A few poems that i especially enjoy
Jim Morrison
always a playground instructor,never a
killer,
i miss you
always a bridesmaid on the verge of fame or
over,
he manuevered two girls into his hotel room.
one a friend, the other, the young one, a
newer stranger
vaguely Mexican or Puerto Rican
poor boys thighs and buttocks scarred by a
father's belt,
she's trying to rise
story of her boyfriend, of teenage stoned
death games,
handsome lad, dead in a car.
confusion.
no connections.
come'ere.
i love you.
will you die for me?
eat me.
this way.
the end.
im surprised you could get it up.
he whips her lightly, sardonically, with
belt.
haven't i been through enough? she asks,
now dressed and leaving.
the Spanish girl begins to bleed;
she says her period.
it's Catholic heaven.
i have an ancient indian crucifix around my
neck.
my chest is hard and brown.
lying on stained, wretched sheets with a
bleeding virgin,
we could plan a murder.
or start a religion.
wow, i'm sick of doubt
live in the light of certain
south
cruel bindings
the servants have the power
dog-men & their mean women
pulling poor blankets over
our sailors
i'm sick of dour faces
staring at me from the T.V.
tower. i want roses in
my garden bower; dig?
royal babies, rubies
must now replace aborted
strangers in the mud
these mutants, blood-meal
for the plant that's plowed
they are waiting to take us into the severed
garden
do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
comes death on a strange hour
unannounced, unplanned for
like a scaring over-friendly guest you've
brought to bed
death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings
where we had shoulders
smooth as raven's
claws
no more money, no more fancy dress
this other kingdom seem by far the best
until its other jaw reveals incest
& loose obediance to a vegetable law
i will not go
prefer a Feast of Friends
to the Giant Family
when play dies it becomes The Game.
when sex dies it becomes Climax.
more or less, we're all afflicted with the
psychology of the voyeur. not in a strictly
clinical or criminal sense, but in our whole
physical and emotional stance before the
world. whenever we seek to break this spell
of passivity, our actions are cruel and
awkward and generally obscene, like an
invalid who has forgotten how to walk.
the voyeur, the peeper, the Peeping Tom, is a
dark comedian. he is repulsive in his dark
anonymity, in his secret invasion. he is
pitifully alone. but, strangely, he is able
through this same silence and concealment to
make unknowing partner of anyone within his
eye's range. this is his threat and power.
there are no glass houses. the shades are
drawn and 'real' life beigins. some
activities are impossible in the open. and
these secret events are the voyeur's game. he
seeks them out with his myriad army of
eyes--like the child's notion of a Deity who
sees all. 'everything?' asks the child. 'yes,
everything,' they answer, and the child is
left to cope with this divine intrusion.
the voyeur is masturbator, the mirror his
badge, the window his prey.
indians scattered on dawn's highway
bleeding
ghosts crowd the young child's fragile
eggshell mind.
indian, indian, what did you die for?
indian says, nothing at all
Jewel
my teeth ache
my bones are confused
they'd grown so close
my flesh cries like children
i speak to them in hush
it's not fair they say
bring him back
beg him stay
it's not up to me. i try to explain
but mind can't make heart understand
it does not whisper
it's one lashed eye keeps blinking
it insists simply with quiet disbelief
the savages are upon me
and i feel my flesh
burn
beneath the death
of their indifference
i saw a woman
whose teeth were
straight like
white picket fences
until she looked
at her husband
they they looked like
shattered windows
women who suck
their cinarettes
as though they were
giving their
hatred head
Connie
(Lashine)
Thoughts of the Mind
thoughts of the mind wander
direction there is not
curiousity ponders
playful heart at mind
knowledge absorbed
not always an answer
light lingers at dreams edge
yet darkness overwhelmingly reveals
within
time circums the depths of thought
still left unanswered dwell beyond
the mind that wanders
caresses the heart yet untouched
The Distance
winds move across the distance
bringing a sense of your existence
with each breath you embrace
entwined forms so purely inplane
touching my soul with your grace
though you remain across the distance
the winds carry your touch with
persistence
my heart holds your existence
Raindrops
raindrops come with the sound of thunder
tapping a dance upon my flesh
a song of the innocence to be heard
beading down a rhythm of whispers
waves of music absorbed within
so pure the dance of silence begins
Fluffnstuff
you are like the sunshine
brightening my day
your love is like the moonlight
illuminating my evening way
as the stars shine
like the twinkle in your eye
how i want so much to make you mine
together we can reach the sky
touch the moon, the stars, the milky way
feel their heat, immerse ourselves
experience the beauty they display
penetrate their intensity
feel the magic, their mystical persona
imagine the freedom of letting yourself
go
becoming one with them
and giving the world such a show
another try for happiness
another wasted effort
am i destined to live life like this
feeling so alone, so helpless?
what am i to do
when no one wants to love me
i try to do all i can
but my efforts go unnoticed
a life of emptiness,loneliness, despair
that's all that is left for me
i guess i deserve this
for whatever the reason
wish i could just walk away
from all the pain i feel
run run run, 'till there's nothing
left that's real
i am not a coward
i will not give in
just pretending my heart's not broken
and wish to find comfort...from within
i have no tears left
i have cried myself dry
only emptiness remains inside
emptiness, and pain
why must i feel this way
so poor from life, i guess
this is why i was put on this earth
to always be depressed
suicide isn't the answer
although i wish it was
i probably won't do it right
and be even worse off
don't pity me
i don't deserve it
this must just be
how my life is meant to be.....