Posts Tagged ‘Wish’

Seagulls

Posted: September 12, 1995 in Poetry
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Sometimes the surf sings
Be a seagull and fly!
Along the crests of the waves
That lap at the land.

It is late at night
And the mist of the sea
Slips on to the streets,
An extended arm of tide.

My bicycle spokes churn
Through the streetlamps’ gaze
Until the darkness under the pier
Brings me to a halt.

It is there where the echoes
Of the surf on the pilings
Reminds me of the seagulls’ cries
And my age-old wish to fly.

Ah, this bright light —
I was a closet Vampyre,
dancing on cardboard tombstones
with flexible skeletons
who beat chopsticks on
overturned Folger’s coffee cans
— it shrivels the flesh
and weakens the bones.
I’ve heard of the process of aging before,
from people older than I
(that was all that mattered back then),
but I opened the door
just by living this long;
it was a voluntary process
to keep myself “sane”.
My closet life still lives —
the dust and cobwebs are real,
cardboard and coffee cans lay around
— it’s a mess just like I left it.
I have little time to clean up,
much less to dust them off and play;
something I swore I’d never say.
I wished to conquer this aging
in this age.
I watched the best voices of
previous generations
wither and fade,
mature and become jaded
as either adults or escapists —
I wanted to outdo them all
by keeping busy
preserving those things
that people forgot to remember:
those things that go bump in the night
and lurk shiny red-eyed in the closet.
This bright light
— reality for those who think it so —
is the bread and butter of adulthood,
and it cannot be avoided
through ignorance or rebellion:
they just won’t go away.
This revelation comes with
the exposure to aging;
the fact that changed my whole game plan.
Closets, shadows, mysteries and skeletons
beating Folger’s coffee cans with chopsticks
are for children and lunatics:
people who aren’t grown up enough
to withstand the scrutiny
of this bright light.
I hold to my original wish —
I have remembered so far
you must bend like the willow
young grasshopper —
Seuss did it,
King does it;
to each his or her own closet.
Oil your hinges,
dust your skeletons,
tune your Folger’s coffee cans:
Magick is the marrow
that runs in those bones,
and still fires the eyes shiny red.

Tails Side Up

Posted: December 5, 1994 in Poetry
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I wish on every
lucky penny
that I find (tails side up)
for you
for me
for us and wherever we’re going
in all this fog.

I want that my glasses
were halogen knives
to draw and quarter the mist of the
near future:
is it money?
is it marriage?
is it me?
that has you so distant
when I’m right here
holding your hand?

Maybe I’m a chain of flower petals
— all the “loves-me-not” daisies
of the last few decades;
all the dangling lies of the eternal carrot,
a pinata for
the materialism
of our parents’ generation
leaking into my soil.

But all I ever wanted from money
were my lucky
(tails side up)
pennies.

The Question

Posted: November 27, 1993 in Poetry
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Twin rivers of sweat
trickling from my armpits,
tickling down my sides
and a quaver in my voice,
dying for a cigarette,
a script, a wish, or that
I’d rehearsed more.

Nyarlathotep 1925

Posted: March 23, 1993 in Poetry
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thy Bloody Tongue caresses
the forehead of the Chosen
for Hotep, Dark Lord.
the Crawling Chaos erupts
from blood for us:
those willing to see his vistas,
landscapes draped in flesh,
drenched in blood,
shattered like mirrors
so close like dreams
one bright tentacle to worship
one hypnotism
one belief of truth;
as you wish it!

Courage and…

Posted: May 1, 1991 in Poetry
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all I want [no] I cannot
see.have.wish.
P-A-T-I-E-N-C-E
I will drop dead
to (get it?) over with.

Untitled Poem #11

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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My life is with what everybody has toyed
Shuddering, quaking, my will is destroyed.
I fall to my knees with a heart-rending cry
That echoes around in an empty blue sky.
Now the tears come, they come like a flood
But it’s not saline moisture, it’s dark crimson blood
Coursing down my cheeks, staining the fair earth
While my life is waning, they giggle in mirth.
Pounding in my ears, pumping in my chest
Why is it that I’m cursed, never blessed?
I hurt so bad, I writhe in pain
Consciousness is so hard to maintain.
Nothing cools me or quenches my thirst.
The throbbing in my brain keeps getting worse
As I see my life spill out before me
The sand turns black with my misery
There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say
To make the world shut up and go away.
Sorrow overwhelms me, with blood I cry
My last remaining wish is that I wish I could die.