Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Horrible bad poetry (I 'm still cleaning the garage)

Getting in touch with one's true feelings and emotions is hard work. Reporting the results to the world is harrowing.

With that said, here are some poems I wrote a few years ago and have resurrected for y'all to read. (Why?) Mostly they are about the emotions that were swirling around in the empty pot I call my mind. I was in a pretty strange place and trying to figure out what to do with myself. I had no art, no love, no family to keep me sane. So, I wrote what I knew.

I'm not saying it's good, and I'm not saying you should read it. But it's here if you really want to torture yourself by reading it like I did by writing it.


With sultry perfume it intoxicates
but salty, it scours the mouth

wanton desire drips from the chin
stains the face with envy

it's venom pulses through the bleeding heart
burning away at the delicate interior
with juice as bitter as bile

being digested completely
this fruit sends hatred seeping
through pores, saturating the mind

causing the slow death
of reality


On the wall are dreams I've had
framed in wood and behind glass
some you'll find are lovely and bright
others are dark and cheerless
every one magnificent
like a gem polished
under light
look at these dreams
and they disappear
to think of them they become
vivid as noon day sun
but they are not for your eyes
they are here
for me

Lazy Pigs

Afternoon, lazy pigs lounge
swooning over mud baths
soaking in opulence
purged of anxiety

Open snouts savor the foulness
of slop farmer-man serves up
in bone china troughs

Piggy led away in velvet collar
-an exemplary swine-
prepared for ultimate reward

cherry glazed and bacon fried
beautiful Sunday morning.

(on the insanity of luxury)


Footsteps pound ceiling-floor
authority paces heavily

Sleep comes slow
for homesick infants,
now adult,
still caged

Inside, silent screams
belated rebellion thwarted
by under-developed rage

through paper walls
game show canned sighs
garbled alcoholic rantings
listened to passively

lullaby for strangled minds


Swarms buzzing around the glow
fearing the solitude of darkness
Singing wings to secure a place
beside the light that means safety
Blinding themselves to their own selves
All they see are swarms


Sandwiched between
nowhere and somewhere
here and there
is now;
The place reserved for those
who are paying attention.

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