Traipsing around
With Jesus Christ,
Shit, and fuckin-a.
Finding vitamin B-37
In liquid form with uranium,
Molesting the gals in the seaport
Village soap shop,
Seeing summer at the taste of Hawaii
Shave ice shop,
Decisions at the bathroom
Hand drying
Methodology offered, encountering (twice)
The dreaded and extremely rare
Elephant-eating white fleshy tree fungus
Looking for a commode.
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
The Late Night Michael Channel Goes to Test Pattern
Posted: December 9, 1990 in PoetryTags: Elephant, Fuck, Girl, Hawaii, Jesus Christ, Sea, Shit, Summer
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One of Those Uncaptured Things
Posted: December 4, 1990 in PoetryTags: Bicycle, Cape, Shadow, Spider
Screaming along on my bike
Pell-mell with the Horde behind me,
Long hat flying in my moon-made shadow
And laughing in a voice unhinged.
Clinging spiderlike to a tree full of crows
Scant moments before in a deciduous web,
Now hurtling away with a mouthful of leaves
Fear just a cape snapping on my back,
Flushed and full of midnight excitement.
I bet I could find you, Laura,
in the highest branches of a happy tree,
dangling your feet from the lofty limbs
as if they were dipped in a silver stream.
I bet I could find you, Laura,
in the whipped cream meringue of a ticklish tide,
splashing about with a silly grin,
the sea reflecting the stars in your eyes.
I thought in my chrysalis cocoon
that this caterpillar
was going to change to a
betterpillar,
but with the soggy skin I left behind
were a lot of the things I had fought to find,
though now it looks like a cartoon.
certain people trap me behind their eyes
where I have to stand and stare at my own disguise:
fishing line
and plaster
and paper-mache.
who am I anyway?
I fought hard with myself
to earn some confidence in the cellar.
I invented assistance to help me dwell there.
never hurting anyone (rarely)
never believing myself (barely)
contemplating a change of scenery
and not just by macking local greenery.
I strung myself up in a silk hammock,
got stuck, read a book, talked
to myself more than normal for me
and wound up falling out of the tree,
a butterfly that for got how to…
when the rain stops
I may go puddle-jumping
to clean my ashen soul
of dolphin shit
and warm mulch
from my imaginary treks
through the forest.
shadows have much to speak of;
a depth of water holds many mysteries.
trees hold secrets that men have never dreamt of;
a stone whispers to pass the time.
the mind works
like the spider spins;
a gossamer hammock
for unwary prey.
No-one’s Watching
Posted: November 20, 1990 in PoetryTags: Believe, Death, Fear, Forest, Sleep, Spider, Tree
the universe is more fragile than you think.
let your billiard ball physics take note of it.
Things just outside paper thin partitions;
madness overwhelms the left-side brain
when the Right is given free reign.
don’t try to explain away the phenomenon —
your senses will rarely betray you:
listen, smell, touch, believe.
patterns are infinite, on and on,
beyond those boundaries we teach;
deafness we teach blindness we
handicap those who are gifted.
beware that which is just sleeping
the sleep of the age-old which may
be mistaken for death, the calling
of nothing. even awake
we sleep, dormant and helpless.
in dreams we pass away for a time
to roam the realms of memory;
dark forests of fears and toadstools,
a thousand and one nights I have
lain awake counting spiders’ webs,
drinking water that glazes frozen pools.
the pulse that lies beneath
the rough-edged bark of a weathered tree
to the precarious balance of an acorn wreath.
never are you quite alone enough
to say that no-one’s watching.
Stick Man and Rock Man
Posted: November 17, 1990 in PoetryTags: Beach, Magic, Man, Rock, Sand, Stick, Woods
I remember stealing through the woods
admiring the trees all the while
catching a magic glimpse of you
dancing alone with a smile.
walking along a seaweeded beach,
I play in the sand with you.
I build you castles for your delight
then walk home with sand in my shoes.
I walked alone to the beach
To write poetry in the sand,
Just to have it washed away
By a wet and watery hand.
I stayed to watch the tide come in,
Salt tears ran down my face.
Not because my poem was gone
but for the beauty of the ocean’s embrace.
C-R-Y
Posted: November 12, 1990 in PoetryTags: Beach, Clouds, Cry, Eye, Fish, Island, Purple, Sand, Shark
Standing on an island
C-R-Y
For the melting purple clouds in the sky
Let them go
So down burns the sun in all its glory
Palm trees weeping from the weight of their coconuts
The footprints I leave
In the sand of the beach
Remind me that I’ve been here before
Purse your lips and ignore me
My, my, the streams running pell-mell
From your eye
The shark fins circle
So many lazy fish.
the innocence of sleeping children
makes me softly tread,
not to keep from disturbing the children
but that which is under the bed.
out in the woods by myself
I follow footprints which are someone else’s.
no-one knows where I am.
nobody understands just what I’m doing.
I don’t follow to be like the others;
I follow to see where they’re going.
then I scamper off in my own direction
leaving them lost to their own devices.
It rains
I stand
In a field
By myself
Me and mud
In my toes
Sunk grass
Ankle deep
Silent mirth
Big smile
Oh yeah
Oh god.
I sit in the corner, brooding.
people look once then look away quickly.
no-one sits by me.
I am kept company by a pepper shaker.
everyone wonders what drug I am on,
brooding with my chin on my forearms,
glaring at the fake wood table.
under beetled brows I’ve got orange eyes.
one hand toys with the paper napkin
and I consider spilling the silverware to the ground.
I pick a number, then slide sideways
and start counting the pieces of gum
on the bottom of the table.
laying face down on my bed
hoping for an earthquake
dreaming of what’s going on
on the floors beneath me:
a young lady undressing,
a piano playing below that,
worms tunneling under
the creaky foundation;
small roots in the hard dirt,
then maybe rock and water,
occasionally pockets of other stuff.
deeper and deeper, it’s hot
and the earth starts to melt.
so I wake up and turn over
to stare at my ceiling.
Writhing around like a worm with its tail cut off
Shivers galloping through my spine
My eyes cross and bang together
Retinal images frolic around me
Knees wobbly, rubberbandingly dancing
I love you but please
Don’t blow in my ear again!
Laura and the Magic Rollerskates
Posted: October 25, 1990 in PoetryTags: Laura, Red, Rollerskates, Thomas Hardy
Waugh! rollerskates [Laura] make my day!
whether skating through Hardy’s provincial heath
sometimes slogging/sometimes out of breath
or listen to you write dizzily in the grass
rollerskating inkwards in and out of class
Don’t play too fast for me
all I’ll see
is red hair and a smile.
I ran and ran. Barefoot and naked from that
House I ran through alleyways I don’t remember
But in the scariest corners of opiate dreams.
The horror that grew and relentlessly
Followed me from that accursed house
Blacked out the stars in the midnight sky;
Ink spilling across the heavens. My
Feet flayed by flinders of stone, my
Breath ragged and acidic with smog,
The darkness roiling turbulent
Seemed welcome and horrifying.
Collapsing on the wet grass of the
Public park I shivered for the cold
And the anticipation of being
Filed away in another straitjacket.
the Flower Phantom is dead
ever since Nini left.
What use have ghosts
when they’ve no-one to haunt?
I wish I was a dinosaur
big and tall with a fearsome roar
maybe on leathery wings I’d soar
if only I was a dinosaur.
–
as long as several city blocks,
buildings crumble as I walk.
I bet I’d never ever be bored
if I was a big old dinosaur.
–
big horns and teeth and pointy spikes
are better than dolls and toys and bikes
I might even do all my chores
if I could be a dinosaur.
How do you know?
I know you don’t;
Shut up.
Is she looking?
She got upset,
She passed it off
With smiles and insults,
Playfully barbed with seriousness.
I know because she asked
You do not
Conjecture
Assumption.
Somehow, I don’t think so.
I’m just waiting for it to rain
So I can caper around in the puddles
Holding my hands out like an aeroplane
To rinse and spin dry my troubles.
II
Searching the sky for forked lightning
Cowering under the thunder
Soaked with excitement; it’s frightening
Taste the damp, earthy smell of wonder.
Who can stand
Just lying awake at night
Waiting for sleep
To come dust your eyelids
With secret sand
Glittering and feather light
Weighted to keep
Them down without skids.
My days are numbered
In the belly of the beast
Floating paper boats
On a sea of stomach acid
Journey to the center of the earth
I encounter dinosaurs
Huge and big gulping
7-11 insatiation
Rod / Staff / Wand
Berzerk.
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