Posts Tagged ‘Hate’

For Dawn Again

Posted: September 29, 1996 in Poetry
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Forever I wanted to please you,
Hold you and keep your eyes and halo bright.

I am shy of you now;
Unimaginably wretched when in your sight.

I shall never love another like you.
There is nothing to turn my heart away.

And so this hurts the most;
That I was not able to keep pace today.

Lost and still losing you,
Time was an hourglass of Santa Barbara sand.

I must tie you down to love you.
Violation upon demand.

One comfort I still cherish
That I am still worthwhile to hate

Perhaps this can be rectified
If I can pull my own dead weight.

I’ve hated myself for so long
for other people
other opinions, other lives:
here goes my hair —
look in the mirror,
watch your steely blue eyes wink:
lighthouses to steer ships by.
Bring them home.
Home is the sailor,
home from the sea,
and the hunter,
home from the hill.
home to your heart.
Quit renting the space from yourself:
laugh and languish
with the rest of the apes called human beings.
Life is a dualism;
you are understanding
dum-dum balancing act of whatever.
Equilibrium is so nice.
So is the shift of the teeter-totter but
gain control,
remain under control;
O Captain, my Captain,
you are not yet cold and dead.
Breathe in and out,
live until the end.
It comes not from your hand;
it is not believed in your heart:
the sides of life and death
are one shot kamikaze missions:
one, then the other.
Enlighten the lighthouse.
Strengthen the beams of your winks.
Find meaning in living
to bank hard against the 100% house of death.
The Love comes:
a white ship,
a black frigate,
the swarthy faces of dream-lands sailors
set foot on the dry land
of your once-fertile imagination,
bearing gifts of gems and spices,
flowers silks and brocaded tapestries
unique to your mind and your magic —
so you trade them to the rest of the world.
These gifts are your giftedness;
these waves are your talents,
and when your life is lost,
you will trade no more in this heady marketplace.
Learn to be a good merchant of your wares,
a good businessperson,
a good man;
everyone barters and sings praise and stabs.
Be better: be the best
that your will and imagination can conceive,
then focus your lighthouse lantern
to illuminate,
to enlighten,
and to greater things to believe in.

Hate It

Posted: October 18, 1993 in Poetry
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they hate that I’m a poet,
worse than the letters:
the dates, the blood smears,
the honesty, the colored ink screams
never voiced by my throat,
clogged with enough pride to make you puke,
almost – that’s the gimmick –
never quite enough to make you vomit,
just enough carefully measured mental phlegm
to keep you doubled over with nausea
at your own behavior and responses;
a petty dam of pride
bubbling in the back of your mouth,
behind your tongue,
on top of your trachea;
accelerating those damaging comments
like a slingshot, a gauss gun,
selectively scything the quiet honest ones.
whispering like a pool of rottten oatmeal
by creeping inside your ears and nose,
cutting off your heart’s conscience
from your mind.

Untitled Poem #153

Posted: March 15, 1993 in Poetry
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these poems are chunks of my mind;
sometimes they’re raw and unkind,
but they are always what I’m thinking
even if (especially if) I’m drinking
and I know I convice myself sometimes
that I’m guilty of various crimes
but when I see I’ve written that I don’t care
is when I’m falling again into despair.
I hate that feeling coming through
and I know that you hate it, too.

Interview With an Angel

Posted: February 22, 1993 in Poetry
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no wings, no halo,
no beatific expression
of heavenly rapture.

on interviewing an Angel,
he scratched his head
and was most like any other man.

I’m five foot eleven,
one hundred and forty pounds
(give or take five for the season)
no, there’s no particular reason
I should be renowned
as an Angel from heaven.
by the way, I’m a Libra.

I just do the best that I can.
that is angelic.
I love and hate and fear,
I learn and hurt and feel.
but to the best of my ability,
with the tools God has given me;
other than that I’m just a man
struggling with the rest of my kin
to keep faith with the Angel within
and to dream.

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.

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.