Back to main
Like what you see here? Support me @ Cafepress.com.
For all newest poems, go to my poem journal.
Pomes ALLEN GINSBERG DAMN IT DISEASED DISPASSIONATE DREAMS EMPTY 40 YEARS FRUSTRATED GODDESS OF THE SEAS GOODY BASKET GROCERY MELODRAMA HIM HOMO- HYPOCRISY INEFFECTS OF LOVE IN MY EYES INTROVERT KITCHEN MISSING HIM NOT THIS pastUNIONfuture PAWN POSEIDON REMINISCE YOUR LACK OF NOSTALGIA SEAMSTRESS STRANDS OF BURGUNDY STRAWBERRIES STRAWBERRY LIPGLOSS SUPERMARKET FANTASIES TO BE SATED THIS IS HOW IT OUGHTTA BE UNESCAPED UNREQUITED AUTUMN UNTITLED Strands of Burgundy Sometimes, Your hair, I tuck Behind your ears, Because I know it will fall. And it amazes me That A thing Such as Strands of Burgundy Could cause A moment to become a Decade. Goody Basket Strap on A cotton tail, rabbit ears. Smooth panties lying on silk sheets With two hands. Fluffed bangs. Looks like Easter With a basket of toys and goodies. Pull back the outside- Cellophane, leotard- Rush in. Warm chocolate, thighs, eggs, sugary sweet, dripping deliciousness. Dripping everywhere, (drip, drip, drip) Candy can be so messy. Pink… jellybeans. Pink… marshmallows. Pink… Tongues turning treats in gaping, hungry maws. (drip, drip, drip) Velvet beneath rough(er) fingertips. Meltsinyourmouth & satiates Every Single Tastebud. Strawberry Lipgloss Strawberry lip gloss will forever make my heart leap into my throat, And your scent is so infused in my mind That people catch me smiling away at nothing And sometimes I think you're here When you're not. Music and flowers pressed (between us) in a book- I could never forget your eyes in the sunlight Like jewels, the eyes of my angel, wild and beautiful. The softness of your skin, my hands on top of it... Could anything you do be mundane? But it's your strawberry mouth that really melts me. Strawberries (A Haiku) If I feed you ripe Strawberries, will you let me Taste your pinkest flesh? In My Eyes you beautiful perfect creating being loving lamb angel human misanthrope trying striving wanting imperfect cold me To Be Sated Tendrils of tresses Caressing your perfect peach cheeks... Your mouth is so round, Like a rosebud Or other blossom, And I think I could pluck it there from your face. But a loaf of bread is far more than it's crust- Your heart beating out some song that I‘m trying to memorize; Your smile is but an insight into your emotions. With every dawn comes new treats Flooding forth from your bounty, And I hungrily snatch up every one, For to know you fully is my longed for reward. Until then These tokens will have to do: The feel of your tongue Cleansing my fingers of mango juice And your obvious pleasure At the lily on your pillow. Poseidon Emotions strewn about like dirty clothes or used condoms Standing, centered, in an empty room wondering where my family is, If I ever had one at all. And how about friends? Are you hiding there on the floor, Under the bed or that sock? Loneliness swells like waves before a storm Time to cuddle up to the sandy shore and hope you don't wash away. They say it heals all wounds, but it never really works out that way. Can you feel my pain, Poseidon? Do you see me sitting before you? Can you give me back what I've lost? I'm stroking driftwood, because there's nothing else here. No pebbles, no seagulls, no soul inside. My body is a cellar. A cold, dank, basement of a room, Where I store pickled poisons and candied fear. Every past embarrassment or betrayal Is bottled up and placed on a shelf Catalogued and labeled for future reference. It's why I can't let go. It's time to let go. Slip out of the basement and onto that sandy beach. The storm's still gaining strength Hasn't released its fury just yet. So for cover, back to that room, where no one and everyone is Just not me. I'll hide here with you, until I can face myself. Until I've gained enough strength to beat my hurricane, to burn the basement, That's when we'll remove the covers and breathe this life. 40 Years 40 years ago a man had a dream, and he told the world the world heard him the world embraced him we embraced his message of peace freedom respect equality 40 years later i look my brethren in the eye i know nothing's been done and so does everyone else we look up towards a man in a chair who thinks he owns us we want to tell him he doesn't fill the streets, tell him, "i can't tolerate your supposed superiority" tell him blood is always more valuable than oil 2043 and i can see it i can see marriage between two men or two women or anyone else i can see women step into dark alleys alone and then i see them step out unharmed and i see matt shepard smiling and i see palestinian freedom fighters smiling and i see trans youth smiling i see ani difranco smiling i see latin american children smiling they don't know the feeling of an unfed belly because american children don't know the feeling of choosing a video game system is that all it takes? isn't that worth it? when i see 40 years of change then i'll be smiling will you embrace my message of peace freedom respect equality? not this carrying buckets of yellow rays i want to make the world sunny this is not the answer blood is not the answer sun is not the answer what is the question? don't force it nature is evolution progression never regression retro is a prefix for fashion magazines and science books not nature not society not foreign policy not war can't you see that yellow is better than red? pastUNIONfuture I look far behind me and see a gilded past. Rooms, stories, people, like bordellos, awash in red and gold. Bleeding statues, people are pain. Chandaliers dripping where they've cracked, And vampires prowling below to lap up the runoff. I look close behind me and see a dark and dismal world. Stumbling block after stumbling block, and each one shifts to ensure my fall. It's all grey and everytime I turn I forget where I've been and trip over the same obstacles. I look beside me and see you. You've taken my hand to lead me back into the world. Every colour of the rainbow is represented here, and people are just people, not monsters or statues. "Keep telling me where the rocks and potholes are, baby," I tell you. "Because I can see my wounds healing when I don't fall." I look up ahead and see gold again. But now it's not gilding, it's 24 carat through and through. I used to think I was perfect. Now history tells me I'm not. There you are still beside me, despite that fact. Holding my had, making it okay. Cuz I couldn't do it alone, But we're perfect together. Reminisce Your Lack of Nostalgia Jolly old good time popcorn brand popcorn Eat it, munch, munch, munch Seen this movie a hundred times First when I was nine. Reminiscing about a time that never existed Golden poodle skirts and golden air and golden gold Here comes the snow cone man down the street there The hot dog man with his hot dog cart and his hot dogs and his hot dog buns And there's the milkman and the mailman, the icebox repair man, and my man. But they're all gone now, if they were ever here at all And it's really just me now Just me and these thoughts of a past I didn't see. Supermarket Fantasies Strolling down the aisles of a grocery, No, a supermarket, alone, All sorts of thoughts stroll alongside, And so you’re not really alone. Memories of childhood, I always rode in the cart. And sometimes, long ago, in the front of that metal basket. Ah, I do recall selecting favorite products, And pleading with mother for the purchase. Oranges are always in season, But not peaches. Sometimes you can get Chilean peaches, But you’re better off buying a can or jar. Ethnic sections hold a world of treats And I do like Japanese crackers. Thoughts of grandeur, I could become a chef! Famous and restaurant owning- No chain franchises for me. A quaint bistro and I’ll call it Chez something. Unless of course I become an accountant instead. Tallying up a family’s monthly grocery bill and telling them they can no longer afford Japanese crackers. Homo- Hypocrisy Something about obvious Gay men and the brand Dicken Cider makes me Giggle. Sure, I’m a big Dyke myself, But who laughs at An ass stomping butch? Damn It Ah, what it does to me, these emotions I'm not used to. Never used to put me second. Perhaps I'm on drugs. Don't remember taking anything… It's not a good thing. Can't know if it's bad. Can't make decisions now. Not under the influence. What is it I'm under the influence of? Need is so frightening. Like Freddy Kreuger. The Exorcist. Night of the Living Need. Even when platonic, love is a killer. Like drugs. Cocaine. Some people love pot. They need heroin. I just love you. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. Always looking to be addicted. Ineffects Of Love Your words, sans mouth, are electric and send me into shivering fits. It's good that doesn't happen when you're in the room. Love ballads on the radio bring your image to the forefront of my mind's eye. Of course, so does gangsta rap. The last thing I think of at night, but not the first in the AM. I wonder why that is? Not just another crush, something real and permanent is backing me up this time. Inexplicable, irrational true love. I guess emotion really doesn't make me a better poet. Unrequited Autumn Glancing hellward at the warmth between my hands, My cider filled mug stares back in reply. "Do you love me?" It continues to stare. Shatter of a once silent form, And now I must fetch a rag and broom. I catch it's eye but the worn cheesecloth then turns away. "And you, do you love me?" After burning the rag, I think to call a friend. "Watch out, the floor's wet," when she conquers my threshold. Her hair is like the glowing embers I just witnessed, And here I am smelling of ash. A fire smoldered? Perhaps. My fingertips dance across her bare flesh, it's like the cider's warm and fresh and new again. "Do you love me?" "You've lit my fire," I say, "just don't break my heart." "So cliché!" Smiling, I bury my head between her ripe breasts. Missing Him Summer sunshine surrounded me. It poured down in buckets, Drenching the physical world. I spent my days picking dandelion bouquets, listening to Jill Scott, wandering through 4 story used bookstores, and eating at soul food buffets, Trying to fill the void I feel without you. But still you’re all I think of. Dreams New Orleans, Louisiana. Destination of a road trip and many other things. Shrimp gumbo, jumbalaya, it’s up to me. Tastes good... spicy. Seated on an open porch, legs dangling, facing the street. Children ride by on red bicycles. Glance toward my black ‘89 Grand National, While reaching over to turn up Billie or Louis. Later, quietly washing dishes, there’s not many. Fireflies outside my window, on, off, on, off. Tread across a worn brown carpet, my mattress on top. Sleep. Free. Home. Safe. Untitled Summer reading is the Communist Manifesto As I give pause to ponder my own radical ideologies Communist? Socialist? Anarchist? Having trouble defining myself today So I place the book down and feel the the cool sweet breeze that smells like summer months- barbecue, lemonade, and the smoke from firecrackers Ah, less pondering and more living A smile, quickly replaced with a frown Pick up the book again. Today, at least, practicality always presides over pleasure. Grocery Melodrama Enter- No Exit Choose cart or basket Tightened muscles passing a scrumptious, majestic veal cutlet Sustenance in death Tortured by a grape temptress popsicle White smocked sample lady flags you down An obstacle course to escape, the prize- your life Guiltily gazing at chocolate piercings and chicken cigars Castrated by your checkbook The earthquake rumbles when approaching the register A pulsating dampness rushes forth as you purchase necessities Steady... white knuckles gripping paper (or plastic?) bags Exit- No Entry Walking out into the street, head held high You squelch the grocery melodrama with every step Neon advertisements dimming behind you and you arrive home The blinking light above your door Enter- No Exit This Is How It Oughtta Be This is how it oughtta be: Drinking papaya juice, experiencing picnics, summer poems, and making sweet love. Sharing laughter, interests, and emotions. It’s all fertile and orange and bright today. Rapturous everyday life. Extraordinary because of shared love. What bad could come out of our union? This is how it oughtta be: R&B on the radio Soulful sugar voices sing love to us. Even drinking papaya juice is Sensual and perfect when You do it, Rhythmically, Harmoniously, With me. That's how love oughtta be. Him They don't always say what they mean. They might tell you they love you and want you and need you and care about you. But sometimes they're cruel. Sometimes they leave you when you need them most. Sometimes they tempt you with what you can never have. Sometimes they pull your heart from your chest, strand by delicate strand, then mock you standing in a bloody pool of your love for them. Sometimes they confuse you so much you can't sleep at night. Sometimes they take everything they can from you, everything you'll give, everything irreplaceable. Sometimes I love him anyway. Allen Ginsberg Allen Ginsberg Died an old man, resonating picture juice all over the floor. For a long time his nectars washed the streets clean, but now they only flow through me. When i bite a tasty crisp apple, Allen Ginsberg cascades down my chin and he runs out of my favorite ink pen onto this paper. Frustrated Immobile statuesque lost missing person. Cry on his shoulder if you want but tomorrow you’ll do it again. My problems can’t compare? Maybe you could say that if you knew what they were. Selfish. Don’t you know it’s your fault? Don’t you know you’re not the only one? Don’t you know it’s not hard to be different? I could have showed you how. You didn’t have to choose to be a statue. Pawn Easily swayed. So caring, yet so false. Easily trampled. It put everything on the line in hope of blank rewards. Envious pawn. Hurt by alterior motives- even it’s own. Can’t set it’s wanting heart free. It is bound to these negative ploys by chains of self doubt, Hidden alone in a child’s wonderland. Stupid pawn. Weeping over a game of chess. Seamstress Meaty French embroiderer woman, Her fabric transcendental, Fashions interlocking substances. Her sweetly, delicious, iridescent skin And his hand on her rare gift. Not even he is sure which is the greater beauty- She or her cloth. Introvert A mirror down my throat couldn’t find the inner me I don’t know what can I’ve been looking for quite awhile now. No one seems to know who i am When i ask them, They look at me oddly As if introspection is a crime Perhaps it is in their world It could kill the stable niche they’ve created for themselves. I guess that’s my whole problem: I haven’t found a niche And I’m confused and afraid of creating the wrong one. Kitchen White tiles, walnut cabinetry. Vegetable portraits adorning newspapered walls. "Pearl Harbor Bombed!" and "Nixon Resigns!" read the headlines. Celery and asparagus in the refrigerator with milk and Dijon mustard. Porcelain jars occupy corners sauces and baking materials occupy them. Clean floors, cluttered counters. Stainless steel utensils and cast iron pans hang from the walls. A blonde child plays on the floor with coloured alphabet blocks. Goddess of the Seas Seaside dreams. Sandy cliff overlooks the ocean, the world. Wind in hair, feel the Earth move below. Every emotion colliding in the tossing, frothy waves. Seaside dreams. I stand overlooking the ocean, Goddess of the seas. Wind billows around me, but I am immovable. My emotions running high over the tossing, frothy waves. Empty Small wonder i don't know who i am. Some lies protect and some just make it easier to look you in the eye I'd rather no one knew the truth. Small wonder i don't know who i am. Tried to speak up but was so often silenced Now my voice is to weak to be heard. Small wonder i don't know who i am. A prison is not a choice, it's a situation Someday i hope to escape, but the future is dark and dismal. Small wonder i don't know who i am. If you could see through my eyes, you'd close them You would bow your head down to shamefully hide your face, and you would shut out whatever you could. Small wonder i don't know who i am. It's easier to control the ignorant They don't want me to see the world outside of this hole they dug for me. Small wonder i don't know who i am. My life is decided by someone else, and they don't want me to know. Diseased Standing alone, friendless. Cloak of darkness covers us on this chilly autumn eve. Making O’s in the air with our hot breath- 98.6 degrees in this frosted dead realm. Suddenly we see her approaching, hurrying along to her toasty home. Maybe children and a husband await her. Maybe not. She’s closer and I see her turn a sensual red- she’s a rose being- bright and wonderfully different from us. We share a look, and then with her. A fear enters her as she spots us watching her form approach. The same thoughts running through us all. The two of us (had been leaning against a broken light post) straighten and start toward her light. She slows to a near halt, delaying the inevitable. We almost reach her and she stares, then tries to run, but we ground and mount her. She won’t stop screaming! We yell at her, both of us- but she won’t stop. So I slap her SMACK! once SMACK! twice. And he kicks her naked side. Now she’s quiet. Feel the golden rapture. Vulgar delight illuminated by her now dimming light. Switch. My heart parts watching, us publicly raping the dead. A moment of remorse, now already passing. Us miserable, and joyed too. Kick at her blackened corpse, leave her there, and move on to another diversion. dISPASSIONATE mY TWISTED HARD BUTTON HEART HOLDS A BRUISED VALENTINE’S CALLOUS THOUGHTS. mEDIOCRE PROSTITUTE BEFORE ME, uNfEELINGLY BANNED, i’LL uNcARINGLY SHATTER THIS CAT. rED, ReD, GHOSTLY REd WILL SURROUND HER. oH, mY BROKEN REGARD. pALE AUTUMN’S FIREY KILLER’S SMILE. aND HER GOOEY, FULL ROSES CAN’T STARE ME DOWN. dEAD IMAGE DELIGHTS ME. a PRISTINE DEATH, HER AWFUL SLEEP. sHALLOW, VULGAR RAPTURE FIRST. mY BENEVOLENT MIRAGE- tHE ARROGANT, PAINFUL, WICKED TRUTH. tHAT TERRIBLE eternity GIRL. hER PERFECT, PALE, MILKY PAIN AS I RAISE MY HAPPY KNIFE- WHITE PAIN. rED ANIMAL KILL, eVIL HURTFUL CANINE DEATH. mY SILENT SHADOW RETREATS. Unescaped The cathedral convict of Jerusalem and Mecca dutifully defending insubstantial columns of gossamer the nomad refugee convict he seemed a granite soldier but fugitive courage ended so repented inverse thoughts and lush, verdant shadow and met Sorrow and Defeat. The stone soldier crumbled, his facade of Righteousness broken unreleased from obligatory vigil despite his collapsed faith unreleased so the mask is brought up again to obliterate newfound enlightenment obligatory virtue oppression The cathedral convict, slave refugee continues to defend frail pillars of unbreathable air no longer a granite soldier no longer Strong, no longer Free of mind erased inverse thoughts and succulent shadows and embodied Sorrow and Defeat.