Posts Tagged ‘Pen’

The Forefront of Your Head

Posted: April 3, 2003 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

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
Tags: , , , , ,

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
Tags: , ,

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
Tags: , , , ,

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
Tags: ,

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
Tags: , , , , ,

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
Tags: , , , , , , ,

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.

I
I am the poet that you long for.
I have powers seething in my pen,
Poems and poems as a storm-whipped sea,
Songs that make you forget to breathe.
This is the something to love, not fall for;
Pedestalled I glitter but don’t grow.
You don’t want to watch, you want to know
How I will surprise you again.

II
I have been elected a poet
While you have been chosen
As something equally important,
Perhaps a poet, too –
It all depends on you.

III
I was once a caterpillar, once a dog;
I was once an ape, then an eagle; once a frog,
But always you could tell by the
Shining eyes that it was me
Figuring out what I was supposed to be.
I’ll change again into something else,
Something new – write a poem or two –
Maybe I will try to be you, but
Remember, I remember who I am now
And who I will always be: myself.

Serenity

Posted: June 20, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

Purse

Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The contents of a girlie’s purse
Are many, sundry, and quite diverse.
Lipstick and makeup and lots of things
Gum and candy and classy rings.
Jewelry, mascara, Vogue and Elle
A little black book of their clientele.
Wallet full of pictures, numbers, and dates
A list of loves and a list of hates.
Bottles, books, boxes, and cans
Liquid paper and rubber bands.
Advil, cookies, extra pens,
Millions of notes from millions of friends.
Mirrors, brushes, hair spray bottles
Earrings and brochures to look like models.
Keys, matches, undated green passes
Used to get friends out of their classes.
Credit cards, bracelets, maybe a comb
Everything they need while away from their home.
Nail polish, eye shadow, liner and blush,
Packed in their purses ‘cause they’re in a rush.
Watches and perfume, a pack of breath mints
Nickels, dimes, quarters – about fifty cents.
Thank God there’s only so much space in a purse
If bags were in style, it would be that much worse.