Snowman

This snowman did not leave after winter:
He endured the seasons,
And after eventually melting,
We still remember
--Almost annoyingly--
The advice this snowman gave.

From grade school to December,
Graduations, weddings, funerals,
We all speak of the road not taken,
And the difference it has made,
And though this snowman is no more,
He still smiles beyond the grave.

The Limerick of Sir Ezra Pound

I cannot refrain from calling you sir,
Though I question your seat in literature,
Yes, you've earned my respect
With your great intellect,
But your work's axed when I'm editor.

Crossed

Like the vampire,
I turn away from the the cross--
a revelation of all those wasted moments
romancing pleasures of the flesh,
feasting on intoxicated back alley vermin,
crimson-lipped prostitutes, still
preaching of powers
that tear the seas, tame lions,
fill the empty glass, the plate of crumbs.

Redemption--a cruel tease,
not for my kind,
I lurked too deep into the shadows,
shook the hand of too many midnight dwellers.

My eternity--closed in. Coffined.
With the light of my own pale skin
betraying me. Burning
too bright for sleep.

schizophrenia

see it

the world

beyond sanity

where the metaphysical becomes tangible

hinted at times

by the homeless shadow

that makes you look twice

by the heat of a body

when all there is is you

by the aroma of dreams past

when logic suggest otherwise

by the voice that speaks only to you

it breathes

any life to dream of

any simple joy to attain

sucked in

releasing in a whistling shriek

like bloodied fingernails

tearing hard against rock

trying to etch memories

something

anything to remember

my son's innocence

my husband's love

but all that's left

my tormentor

traveling through space

motionless

except for his pupils

clinging to mine.

GOB

His namesake would be proud.

This modern day wizard survived

backside shivs

from poison blooded family ties,

tricksters pocketing one-eyed jacks,

sly foxes disguised in monkey suits,

gentlemen of the night playing bad cop/worse cop,

ogres cloaked and hooded in white,

and one analrapist obsessed wife,

all wide-eyed and foaming

whining and bitching for a front row seat

to his final countdown.

suffering

the poet saw suffering walk by her window

she rushed open the door and yelled

come back come back

suffering knew not to turn around

and the poet continued to suffer

for not having suffered at all

touch screen

like a horny teenager

this thing stirs up

to the slightest touch.

I can't stop playing with it.

Ghost of Words

Lost

between my thumb

and my index finger

are an ocean of dots and crosses,

deserted in some far away nowhere,

once so close to being rescued,

screaming, waving,

convulsively shaking

for a home

never realized,

left with a whimper

and then

with nothing,

not even a lingering memory

of what could have been.

the beatitudes

hidden atop a storied mountainside

somewhere left of Matthew and Luke

the scripture offers its blessings

turn too far right and you'll miss them

Harry Potter

I am a Muggle:

ignorant to Witchcraft and Wizardry,

but while most of the Muggle World

oohs and aahs at the Magic, I think

it stupid. A bloated abomination

befitting of Dursley scorn. Unworthy

to wear any One Ring or Golden Crown:

trinkets of far more enchanting realms.

Starving

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.

- Mark Strand

I'm starving!

Dickinson--

In the name of your Bee--

Your Butterfly--

And your Breeze--

Feed me!

I'll need utensils, Mr. Simic:

a bird's foot, straight from hell,

if you please.

Ezra, oh learned sir,

I'll order 300 Chinese characters,

with a dash of Latin,

topped with Greek...

...on second thought,

that would be much too much even for me.

I'd rather dine in Sylvia's kitchen.

Unfortunately (with all due respect),

There's not much cooking there that I can eat.

I know! I'll have some of Grandfather Whitman.

Let me suck thy long, pale locomotive so that I can lick my lips, fully pleased!

Ice

...and with one swift chill

you shrieked,

"Winter has come."

the golf clap

impact and rhythm,

measured by the millimeter.

discarded: guttural chaos,

a property the alchemists cannot define,

and as with the canopic jars,

that which matters most is lost.

they

they whisper around each other

lips faceless

ears floating

eyes glancing passed all the truths and answers

A Love Poem

shards of you slice across my flesh,

carving memories blood deep,

burying me into you and back into me.

our elements clutching one another,

violently, shattering molecules,

each piece reflecting something different.

the scientists cannot define it,

the violence, a mere whisper in their ears,

a whirlwind in ours,

mirrored only by the matter

that once swirled the dust and the stars

into earth.

Adam Awakened

My teeth grip red flesh,
tearing through, raw,
its juices dripping down
the corners of my mouth.

This, the price of eternity.

I would not have it any other way.

5 Suicides' Notes

1.

The firm,

cool hand of the knife

greeted my by the wrist.

2.

The taut,

luring lips of the rope

burned hickies on my neck.

3.

The warm,

sensual whispers of poison

invited me in for a drink.

4.

The lone,

cold eye of the bullet

found shelter in my face.

5.

The big,

loud mouth of the cliff

dared me to jump.

Starvation

My belly long lost

any energy to whimper,

let alone growl.

There is no more ink to feed on:

a decade of poetic feasting

now bone dry.

Still I scratch the motions,

thinning the tip of my pen:

a torturing reminder of what has been lost.

Blank Page

Trapped inside the lines.

My cell, four corners tight.

Claustrophobic in its emptiness.

No window to peer out.

No door to even attempt a break.

Just me. Naked.

Dressed only with a blank stare.

And a watch.

Ticking away at the infinitum of time.

no more poetry

no more poetry's
left in my pen
its tip etched dry
so I pick up a crayon
scribbling second grade
Seussisms
'til these thirsty days
tip-toe idly by.