Archive for December, 1992

Little Smiling Children of Mine

Posted: December 30, 1992 in Poetry
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fears I have are like children;
crowding around me, beneath me,
tugging on my arms and clothes,
pleading with me to kneel down to them,
or to pick one darling up
so they can be closer to whisper
their candies into my ears
through their flushed smiling faces.

Lizard Killing

Posted: December 28, 1992 in Poetry
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I killed a foot-long lizard today,
I am really, really sorry to say,
accidentally; my sad excuse
was hatcheting unwanted ivy and
with a careless swing of my hasty hand
I clipped him roughly in the head
which, almost dead, made him just more refuse.
some excuse.
he twitched and I, in shocked surprise
moved the leaves to watch him die,
and knowing what I had to do
I swung again; I cut him in two.
looking at the pieces in my hands,
his beautiful head still blinked its eyes;
I still can’t quite understand,
but something in me almost cried:
I know that he forgave me.

Untitled Poem #140

Posted: December 26, 1992 in Poetry
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A Dog looked up
at a Crow; to fly
would be freedom.
A Crow looked down
on a Dog; to love
would be freedom.
A Man looked between
the two; to understand
would be freedom.

SoFarGone

Posted: December 26, 1992 in Poetry
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science is so far gone
it cannot see the point.
if love is natural selection
and just a chemical in the brain,
do marriage counselors just prescribe it?
do we spray it on our neighbors?
if a computer can write these poems
and ask these specific questions,
then what good are we
the imperfect human being?
if our drive to truly learn everything,
then why do we only look here, in science?
are we trying to make the perfect being;
it will be better than us.

Untitled Poem #139 and 1/2

Posted: December 24, 1992 in Poetry
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I am jealous of what you think:
all your monsters seem terribly attractive,
something to devour me right –
I mean, correctly.
you’re untouchable and yet
I know
that I’ve striped you
like being disembowelled with a Katana;
one white stripe, or a purple one
for you to look at
because I love you.

Ninja-to

Posted: December 20, 1992 in Poetry
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a blade is your friend
if you allow it to taste your flesh
yourself, offering something –
blood – for service.
until you are comfortable
with being cut by yourself,
you will not be comforted
by cutting others.
the opening of a wound
is an artist’s work,
a sculpture of skin and muscle
caused by skin and muscle,
not the edge of a sword.
giving your blood to your blade
makes it flesh of yourself,
makes its steel of yourself.
Kiai!

The Testament of Plymouth Garibaldi

Posted: December 20, 1992 in Poetry
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I try to keep awake and watch the street
While Alan, friend and roommate, tries to sleep.
We take turns every night and sometimes treat
Ourselves to tugging off of something cheap.
I wake up in a sweat because I think
My turn to watch was now, when I had slept;
And Alan knows, he hands me a stiff drink
To chase away the ghouls from where they’ve crept.
Some lonely nights we both stay up and wait
To see if one is hiding ‘round the store,
Or walking past our window with that gait,
Or crouching with a whisper at our door.
Six months ago – it seems as many years –
I didn’t dare believe or know to fear.