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you did step in it
  
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My bling Mar 10, 2007 3:16 pm
1430 Views
Bling
You can take this bling and put it where the sun don't sing, shake it off, store it away, a rainy keepsake for a safer day, a day safe from the white of my eyes. It walks along beside you, outside you, a clayed layer baked to resemble some mutinous ride, an accompanist bassing to the yellowed strut of your pride. Push it underneath the horizontal rule of you, make it a fast task, slick with the richness of your promised worth,
quick with the outside pull to spill and fulfill - you squander. Though she won’t bow, no way how, till the chained weight gravitates you to the ground where steps stutter around. It may be better down there to roll in the below, a frozen before where the clank and swell of metal have rushed through the littered moments only to foretell. So you take this bling and you safety box it in your mama’s name, you stand on her singing porch, then kneel to place the gold in her hand, the heated forge of one
last
stand.
4 Comments
Pharmaceutically enhanced Mar 1, 2007 6:42 pm
1716 Views
Pharmaceutically enhanced

You can take the drugs
out of the country,
but can the drugs
take the country out of you?

If you supply me with a condition,
will you make sure to cut me the cure?

I am protected by the lessoning of your injections,
and your powerless objections
won't bend the prison bars.
It's safe where your legs won't trip you
or steer you clear to my door.
I'm sure you'd arrive, after a surging high
to delve into my peace
wreck my home with some forlorn
speech about what is normal.
Asking me to define normal
is a dangerous notion.
I can reflect and philosophize,
talk on end for hours about the need
to cease the welfare of this disease
wrap it up and send it,
an appeasing grease to this
quietly unyielding giant.
But, I won't.
Talk about normal.
I'll keep you a while,
circling you within
the abyss of your abstention,
holding you within
the proof of my solidarity.
The sides are shielded
ever folded, an anomaly fitted
within your desire,
a crease to cease your cries
with
just
one
more.
18 Comments
I only made up two of my own... Feb 23, 2007 9:21 pm
1383 Views
Pages

Come sorrow me in softness with your words,
with secrets rested safely in my dreams.
Reach here in answered whispers as I read,
empowered by the pages from your world.

Quilled droplets gentle down as they remake
a space so white and clean upon the page.
The stroke so simple in it's tendered phrase
a story flows forevered in its wake.

Leave lingered here the meaning that unfolds
as chapters capture what will soon reveal
an end ensnared, so hidden yet unmasked.

Lay here to think aloud what you have told.
Let sleep come now, relinquishing at last.
16 Comments
Take This Goodbye Feb 21, 2007 10:45 pm
1219 Views
Take this goodbye
and seek the
gardened girl
that you once knew.
She is brambled there
in the earth
waiting,
an exhumation
stolid in time,
sleeping,
coiled
in unkindly refuse.
She is a timely ruse
of spring,
an embellished memory.
Move the dirt
and sift,
for she will rise
and greet
the summered glare
in rapture...
and upturned.
14 Comments
The Tower Feb 20, 2007 7:33 pm
1029 Views
I was there
in my disguise,
my vanity
a thickening thread,
woven and crushed
into the velvet
of my skirt.
I was there
at the top,
giddiness floating down
to the litter
of the city below.
I was there:
and the adequate picture remains,
a clasped smile,
eyes on your approval,
a worthy record.
I was there
and all but the picture
remains
of me
at the top,
and behind me,
buried in the sheen of glass
are stories held up
by buildings brightened
with strings of streets,
and a city
that no longer
remains.
12 Comments
The Beach Feb 11, 2007 5:35 pm
1030 Views
In the moment
this moment is gone,
unwaving to crest itself
back inside the tide.

Sand drifts, and wavers on
an empty pallet
again and again
to take the torrent of time.

The recourse of air sifts
with salt and grasps our breath,
a penance for the sun
and the day’s yearning tide.

As the hours unsettle
and hover with movement,
resistance to the surge of night
gathers even as it guides.
16 Comments
"My Family" a pictured poem Feb 7, 2007 5:49 pm
1093 Views
In your picture
I am the smallest
and coloured off to the side.

While I have every
significant detail:
the tiny dotted eyes
an upward smile,
and even curls to my hair,
(an inaccurate detail)
there is a huge space
and only me on the family side
of the fishtank stand.

Centered with you
(among the pets, of course)
your father is tall
with a broken smile
(in three parted lines)
and the smallest version of
your cousin you could draw.

Strange how the animals
are the only ones touching.

And distanced from you
only by a tree
are your Aunt and Uncle
with horned ears and double nostrils
but nonetheless
identical in stature
and otherwise.

But in your picture
there is colour, and
a crayoned pattern
flourished with purples
for you and only I.
13 Comments
Not for the faint of heart - "A Natural Aggression" Jan 29, 2007 6:38 pm
1075 Views
"A Natural Aggression"

scattered skin floats restless in the wind
and skirts the wearied shopkeeper with dust.
Broom in hand to clean the shattered street
he bows his head, this witness to a tryst.

From shadows cladded only with a prayer
emerged the sounding keen - a killing heart,
a burning scream flung hollow in the midst
to cure the hour that yearns relentless hope.

Sure footed like a dancer moving time,
he entered as if meaning were intent.
Slow motioned in the act of: all did stop.
And death became the scent of burning men.

And in the evening gloam the shop is lit
with men who sweep in peace and linger last.

** picture credit: cnn
12 Comments
Can Jan 27, 2007 4:37 pm
1312 Views
My mind strings and beats with words that will not arrange in poems and work themselves into regulation form for the writer of the new generation will pattern a repeat in his own discreet way of those who came before with those never-ending sentences and you know who I mean even if you didn't do the same dose of literary measure but the son belies the father even after death.

Of all those nine degrees separating William Burroughs from me who was the madman genius and who rode the untalented but forceful wave of words to the finish swimming on the resource of originality and minds that blurred easily enough and needed a heavy rest from the Faulkner, Lawrence, Pollyanna and the enraged child disgraced and filtered through to regions reached only through hyperbole and strung out alleyways.

There was never a consciousness he claimed to string you along far flinging with endings diminishing the meaning and put the commas where you will but this is what I meant not to do still it came and spilled and covered this space as it was hurled.
11 Comments
Air Jan 24, 2007 6:18 pm
1114 Views
I reach my hand to touch your gentle face,
as air takes fingers lightly on its wings.
Thus in the stillness of a longed embrace
you feel the echoed trace the wind will sing.

The sound will float and tremble on through time,
to hold the touch and meld it into earth.
Waved particles will shelter it as mine,
a stir to carry heaviness of worth.

So simple is the breath we wish to sail
and send with silver gale our secret dare.
But, in the trick of days we bend to fail
the knowingness and magic of the air.

My hand is reached and faces in the breeze,
heart heavy with the season, yet at ease.
12 Comments
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