Posts Tagged ‘Scream’

Achille’s Heel

Posted: June 9, 2008 in Poetry
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This is the slow motion
Of my Achille’s tendon unravelling.
Dimly I am aware
of something wrong
of terrible, horrible things impending
and that this is gonna hurt.
Again.

SNAP!
Scream.
Pain and agony.
My leg!
Ambulance on the way.
Stay calm — it’s going to be alright.
You’ll get medical attention.
Sirens and first aid.
Professionals stitching me back together.
Drugs (prescribed) and an IV drip.
Crutches.
Going home.
Rehabilitation and sympathy.
More pain, wearing away like water on stone.
And one day, I’m OK again.
I’ll appreciate my mobility and the experience.

But right now
in this relationship
All I can hear is the snap
And the snake of something crucial
something vaguely central
internal
Unravelling.

A lot of nights,
Laying awake in the middle
Of Ocean Beach,
I hear screams or yelling
And then nothing.
Sometimes it is two men
Or just one with
No one answering.
A man and a woman,
The sound of a slap
Then flats smacking the ground
Staccato, quickly, then fading.
Harleys and their riders,
Unmistakable bad assedness.
Cars starting suddenly
In the hotel parking lot;
Catfights, dogs barking.
Once in a while,
The thudding of a helicopter.
House, rave, bass, latin music,
Five seconds in passing
A blatant musical statement
Like a commercial you are in.
A can rattles.
The buzz of the tattoo place
Across the parking lot.
Sometimes an out of place
Seagull’s complaint –
I imagine its sharp wings.
But mostly I enjoy
The relative silence,
A sheet thrown over
The furniture of OB
For the night,
A hush like the volume turned down;
Something more reflective,
To get buried in –
It’s soft.

Prayer for a Glib Tongue

Posted: February 12, 1995 in Poetry
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The muse hasn’t abandoned me yet.
Hoping my tongue is as glib
As it can be loose, I fret
In the dark space of early morning
Writing poetry to assuage my heart;
Weighing heavy, almost mourning
That I am done for
As the low self-esteem comes creeping in
To squat on my stomach
And whisper words of seeming wisdom.
The screams and hisses of the coliseum
Cheer for my crucifixion;
The choice now is yours today:
Die of exposure
Or suffocation.

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.

Chanting

Posted: June 14, 1993 in Poetry
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you’re going to scream at me
but I’m chanting I can take it
throwing words like
broken mirror pieces of me
beating the pinata of my disguises
but I’m chanting I can take it
breaking accusations over my head
scalding me with tears
that I never wanted to bring to you
on the silver platter
I thought would do you good.
the stars I plucked
to put on your brow
have rotted and turned into
pumpkin seeds;
it was my sleight of hand
that placed them there
and your desperate want to believe me.
now you’re a whirlwind
of shattered stained glass.
I’m chanting I can take it.

Simple Things

Posted: May 28, 1993 in Poetry
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so we’re not seeing eye to eye
I think I’ll go splash around in the tide.
you are so beautiful when you’re upset,
it always comes to me as a surprise.

I’ll watch your face turn red and green
and I will listen to what you’re screaming
and when you’re done crying and bitching,
I’ll take you to get ice cream.

such simple things will let you smile.
such simple things will let you smile.

such simple things like poking your stomach
and when I dance and sing you songs.
when you get free coffee at Roma
sometimes you forget what’s wrong.

(chorus)

so quit your sour-face nonsense;
the sunshine rains down like leaves from the trees.
let’s go sit on the grass like mushrooms
and smell the flowers like bees.

(accordian solo)

these silly things just make you madder
when you’re in a crappy mood.
but all it takes is a little persuasion:
you can’t help but lose your blues.

(chorus)

A Valentine’s Poem

Posted: February 10, 1993 in Poetry
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I give you handfulls of candles
to set your skies ablaze with stars at night.
they’ll make you create and burn your hands
they’’ make you scream with hurt and let you fly away
into their flames – your mind.

do you think you’ve driven me so far away
that I won’t think of you on Valentine’s Day?

and in these candle’s flames
what constellations will you draw?
will you place them all around your heart
and think of me?

I am still here;
encased in steel,
frozen in flesh;
I am still here.

the I, the me, and the one and only:
Michael, an Angel, this quality,
definitely the most beautiful man
regardless of position and opinion.

building and building my building,
my self: a tower of faith in feelings.
I’ve mortared each brick and laid each beam,
chosen the colors, welded the seams,
sweated past tears, made real my dreams.
I have constructed my cherished monster
and wobble like a weeble but I don’t
fall
down.
I doubt and I die
every day
sometimes I cry
and fade away,
but I’m always stuck with myself
so I’ve chosen to stick it out
until the morning after.

I’ve got to strip and scrub and look in the mirror
I get misunderstood and filthy bad-mouthing myself;
the more I scrub the more I bleed, feeling clearer –
addicting, this hurting and cleaning myself.

in that soulless mirror
is my only true friend
and he’s true as far as you believe him.
weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.
I won’t scream anymore, I won’t make a sound
on finding my construction falling apart
snapping cables in the storms of my heart.

there is nothing that can ever take me away
I’ve done too much damage already.
twenty-one years old, a missile heaven-sent
and where god has thrown me I’ve made my own dent
to sit in and scowl or wave to my stars
as they streak by in the night, fireflies in jars.

On a Street Corner

Posted: July 5, 1992 in Poetry
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I think of many things
that I want to say,
to scream, to sing, to shout,
with/to/for/at
all the people
who might stand around
and listen.

Little Iago Me

Posted: March 4, 1991 in Poetry
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Ha ha ha I squint evil at the sun
Squirmy, chuckling little Iago me
Glass! It’s glass, stupid drops
You can’t get in I sit under you pompously
You see little creature thumbs his nose
You can’t touch this
Hammer, hammer on the skylight
Paugh! Your thunder growl is nothing
To me in my warm, dry cavern
Your flashbulbs only serve to photograph
My mocking sneer.
Hah, I scoff at your puny attempts
To batter down my battlements
And woe be to the drops that do
Drip inside; those we do torture
With the thermostat.
I fold my arms across my chest
And listen to the angry screams
Of the repelled invaders.

A Small Purple Linear Stain

Posted: January 9, 1991 in Poetry
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I can’t help thinking what
I’ve done to make you scream
So loud, like that, that night;
It was so much a dream.
But when I woke from fog,
My face was moist with sleep.
My hands dug in the earth
To climb the mountain steep.
Embankments grey and high,
I felt the tracks of rain.
A snail has crossed my eyes
To salve the lines of pain.

[iambic trimeter, even!]

Serenity

Posted: June 20, 1987 in Poetry
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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.

Window

Posted: March 16, 1987 in Poetry
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How does it feel to be so transparent
An object made to be looked through
Unseen and
Unnoticed.
The only physical evidence that it is there is
The small pieces of
Fly and dirt and scum
And water spots
That wouldn’t have happened if it
Had Cascade sheeting action
But no one cares.

Sometimes it gets cleaned!
But only to make it more transparent
And ignoreable
And featureless
And it takes away its personality,
What little it had.

Does a window silently scream when it’s broken>
Maybe that’s what the crash is for.
How would it feel to have a hole through one’s middle?

But there are always those few, special, lucky windows;
They look out over a peaceful countryside
Or sparkling, sunny waters
Or cloudlessly blue skies.
Not streets full of pollution, misery, greed
Poverty, homelessness, helpless,
Prejudice, suffering, chaotic, infernal,
Religious, lunatic, morbidness, rape,
And other acts of intolerable crime.
They are very thin partitions…