An ***-load of poetry

[Hastings & Main]

Not for 'showing off' or anything, but I've had these for so long that they're...
I dunno. Just an urge to get them "out there", or I'll bust open...

Done in a prose-poetry style. Eh, here goes...


A Message To My 4 Year Old Niece (When You're 20)

this is the best phase in your life
long before The Gap and Coca-Cola and the others come to get you
and before maturity tears you apart and kicks you
up into the wolves den.
and I’m the seldom-seen uncle who you’re
always eager to impress, play with, and show new things to
and I’m
so
sorry.
but this child died
so long ago and i have no idea how to get him back...
so I can’t really share this innocence
as much as it cuts my heart in wanting.
I can’t see through the eyes of a corpse,
and, although I try,
all the world has taught me
thusly has left me blinded
eyes plucked by ravens of avarice
because only the truly gifted know how to play
and survive
at the same time
and that is what adolescence is there for...

to kill the child


No-doz

well
it seems that now that I
am erect and ready to make breakfast
all of my worries have
floated off into the unreachable ether.
strange how when one goes from horizontal
to vertical the demons
take flight like bats in sunlight.
the logical conclusion to
all of one's problems
usually point
to a string of personal bad decisions
wrapped in the infamy of some slight psychosis.

only a few
the luckiest of humans
realize their mistakes, their
screw-ups and take the kernel of wisdom out
leaving the rest for the wind,
everything else forgotten
long before they climb into bed.

the rest of us
fingers poised before the lamp-switch
stop short
and reflect with
the wisdom of fallen
angels
the stupid things
neglected
and worry ourselves
into a dreamless sleep


childhood

is the most humiliating tragedy performed by fate
on humans
as it teaches us to regret not doing more at the time
and implants memories of a sometimes much better time
when responsibilities
and the like
were regarded with a blank look of incomprehension
a place where they take the passkey as you leave
and melt it down to recast
for the newborns

so go back and stare at the gates every once in a while and
wish you could break in
or climb over
to steal a few of the non-rules
or just borrow some of the chaos
for a while
to apply them to today’s pressures
and deadlines
and societal expectations
and the clockwork arrival of the necessary bills
that remind us on a regular
regulated basis
that someone will always be present to instill
order in our lives
no matter how much we want to be free.
or is it just me
not enjoying my time as an adult...

…that clock…
that f*****g clock…


Last Will (To Live) And Testament (To Living)

I’ve been thinking about my past and regretting it
reminiscing brings nothing but a physical cringe
everything that ever went wrong glows flourescent and waves a big flag
“Hey! Remember me?!”
should’ve, would’ve, & could’ve are Harpies picking at the backs
of the cowards and the confused

and I am bleeding
and my flesh is ripped

but
at least the present looks bright
(and by present I mean a very short version of future)
because I’ve got a bottle on my left and a cat on my right
and if the cat gets too disgusted with my presence
and hikes it
I’ve got a whole shelf of bottles to choose from

and the future is a dark room with a broken switch
or the bulb is missing and like
most people, groping in the dark is
if not unpleasant
then exasperating and
I’m tripping over so many forgotten things

so maybe I’ll just
sit here
in my nice little rut;
it’s hell
but
at least I know where I put everything.

and all the material distractions manifested in pop-cultural trinkets
keeping me from getting my a** in gear
are displayed very, very nicely

Eat This

my stomach is hungry
my thoughts are political
if I eat a hamburger
isn’t that hypocritical?

(I realized the others were a bit morose - I hadda put one of my quickies in there)

More later...

 

[Hastings & Main]

Thanks! ::
Actually, the first times I read poetry in this fashion I immediately thought it was pretentious cos it didn't rhyme, but then I started reading Bukowski.
If a perpetually drunk, bar-fighting, skid-row-hotel living guy could write such incredible stuff, hell, might as well see what's in me... (in no way a comparison:: although most were written under the influence)

Paranoia (May Annoy Ya) (Ode to a Place of Residence on Victoria Drive)

I’ve left evidence of my mental state outside my door
I don’t want my neighbors to come home
I can’t handle the crashing and thumping and coughing
and music and talking and seeming inconsideration
i shouldn’t be here it shouldn’t be like this
i’ve been fooled at some point past
somewhere along the line things just got a little mixed up I
got into the wrong lineup
got moved over to the wrong till
got on the wrong train got off on the wrong floor
went down the wrong hall opened and entered the wrong door
signed up for the wrong class joined the wrong club
got dropped off on the wrong planet
got misdirected and was played with when I asked for proper
guidance,

everything is unmarked
painted a uniform grey and all the street numbers are exactly the same
everyone i pass stare straight ahead and have the slightest
trace of a smirk and
when they talk only to each other
they know more words
do not space phrases with umm’s
and they do it fast with unfaltering understanding...
in what academy were they incubated?
where were they trained to live?

they do it with such programmed ease,
as if it were something natural -
frustrations do not crease their faces...
when was the last time brows were furrowed under
some imagined strain?
when was the last time they paced the floors of their imaginations,
climbed the roof of their psyche, in
rocking-back-and-forth
confusion as to what
to
do
with all this time handed to
them? do they accumulate partnerships in order to not
dwell in such mundane over-self-analysis as this?

Not Taking Any New Members

the normal people astound me with their
lack of anything while
the freaks I stay away from
at art shows and
gigs
as they’re just too far
ahead in money,
fashion, art,
and general know-how
of how to know about anything
I don’t
so
I will just throw myself
into my clique of one

it's a fight, but
I try to stay upwind from their happiness...


The Art of F***ing Up

the one big crime perpetuated against me in this life is the failure to be understood so
I am an *******
to a great many people and
some of those people I really
wanted to love

I am insane to
a few others,
but such intense judgements can only come
from those which this planet
rarely needs anyways

I am brain-damaged to a handful,
but their simplicity is
not a threat

I am loved by less
than the fingers on one hand but little
words cannot express my gratitude to them
or fill this meagre space...

so
how many times do you dive
into the quicksand in practicing to get out?
the treasures in being mentally unfit
are buried deep
and one can never be sure if it’s worth the digging.

fate shoots
randomly, grinning madly
at the top of a
tower either
blindfolded or with
vicious intent.


Smack, Spaghetti... Same Thing

so one day I figure I’ll see what it’s like
to be seen as a junkie
and I put tracks on my arms
and the yellow-purple rainbow of needle-bruises
and I walk around
and go to the supermarket
and I half-lidded stare and flutter and do the JFK
while buying a can of Ensure
and suddenly I’m kin to some common faces while
collecting surprised dismay from others
but it seems
that wearing a pasta-stained t-shirt does the same f*****g thing