Posts Tagged ‘Anger’

I’m looking at myself
in the mirror and wondering
who the fuck I am –
wire-rim glasses, two day old growth of beard;
cigarette dangling from my lower lip.
FUCKING POETRY – I’ve been gone so long,
writing to myself, watching
my pen bleed from word to word
across the page,
tasting every letter,
thinking every penstroke: the speed of poetry.
And fuck it if it’s not – it’s mine:
my thoughts, my wisdom, my reminders, and my beliefs.
Soon, the anger manifests in obscenity
and thinking of destruction and Godzilla,
not caring, not feeling anything but
pinpricks in my feet from stepping on rooftop antennae.
Flying like a bird, a beast, a leap
from a cliff, to die, to live, to believe
in myself and my vomit, my eyes,
my power to change myself, thus the world.
My wildfire magick of angels and cataclysm,
comedy, tragedy, hope, lightning flying
from fingertips and pen nibs.
It’s all the beauty of the plumbing behind the sink.

Sorcery

Posted: February 8, 1993 in Poetry
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I have never felt power like this:
the strength to bear people’s friendship
without the artifices of forging my emotions
like the signatures of the dead
on a current document.

I find I’m liked for who I am
not everything I claim to be or wish I was;
pretense has always dampened the fires
that I was wanting to stoke;
I find the call is honesty and enthusiasm.

As soon as I found myself wonderful,
I couldn’t wait to show it of by being so –
no longer shivering in trying to be magnificent
so that I seem wonderful, I see myself
wonderful so everything I do from
my clear mind, my open heart, is wonderful.

The recognition of emotions for what they are
no matter how much they hurt in their true forms:
guilt or anger; shame, sadness; pain and love.
is a truth I must learn to find.

Untitled Poem #138

Posted: December 11, 1992 in Poetry
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he thought of strength
in terms of eagles and coyotes:
creatures of power,
of flight and of prey.
he could hear the frogs croak
for him and for the death
he knew was behind his shoulder.
he knew that his writing
had changed. he knew that
he needed to live very differently;
to tell those he loved
how he felt, angry or sad
and live as a warrior who has
stopped the world from turning
without his knowledge.
he wanted most of all
to hold himself, that part
of his being who saw and
who guided him through
the forests and others
that he could write about
but couldn’t thread.

Imitations of Sakanoe

Posted: April 28, 1992 in Poetry
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I
do not scowl to yourself
like a volcano
erupting orange saliva.
people will know you are angry.

II
do not smile to yourself
like a child who has
thought of something naughty.
people will catch you.

III
do not smile to yourself
because you are pleased
with all your talents.
it is not allowed.

IV
do not smile to yourself
like a white wall
splashed with dark paint.
people might notice you are in love

Untitled Poem #108

Posted: May 1, 1991 in Poetry
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I don’t understand you
sometimes.
I don’t pretend to.
this is like a coal
forced down my throat
and dropped into my stomach.
this anger,
petty and full-fledged,
ripping the roots from the soil,
shaking the dirt off,
packing down what is left.
taking out frustrations,
biting down on the toothache,
I clutch my stomach;
you curse my name.
it all is okay.