Archive for January, 1991

I wish you a dinosaur and a penny
I wish you enchiladas and dolphins
I wish you love and chap stick
I wish you coconuts and grassy hills
I wish you an earring and pencil lead
I wish you whipped cream and blood
I wish you happiness and pen ink
I wish you a treehouse and Apple Jacks™
I wish you blue and green and orange
I wish you beer and Lemonheads™
I wish you dreams and brown leaves
I wish you words and squirt guns
I wish you chewing gum and piranhas
I wish you luck and three bird feathers
I wish you beef jerky and yo mama
I wish you would and brass
I wish you wings and belief
I wish you days and several candles
I wish you toenails and bobsleds
I wish you gold chains and thermostats
I wish you negligees and carpeting
I wish you a bag of marbles and bones
I wish you the stars and a flower
I wish you incense and Rolaids™
I wish you a Twix™ and a pipe wrench
I wish you courage and money
I wish you a huge slobbering puppy dog with a big tongue
I wish you Jello™ and time
I wish you wood grain and shivers
I wish you letters and Coca-Cola™
I wish you.


Posted: January 22, 1991 in Poetry
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O fiberglass D-light:
chase away the ugly night
with your comfy orange pool
staining my lonely sheets.
I think of you in the dark

O wonderfully crosshatched D-light;
I’m certainly crawly-cold from shiv’ry fright.
the black palms are far too cool
springing down the streets;
the mongrels howling in the park.

She’s Crafty

Posted: January 20, 1991 in Poetry
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What to do
When your eyes grow crafty:
The brows twitch and beetle
Gnawing some waddling idea
Like a stick of chewing gum.
I know you
And your devious little ways
Distractions and innocence
Trademarks of your storming
Implementing your plan of action.

Mind Shaft

Posted: January 18, 1991 in Poetry
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he didn’t need to be shown how to do
things; he was good at figuring
them out – taking them apart and
putting them back together. he read a
lot when he was innocent and
believed too much for his own good.
too many times he became impatient
and cursed himself for imagined
wrongs, blaming his insensitivity for
his lack of social standing. he tried so
hard he made himself sick with lies
and falsehoods, having to artificially calm
the turbulence of his stomach with
deadened-nerves ignorance. he knew,
or rather hoped (he didn’t allow himself
the luxury of self-confidence) that someday
he would be given the chance to show
another human being what he thought
love was. it was too big, too heady, too
encompassing to try to contain within the
bars of paper and ink, but he knew
exactly what it was and how he would
go about making it work and dreamed
handsome times and admirable occasions.
love would turn some special girl’s eyes
to his if only he had the patience to
hang on to the blades of grass growing
in the cracks of the snail-track laden
sidewalk. he secretly prayed to a god
he honestly doubted and looked for
some reason besides cowardice to not
get life over with and found that he had
matches of distraction at the bottom of
his dismal mind shaft. every time he went
into the dark and felt the slimy pitch
of the terror of being alone, he could find
another match to sputter and flicker
in the cold depths to keep his faith until
someone would come along to crank up
the bucket form the bottom of the well.

Dreaming of Twilight

Posted: January 17, 1991 in Poetry
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I swam languidly
like an octopus,
like a jellyfish
through my roomful of memories.

I no longer live there,
but visiting makes me sadly reminiscent;
my cluttered reminders
tacked up on the walls
like so many butterflies.

the air was thick like mercury.
I drifted with the tide
to a picture here, a momento there;
memories like an evening haze,
memories like a knit wind.

I’m happy to meander through my grassy lanes,
through deserted familiar streets
under twinkling childhood stars;
the wash of tears in my eyes
accepts the solemn passage of time.

Little Raw Ideas

Posted: January 13, 1991 in Poetry
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Did you sense the urgency in the setting sun today
Did you hear the impatience of the wind this evening
Can you taste the excitement imported by the weather
Don’t the palms of your hands itch for solid steel
I’m hoping God will unleash the lightning riders
To rip my roots out of this ever composting life
And dump me on my ass in the middle of a thunderstorm
Soggy and brilliant and fiery and real!

Untitled Poem #101

Posted: January 10, 1991 in Poetry
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I crawled and crawled and crawled through this
Dark mountain of wet bloody clay clawing by chunks
Of big puppy chow kibble breaking my nails
From the dirt wedging under them inflamed and
Painful falling clumsily at the side of the precipice
Barking lacerations down the cliffside thousands
Of feet to the tree leaf ocean below where I
Crashed through the pretty green carpet to
Pachinko my way limb to limb from limb
Down to land crawling my way under hot wet
Underbrush wiping my faces with their
Leathery-thorny branches twigs under my
Eyelids parched streatching burned by the
Twinkie-colored sand under the trees
Broiled by a starry yellow sun in a blue sky
Chopped up by the stringy branches of the jungle
Dissected sunlight lay strewn on the ground
Pulsing, heating the loam and roots to consciousness
As I crawled and crawled and crawled to be with you.

Shoe Salvage Speech

Posted: January 9, 1991 in Poetry
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Who says shoes can’t last forever?
When all purpose duct tape replaced the leather
The canvas decaying, the smooth rubber sole
What fun are big puddles when your shoes are whole?
Don’t give up on your footwear when they get thrashed
Salvage your sneakers from the maw of the trash.
Even when the laces can’t thread through the eyes
And even when the tread has reduced greatly in size
Remember your shoes are the greatest of friends
So do what you can to extend the end.

A Small Purple Linear Stain

Posted: January 9, 1991 in Poetry
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I can’t help thinking what
I’ve done to make you scream
So loud, like that, that night;
It was so much a dream.
But when I woke from fog,
My face was moist with sleep.
My hands dug in the earth
To climb the mountain steep.
Embankments grey and high,
I felt the tracks of rain.
A snail has crossed my eyes
To salve the lines of pain.

[iambic trimeter, even!]

Olde with an E

Posted: January 8, 1991 in Poetry
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clutching vainly at
the relentless grains of time;
the youth that still holds to his mother’s skirts
– afraid of the world –
who constantly skins his knees.
old. I’m growing old,
and I’m beginning to like the idea
that I’ve only recently come to accept.
I’m giving up my desperate search
for a way to slow the tramp of the feet
of the incessantly marching days.
now I’m looking for more ways
to enjoy these blessed moments
that I’m alive.
but if I am to grow old, then let me grow
olde with and E,
and happily.

Never Mind Me

Posted: January 6, 1991 in Poetry
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I believe in who you are.
It was you I fell in Love with, before we began to speak.
I do not ask nor want any change,
Just the pleasant surprises I’ve come to know you as.
I fear, yes I fear, that I am only human
and that this human makes mistakes
is certain and well documented.
We both need reassurance.
So simple, a gentle reminder warms the soul
like a real smile in the eyes.
I like just watching you do the things you do.
This is how I know that I Love you.
Never mind me.

Seven Dolphins

Posted: January 5, 1991 in Poetry
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I watch the sweep of the tide
rolling in, smoothing thick paint
with a tender hand.
the breeze plays with my hair
as a mother absentmindedly tousles a child’s’.
the call of the ocean is overwhelmingly bright,
shining with promises
of bubbles and filtered sunlight.
sparkling as a wedding train,
the sun leaves a warm trail
upon the surface of the immense sea
and across the skin of my eyelids.
the mighty majestic tolling
of the winter tide,
salt hanging mistily in the sky
as far as I can see.
I am content
beyond the scope of my senses;
my imagination is happy.

Emulation Three

Posted: January 5, 1991 in Poetry
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Oh, what can I do?
Ah, distracted again
as I leave quickly to the night
on my mind:
signs of you,
sleeping peacefully in dreams,
fears gone.
cheaper than anything,
even free
have and hold you forever
tears gone,
rarer than the blue magic moon
even you
grow thoughtful,
aching for someone you should have.

Emulation Two

Posted: January 5, 1991 in Poetry
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I grow somewhat sober.
Saddened jesters
never paint honesty:
tears, tears
over my bent wings,
fallen angels
plummet past sparrows.
fears, fears,
waking dreams;
dreams of
half-parted lips.
spilt milk from many things
ah, do you mean no?
oh, all my trust!

Emulation One

Posted: January 5, 1991 in Poetry
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fears, fears
rarer than honesty;
even angels
grow sober,
cheaper than sparrows.
have to earn wings.
ah, can I say no?
tears, tears
as I gather my things;
even jesters,
sleeping dreams,
aching for kisses…
signs of…
oh, do I trust?