Posts Tagged ‘Pen’

The Forefront of Your Head

Posted: April 3, 2003 in Poetry
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Write these things
In the forefront of your head
And criticize later
When you have no clue
What you were thinking
If you dare.

Open the floodgate
Of the pen to the paper
And be damned the results
When, for years, being careful
Begat reams of blank paper
And the idea you can’t anymore.

Believe and stroke;
Think Cat’s arched back
And silky hair throwing sparks,
Altogether, the choir of legacy
Something bright, worthwhile
The curtains of the show that went on.

Stopped Writing

Posted: January 22, 2002 in Poetry
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I fought to keep it down at first,
Like promising never to drink again;
The it was second nature to laugh
And explain that I was too busy.

But like drinking, there’s the thirst,
And I find myself back at the pen
Raping paper again as I ply my craft
In this motherfucking southern city.

Re-opened for Business

Posted: May 27, 1997 in Poetry
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Re-opened for business
Because I need someone to talk to;
An understanding: me and pen and paper.
These are my lists of things to do;
Poems, non-linear and creative.
The multiples of me
Will from here on be referred to as “we”.
We are, and we care what happens
To us, the firm, the fundament.
Something let loose
A dropped leash, slipped the collar,
And now we weigh:
Freedom versus security.
ADD is like myopia –
It is naturally difficult to see
What we think
Is best
For
Me.

Mute

Posted: December 12, 1995 in Poetry
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I wish that I was mute
So that I could learn to listen.
Then my eyes could fill
With the tears of untold secrets,
And my pen could carve
These feminine curves of poetry
Into Goddesses like you.

Untitled Poem #201

Posted: March 22, 1995 in Poetry
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Good to know that I can
Still move the pen about
On the paper with some semblance
Of poetry – I think it’s gone
Or going the hopeless boat
I’m rowing is taking on water
At the stern and I can’t look
Forwards because it’s a rowboat
You face to the rear
Lend me your ear
I can’t tell where I’m going!

Archeopteryx

Posted: March 22, 1995 in Poetry
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The joy of writing
With a well-inked pen
Is enough to make me
Write again.
Now that I’ve found one
To lie by my bedside
On the open white page
I’ll have the tool to try.
I used to write a lot
When I didn’t write
For a living, but life is
Surprisingly forgiving.
And maybe, just maybe,
Someday something crazy
Will emit from my pen tip
Stunning and startling;
A poetry-trimmed drawing
Of an Archeopterix
One which takes off and
Flies away, makes itself free
Making me content to be me.

A Prayer for Dreams

Posted: March 2, 1995 in Poetry
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Arise, comic and tragic,
Lustful, passionate, and fluorescent,
Cartoon and video footage,
Scripted and ad lib,
Fanciful, grotesque, and beautiful.
The colorful vampires
Of the dreamlands:
Come hither unto me.
Let me collect you like so many coins
And seal you into prisons
Of memory, typeset, and ink.
Inspire me, muses of Hypnos,
Pour enchantments through
The cylinder of my pen,
Through the netting of my synapses.
Damn me in return
To the folly of being a dreamer,
Of waking ecstatic through empty-handed,
Yet drowning in enigmatic
Gifts from angels.