic rhythm
Of your heart
O my sweet friend
So often you have stood with me
Barefoot on plains
Where love is mostly glass
When I have come back
With featherdust of wounded birds
On my hands
Those are the times
When upon my beaten brow
You laid your Cherokee hands
You kissed my scars
And stood me up like a man
For you
I will never have enough poems
For you
My heart is my only poem | |
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| 8 In 30
Posted: 1/25/2006 11:02:14 AM | 8 In 30
Once she had eight of them
In a half-hour
Eight thundering womanquakes
And this may be naive
But I don't think she faked a one
That night I felt like a god
But it wasn't me
And I wasn't a god
Because when she left
she took them all with her
and didn't leave me a one | |
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| Harlequin
Posted: 1/25/2006 6:30:18 PM | Harlequin
Innumerable gestures, nuances
Information flood
I regret all those long nodding days
What a waste
Like empty space enveloping a rose
Nonetheless, there are still
Many wonderful crimes to commit
So keep moving on like a jet
Bypassing the wax churches
Of the hijacked Christ
Always, a vision pierces me
A tombstone
It reads: Don't laugh. It was a life. | |
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| Strange Machine
Posted: 1/25/2006 6:37:21 PM | Strange Machine
All day long I've been busy
Inventing machines
I've had to do a lot of tinkering
Playing with equations
Adjusting my theories
But the hardest part was
Finding the right source of fuel
Finally I got one to run
It powers up on
Stories from this life
And the memories I have
Of the ones I've loved
It's a strange machine
I'm not exactly sure
What it does
Or what it's for
But the last time I checked
It was in my room
Writing poems | |
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| the world is full of the innocent kind
Posted: 1/26/2006 1:57:47 AM | i felt silence today
across my cheek
silence resting hands upon words where wisdom flows
asking is this close enough
kneeling in... setting my internal expression to glow
silence has weight
silence approached stronger than a minute slow
myself on my knees on the floor
resistless nose to nose
asking is this close enough | |
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| my written stutter
Posted: 1/26/2006 2:36:55 AM | one line is supposed to read
resistless nose to gnos | |
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| my written stutter
Posted: 1/26/2006 6:45:29 AM | | gnos-Is that a reference to gnosis or gnosticism? | |
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| my written stutter
Posted: 1/26/2006 6:47:33 AM | | Oh Yeah-I forgot to mention-I like your poem. | |
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| one more poem black mary then i think my day is about to change
Posted: 1/26/2006 8:23:47 AM | i am america's biggest idiot
day in day out
since
2002 or longer
an entity unknown to me
had revealed
i am being recorded by video or voice
i am america's biggest idiot
day in day out
since
2002 or longer
an entity unbelievable to me
followed me all over my home
then wrote the studied
observations to me through email
i lived with my folks at the time
we all being law abiding citzens
i told two people my concerns
but left alone for guidance
i put it to the back of mind
not knowing how to prove the crime
because i am america's biggest idiot
to this day i just wave or stare far away
my daughter and i now in our own place
attempting to live without knowing i'm an idiot case
I've blurted quite a bit here in your thread. I don't won't to seem
like a bulldozer. I apologize if I've intruded. | |
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| Meditations On The Petrifaction Of Sighs
Posted: 1/26/2006 10:49:45 AM | Meditations On The Petrifaction Of Sighs
Above
Against an avalanche of white
I watch as
Three seabirds
Drink their miracles from the sky
Through a hole in the sun
They flee
As you fled
Exiled, I am stretched out in time
Interwoven with the centuries
Of the dark science
Along a trail of bent and blackened spoons
I walk with Rilke’s angels
Contemplating a final return
To southern circles
Baltimore or Mexico
Or some other such graveyard
A day’s drive from here
But I shake all this off
And in your honor
As a tribute to you
I sit myself down in a rocker
Wearing a blue shirt
Eat half a bag of M&M’s
And watch The Andy Griffith Show
I laugh, I rise
Unconvinced by Pascal, I smile towards
William James
A touch to the forehead
Three to the chest
I return to my room to write down
A theory of multipliers for Hardy-Lorentz spaces | |
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| Italics test
Posted: 1/26/2006 10:56:36 AM | | [i italics]italics[/i*] and [b*]bold[/b*] text and [b*][i*]bold italics[/b*][/i*] | |
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| Italics test
Posted: 1/26/2006 11:01:28 AM | | italics [i\] test | |
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| Epiphany
Posted: 1/26/2006 11:03:50 AM | Epiphany
Jesus stood in front of the mirror
Shaving off his beard
When he was done
He stepped back and stared at
The face before him
He rubbed his jaw
Smiled
And whispered:
Dionysis
| |
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| Italics test
Posted: 1/26/2006 11:09:02 AM | | Thank DragonN-I think I know how to do it now. | |
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| Sick Lucid Sex Dream
Posted: 1/26/2006 12:03:16 PM | Sick Lucid Sex Dream
The boss throws a party
A Russian immigrant
He prefers vodka to Dostoevsky
He aims to shock his guests
With pornography
Films of bestiality
Women with dogs
Women with eels
Women with horses
Makes me think of Catherine the Great
Eat your heart out Kate
It’s not my cup of tea and I move on
Later I sleep and dream
And know that I am dreaming
The dream carries me to work
A convenience store with twelve pumps
Twelve apostles always pumping, pumping hard
Customers are everywhere
Outside raising Hell
Inside raising Hell
Outside and inside raising Hell
Like ants, streaming towards something
Dead, they approach me
Working their mandibles
Their insect faces
Wanting, wanting, wanting
Demanding directions, I give them directions
To insane asylums and deserted country dumps
To rusted train yards and dead motels
Demanding answers
I answer them with visions imparted telepathically
Visions of atrocity
Cathars!
Wounded Knee!
Nanking!
Auschwitz!
My Lai!
Cambodia!
El Salvador!
Abu Ghraib!
They scatter and run
Becoming small red worms
Writhing at the bottom
Of cheesecloth filters
Clutched in the hands
Of Napoleonic foot soldiers
Straining muddy water
From Berlin street puddles
I test the dream
I test my control
I grow
A multitude of arms
Arms of rubber elongating
Slinking and slithering
Arms that are everywhere
Like a wicked Uncle Ernie
Due to my spiritual poverty
I turn the dream into a sex dream
Instantly I build a woman
A young girl draped over the register
Face down, buns up
Pantiless with miniskirt flipped up
She recites my fantasies
As I pound away from behind
The arms flail about everywhere
Outside pumping
Inside pumping
Dealing and stealing
Throbbing and robbing
I am ringing and singing
This diddling song
I have no shame
No one is here
No one sees what I do
No one sees what I have made
I grab the girl by the hips
And as I prepare to drive it home
I look down- I jump back in stark
Horror- O- Horror!
From the waist down she is not human!
Her ass is the ass of Bambi!
The hindquarters of a young deer, a fawn
White spots on brown fur
And a patch of white under tail
Between her black-hooved shanks
No honeypot sanctuary, no hint of Venus
Instead lies a rasping lamprey’s mouth
A squid beak’s biting, a roseate abyss
Now all control is lost
Not even the illusion
Of control
Remains
And I’m out of there!
Thrusting myself
Out of the depths of the dream
I awake gasping
In terror and shame
No one is there
No one knows where I go | |
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| Prayer Of The Dawn
Posted: 1/26/2006 12:41:55 PM | Prayer Of The Dawn
I want to rise with the high dawn
Born in the dreams of eagles
Sacred to the horse and the stone
A dawn that treads the hallowed moss of the forest
In robes of mist and stratified light
Blessed in the green cathedral of the fern
A dawn drawn deep
From the well of myths
That breathes wild, breathing blue
Water into the Blue Rose of
Sufi legends in the desert wind
A dawn that knows the sadness in the Heart of Man
Yet does not lament, is without lament for the dying moon
Instead, an offering of prayer
A dawn of blue and orange hands
Palms held skyward on the horizon
Fully exultant in the blood of the sun
A dawn that beats the blue-green rhythms on the drum of the Earth
That divines the skywater in the breath of clouds and
Chants the tribal names across the face of our planet
An illuminating dawn that breaks the terrible night in the Heart of Man
Let the light of that dawn
Shine in my eyes
The blood of that dawn
Flow in my veins
The heart of that dawn
Beat as my heart | |
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| Indigo Pond
Posted: 1/26/2006 1:05:51 PM | Indigo Pond
(For One I Loved In Another Life)
Gulf hammocks, palmetto and pines
Embankments Of sandy slope
We are alone among the dried reeds
With only the minnows of the stream
I catch you laughing
Weave your image and sound
Into the tapestry of my solitude
An image I make of you
Forever like this
Laughing woman-girl
Your eyes, green mirrors
Your hands
The doves I seek
Alone among the brittle reeds
There are only the birds
Of a hidden drean
Only the sacred kiss on our brow
I kiss you in the sun | |
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| Bouquet
Posted: 1/26/2006 1:16:06 PM | Bouquet
In their language of
Hot pink and purple
The flowers call to you
And you, with your mother's hands
Answer them, knowing them
Saying their names
The dogwoods, the violets
The honeysuckle, azaela, and wild rose
Each one
A planet of color to you
A world
And you the one to exist
For them
To take their wild existence
In intimate surrender | |
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| Barefoot
Posted: 1/26/2006 1:40:17 PM | Barefoot
A voice turns to stone
With the banishment of childhood
Creation stops
Anger sets in
And salvation must be
A cup of coffee
Somewhere else
Let us lay ourselves down
Among the washed out azaela blossoms
And listen to the limestone
Crumble in the road
Let us no longer wound
Each other with hope
We are, all of us
Alone
And we'd better accept it
Still I want to know why...it takes
...so very long to outlove
the savage heart
...so many seasons in the dust
to become immortal | |
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