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all of a sudden passion suddenly

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There is a wasp hanging around a Coke can

There is a child playing with a blue balloon,
being stung silently

There are clouds hanging around the wasp

There are tower blocks puncturing clouds

There are men hanging around the wasp

There are clouds hanging men

There is a wasp
 
She loves to bathe
in the city's gut

rolling around pig
-like in its filthy

muck. Hit and run.
End this now.
 
it set in my mailboc for 19 hours
your old dog old man poem
sliding down the leaf gully one of you
should be dead and I am not picking sides

dont judge me
this is not intended to be a poem
I have not powdered my nose
or dusted my mirror
we are not the world
we are not the children
we are not the ones who make a better life
give give give in and tick tick tick we wait
for the waitress we wait for the waiter
you live in another time zone
someone's neck will snap
crackle what what what
are you afraid of little girl
your playing by heart becomes playing by mind
what
throws the switch

fear

fear

fear of what?
judgement
showing anger
hurting someone

wrap the bandage tighter remind me of the slices
of yourh wrist tight it is another day
see?
you could be dead
go live life at its fullest only works so many times
maybe I just need a new vein to cut
 
annaswirls said:
it set in my mailboc for 19 hours
your old dog old man poem
sliding down the leaf gully one of you
should be dead and I am not picking sides

dont judge me
this is not intended to be a poem
I have not powdered my nose
or dusted my mirror
we are not the world
we are not the children
we are not the ones who make a better life
give give give in and tick tick tick we wait
for the waitress we wait for the waiter
you live in another time zone
someone's neck will snap
crackle what what what
are you afraid of little girl
your playing by heart becomes playing by mind
what
throws the switch

fear

fear

fear of what?
judgement
showing anger
hurting someone

wrap the bandage tighter remind me of the slices
of yourh wrist tight it is another day
see?
you could be dead
go live life at its fullest only works so many times
maybe I just need a new vein to cut
Click to expand...



coincidence... i was just thinking about applying upstairs for another lifetime to be tacked onto this one so that i can have time to learn all the stuff i want to learn. ;)
 
sell the formula on ebay (aka I do not have your southern soul)

I woke up and found myself dreaming
in your voice, retelling the story about my cousin Rachel down in Georgia
who paid out her blessings in advance
singing out praise be to Aunt Sharon and Mama my Rock
but not before WIC who pays for the formula for her new baby

but it does not work
I try find the harmoinic chords to change under the tale
that make us ache in the pain of the human condition
the daughter who lets another November pass
excluding her Daddy from her prayers, the man cant help it Rachel, he is crazy
ike your second cousin sleeping in the next room here... did the best he could with y'all kids

I try to tease it out
but all I can come up with is remember how your Moma told you that you were too fat to wear pants and always kept you in a sack dress
thick ankles swollen over those sixe 11 white canvas sneakers
girl you got the tits of a jersey, start thanking the good lord
for giving you the means for feeding that child
 
writing a letter ...

words spoken, recalled. only this time
voice trembles, catch and torment
as heart strings play out the same tune
like so many times before.

your voice calls out to me, come.
I hesitate only, to feel a fool
for reasons beyond anything I can control
hold me hostage.

your smile, I see. In daydreams, it carries me through
trespassing on hidden desires to smile back,
follow my heart and catch that rainbow
at the suns end.

your love, is the eternal flame I hold out
for. I feel it, taste it, and know it, beyond anything
in this world.

uncertainty for the future, daily lives
and personal pastlife issues tie me down.
trying to teach a lesson that's coated in arsenic syrup.
freezing the heart, a doe in headlights fear
of what's to become of us.

so, I must pass
continue on in this life of drudgery
that taunts my heart with peak-a-boo glimpses
of what could be ...

all my love ...
 
I feel odd today. My spelling is atrocious,

thoughts jumbled and minds eye
seems blindsided by weary heart
strings stretched taunt from lack
of use, only over used in daydreams
of night things I worship and run from.

.
 
Sant Erasme

I don't know who he was exactly,
the brochure never said. There was
no plaque or monument every time
I walked down his street,

past women offering prayers
as they shook rugs and sheets,
the sound of the presidential election
drowning out falling water.

No one seemed to know who he was -
not even taxi drivers, messengers
of the underworld, who ferried me
to where hookers and junkies

walked and bathed. Perhaps if I looked
between the cracks of his paving
stones I would catch a glimpse
of his face, slowly burning with sin.
 
Messiah

He approached me as I walked
to my hotel, an aged messiah
smelling of tobacco and Gaudi.

I would have offered money,
perhaps my soul if he had asked
politely. But he said nothing,

as if his routine was a metaphor
for enlightment.
I think.
 
Right when you said
that you loved me,

I stared in disgust
at a dirty crust
on the spoon you chose
to stir your tea.

I'll remember forever
that dried latte foam,
framed over the mantlepiece
of my mind, as where
it all began.

You never picked
clean spoons,

but you kept saying
that you loved me.

So I didn't mind.
 
fallacy of a thicker skin

Baby, did ya ever stop to think
that I dont want thicker skin
already got a hard hat
steel toed boots, got a nasty gash
on the inside od my calf, but hey
Youre the one that needs to reconsider
the depth, the visible diameter
of your own outer layer
your attitude is that of a coward
so afraid to soften
did ya ever think that maybe
its better to learn how to love,
than to show how hard,
how harsh you are
and never know its meaning
 
mystery solved?

I was unpacking
while half-assed pecking
at this keyboard
covered in dry cat puke applied
in my recent absence

yeah, unpacking,
probably be repacking
next week, but next week might be too late
too late to explain why I have a ziploc bag

filled with candy and an extra large bottle
of Pepto
 
until Sunday morning

I didnt want to tell you
about the graves, about the lack of dirt
to cover what remained, butI felt I had to
and until Sunday morning I respected hunters
admired their ability
to feed their families

I didnt expect to find the ground
littered with parts the hunters didnt need,
the deer seemed to want to smile,
as if to tell me they had won when
when the click of my camera
captured their demise

skin torn back, ribs scraped clean
nothing much left but maggots
in their eyes, I wanted to cry
but instead I touched them-
still soft, supple, their bodies
must have been dumped
that morning

I want to show you those photos
of the mess upon such sacred ground
and how that sight brought memories to my mind
that I am not entitled to, but such stories
as my grandparents and their grands todl them

how every part was used, every bone, ever piece of fur
every sinew. I will not forget looking inisde the skull
of the young buck,
He lost no beauty in death
but humanity seems to have lost
more than just a bit
 
little pond, bigger pond

the story was that Mable
caught a sunfish but threw it back
so the sun would rise
tomorrow
 
I creep away from between
sheets, pairing the edges
of the covers, finishing
with a smoothing caress

as the pillows fall into place
the hollows where our heads
rested as we wrote love poems
in the dark, mark the morning's
kisses which still linger
against my cheeks and lips
with a tongue dance
whispered for me to open

I give and still have more
to share in snowy afternoons
or evenings when we turn
out the moon with the drapes
and crawl into a story, between
the covers and begin to write.
 
Deodorant

My lover is like deodorant

I use her once a day and she
leaves no white marks
 
Rant

They say having a penis is overrated
these days. Who needs it when women
can take some of its paint out of a tin
and repaint their walls with a purchased

variety. We have been consigned to a
place worse than extinction, furniture
to photograph and smile at. Dogs sniff
our crotches and piss against our legs

but its okay because politicians have
told us so. Laws have consigned men
to being nothing more than objects
to be dragged around by other men

with agendas that no one can be
bothered to find out. Voting cannot
change our future. Neither can sex
changes, marches or a simple fuck

you. Don't write to your politician,
write to your gun salesman and ask
them to sell you a powerful gun.
Then swallow an aspirin and squeeze
 
Lub Dub Song

You are the lub dub of my life
always there beating and quietly
stirring my blood with that steady
lub dub. Lub dub is the rhythm
we sought in summer, like the southern
passion of rhumba and salsa
a toe and heel then slide, lub dub.
Sure-footed when the world
wants to slip out from beneath
my feet and yet, I know that constant,
that lub dub of my heart, my life,
keeps me tied to your lub dub love.
 
champagne1982 said:
I creep away from between
sheets, pairing the edges
of the covers, finishing
with a smoothing caress

as the pillows fall into place
the hollows where our heads
rested as we wrote love poems
in the dark, mark the morning's
kisses which still linger
against my cheeks and lips
with a tongue dance
whispered for me to open

I give and still have more
to share in snowy afternoons
or evenings when we turn
out the moon with the drapes
and crawl into a story, between
the covers and begin to write.
Click to expand...


carrie

this is beautiful. soft as snow and so very comforting

thank you

:heart:
 
to collar his crop I assume, his position
in pain wavering on the edges of oblivion
where I placed him. The freedom to choose

a new beginning, or whimper back to backsliding
yo-yoing me. Rash decisions I majored in. now
the time has come to sink or swim the cresting
waves of tomorrow and beyond. I shall not yield
for fear has me grasped, grim reaper style

profiling my every move. Wishing , hoping a new day
a new beginning, shall set us both free. To be,
to just ... be.
 
there is nowhere to hide in this house
the doors do not latch
I hide in the crunch of crackers on my jaw
press palms on ears I can hear the plumbing through my knees


I am a bad person


she whines from her crate
wanting me to free her again he chatters from the third room
wanting to stay awake another minute
another minute to be on my mind another moment to bring me into the moments of his life I missed but I hide

from the first room with blacked out windows he calls
the sound machine plays rain and forrest and waterfalls
shhhhhh
he wants my warmth
my pressure
my assurance that we will exist tomorrow


still I try to hide in case these things I have always sought
always wanted might actually catch me
might actually catch me
 
Falling

Sunlight makes the white
so much brighter, back-
lighting clouds.

They look like snow
yes, smell like it too.

Morning air frosts pumpkin
and golden leaves that ling-
er still.

Lovers walk, stirring
those that lie, are crunched
under boot heels.

They fall, but they are not de-
ad, at least not yet,
not yet.
 
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