This is the way I take emotional photos:
Spat on to paper by the stylus at hand.
Clipped coupons of what’s come to mind
As I perform this audienceless exercise.
I hear the cacophony of voices
Opining inside my skull
Each struggling to surface and be heard;
To pick a thread with the eye of a needle,
Focus until it smoulders,
Then collapses in ashes into sub-consciousness.,
Is to draw these characters here;
It is to write stop-start to fill paper
Week after week and year after year.
These are scrapbooks, collages, shadowboxes
Of my dreams and my feelings.
These words might as well be wraiths,
But they may be looking to weave themselves
Into another mind.
Archive for February, 2002
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Floodgate
Posted: February 14, 2002 in PoetryTags: Boar, Dog, Eight, Eye, Faerie, God, Island, Kiss, Laura, Light, Nine, Records, Red, Salt, Sea, Tree, Vinyl
Closing my eyes against this real light,
I see warm red through my eyelids
And if I stretch my hand out blind like this
I can imagine caressing your face,
Turning your chin up to taste your full lips
And the salt tang of the sea
That has faerie dusted them.
Hanging out in trees and lagoons;
Spray-painting abandoned concrete;
Stacking records on the autoplay spindle
And rearranging my room
To the crackle of spinning vinyl;
Romping pell-mell over islands
Chased by hunter dogs and fat wild boars;
Floods of experience wrapped in whispers of red hair,
The clickety-clack of eight wheels and nine inch nails.
I know that my every effort to erase what we’ve done
Has come to naught but a floodgate
Open wide of oh my god
I never forgot, only forgot to remember.
Bye Kittnz
Posted: February 12, 2002 in PoetryTags: Anastasia, Atari, Cat, Dawn, Hobbes, Kalvin, Mother
Ahh! Hear that sound?
Of cellophane tearing across
That keeps happening –
It’s the unbridled loss
Of my four furry ones:
Hobbes Goldenfoot,
Kalvin Screamerchops.
Anastasia Saunterbutt,
And that wily Mogwai.
These four I raised
Now collected by Dawn
To occupy her house
While she’s always gone.
Locked in the basement
When her mom comes by
Too bad you can’t come with me
So I have to say goodbye.
Burn the Phoenix
Posted: February 10, 2002 in PoetryTags: Closet, Frog, Froggacuda, Green, Laugh, Live, Love, Onion, Phoenix
I am thee Froggacuda
And oh so froggy be I
Defined by myself as myself
And marooned is my current cry.
Inside I’m still the same hollow
Green straw puppet carnival black hole
Of pool-soaked poetry pages
Missing something to be whole.
Cobwebbed closets rarely treaded
And rusty hinges, unsafe passage
Basement dwelling, life enshrining
Long decoding of this message.
Love and laugh; live your time
Unwrap an onion and be true
I burn the phoenix of my years
Consumed by seeing myself in you.
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