Poetry - Jefrey - E Writers Block

Poetry added on 10/29/02

Sandy

A mass of busy hair sits
Lonely at the end of her stool
Reminding everyone why Drugs
Are bad.
Her rasping voice trumpeting
Annoying
But she’ll blow you for a beer
I bet.
I’ve never tried

Sad, watching this mass of hair
Screw up everything in life
And embarrass us for her
She doesn’t know.
I think she’s happy.

Megan

A cigarette ash bud falls
Blue eyes upward looking
A fake smile hides a fake pout
Which covers a mouth that never
Once laughed

Less then a quarter of a century
After birth and the self hatred
And loathing and self cynicism
Rolls like crude oil off a
Duck’s back

Biting tongues and biting teeth
Murmurs of foreign tongues
Sweet perfume scents clothes
And hair and lips that kiss
Briefly searching for any distraction

Dave

I used to kill people
And I ate on the proceeds
My world was my M16
My fatigues and my whores

Now

I don’t kill no one no more
But I sold crack
It killed for me
While I raked the money

Hey, no worries I’m cool now
I was always cool
I’ve got a cold drink
And an open hearted wallet

My laugh is always hanging around
I share my weed and X
But my gun is never too far
Motherfucker, remember that
And I still dream about what I was

Tony

Very few teeth remain
To an early retiree
Crack and fights took them He drools now
When he drinks too much
Which is every day
He has a circuit of 30 bars
(He likes to spread his money)

When he can concentrate
He talks about politic and
His return to work and
His sex life which embarrasses
His girlfriend

And he’ll stumble home, drooling
Muttering and yanking his
Enduring dog behind him
His miss-matched socks and sandals
Flapping down the street

Kat

All eyes must turn or
She wonders of her worth
The second half of
A broken person
A “Friends are forever” cracked heart

The shallowness has to hide
The glimmerings of intelligence
Her gaze isn’t vacant
Most of the time
Except when her legs are open

The bars and the men and
The women and the explicit
Dealing with Lust and Satan
Exclusive club of Broken Barbies
And damn proud of that club thank you

She smokes to be cool with
Her friends and her mirror
The glimpse of reality quickly
Covered by makeup
Reapplied at each bar of the night

Bar Robbery

“Fuck me” I said to the red-headed girl sitting
Next to me, right before she died.
Her eyes black in the dark rejecting me before
Her full, rich lips even had time to for the words.

Pop pop pop went the lead, leaden Firecracker outside.

Her lips stopped rejecting, Paused. Trembling. Trying
To tell me to fuck off. Her eyes clouded with effort
And her lips were red, crimson even. That night.

It’s Simple

If you talk to me
You will come to know me

If you know me
You will come to love me

If you love me
You will come to hate me

Heart House

A bowl of flowers
Dusty on the table
A hollow sigh of wind
Through a dirty open window

Grimy white doors, flaking
Open to mold-spotted walls
High peaks, roof beams
Frame the open sky

Weak sunbeams flit
Over white spotted floorboards
An enterprising family of mice
Scurry through their domain

The skeleton of a sparrow
Long dead, lies in the foyer
Giant spiders made a mausoleum
In the plumbing

Wooden support system
To help the old house up
Keeping her face
Out of the weeds and mud

A blackened circle in back
Shows the residence of a tramp
The squiggly red lines,
The tenure of bored children

A long lost baseball
Lies in the kitchen sink
Surrounded by the dusty glittering
Effect of its arc

Occasionally dust motes
Dance in memorried paces
Swirling in the ghost wind
Of sun-drenched shadows

The sun gives up all illumination
On the old, battered building
Crickets begin their concert
Another year hides its face

Euthanasia

I had to keep knocking at the dark
Green door. Entering, interrupting
Pieces of paper, bits of information
And white, hospital towels.
Knocking, knocking, allow
Time for the big man to
Stop crying. The evidence is in
The Kleenex. Balled pieces of
Lint and death and time
The final needle flourished,
Stabbed and disappeared
The man left finally, alone.
He left behind his credit card,
A bit of fabric and the most
Important piece of his life.

My Sweet Fry

Fatty fry,
How do I love thee so?
Your simple, elegant shape
A cubist’s dream

From Ireland to America
You predecessor’s eyes have given
Their lifeblood for your bath

From mere obscurity
You have risen to the staple
Of blue-lit beings whose shape
Resembles that of your father

Go! Brave little fry,
Into that blackest night.
Let the soft form of your body
Satisfy me.

Sock the Destroyer

No one uses swords
Anymore, to fight and kill.
The favorite weapon of choice
(If you will) are socks.

Red sock, Black sock, White sock, quick!
To whip and cut and hurt owowowowowowow

Bang. Sock strings wrapping around throats
People trapped in a web of knots
And nots woven machine-slick quick

And once the damage has enjoyed
Its socky invitation, (we howl and cry
From being bitten by nail-like teeth)
The sock sinks limply, replete. To lie
On the floor, innocently wrinkled, waiting
To be laundered.

Scared Child

What happened to you?
My boy? When last I stooped
To look into your eyes
I saw only innocence
In short pants. Not a suicidal homicide
With hungry burnt-brown eyes.
Shame for what you have brought
On your world.

O Adolf, Adolf, Adolf,
That you have been so fearful
Of fear itself. Adolf,
Shame! Your parents scream.

While your innocent grandmother
Moans, shawl-wrapped, shivering on the
Rocks inside a mountain of
Ravaged bodies and greasy gray
Ashes, swirling on your cold wind.

What happened to the foolish eyes?
And the red balloons your boyish
Fist once clutched? Poor, terrified boy,
Trapped by nightmares, yourself the jailer
What a stamp to leave upon
The bones of the earth. Your name
Bringing shudders, screams and tears.

Oh Adolf, how could you? How
Could you shout your fears, your
Delusions so loud they will echo
Though time and space forever
Rippling waters still cloudy with the purity of evil.

Shame Adolf! Fie for shame! For
Waking the black demons; fire breathing hulks
Leading them unchecked into our sun-lit world
And a smile upon your face.

Adolf, for bringing the world
So far into misery, no reparations
Will erase your shameful immortality
And little boys, such as you once were, hide
Beneath their sheets, away from your gross, misshapen form.

For a Failed Night

For two years there was Ownership
Possession. Ownership. What is the
Lease option on a soul anyway?
“You’re mine.” She said. And I believed
In those words and she was mine
As the candle guttered and cotton
Clothing rustled itself into the corner
Of the bed. My possession’s repossessed.
My throat closed, soul screamed in white
Hot agony. Two years.

I sent flowers
But the address was unlisted.

Life as a Drop of Rain

Millions and millions of brothers and sisters
Falling
Falling
Falling
Adrenaline rush of speed go! Go! Faster!

Cold. Wet.

Endless power over the tiny earth below
Splat.

A Sunny Day

The path grows green with untrammeled moss and survivalist grass.
Little, half submerged stones with which to stub a booted foot.
A rank, slimy puddle lays in the footprint of someone else, gone past hours

ago.
It shimmers with oil and sunlight but is only noticeable
For one-foot length, then gone. The air is cold and flies buzz
Around the water, the moss and the mud.

We thought we had conquered the world
But we missed the start of the race.

Punk’s Anthem

Death to Establishment. Death to the Man. Death to my liver and giving a
fuck. Death to showering Deodorant and regular meals forward with
pins and spikes and re-salvaged crap. On to new heights of noise and
drugs and 10 months of binge drinking

Crash Glass Smash
Walls down. Down.

The vodka, rum, coke and blood and
Puke drip through the cracks in the floor and
Soak the socks of the poor immigrant neighbor
Below

Pockmarked boys and tattooed girls argue,
Sloppily, over the validity of various
Forms of Fucking shuffling their
Beat-up Converse shoes and not admitting
That this is just a form of
Foreplay

What am I doing here?
With my one tattoo and glasses
And clean underwear

I am a fraud, a plastic Punk;
For all my oddities and good-natured insanity
Far, far too normal
Damn.

Along with my overbearing normalness is my intense
Ugly, envy. Of the underlying cult of brotherhood
That somewhere passed me by without a second Glance
Flying down the freeway in a stolen car

And, finally, two people fuck in the
Puke and the beer, rolling on the floor.

Damn, now that’s hardcore.

Sarah

She slapped me
And threw me away
From her new home.
There were tears.

Wrenching regret formed
Countless excuses
Sobbed to an answering machine
Night after night.

Time passed slowly
While I hated myself
Almost more than
She hated me.

We met once more
And she said things,
Torturing things.
I wanted to die.

That Girl Who brought me Coffee

I caught a quick glance
And I lost my train of…
Hmm? What? Oh…

I saw a flash of smile
And I… uh… got lost…

I tried and I tried to
Keep my mind on its leash
And attend only to the business
But then I saw your eyes
And I was… oh…

My conversation skills were excellent
And words came trippingly off my tongue
Then you spoke to me
And I fff… falttt… damn.
I can’t… I mean…
Oh hell….
You’re pretty.

What Your Waiter Thinks About

Hate Hate Hate Hate
The white hot junk
Shooting through
Cigarette choked veins
Babbling over and over
Over over under over over
“Fuck this place”
My mind said with a
Plastic wrapped, Don’t-Look-Now
I’m-Blowing-Up-A-High-School smile.
And I passed over the Dangerous Cheese
Grater that I possessed.

My finger are burning
An interesting tingling
That spreads all over
Over over over to
End where I lace my
Black shoes tight.
Tighter choking the
Blisters and the corns
Right off my pure
Innocent body.
The tabernacle of
My disgusting roach
Killing soul. Lit from
Within by cheap neon lights

Lights that never compete
With the sun for kilowatts
Grudgingly doled out by miserly
White bastards at the
Nuclear Power Plant.
Home of the happy atom.
Race is shit says
Me and stoned images
Of me noddingly agree
“Totally dude” but secretly
They are all glad that they don’t have
To think about it. Nor do I.

But at least I know I’m
A bitch asshole shithead wannabe
Because I choose
To and not just because
I’m white.

Fuck this job
Meaningless and devoid of humor
And thought process
Fit only for mass consumerism
Throughout the propane riddled
Coughdrops that we
All swallow like hormone
Driven hens three to a cage
Three to a cage, three to a cage.

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