Free Verse
Free verse is just that: free. All bets are off, no rules apply. No rhyme required, no meter, no line limits. Most modern poetry falls under this category. Some of my free verse is presented below. I write on different themes, just like my other poetry, but in honor of the whole free verse freedom thing, I'm not organizing this section by theme. Or at all.
Her Hair
soft scented copper jungle twining tangling fingers run through curl or straight brushing bare whisper on skin tickling nose parted neck curtain silken shadow strands hooked behind ears framing fascination teasing touch on shoulders kissing eyebrow bangs wispy trails on cheeks caressed aside fine cascade in motion swings bouncing bright lambent locks warm floss taste and stroke and wrapped inside your mane is enough
Requiem
Sweat drips tonight in N'Awlins.
Black saxophone blowing storms of grief
While knowing eyes nod in the dark
And smoke.
Rain scats outside,
Too cool for words,
But jumbled shadows got no worries
Long as they listen
And the liquid pain flows
Over all.
I can feel it sharp now.
But, oh Baby,
When it stops, only when it stops,
Does the hurtin' come home.
Don't
Let it stop.
Fill me with your blue breath till I pop
'Cause by morning
It's all gone.
It's all gone.
REW <<
Projected backwards the scalpel sutures
Red rivers flow upstream
To the trochee
Heart
Eyes march right to left
As the dyslexic sun
Sets on cherry blossoms
Closing
You swallow smoke before dinner
Flame implodes on a matchbook cover
And I'm not there to say,
"don't Please."
A rainbow signals dry streets to come.
Street Scene
Of all the Disneyland hookers
Casting their lines in the
Peach
Flavored pools tonight,
This damp-eyed doll is the bait I seek.
Seeking me, she of the
Hypodermic smile
Floats my name through the darkness,
And I respond
Three letters later
We dance the flashback tango by candlelight.
Rapt in amber,
Tracing streetmaps of blue on flesh,
Lacing me with piano fingers,
Easing my mad guilt with a taste of salt,
Time is touch.
almost feels real almost feels all almost feels most almost real
Buzz Buzz
I knew you wanted a taste of honey
So I made myself your bee.
I built my hive around us and,
Surrounded by waxy hexagons,
I fed you golden sweetness.
But my wings are tissue,
Wire,
And glitter,
A kindergarten art project on my back
Stapled to an orange garage sale sweater
With black magic marker stripes
Which leave stains on your fingers
And clothes.
Hell, even my stinger is a prop.
It would no more pierce your flesh than
Insects could write love poems.
sleeps furiously
slow pitch ragweed exile
spinning wheels
in hollow places
slide rule spiders sew the yawp-mouth
desperately signing sideways
I am a word
trying to fit in edgewise
reverberating the initial psychedelic slap
questioning
the jagged jargon of the window bricks
honey worms turn sweetly in MY mouthI wish.
let lungs more lush draw these ecstasies,
I jump higher in elevators going down.
Her Neck
Warm ivory forms a slender
Bridge between head and heart.
Subtle curving shades whisper
Silky softness to my eyes.
Light rests on your collarbone,
Leaving me that shallow pool of dark,
The center-base of my study,
My chiaroscuro fantasy.
I'll float a burning ruby in that dusky pool
Suspended on a string of kisses.
Jealous da Vinci will never see sunshine
Play hide and seek across your skin,
Never measure your pulse with the tip of his tongue.
But I will.
Train of Thought
Every number has a mother,
There's a tune for every hue,
There are shadows cast in darkness,
There's a dash of blood in dew.
These are all his secrets,
Ones he'd like for you to learn,
But his voice it sounds like daydreams,
And is quite hard to discern.
He lives without a memory,
On a sea of evernow.
He eats bright green dilemmas,
And he giggles like a cow.
For he knows what thunder looks like,
And he knows how lightning smells,
And he hears the subtle difference,
'Twixt the clappers and their bells.
He's just beyond eye's grasping,
But always creeping nearer,
The one place you might spot him's
The reflection of a mirror.
His name I will not mention,
But I'll give you all a clue:
It rhymes with utter silence,
And it doesn't start with "Q."
He cares not for your pleasure,
And he doesn't know your pain,
But it surely would amuse him,
If you'd rise and fall again.
For he's a beast without a conscience,
Without reason or a plan,
But he's master of his madness,
And a very happy man.
~You may have noticed a number of "Her" poems scattered through my work (Sonnet of Her Eyes, Her Neck, Her Hair). If you were wondering, yes, they were all written for the same "her." This next poem was also written to "her"...after some stuff happened.~
Stung
A wasp nests at the base of my skull
I feel its six insect legs gripping my spine
Where it nests at the base of my skull
Wings stretch and press against my animal brain
They buzz without flying
Tickling the thinking dark
At the base of my skull
And the buzzing is the name of your shadow
And the wasp gnaws at my nerves
At the base of my skull
And the buzzing is the name of your harmless shadow
The wasp watches a thousand nothings
Nothing but the darkness
Nothing but the warm and solid shadow
And it buzzes at the base of my skull
Hey!
I am soooooo
fucking
Mad!
Pardon my French but, I mean,
Is it just me or is the world getting worse?
Are people getting meaner?
(More mean?
Meaner, I think.)
It sure seems like it.
To me, at least.
'Cause I remember a time when,
If you were in trouble,
If you were feeling bad,
If you just needed to borrow a cup of sugar for some cookies,
You could always turn to your neighbor for help.
Okay. I don't really remember that,
But my parents talk about how it was like that for their parents...
And I've seen it on TV.
So what went wrong?
Huh?
Tell me that: What went wrong
And when did it become okay to be hurtful
And rude
And just downright nasty to each other?
'Cause I never gave my permission for that kind of thing.
I never said, "It's okay to ignore the suffering of your fellows now."
I was never asked, "Hey, you mind if we treat each other like garbage?"
I know I was never asked 'cause I'd have said,
"Yes. I would mind that a great deal. Don't do that, okay?"
And they just might have said, "Okay," and the world wouldn't have changed,
Wouldn't have gotten worse than it was.
Or, maybe they would have said, "Too bad," and laughed at me.
I don't know, but it really bugs me that I was never even asked.
Grrrrrr
So...that's my Rant
And it's not very good
'Cause I don't get angry really ever.
Just this once.
Succor
Wakened from a dream of Us
By an itch unscratchable in the center of my back
With the bitter taste of You and Me,
And not We,
In my mouth,
I clutch my pillow like a starving monkey child,
Stare at the clock,
And succumb.
Just Say "Yes"
Dust thy breasts with heroin
No more could be my need
Let thy sweet syrup coat my tongue
Like juice of poppy seed.
Hot skin scents fill my nostrils
Haze my brain and fire my nerves
My fingers shake to touch thee
Addicted to thy curves
The rush when I inject thee
Speeds my blood, pulse pounding hard
Spread thy velvet drug o'er me
No ecstasy is barred
Now hold me in thine opiate arms
And dose me with thy lips
Hook me and release me
With electric fingertips
Yes, lock me up inside thee
My pusher, my supply
I'll feed me on thy lotus
And let the world pass by.
