You betta recognize!
I can only know
that time will tell me when
I can be in love again –
meanwhile, what do I do?
love has struck me down
and lifts me higher and higher
each day is consumed in fire
but I’m not quite sure for who.
I am a poet – I dream
and emotions may come easily
but this flood is confusing me;
I’m not sure what is right.
this horrible uncertainty
an important indecision
melting myself with derision
but not shedding any light.
the DJ comes with a lot of power: the President,
me (the good one) surprises and pleases
eliciting happy yells smiles and sighs from the crowd;
it is all for me.
I see faces light up as they soak with sweat
dripping shaking moving all around,
recognition of another song loud and in your ears
smashed into your face by 1000 watts;
they’ll dance harder than the last song,
move faster, become natural.
people stop listening and start feeling
the rhythm bumping along, house style, steadying
while the dancers elaborate
or flips to a fill-in breakbeat; the New Jack Swing
where you just try to prevent your butt from moving
or suddenly the song makes you cry
or sweeps you away in an enthusiastic mosh pit
or brightens your your eyes with something
you haven’t heard in a long time.
some DJ’s get stuck in one record groove
but the best surprises always compare and contrast
yet find a common thread that dancers’ bodies understand
but that I’m at a loss to explain.
what to spin next turns into the most important decision in the world
and it will be like this until I have to choose the next.
my head reels from the network of songs to choose from:
this beat would fit, this sentiment would meld,
this intro would trip, this track overwhelm
when you’re dancing, flashing colors of flesh
I’m mixing sweat and body heat
I mix you together – you whirl with my turntables.
eyes fly out of the mass of movement,
catch mine and flash like the strobelight.
I lean over to catch an excited request
to straighten my precious stacks of wax,
screams as someone recognizes what I’m playing:
playing with them
watching their reactions.
my emotions flow through my hands to the vinyl;
you can tell what I feel by how well I play,
drunker on you than on the 40s in my crates.
I turn your music up beyond hearing
and you feel it;
supportive
moving you –
you translate it to your ass your hips your hands.
the more you feel the more you learn.
learning to dance, learning to love someone new,
learn to understand what I’m saying.
I’m backed up by the best talent I can find,
be it the PE, Madonna, Fishbone, Dead or Messiah
I free your mind with my many voices.
and I’m dancing as hard as anyone,
fingers searching through record sleeves
caressing beats to match, speeds to coincide,
boogying between the coffin and the crates.
searching carefully for any sign of discontent
remembering what people want
giving myself up to the group good time.
here, women shimmering with sweat
recognize and close their eyes;
the groove is a lover, a beat
that chases between their thighs, over their stomachs
and up their spines;
unconscious every one is beautiful, so hypnotized.
here, men swirling around throwing arms in the air
touching the ground on time, on time.
intent on dancing, on laughing, on glancing back
at those girls I’ve just described.
every person I can find I train my recorded charisma on
cajoling with individual requests
urging on with the party songs
twirling all of this sound and poetry into a rumpus room
out of love for you.
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.
I am the bear at the back of my closet,
warm and furry.
but nobody knows it.
I am the star cut in the flesh on the back of my hand.
you, however, are a fig-ment
of my imagination, subject to my rules.
and you are whatever I choose to make of you.
you are a grasshopper, or a shiny penny,
or a bunch of balloons third graders let go
with notes attatched to the ribbons.
you are roadkill, or a lonely sock in the trash.
I am the wildest man with this imagination;
the most dangerous with this pen.
I am, most of all, the bear at the back of the closet
whose winking eye has been mistaken for a star
that you use as a night-light.
once upon a time I was a youth,
no corpse dream thing, tiny and small,
but I was as big as the world,
bright and unbuttoned like metal.
so anyways,
I bend and I breathe.
the sieve of my skin leaks the sand
of my cloud life;
strange clouds, odd clouds
for people far away on cliff tops
to comment on and guess shapes in,
to play drums into rhythms for.
clouds of youth dreams;
light pouring through in great angled falls
touches the ocean far below me.
in awe, I flood across the sky.
a spider slowly connects the dots of stars
to build constellations of ships
for wistful sailors of empty seas.
tadpoles, grow fast and strong
in the light of the eyes
of the boy who kneels
by your puddle,
shrunken from the heat
of the dry days
after the rains.
standing, the boy can see
the river running, chasing
through the jumbled stones,
just over a ridge of gravel
several yards away;
miles to legless tadpoles
and semi-frogs still retaining
stumpy tails in a pool of
brackish water, bursting with life.
wriggling tadpoles in the sunlit warmth,
waiting for the legs to leave,
for throats to peep tiny songs
on their way to embrace
the river bed.
light is spilling through the clouds,
and the whippoorwill wind is getting louder;
a storm is coming.
I can see the line of rainfall
blurring the trees across the way.
the dark is rising,
and my shoes are untied.
quality time with this animal:
Yugguy, rabbit and turtle combine,
transforming in the blink of an eye,
blowing bubbles through blue light bulbs
and the orange one in my reading light.
laughing quietly by myself
with all my animals.
god.
he blows the bubbles well.
I stopped after the rains
to listen to the silver frogs chanting,
who I could never find
when I wanted to watch them sing.
I could hear their beautiful piping
from my little room,
and I fell asleep to their chorus
in the light of the sun setting.
Come, friend that crawls,
Thing that scuttles from faintest light,
Horrid apparition that hides its face;
Stand with the blackest night,
My skull revealed in awful majesty
Atop my cape of dark childhood fears,
Flowing in a wind of charnel fog.
I summon thee from the torment of years…
I, ape, eat mushrooms
in a forest of multicolored furniture
all from the room of a girl
I knew.
the carpety grass is foaming upwards.
shoes play hide and seek when I
sneak around in the closet.
they shut it always behind them.
find them cavorting and wagging their tongues.
I live in the closet.
I read old travel books and sigh.
funny little bugs comb my hair for me.
the shoes galumph like tiny dragons.
my rat escaped.
I, ape, drink cappuccino
alone under the pillars of marbled ice cream,
whittling leaves to stick to their sides with thumbtacks.
sorry.
I sit quietly under a quilt made
of Stars by Mom long long ago that is too small.
it’s fun to push around
on the tiled floors
on my butt, pretending to have no legs.
the leaves turn purple with the sunset paintset.
everything is quiet and
you can see your reflection in everything.
I, ape, peer through the closet door slats
but can only see the carpet that changes color.
sometimes I can’t fly my kite for the roof.
then,
I move the stuffed animals
and make them nod and wave.
there was a lake, big and pretty and I was scared
to throw rocks into it.
there’s a story behind all these shelves.
I wish I had some pudding.
just to sit and eat pudding;
lick the back of the spoon
in this forest
of chairs.
I, ape, wear a green felt hat for no reason,
puzzled by the paintings in the empty museum.
I search all the video games for quarters.
nobody’s home.
dusting the lampshades is fun;
it makes me sneeze and then I dance in the mucous-mist.
I sing myself to sleep in the queer half-light
of the green stone moon
poking my head in holes in the ground.
I play a silly flute
on the sand left by the retreating tide,
sometimes dragging a stick for miles,
then falling asleep
on the carpet.
I, ape, remember all this,
dreamed before I was built of gristle
and hair, wound with a turnkey and set on the linoleum
to live.
my nest in the rocks was burnt
when I returned with some candy I’d found,
so I ate it in the wet soot.
I’ve smoke in my eyes.
I’ve loved you for so long;
now I can fly
and I leave all this hair and skin
and my shoes
behind.
I want to stand naked on a rooftop in the lightning
like Shelley and tell the world that we are gods
and god is nothing, let me be
my own god, my own master. I am only
my own, naked, standing, hit by lightning,
drugged, dying, depressed, damned
but all this so I choose.
I will fall when the universe breaks
the subatomic clockwork monotone.
embracing the light, welcoming the darkness,
thinking to myself of Disneyland
to allay my fears of falling and falling down,
the cross behind you unsupportive,
catch me, Shelley, catch me, opium,
follow me, Byron, kill me, poetry.
my dreams are made from sand
as my flesh, as the mind is dimensioned.
the skull is an appropriate sieve
for the ashes, the ashes, the ashes
we all fall down. the wind turns circles
in the dust, draws the face of a clock with one hand.
drip castles; elephants; lightning again.
my cheek is pressed against the cold rainy windowpane.
I am clear.
the moon, branches crosshatch
her light.
shot, I bleed.
I rot.
waving my arms about
to fling the blood.
I’ve bled.
Shikibu Imitation One (serious Buddha remix)
the mountains at the edge
of the moon shine wetly.
they have the viscosity
of freshly spilled blood.
the mountains have been torn and
thrown down from the sky.
they sit still, meditating,
slowly settling in the mud.
Shikibu Imitation Two (silly dance version)
I am a mountain
showered by the magic
of the gaze from a beetling moon.
squat and froggy I am.
the dark paths of my tongues;
they all lead to my gullet.
ha! quit watching me you stupid poet.
so I can get up and stretch.
Shikibu Imitation Three (acid ecstatic vocal)
death lurks as looming mountains
hurling the moon into the sky.
the ghastly light stings so I
reach out and draw the curtains.
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.
O fiberglass D-light:
chase away the ugly night
with your comfy orange pool
staining my lonely sheets.
I think of you in the dark
O wonderfully crosshatched D-light;
I’m certainly crawly-cold from shiv’ry fright.
the black palms are far too cool
springing down the streets;
the mongrels howling in the park.
Who can stand
Just lying awake at night
Waiting for sleep
To come dust your eyelids
With secret sand
Glittering and feather light
Weighted to keep
Them down without skids.
I’m standing alone, hunched between the rocks
As the pounding surf breaks all around
Solitary, singly, lastly, only
Buffeted yet still very unfound
Surrounded by water, seething ocean.
The topmost point on this isle.
Crashing, flaring, thundering, churning.
A straggler misplaced from single file
But through the gloom and pouring torrents
A beam of light swiftly cuts
Piercing, shooting, arcing, crackling.
Into this figure it conducts
This person is lifted into the clouds
Leaving island and sea behind
Waking, blinking, staring, smiling.
I’m finally clear of mind
Into the arms of that special someone
The newborn man now goes
Happy, dreamy, sleepy, lovely.
I forget all these past woes
Even though it’s not too much
And looks like not a lot
Hanging, swinging, scrabbling, falling.
This love is all we’ve got
And even on this higher plateau
Comes bad storms we have to weather
Clinging, clutching, bearing, hunching,
Supporting, helping, surviving: together
Alone.
As I sit here by a stream
I contemplate halfway in a dream
Of things and places and sunless seas
Of gigantic beanstalks and philosophies.
From the profound statements of the D’nofrio
To the mellow flavor of a Michelob,
From decisions made by our head of state
To these lines on which I contemplate.
Subconscious turmoil brings up fantastic stuff
Predominant phrases like “hey, life’s rough”.
Wearing a smile and a stupid stare
I look for ideas of which I can share.
These poems contained within my mind
Are many in number, and some unkind.
Yes I’m sorry to those I’ve offended
Let those faults be well amended.
But it’s true that they were meant to provoke;
Hey, I’m wandering again – this poem’s a joke.
I’m sitting amongst a bunch of rocks
By a small brook whose babbling talks.
With a little creativity it seems to say
Just be patient, let come what may.
So I watch and think and revel in nature
While my mind is really on nomenclature.
Twirling away, I write in prose
Where I am now, nobody knows.
Wait! Focus! I recognize this land;
Billowing waves joust with stoic sand.
The mind pans up like a movie shot
Alas, a Steven Spielberg I am not.
Sky fades to stars as day fades to night
And the horizon is bathed in incandescent light.
Speeding past planets in the universe
I find images of people who have been cursed.
Wailing and screaming, yet making no sound
I’m really glad that I am not sticking around.
Suddenly I’m alone in my bright green chair
With the ink of this pen it’s color it does share.
My feet on my stool, my notebook in my lap
Someone has written on the cover: CRAP.
Yet I still believe, and although I have paused
I take up my pen and I correct my flaws.
It takes ingenuity to live in this place.
Some go insane; they can’t handle what they face.
Just take a look at me for a terrible instance
Sometimes I can’t handle my very own existence.
I can be too foolish to swallow my pride
And I have even considered the aspect of suicide.
Many days in my life I would have missed
If it wasn’t for my stabilizing catalysts.
I owe it all to my security blanket
And now that I have kindly thanked it
One more thing I suppose I should write
Before I bid you all good night:
It’s fun to ramble on into infinity
When you are surrounded with such serenity.
Wandering through a town at night
When lanterns provide an eerie light
That is when the spectres come
And beat upon a silent drum
Overall it is an indescribable sight.
For clarity in the air I wist
I am answered by a fabric of mist
Through alleys I wend
That twist and bend
Looking behind, they do not exist.
Cool wind whistles through the eves
Caressing, searching, rustling leaves
Over the horizon the storm does rise
A tempest which is reflected in your eyes.
A seething mass of whirling cloud
Approaching and reinforcing doubt
Resounding claps of thunder peal
With what forces do we deal?
Frightening fury, boiling mist
Natural power clenched in a fist.
The rain lashes like the Furies’ whips
From me identity and joy it strips.
Clutching at supports through blinding rain
A blasted shell is all that remains.
Yet your love is like a beacon through the storm
I see you beckon; my respect is shorn.
Caught in the deluge, unprotected like all
It is only the sound of your name I call.
Despairing yet hoping that I can hold steady
My energy depleted, my hands are bloody.
Beaten and battered, your light I look
Calmed though the supports of this earth shook,
Subconsciously surviving, the sky astray
Storms raging the heavens, turning them grey.
After it passes, the wreckage is assessed
Only to love can my survival attest.
To you I clung while the rocks were sundered
The earth split open and the heavens plundered.
This is only a calm before the hurricane
If you hold on to me, is there courage to remain?
Let me die, let me perish below
Into the never ending abyss I shall go.
When there is a crisis and you feel forlorn
Love can rescue you from the storm.
A bolt of light
Splits the heavens
A brilliant sight
It spares no grievings.
To earth it streaks
A fiery flash
Frighten the meek
O thunderous crash.
Yet after the storm, all that was found
Was a simply scorched impacted ground.
The first misty light of dawn
Caresses the edge of the world
And turns grey clouds to pearl
It wakens a peaceful fawn.
Rosy pink shafts of sun
Curve around a sleeping earth
Dancing in their endless mirth
Frolicking and having fun.
Dodging between blades of grass
Hues and colors, shades and tints
Sage, tulip, sequoia, and mint
Pine, oak, sassafras.
The deer stands on shaky legs
Lacking her mother’s natural grace
Yet having the same innocent face
Life can be filled with sweetened dregs.
The sun peeks out in its smiling way
As living creatures begin to wake
Even though another siesta they’ll take
Later on in the day.
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