Posts Tagged ‘Laura’

Wasn’t I just here
Dragging the hose to the top of this hill
When Mom wasn’t looking, on the phone
Eroding the soil to catch it
At the bottom with a friend, shovels, and a dam
Before it floods my parent’s bedroom?
Wasn’t I just here, throwing a party
Snapped sprinkler heads and underage drinking?
Wasn’t I just here planting this sapling
That towers above me – does she remember
Me saving her from my chores of cleanup?
Wasn’t I just here, parking the Monte Carlo
One tire up on the curb
And staggering into the house on drugs?
Wasn’t I just on my way to the Nickels
To fuck around with high school experiments:
How much Jim Beam can I drink
Before I drown or forget whose breasts I am holding?
Wasn’t I just around the corner
Cursing up a storm just to roll those words?
Wasn’t I drinking Cisco just the other night
And shooting pool with the MH Posse?
I thought I was just down at Nobes
Throwing stolen pallets off the cliff
And leaping through the fire with my Mickeys.
Could have sworn I was just at Nati’s
While my parents told our favorite waitress
That they were so proud of Kyle and I.
Wasn’t I the one who broke Mom’s last wind chime,
And threw my Dad against the breezeway wall
When he tried to stop me from running away again?
Didn’t I just lie to Dad about
Doing all my chores but I didn’t coil the hose?
Wasn’t that just me and Gary
Doing stupid hazardous tricks of that stolen launch ramp?
Wasn’t that me the other day
Looking down from the top of the pine tree
At my hysterical mother telling me to come down
And powerless to do anything about it?
Didn’t I just steal my first Penthouse
From the neighbor’s garage
And see Venus, Venus, Venus
In three color pictorals?
Don’t I get my $5 allowance now, Dad?
I want to go buy Lemonheads at Delta Drug.
Didn’t I just have those army men
And Matchbox Cars
That Dad keeps digging out of the backyard?
I swear that I just read the pain
In Jared’s poetry and thought that I could do that.
Wasn’t I just hammering my drum set
In the garage to “We Built This City”?
Where are Samwise and Frodo;
They were around
Just a second ago.
And I thought I saw Grandma and Grandpa
Last weekend for miniature golf;
How come Grandpa always won?
Wasn’t I just here with Karen, with Laura,
With Dawn, with someone else?
Wasn’t I just here?

Floodgate

Posted: February 14, 2002 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Closing my eyes against this real light,
I see warm red through my eyelids
And if I stretch my hand out blind like this
I can imagine caressing your face,
Turning your chin up to taste your full lips
And the salt tang of the sea
That has faerie dusted them.
Hanging out in trees and lagoons;
Spray-painting abandoned concrete;
Stacking records on the autoplay spindle
And rearranging my room
To the crackle of spinning vinyl;
Romping pell-mell over islands
Chased by hunter dogs and fat wild boars;
Floods of experience wrapped in whispers of red hair,
The clickety-clack of eight wheels and nine inch nails.
I know that my every effort to erase what we’ve done
Has come to naught but a floodgate
Open wide of oh my god
I never forgot, only forgot to remember.

Goodbye, Laura

Posted: December 14, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

I felt like this:
We were driving
at the high speeds of bliss
when we both forgot
to watch where we were going.
When I finally came to my senses,
I found I couldn’t steer without you helping;
you were transfixed
by a comet;
something outside the car window
that I couldn’t pay attention to.
I was asking, then pleading, then screaming,
then begging for your help
to bring the helm around
and you hesitated so long,
it was too late.

The vehicle fell apart around us
and you were desperately oblivious,
terribly hesitant;
an agnostic at the gates of heaven
holding up the line.
We took out several innocent bystanders
after we tumbled end over end.
The agony of defeat.

And I climbed out of the wreckage first,
while you were still looking for the comet.
The hero that I thought I was being,
I went back in to save you,
two, three, four – countless times.
I offered to help you,
with your mangled heart pinned under the ruins
of our relationship, our friendship,
and your hesitancy horrified me again
and again.
I tried for every reason I could think of;
I tried after it became a destructive, dangerous habit,
sacrificing myself to lend you a hand.

But you’re still hesitant and uncomprehending,
wavering, vacillating like a sine wave,
and I have another ride to catch.
I never saw what you saw in the scenery around here,
or if I did, it wasn’t a comet.
I’m walking away from you and the wreck,
trying to stop the shivers of bitterness,
trying to forgive.

I’ve thumbed another ride on the turnpike,
and she was bothered that I kept looking back
to see if you’d come to a decision.
That’s far behind me now;
I don’t look back,
but I wouldn’t mind a letter when you’re out and OK.

Salvaging Laura from the Trash

Posted: February 28, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

you tried to throw your poetry away
but I have discussed it thoroughly
with your own Dolphin
and the conclusion we came to
is: no way.
we found it together
in a pile of papers
sticking out of the trash
that I casually looked through
to see if you’d done
just this type of thing.
love letters I never saw,
things you never spoke of,
I never knew half of what you thought.
I see that you fear just like me.
I see that you think of death as a seductress.
I see that you feel; you’re a poet unrivalled,
and
I
see
you
think
it’s
trash.

I
nothin’ much to do on a Friday afternoon;
jump in the shower and flip on the tunes.
wash behind my ears with Green Apple shampoo
while Geoff takes a piss, asks us what we’re gonna do.
blow a kiss to Dawn, buy Laura some roses,
to Anis’ Quo’ Yo park with James and some doses
[here is somethin’ you can’t understand] – Cypress Hill
how laid back I feel with a Blatz™ in my hand.
Jason’s got the knife just like my man MacGyver;
Cory got drunk and he did the Bus Driver.
the girls from SeaView came over to chat
because a picnic in the park is where it’s at.
a cooler full of beer and a couple of hours,
ten or twelve friends and we’re kickin Franklin’s Tower.
Rob’s sippin whiskey ‘cause he doesn’t drink brew
but we’re all pitchin’ in to roll away the dew, y’all.

Chorus
Roll away . . . the dew
Roll away . . . the dew
Roll away . . . the dew
Roll away . . . the dew

so we’re back to the grass and we’re all in good spirits
got my radio loud so the Vatos can hear it
wine women and song roll around in my head, yo
[who’s the motherfucker who sample the Dead?] – Geoff Stearns
sat back in my chair and looked at the sky.
I don’t know if it’s life or the pot that’s got me high with
kisses and laughter, pasta and rice;
as Cormick would say it’s time to get [NICE!] – Cormick White
Joe shows up with a half bottle of wine;
the other half’s gone, what makes him feel fine.
yo Geoff…check the chicken a la nutmeg.
[Mike get a load of Laurel’s new bootleg] – Geoff Stearns
[pass me a can of Milwaukee’s Best Effort
I’ll drink the Beast but I won’t give Geoff it] – Cormick White
relaxed and happy at the end of the day
I’ll smoke I’ll eat I’ll drink I’ll play.
got a plate loaded down with all sorts of food.
[Sugar Magnolia] is singin’ for you – Grateful Dead
the stars come out in a sky of dark blue
and the next thing you know we’ve got to roll away the dew.

(chorus)

I’ve got my feet propped high on the cooler.
there’s the sweet smell of Grant rollin’ a home-grown wooler.
I hear screams and laughter from a bunch of my friends
and I wonder if Brian’s broken his arm again.
helping myself to a few devilled eggs
I give Julie a hug [yo guys, where’s the keg?] – Julie Yablonicky
she gives me a kiss and I hand her a cup,
I lean back to my right to turn the radio up:

(guitar break a la Rob)

Rob’s playin’ guitar as the sun’s going down
and all of our friends…they’re gathered around.
we’ll be here next week and maybe we’ll invite you
as long as you know what to do.

(chorus x2)

Laura Moore in Red

Posted: February 5, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

Crow

Posted: December 11, 1992 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

if I could give you a Crow
– as if a Crow would be mine
to give – I would
give you a Crow, black and fearless
to fly before you
herding your dreams
like a best friend who knew your mind.

a Crow, wise with the wind
and a crafty scavenger, like its kind;
always willing and able to find
each puzzle-piece of happiness,
every thing you could do.