Archive for January, 1993

Struck Dumb

Posted: January 28, 1993 in Poetry
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sometimes things will strike me, strike me,
strike me solid with a beautiful thought.
I thought that all these things were really real
but now I’ve blinked and they’re not.

that’s just my lack of faith, of faith,
of faith in what I truly believe.
I believe in the movement of drums in this music
like the water-flow through a sieve.

dreams came and went with the ocean, the ocean,
the ocean of sparkling blue and screaming sea.
the sea so flat so far and so much a sky of its own;
I stood on the shore and watched it be.

I don’t understand when you say that magic, magic,
magic’s gone and it’s left me behind,
far behind and lonely for its pretty paintbrush touch
while we argue what’s in each other’s mind.

Untitled Poem #145

Posted: January 26, 1993 in Poetry
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you left me with a scarf
which smelled like your summer rain;
you had worn it in your hair
and I had closed my eyes.

I touched it to my face
and imagined how your breath
would come so close to me
and how I’d hear your heart beating.

you left your scarf behind
a treasure for me to discover
and hold up to the sky
and wear like a queen’s favor.

the scarf is by my bedside
where I can faintly smell your scent.
I will go to sleep tonight
clutching this in my hand.

you, angel, have left your mark
to remind me of my dreams
and how you came to me
as the smell of earth and wind.

Searching Still 4 Childhood

Posted: January 26, 1993 in Poetry
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a boy with a stick
thinks it’s a fishing pole
and can catch fish in a puddle.
this same boy
wields that stick
as a keen cutlass
fighting his monsters.

in childhood, a boy
finds a swing as a jet plane,
a few trees as a forest,
a soccer ball as a championship game,
a jungle gym as a spaceship,
a frog or a spider a best friend,
a good story as a previous lifetime.

my imagination
used to make what I had
into treasures,
and now my treasures are memories of my imagination,
and all I have.

Untitled Poem #144

Posted: January 25, 1993 in Poetry
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I write you a note
with the periwinkle crayon you left behind:
I am frightened that I still love you
in such abandon.
I know you feel it, too
with the turning of your stomach
and the helpless feelings.
I can’t tell you
what tomorrow will bring to us.
pray for flowers.

Another Poem that is Untitled

Posted: January 24, 1993 in Poetry
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I know that something’s changed,
my bear’s stomach smells like you again
but I’ll yell to myself.

you come walking through my daydreams
as if you were some travelling Indian
who I must chase off my land.

my hair’s getting long and in my face;
both yours and mine, they’re red and brown
like all of this waterstained earth I see.

over this I fly, sortof falling from the sky
all around you, a shattered pane of glass
melting to dew on the tips of the new grass.

I go with no control like a paper in the winds,
scudding, a cloud, a castle;
help me find my center in all the blue.

Untitled Poem #143

Posted: January 21, 1993 in Poetry
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sometimes it all comes full circle:
a beautiful sky that you can’t see the end of
in any direction; even the ocean
mirrors me in its watery face.

I believe in it all now, the magic
of the things nobody sees,
of the things children tell us;
the wind remembering who I am.

Inkslinger

Posted: January 20, 1993 in Poetry
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my ink gleams wetly
before it dries;
my love burns fiercely
before it dies
or so it seems,
disappears to surface in flying dreams.
love long corridors of paisley flowers
love perfect fires and books for hours
space and time,
meter and rhyme,
still my ink flows on and across
a purple crayon for my thoughts
to bring them to life, to tally my fright,
they hold me and make me, blindfolded, a Knight.

Kitty Litter

Posted: January 20, 1993 in Poetry
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if I was a cat
I’ve chased a mouse of yours
chewed it and played
to your chagrin.

dragons care so little –
true dragons, not gold-hungry worms
– that they’re made from clouds
and always fly.

an orange lightbulb transforms
a room into a Wonderland;
I made a game of room chess
of all my memories of you.

I just tell the time around here.

the hardest things I ever do
hurt like the break
of billiard balls
in my ears.
like telling you
that I hate you
when really I mean
I love you
when really I mean
I can’t let you in,
not right now
when really I mean
that I’m going to collapse
in confusion.

I want you so badly that
I can’t have you so badly.

Imitation of Jazzie B from Soul II Soul

Posted: January 18, 1993 in Poetry
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check this out:
I keep on moving don’t stop the clock
I can’t keep on without the tick-tock so I
I walk on, rock on, keeping my shoes on
I hear you sigh and sing the blues on the corner
by the storefront windows. I stop and I listen.
I remember us doing some kissin’
but I cannot live as I was doing:
chasing you around, forgiving, boo-hooing.
roads are there to walk and choices abound
I know I’ll see you around town because
I still love you just as much as ever
I miss your clear eyes and your stormy weather.
a piano reminds me of a lonely day song
that I played for all the times that I know I’ve been wrong,
but I change my tune to keep you grooving,
and like Soul II Soul I gotta keep on moving.

Lecture Notes : Quality : Part One

Posted: January 18, 1993 in Poetry
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as a man, I have searched for Quality, I think
in the smoke of my pipe-bowl,
sometimes mistaking it for “truth”;
I find it in the wind that catches my clothing.

as I’ve grown, I have wanted to love
so freely that it was change to a zillionaire:
giving without thinking of the response,
or of a response, or of that response.

as I’ve wanted I have built myself
into the most fragile sturdiness –
the only hurting comes from myself
and what I choose to believe.

I’m Out Walking in the Rain

Posted: January 6, 1993 in Poetry
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This is to tell you
that I went walking in the rain.
I’ll be back in a little while,
after I follow some leaves down
the sides of the streets,
after I watch water-drops
shoot like stars through the streetlights
and after I dance a jig
with the water pouring from the raingutter.

MudBong

Posted: January 6, 1993 in Poetry
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a seed flexes beneath the soil
muddied by the tramp of the feet of
the armies of the drops of the rain
falling and soaking, slipping
through the canopies of trees
melting the carpeting of leaves
drifted, a patchwork quilt, to molder.

Michael of Arabia

Posted: January 3, 1993 in Poetry
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he sat in his room
by orange candle-light.
he sat on a throw-rug
and with his mind,
seized the edges
and flew, a Prince
over endless sand dunes
and past the domes of strange cities.
he wore colorful clothing
with a life all his own,
and a turban, and a scimitar;
people dreamed when he waved.
he was a Hero;
he’d done something courageous,
wild, daring and dangerous,
and was appreciated
with gifts and in people’s eyes.

but he really never left his room.

Untitled Poem #142

Posted: January 3, 1993 in Poetry
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A shower, then sleep
enables a creep to feel clean
and to dream, napping soundly
through the rest of the night.

Back from the House of Bedlam

Posted: January 2, 1993 in Poetry
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I AM STILL HERE
TO WASTE YOUR TIME,
BROADCASTING LIVE FROM THE LILYPAD,
I, APE, THE LITTLE MIRROR-COLLECTING
BOY WITH NO MOUTH,
WHO LIVES IN THE WHITE HOUSE OF BEDLAM.

I was surprised, too, that I still fight.
A room of dank dungeon walls collapsed
leaving me on a pinnacle of cloud height.
everything has fallen away from me
except (maybe) my grip on reality.

Untitled Poem #141

Posted: January 2, 1993 in Poetry
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I am coming to you
to listen and listen,
to fill up my eyes with you,
to make careful observations.
I am coming to you
so I can disappear quietly
when you have something else to do
or if I can be of some help…
I am coming to you
very soon, even now
as we speak I am sending my soul
forwards to find you, my friend.
I am coming to you
as a Bat and a Dragon,
as black as the night or of coal
and wishing that I was there already.