Laura Moore in Red

Posted: February 5, 1993 in Poetry
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I
damn you and your love;
wouldn’t it be so much easier
if one of us hated the other.
I can’t hate you,
believe me I’ve tried;
I curse and strain
but I just cry and cry,
crying out for lost love:
to be able to love
and forgive,
forget.

II
I could drown in the tears I’ve cried
about loving you: I hurt inside.
the touch of your fingers, your time
are promises, memories from my mind.

III
I was clear, free from the haze
that characterized my early days
of loving and living, doing my forgiving
of all the hurt that’s ever been done to me.

whatever I need, stays.

IV
I slide from place to place
as worry gets ahold of my face
to sculpt away. I can’t stand
the tentative way you touch my hand,
that pleading look deep in your eyes
makes my foolish heart soar and dive.
I’m holding all my hourglass sand
in the useless sieve I’ve made with my hands;
the more of it that trickles away,
the bigger grows that personal haze.

Gnomes

Posted: February 3, 1993 in Poetry
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Geoff and I hiked
to find a level place,
to stretch out with the countryside,
to stop and have a smoke.
trading the pipe-stem back and forth
– when one would speak,
the other would listen –
blowing thoughtful smoke rings
and laughing with the ease of friends.
we sat upon a king of rocks
immersed in the chatter of the waterfalls
aching to hurl ourselves into the air
dreaming of staying there forever.

and somewhere far above us,
our spirits, tall and clear and free,
smoked with us, looking down
their breath touselling our hair.
if I was asked to fly from that cliff
I know we could – and would!

[for Geoff Ian Stearns]

Falling Down

Posted: February 1, 1993 in Poetry
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I let it all go;
what falls back to me
chooses to do so;
I set it all free,
just as dreams are supposed to be
something awful rising from the sea.
my courage grows faint
so I grit my teeth.
I crown me a saint,
I despise me a beast.

Fireflies in a Jar

Posted: February 1, 1993 in Poetry
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I am still here;
encased in steel,
frozen in flesh;
I am still here.

the I, the me, and the one and only:
Michael, an Angel, this quality,
definitely the most beautiful man
regardless of position and opinion.

building and building my building,
my self: a tower of faith in feelings.
I’ve mortared each brick and laid each beam,
chosen the colors, welded the seams,
sweated past tears, made real my dreams.
I have constructed my cherished monster
and wobble like a weeble but I don’t
fall
down.
I doubt and I die
every day
sometimes I cry
and fade away,
but I’m always stuck with myself
so I’ve chosen to stick it out
until the morning after.

I’ve got to strip and scrub and look in the mirror
I get misunderstood and filthy bad-mouthing myself;
the more I scrub the more I bleed, feeling clearer –
addicting, this hurting and cleaning myself.

in that soulless mirror
is my only true friend
and he’s true as far as you believe him.
weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.
I won’t scream anymore, I won’t make a sound
on finding my construction falling apart
snapping cables in the storms of my heart.

there is nothing that can ever take me away
I’ve done too much damage already.
twenty-one years old, a missile heaven-sent
and where god has thrown me I’ve made my own dent
to sit in and scowl or wave to my stars
as they streak by in the night, fireflies in jars.

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.

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.

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