say what you will
about Pop-Tarts
but I never saw one
burn down a building
I never
saw a Twinkie
crash a car
or give me the finger
on my birthday

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do not ask me
to turn down the music
or dim the sun
and its heat

your cold

breath is
turning to fog
before me

crying twice
since coffee
over questions and fears
your voice comes through
the fog of yesterday
the dog barking
the mask peeling
and your generous love
touches my heart
each time I drop to my knees
even so, Lord
even so
You drop over me
a veil that brings
more tears
with only joy

Bad poetry and yearly resolutions

coffee gray

there are too many
poems about coffee
and pens and diners
and longing looks
through penitent windows
and here’s another
to toss on the pile
although
it is not really about coffee
but grief

there are far too many
poems about poetry
the blithe rays of
her sunshine
through my pen
has clogged things, so
have you read enough, now
of wooden writing shacks
and pyramid schemes–
do not fret, this is not
about poets
but generosity

the pages are slipping to the floor
reams upon reams, and
I can hear you laugh
about notebooks
full of birds and clouds–
it is okay
invite me in for a coffee
for this is not about the birds
or the clouds
it is really about
homelessness

 

 

(redux, 2018)

Glad hander

There was something about the day that stood out. Yesterday
wasn’t especially productive. I didn’t even do anything fun
truly, I went the whole day without so much as a cup of coffee

I am sipping a cup now as we speak, this moment of reflection
as we sit here at my table. I wonder if you are hungry. I can’t
help but contemplate if you would tell me–if you were

You asked me, “Where you been?” I said, I have been taking a quilt apart
square by square and putting it back together. You said, “Wouldn’t it have
been easier to put it together the right way the first time–”

I have been hearing such things more than I would like
an unpleasantness of ravens circling until there was a sign of life
I tried to tell you to accept things as they are and just love

Like me for instance, I love you as a cherished friend. Wouldn’t you
rather have a sure thing, sire, than strokers and fluffers–
some glad hander who has no heart?

I wonder, if sincerity is still valued
as a worthwhile, spendable commodity

Naked in espadrilles

naked-in-espadrilles.jpg

It was entertaining
the pain-bringing of my burden
lifting like a curtain

We clash’d and we were bruised
in sweaty battles and southern comfort
in the wettest puddles
ever had. Including mine.
That sounds very Seuss

Let’s discuss how mean
to not find a soft place to land
after un-relenting grey skies with rain

I understand you conquered the beast-
my second-best pen
telling stories from the davenport
melting the ice–left and neglected
the flood taking over the house

I am undaunted–laughing at the rules–
meditating on how the mind is the sexiest organ
and on how we used to be good


The poem is a cut-up or found poem from my own writings
The painting is by Théo van Rysselberghe, unknown title

Monday Random: Quotes

  • In the end, only kindness matters. — Jewel
  • I’m so ugly, that’s okay cause so are you — Kurt Cobain
  • A mistake made by many people with great convictions is that they will let nothing stand in the way of their views, not even kindness. — Bryant McGill
  • Poetry destroyed? Genius banished? No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; they not only live, but reign, and redeem: and without their divine influence spread everywhere, you would be in hell–the hell of your own meanness. – Charlotte Brontë
  • All you  need is love. — Lennon/McCartney

Continue reading “Monday Random: Quotes”

Insufficient

I don’t know what else to say, except I love you, Manchester

*****
I have said nothing to anyone about Brussels. I have been
silent, as I was after Paris. (I should have said something)
(anything)

What is there to say-how much is enough?
(Mumbai, New York City, Cameroon, Boston, Ouagadougou,
Jakarta, Manchester, Tanta, London, San Bernardino,
Istanbul, Oklahoma City, Chicago-
do you have time for a complete listing)

I know that anything I say will be insufficient and vague
in comparison (to the truth)
[put up next to what they need
more than words]

If it were me, if I was there, I imagine
I would be as silent as now, wanting to
scream but instead- zombielike- tidying up
walking through what is mundane and useful
and cleaning up the atrocity of violation.
[(This is not yours. Why
do you insist on breaking it to pieces)
is as close as I have come to words]

Are you not tired of the raging?
I weary of the anger, the pure hate
that does not end
always simmering, sometimes boiling over
yet constantly being refilled, that tank-

What can I say? Who am I? I am your neighbor, weeping for you.
My words feel small. My anger does not feel
sufficient

Giving up pie for lent

What are we reduced to
when we do not want to hear
what another voice is telling us

Who are we become if
we could tear down others without cause
greater than boredom

Our hearts
are malleable and weather-proof
however they might melt under fire

Though no one can see the bruises
of everyday pummeling
from jabs of our closest
and most relied upon