I am hungry for a firm bosom
On which to lay my head, close my eyes
And hear that everything’s gonna be alright.
Careening towards conclusion
And new beginning: new days,
New nights of excess by my lonesome.,
All populated by my skewered imagination,
Made real by isolation,
Made flesh by selecting
Sentiment on vinyl slabs,
Made fleeting by drunken stupor,
Yet creating all that for a moment.
A split second where I am bitten
Drained, refilled, refueled;
Reminded of my latent power,
Envied by those hopeless dead
Beyond these walls of vapor.
Posts Tagged ‘Dead’
Firm
Posted: September 2, 2002 in PoetryTags: Add new tag, Dead, Drunk, Eye, Flesh, Imagination, Night, Power, Vinyl
0
Risen
Posted: November 10, 1996 in PoetryTags: Dead, Iron, King, Lightning, Mountains, Rock, Thunder, Tree, Wood
That which may sink still may rise
Those who are living still may die
Rock may crumble, trees may fall
A king may sit in an empty hall
Mountains may soar to support the sky
If lightning speaks, will thunder reply?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Wood may break, iron can rust
That which is sunken still might rise
Even those who are dead still can die.
I should listen to the sea
‘Cause I’m never turning back
I’m not who I used to be
And I’m never going home.
I’m so hard upon myself
I cannot seem to learn.
At the bottom of the well,
I sit and shiver in my bones.
I really don’t know who I am;
I’m busy being someone else.
Trying on my different masks,
I lose my sense of what is real.
So I sit and hold my head
What I’ve done can haunt me still
Remember wishing you were dead?
Now how do you feel?
Twisted is thee way to what you seek.
Labyrinthine; swathed in thee shrouds of the Dead.
Thee sparks and shrapnel ov conflicting Faiths
Burns holes in thee very fabrick ov thee World.
What was undone has done again.
Thee Trees have spoken ov their Fear.
Shackles lay empty but intact
On a cold Stone floor, in thee Darkness.
Thee depths ov Silence murmur:
Thee sound heard in dry riverbeds
When it is raining in the nearby hills.
Take heed ov thee Guidance of the Divine;
Take steel to clothe and to cleanse;
Take care that your deeds suit your words.
Yea, even as your thoughts are actions.
Thee olde First-Born comes as Fire,
With tentacled flames ov despair.
Black Jack
Posted: June 6, 1993 in PoetryTags: Beach, Birds, Black, Cat, Dead, Eye, Fire, Flowers, Heart, Red, Rock, Skull, Water, Wing
I
and when the madness comes
she creeps around the corridors,
pausing to stomp on cats’ tails
pausing to drive in rusty nails
and slam subconscious doors
behind my eyes.
II
it would be easy one day
to fall down and stay,
not moving, wherever I was
and not respond to my rescuers;
to get placed away for refusing to speak
or move or do anything for myself.
so easy and tempting, just for a week.
I’m sure they’d find something to do with me.
III
I GO ON THIS VICIOUS CYCLE:
I love her forever.
Can I trust her?
I can trust her.
Will I love her forever?
I love her forever.
Can I trust her?
I can trust her.
Will I love her forever?
I GO ON THIS VICIOUS CYCLE.
IV
the air was full of birds,
these pigeons and seagullls
that I had disturbed
walking along the beach by myself
wondering if she’s all by herself.
but putting that aside
would we have walked on by
all of this wild-winged fuss
if it wasn’t just me but if it had been us?
V
keep on going until the pen runs out
and finally I might figure it out.
I’m pulling apart flowers for answers
and neither type of petal reassures
me of this thing I’d like to realize
is right or wrong or right before my eyes.
this pile of broken flowers, growing higher
is colored like a cheerful winter fire
but dead without the red that makes it gay
is my heart, ashen cold and worn away.
VI
I’m frozen in the moment
that I’ve jumped from a high place
trying for the water;
it’s not enough to miss the rocks.
frozen
in the
moment.
it is stealing over my face.
look closely. there’s the rocks.
VII
I made it to 21. like blackjack.
VIII
that Catholic skull that I dreamed of
at least once a year since I was seven or eight
was me, laughing at least once a year
that I was still stupidly here.
IX
the idea of breaking
so many hearts,
of making the many upset,
of shaking alll of these folks;
it seems like the ultimate cannonball
in the jacuzzi of life.
a leaf falls from a tree
so that it may grow stronger;
healthy without its burden
of dead weight this tree
will rise to higher heights.
and me,
without my dead leaves
will also soar as high.
these fingers are filled with blood
that time wears down to bone.
obsessive, driven to write
and blister, chafing without
a rest, a reminder of hard work
dropped out and tuned in
to static; the station’s gone dead.
what do we do without direction?
Sorcery
Posted: February 8, 1993 in PoetryTags: Anger, Dead, Fire, Friend, Guilt, Heart, Honesty, Love, Mind, Pain, Power, Sad, Shame, Truth
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.
Derivation of Philip Larkin: And the Wave Sings Because it is Moving
Posted: May 15, 1991 in PoetryTags: Dead, Dragon, Ocean, Sea, Wave
“And the waves sing because they are moving
And the waves sing above a cemetery of waves.”
the waves sing great Viking songs,
full of mead and adventures in stormy seas,
songs of lifting mighty dragon-prows
across many leagues of untamed oceans,
of bravery and of tales of distant lands,
but deep in the midst of the deeper sea,
the waves roll quietly in respect of the dead
over cities festooned with age-old seaweed.
all I want [no] I cannot
see.have.wish.
P-A-T-I-E-N-C-E
I will drop dead
to (get it?) over with.
show me show me show me how you do that trick,
the one that makes me scream she said,
the one that makes me laugh she said,
so I did I cut her head off
and then I jumped up and down on it
and then I threw it off a cliff into the ocean.
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