little yellow dog
without your nose
I ask you why
do you have
no fingers or toes?
little yellow dog,
loved for floppy ears
and for golden eyes
that haven’t changed
for twenty years.
Posts Tagged ‘Eye’
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the crows have
come to peck out
our eyes, peck
out our eyes,
peck out our eyes.
the crows
have come to
peck out our eyes
so that we may be enlightened.
stuck in the eye
with Tanizaki’s
stolen needle.
blind, I admired
the mirror
from memory.
I was struck
in the eye
by the sound
of a violin,
drawn sinew,
smoking resin,
sliding down,
arpeggiated
from my CD.
Midion
Posted: August 26, 1991 in PoetryTags: Boy, Cry, Dreams, Echo, Eye, Hope, Mirror, Monster, Moon, Nothing, Salt, Shadow, Sleep, Trees
mud from the river-bottom
sieves through my heart
and dries brown tile
upon the sunny corridors
of hope.
shaken by the fist
of my own excitement
I feel my lungs
fill with salt
left by the cataracts
of beautiful plants
breathing.
to hold all of you
for one moment
would be to watch it crumble
and cry like
a waning moon
doused in the ink of the ocean.
little boy,
tiptoe carefully
through the echoes
of the fallen mirror;
the leaves
will put it back together.
the stitch of a sewing machine
manufactures my poetry,
sleep baptizes
my worried face into peace.
the dances of dreams
drum my skin into rest,
slipping me between the teeth
of monsters who plague my visions,
færies who cover my ears with storms
to mask the whispering
of nothing.
I fall without recollection
through cell walls,
shrieking with my senses,
soundlessly touching stars
with the shadows
of my fingertips;
hurtling at frightful speeds,
awed by the size of it all.
broken,
reflecting the trees
at fractured angles
agonizingly compounded,
the spilled eyes of an insect
encrusted with river mud
cracked and dry with age.
I am Mister Gnarly in my corridors of bones,
chewing gristle from burrowed skulls,
populating my empty rooms
with ivory treasures;
fragile sculptures of vertebrae;
bones licked clean of graveyard dust;
balanced and braced
in my honeycombed ways.
filthy I throne upon a cowhead,
rotting with my dessicated flesh,
searching for people that I knew,
to hold their skulls in my paws
and telling their bleached eyes
that I am Mister Gnarly to you.
it is difficult
to look into your eyes
for too long
from the weight
of the compliment
of the love you return me.
if only I could
say it a little differently
every day.
fears of boredom,
of loss, of lightning
chatter my teeth,
bind my tongue
when I struggle
to just love you.
I would like to bounce
From star to star for you
Just getting giggles from
Their shiny-eyed points.
the silence
is frightening
to my eyes.
one moment
of starry life
to flare
and die
like a gunshot.
I fall down.
I fail you all.
but
I
leave
you
this.
I wiped the spittle
from the side of my mouth.
I really didn’t like kissing her;
she always wanted me to,
I know she did the way
she always looked into my eyes
and how she would
run up and hug me,
throwing her arms around me
to hold on – that’s all most everyone
wants is to touch someone else
and not have them flinch,
but it is hard to tell
someone you’re kissing
that they don’t know how to.
from nothing to green
to water to serpents,
the moon-eyed piper played on.
his tune coiled around my ears,
writhing with the tides
of a thousand shallow seas.
–
the wail of his eerie pipes
are misleading tendrils of smoke
green curling, a wreath for his hair.
fog twisting from the mane
of the moon wraps blindfolds
sewn over the sockets of my eyes.
–
slithering under my old skin
move the piper’s summoned snakes;
below the ocean chant thousands more.
the moon-eyed piper plays on,
from serpents to water
to green to nothing.
Joe and the Magic Thanckx
Posted: April 10, 1991 in PoetryTags: Cat, Eye, Joe, Los Angeles, Magic, Smoke
yes, please.
I would very
much enjoy
drawing your magic
green herbal reagent
deep into the capillaries
of my lungs.
I appreciate the
sparkle in your eyes
as you pass to the left.
do you know
you are wreathed
in your own smoke,
curling like a cat
around your shoulders.
yes, please.
the magic is waning
in the world
and I’d really like to see
Los Angeles again, Joe.
I tried to imagine
You here with me
With brown-green eyes
And upturned lips
Holding me
Around my waist
But I couldn’t
So I ate chocolate instead.
rolled
in a quadrilateral
of liquid sunlight,
I snooze.
my eyelids are warm
and look orange
from inside.
the carpet
could maybe be sand
from a ferny beach
full of dinosaurs.
I am a big dragonfly.
I am a turtle.
I am a seed.
eyeball ring, wring my finger
with your quiet reminders
of the one who gave you to me
if I lose my sight, help me see.
Light Blues
Posted: February 5, 1991 in PoetryTags: Blood, Blue, Eye, Father, Green, Light, Mother, Orange, Red, Yellow
I don’t care for white light any more.
call me vapid scumbag; call me gromore.
I have red and green and blue and yellow
lights; to read by, an orange fellow,
friendly to the eyes and each is good
to set a certain kind of mood.
red for temper, salt and blood
yellow to dapple, caress, and flood
blue is patience, like being underwater
green is crayon, like a mother or father.
What to do
When your eyes grow crafty:
The brows twitch and beetle
Gnawing some waddling idea
Like a stick of chewing gum.
I know you
And your devious little ways
Distractions and innocence
Trademarks of your storming
Implementing your plan of action.
Dreaming of Twilight
Posted: January 17, 1991 in PoetryTags: Butterfly, Eye, Stars, Tide, Time, Wind
I swam languidly
like an octopus,
like a jellyfish
through my roomful of memories.
–
I no longer live there,
but visiting makes me sadly reminiscent;
my cluttered reminders
tacked up on the walls
like so many butterflies.
–
the air was thick like mercury.
I drifted with the tide
to a picture here, a momento there;
memories like an evening haze,
memories like a knit wind.
–
I’m happy to meander through my grassy lanes,
through deserted familiar streets
under twinkling childhood stars;
the wash of tears in my eyes
accepts the solemn passage of time.
Untitled Poem #101
Posted: January 10, 1991 in PoetryTags: Blood, Blue, Eye, Green, Leaf, Mountain, Ocean, Pain, Sky, Star, Trees, Untitled, Yellow
I crawled and crawled and crawled through this
Dark mountain of wet bloody clay clawing by chunks
Of big puppy chow kibble breaking my nails
From the dirt wedging under them inflamed and
Painful falling clumsily at the side of the precipice
Barking lacerations down the cliffside thousands
Of feet to the tree leaf ocean below where I
Crashed through the pretty green carpet to
Pachinko my way limb to limb from limb
Down to land crawling my way under hot wet
Underbrush wiping my faces with their
Leathery-thorny branches twigs under my
Eyelids parched streatching burned by the
Twinkie-colored sand under the trees
Broiled by a starry yellow sun in a blue sky
Chopped up by the stringy branches of the jungle
Dissected sunlight lay strewn on the ground
Pulsing, heating the loam and roots to consciousness
As I crawled and crawled and crawled to be with you.
A Small Purple Linear Stain
Posted: January 9, 1991 in PoetryTags: Dream, Eye, Fog, Pain, Rain, Scream, Sleep
I can’t help thinking what
I’ve done to make you scream
So loud, like that, that night;
It was so much a dream.
But when I woke from fog,
My face was moist with sleep.
My hands dug in the earth
To climb the mountain steep.
Embankments grey and high,
I felt the tracks of rain.
A snail has crossed my eyes
To salve the lines of pain.
[iambic trimeter, even!]
Untitled Poem #100
Posted: December 28, 1990 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Drum, Eye, Night, Rain, Sky, Tree, Untitled
I heard the liquid drums pounding
and the silver sky tore apart.
the moonbeams fell sharp and screaming
bending their rainfall to my face.
I smelled the coming heat
and the clouds were writhing soundless.
the wind chimes swung emptily,
wailing their grief into the night.
I saw the many trees dancing
and the glow from my eyes went silent.
the earth grew faint beneath my feet,
melting my flesh off in runnels.
I knew the serpents were stirring
and my old scars split with delight.
the hum of the land was loud on my skin
when walking with the Lords of the Wind.
the wind is always flowing going by.
moving, testing, pushing, brushing past
around the corners of my eyes.
teasing, breathing secrets like shivers in my ears.
tickling my hair, turning me around to see who’s there.
punching holes in my clothing,
always coming and leaving
merrily and mischievously.
the wind whistles tunelessly, madly
at the corners of houses,
calling the clouds to come play hopscotch.
graceful, insistent, invisible currents;
curious why we don’t fly.
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.
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!
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