I wish I could be philosophical
Like the poems written by Jared
But I have tried my hand at profound stuff
And not well have I fared.
I have attempted to compose in classic style
With coolness, structure and order
But, alas, like Alex Pope said
Next to madness I was close to border.
I tried to be romantic in style
Emotion, no structure or composure
But I couldn’t do it; I don’t know why
So that poetry came to its closure.
Realist, naturalist, all those things
Styles and types for poems
But I’ve tried them all and can’t adhere
So I’ll stick with the style that’s my own.
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
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Why?
Why does it have to be this way?
When the fabric of my mind is beginning to fray
Like a bolt of lightning, straight from above
I ask myself, do I deserve your love?
Why?
Why is it always like this?
We laugh, we argue, we fight, we kiss.
I can’t believe it, that you really care
Almost like a game of truth or dare.
Why?
Why is it so hard to say goodbye?
You can make me laugh, you can make me cry.
It’s such a great feeling being in your arms;
Cover me, smother me, in your charms.
Why?
Why can’t I understand
That magic I feel when I hold your hand.
Like electricity through my veins
Soothing and healing my many pains.
Why?
I really believe you’re heaven sent
Hold me, love me, through and through
I’m so lucky because I have you.
Why?
My harmonica
It is good news
Even though it only
Sings the blues.
Like Willie Brown
Harp in hand
Playin’ at the crossroads
Yeah, he’s my man!
I’m feeling great
Yup, just fine
With my old harp
I’m gonna whine.
Shaking all the hills
Playin’ to the beat
Makin’ all the people
Go dancing in the street.
Untitled Poem #11
Posted: June 24, 1987 in PoetryTags: Blood, Cry, Earth, Echo, Heart, Life, Sky, Tears, Wish, World
My life is with what everybody has toyed
Shuddering, quaking, my will is destroyed.
I fall to my knees with a heart-rending cry
That echoes around in an empty blue sky.
Now the tears come, they come like a flood
But it’s not saline moisture, it’s dark crimson blood
Coursing down my cheeks, staining the fair earth
While my life is waning, they giggle in mirth.
Pounding in my ears, pumping in my chest
Why is it that I’m cursed, never blessed?
I hurt so bad, I writhe in pain
Consciousness is so hard to maintain.
Nothing cools me or quenches my thirst.
The throbbing in my brain keeps getting worse
As I see my life spill out before me
The sand turns black with my misery
There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say
To make the world shut up and go away.
Sorrow overwhelms me, with blood I cry
My last remaining wish is that I wish I could die.
Untitled Poem #10
Posted: June 24, 1987 in PoetryTags: Beast, Bird, Blood, Cry, Eye, Heart, Ring, Sad, Sand, Song, Spirit, Window, Wing
Little bird sitting on the windowsill
Why is it that you look so ill?
What is the matter? What is wrong?
You no longer brighten the day with song.
Your eyes are sad, your feathers ruffled
With what unwholesome beast have you scuffled?
Your spirit is broken, like your bent wing
The clear notes of your cry now have a dull ring
Dirt is matted, dust is caked
Blood on your shoulder where you’ve been raked.
With agonized heart, I search the sands
As this little bird’s life bleeds out through my hands.
But I Missed
Posted: June 23, 1987 in PoetryTags: Dark, Eye, Girl, Hell, Kiss, Laughter, Life, Love, Pain, Rain, Sea, Storm, Tears, Window
I’ll cry for her
I’ll die for her
Yet she sits there, deep in thought.
How dear she is
How near she is
But it’s all…it’s all for naught.
I can see the rain
Streak the windowpane
Like the tears glistening in her eyes
Anything I say
Makes her turn away
As she stolidly, silently cries.
But I love her so much that it hurts sometimes
For within my life she’s like a jewel that shines
And feel so useless when I see her this way
I wish there was something that I could say
Against the wall
Doing nothing at all
Thinking of her, alone in her chair
Never ending stints
Of vigilance
How much about us does she care?
What twist of fate
Does she contemplate
At times like this, that course is so easy
It must be hell
Locked up in that cell
Lost in the dark in such misery.
I’m awake all night because I love her so much
But now she cringes from the slightest touch
Oh let me guide her through these stormy seas
Let me help her, hold her, please
I will always love her
And I shall cover
My face so she can’t see my pain
She is so grim
Filled to the brim
With agony that drives her insane
She’s taken abuse
That’s much too profuse
For anybody in this world to take
And I’m not reassured
That it’s now up to her
‘Cause she has a decision to make
Won’t someone help her, don’t pass her by
This wonderful girl with the gleam in her eye
I would give up my life if hers I could save
But it’s no use putting lilies on her grave
She’s going, going, away on the sea
And I’ll never know if she ever loved me
That laughter I loved, those lips that I kissed
I tried to catch her fall
…but I missed.
Alone
Posted: June 21, 1987 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Dream, Happy, Island, Light, Love, Man, Ocean, Rock, Sea, Storm
I’m standing alone, hunched between the rocks
As the pounding surf breaks all around
Solitary, singly, lastly, only
Buffeted yet still very unfound
Surrounded by water, seething ocean.
The topmost point on this isle.
Crashing, flaring, thundering, churning.
A straggler misplaced from single file
But through the gloom and pouring torrents
A beam of light swiftly cuts
Piercing, shooting, arcing, crackling.
Into this figure it conducts
This person is lifted into the clouds
Leaving island and sea behind
Waking, blinking, staring, smiling.
I’m finally clear of mind
Into the arms of that special someone
The newborn man now goes
Happy, dreamy, sleepy, lovely.
I forget all these past woes
Even though it’s not too much
And looks like not a lot
Hanging, swinging, scrabbling, falling.
This love is all we’ve got
And even on this higher plateau
Comes bad storms we have to weather
Clinging, clutching, bearing, hunching,
Supporting, helping, surviving: together
Alone.
Getting Down to Business
Posted: June 21, 1987 in PoetryTags: Dream, Flower, Idyllwild, Life, Mountain, Tree
Alright Mike, write some poetry
You’ve been trying to get a little sun
Consequently not getting anything done
Ah, but it’s nice to be free.
To laze and dawdle and procrastinate
Up in Idyllwild where you can hear the breeze
Rustling languidly through the trees
And you’re allowed to hibernate.
To get up whenever you feel
Waking up to mountain fresh air
With nothing to do you’re without a care
Sometimes I wonder if it’s real.
Don’t do anything – that’s the key
Pause in life to admire a flower
Because all I have done in the past hour
Is this dreamy little bit of poetry.
What is it like to be
A shingle on a roof
A plant nestled on a rock ledge
Or a horseshoe on a mare’s hoof.
A rock embedded in a stream’s flow
Or a gigantically towering pine tree;
But if you look from another viewpoint
What is it like to be me?
From out of the depths
The gargantuan comes
Stomping skyscrapers
As big as his thumbs.
He’s going for Tokyo
Acting sublime
For Godzilla alone
It’s his 58th time.
He chews on a pine tree,
Picking his teeth.
Godzilla ate all the army
He says “where’s the beef”?
But wait! It’s Bruce Li!
Hey, what a guy!
No problem for Godzilla;
He swats him like a fly.
Lining up and aiming
He grins and yells “fore”!
Using tail as a nine iron
A hole in one is his score.
Godzilla is just nuclear
This is not a test.
Look out all you surfers
San Diego might be next!
Contemplation,
Concentration,
Distraction,
Subtraction,
Frustration,
Temptation,
Extrapolation,
Verbositization.
Serenity
Posted: June 20, 1987 in PoetryTags: Blanket, D'nofrio, Dream, Green, Light, Michelob, Mind, Night, Pen, Pride, Sand, Scream, Sea, Smile, Stream
As I sit here by a stream
I contemplate halfway in a dream
Of things and places and sunless seas
Of gigantic beanstalks and philosophies.
From the profound statements of the D’nofrio
To the mellow flavor of a Michelob,
From decisions made by our head of state
To these lines on which I contemplate.
Subconscious turmoil brings up fantastic stuff
Predominant phrases like “hey, life’s rough”.
Wearing a smile and a stupid stare
I look for ideas of which I can share.
These poems contained within my mind
Are many in number, and some unkind.
Yes I’m sorry to those I’ve offended
Let those faults be well amended.
But it’s true that they were meant to provoke;
Hey, I’m wandering again – this poem’s a joke.
I’m sitting amongst a bunch of rocks
By a small brook whose babbling talks.
With a little creativity it seems to say
Just be patient, let come what may.
So I watch and think and revel in nature
While my mind is really on nomenclature.
Twirling away, I write in prose
Where I am now, nobody knows.
Wait! Focus! I recognize this land;
Billowing waves joust with stoic sand.
The mind pans up like a movie shot
Alas, a Steven Spielberg I am not.
Sky fades to stars as day fades to night
And the horizon is bathed in incandescent light.
Speeding past planets in the universe
I find images of people who have been cursed.
Wailing and screaming, yet making no sound
I’m really glad that I am not sticking around.
Suddenly I’m alone in my bright green chair
With the ink of this pen it’s color it does share.
My feet on my stool, my notebook in my lap
Someone has written on the cover: CRAP.
Yet I still believe, and although I have paused
I take up my pen and I correct my flaws.
It takes ingenuity to live in this place.
Some go insane; they can’t handle what they face.
Just take a look at me for a terrible instance
Sometimes I can’t handle my very own existence.
I can be too foolish to swallow my pride
And I have even considered the aspect of suicide.
Many days in my life I would have missed
If it wasn’t for my stabilizing catalysts.
I owe it all to my security blanket
And now that I have kindly thanked it
One more thing I suppose I should write
Before I bid you all good night:
It’s fun to ramble on into infinity
When you are surrounded with such serenity.
When I start to write my poetry
A blank sheet of paper stares back at me.
So I let my mind run through many ideas
Like a daydreaming trance; you know how it feels.
And I’ll start to write on the spur of the moment
Not worrying about the meter, rhyme, or content.
But there are certain things I can’t describe
Too beautiful for speech; believe me, I’ve tried.
These couple of subjects, they are but few
But one of them has always been you.
I can relate
To many things
Sometimes I’ve sailed
On a seagull’s wings;
Drifting, floating
Over the sea,
Skirting the clouds
So effortlessly.
I’ve once been hung
Up on the wall
As a dartboard
Down the hall.
Once I was a sticker
On the back of a car
And dust and gravel
My surface did mar.
Yet I have survived
Through a lot of emotions
And I’m yet to be drowned
By that uneasy ocean.
Yes I have explored deeply those gorges which cross
Between myself
And all the rest.
I have run alongside each one for what seemed
Like forever
And I met a wall.
I have tried to climb up to see what was on the
Other side
But I fell
And landed hard.
I have descended into the depths of these
Bottomless chasms
But foul things repulsed me
I have tried to reason with them and then
Trick them
And then fight them.
I have explored my boundaries very thoroughly
And I am surrounded
By wall or valley
Inverse incarnations of barrier
I have tried many ideas and inventions
Scraped from my mind
By years of thought
And only for what seems like a short time ago
I leaped over a gulf
Sailing for the opposite side
And I have been falling to unplumbed depths
Toward the unknown
Through doubt
Ever since.
My room is a mess
I must confess
That I’ve been blessed
With this test
Of my patience
On the permutations
Of the conflagrations
And the implications
Of not cleaning my floor
It’ll spill out the door
I’ll give it all to the poor
And they’ll still want more
Of my junk
And I’ll go dunk
Myself in funk
Then I will have slunk
Through a corridor
‘Crost a moonlit shore
Rotten to the core
I must be a bore
With all this crap
In a wannabe rap
Give me a slap
So I don’t take a nap
Instead of cleaning my room
From impending doom
Which will now loom
In a cloud of gloom
I should just get dynamite and make it all go kaboom!
Wandering through a town at night
When lanterns provide an eerie light
That is when the spectres come
And beat upon a silent drum
Overall it is an indescribable sight.
For clarity in the air I wist
I am answered by a fabric of mist
Through alleys I wend
That twist and bend
Looking behind, they do not exist.
Darkness embodied in failable emotion
Like being dragged down in a primeval ocean
When you’re up, you’re up, down you’re down
When I am depressed I become profound.
Astral blackness – a lonely sensation
Depression is far removed from elation.
Full of emptiness, my heart weighs heavy
No gleaming jewels wink from their bevy
Roaming disjoints of mental breath
Bordering closely on the pawns of death.
Though your life may be what’s in question
Don’t ever marry yourself to depression.
Sub-Conscious or Look Into My Brain
Posted: May 27, 1987 in PoetryTags: Black, Bones, Clouds, Dark, Eye, Flesh, Forest, Ghoul, Monster, Secret, Swamp, Water
Dredged up from the foul slimy pits of the unconscious
Come the compost and seedlings of these poems.
The sunless quagmires of my nether regions
Unseen, unheard of, unpure, unwanted, unknown.
Grey sludge wends its way through towering pillars
Stalagmites, remains of what could have been.
Unwholesome creatures populating the pseudo-real
Slither between murky bog and decaying fen.
Oozing questionabilities of the sanity ungrasped.
Psychedelicity is achieved in shades of black.
A changed and twisted depressed mentality.
Phrases and ideas flit, cohesion to they lack.
Through my pen does the putridescence spill forth
But most is caught in the mesh of conscious mind.
In festering forests seen in a lurid light.
What hideous secret can I find?
Dripping, oozing monsters, bereft of sight.
Unearthly being composed of gangrene.
Grotesque mockeries within the fetid swamp
Shinily glisten with a wet, mucal sheen.
Ambulatory fungi, frothing with saliva.
Sporadic slurries of viscosity.
Living monstrosities of decomposing humus.
Warped aspects of mental perspicuity.
Anerobic things with myriads of legs
Accompanied by multitudes of gelatinous eyes.
A virtual abyss is present and evident
A rift unbridged, for its size.
Slavering ghouls armed with wicked talons,
Bubbling pools of superheated mud.
Toweringly infinitesimal gaps of pure voidness.
Cascades and rains of syrupy blood.
Sticky strands of cosmic material
Form webs to clog rusty machines.
Blurry images fade in and out.
So many extraordinary ideas, yet without the means
A chasm of despair and of morbidity
Makes up the majority of my soul.
Sorrow and idiocy rest heavy burdens
Upon a subconscious as black as coal.
Upwellings from a depth of a boundless water
Birth new ideas to multiply and flourish
But sightless, flapping, contorting myconids
Swoop in to ravage and demolish.
Flinching in terror, cowering in fright
Screams and shrieks fill the alien atmosphere,
For individual thoughts see their comrades die
And spend their short lives in fear.
Writhing their way out of the primordial soup
Flopping upon sunless shores of sand,
Rooting and grunting beneath moldering canopies
Agonized ululations echo across the land.
The stench of death, of rotting corpses
Permeates my mind and lingers there.
Insubstantial casualties form endless pyres;
Smoke and dust reek to fill the air.
Paroxymal tremors shake unsteady foundations.
The erosion and decomposition grows with each quake.
Whimpering and gurgling, vicious things strike
The supports of sanity – that’s what is at stake.
Stupendous castles built of flesh and bone,
Towers of veined sinew and gristle.
Flashes of inspiration silhouette these forms
Quenched as the armaments of darkness bristle.
A sodden mist lays over my broken mind
Soundless arachnids spin their silken webs.
Glistening foam glides through hazy eddies
Over clouded water, all consciousness ebbs.
Within these sluggish, merciless swamps
Contained in this subconscious of mine
Raves a maddened, gibbering, repressed waif
“Tween wits and madness, thin partitions align.
I hope that the Principal spontaneously combusts
And nobody will rant and rave and fuss.
If she blew up while picking up trash
Whether bagel a-stomped or burger a-mashed,
Or violently exploded while giving a speech
Hanging around spying like a socialite leech.
Implosion to add flavor, it wouldn’t hit others
No blood splattered clothing, no curious mothers.
But the problem with this idea is simple, you see
‘Cause you know how awful the results would be.
The solution is apparent, yet the problem’s the same:
The next Principal would pick up the first one’s remains.
Tempest
Posted: April 30, 1987 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Earth, Leaves, Light, Love, Rain, Rock, Storm, Thunder, Wind
Cool wind whistles through the eves
Caressing, searching, rustling leaves
Over the horizon the storm does rise
A tempest which is reflected in your eyes.
A seething mass of whirling cloud
Approaching and reinforcing doubt
Resounding claps of thunder peal
With what forces do we deal?
Frightening fury, boiling mist
Natural power clenched in a fist.
The rain lashes like the Furies’ whips
From me identity and joy it strips.
Clutching at supports through blinding rain
A blasted shell is all that remains.
Yet your love is like a beacon through the storm
I see you beckon; my respect is shorn.
Caught in the deluge, unprotected like all
It is only the sound of your name I call.
Despairing yet hoping that I can hold steady
My energy depleted, my hands are bloody.
Beaten and battered, your light I look
Calmed though the supports of this earth shook,
Subconsciously surviving, the sky astray
Storms raging the heavens, turning them grey.
After it passes, the wreckage is assessed
Only to love can my survival attest.
To you I clung while the rocks were sundered
The earth split open and the heavens plundered.
This is only a calm before the hurricane
If you hold on to me, is there courage to remain?
Let me die, let me perish below
Into the never ending abyss I shall go.
When there is a crisis and you feel forlorn
Love can rescue you from the storm.
The blade slices cleanly through sallow flesh
The tongs grasp a ragged edge and tear
A syringe squirts an agonizing liquid
Into a wound which will fester and drip.
Godzilla
Posted: April 20, 1987 in PoetryTags: Charles Bronson, Godzilla, King Kong, Rambo, Schwarzenegger
Rambo get your bazooka,
Schwarzenegger get your gun.
Someone’s out to get you;
I think your time has come.
He steps over large buildings,
Eats K-Mart for dinner.
All you guys are losers
‘Cause Godzilla is a winner!
Nuclear power plants
Are his favorite dish
He smirks at Charles Bronson
And thinks, rather “YOU wish”.
He breathes out nuclear waste
To him, it’s just like Scope.
Even with King Kong
Godzilla knows how to cope.
So who cares if it’s true
That his brain’s the size of a pea
Or that his IQ really is
The square root of three
I still get out of the way
When Godzilla walks on by
Because I’ll probably get stomped
And thus most likely die.
A bolt of light
Splits the heavens
A brilliant sight
It spares no grievings.
To earth it streaks
A fiery flash
Frighten the meek
O thunderous crash.
Yet after the storm, all that was found
Was a simply scorched impacted ground.
Death is a lonely business
Bearing an hourglass
As the tide shall sweep the shore.
Shall I be no more?
Like a drop of precious wine
Life can pass you by.
Smell the flowers by the wayside
Happiness stays sublime.
Reaper with his just sickle
Doest thou be fickle
Within your reckoning
About your victim?
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