Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Mood for ani

Saturday, December 2nd, 2006

This ain’t crystal clear,
and I’m not about to edify you.

You think I must be angry
because ani is blasting again.

Blasting them all for me
with her mighty gun.

I’d shed some light on your confusion, dear,
but right now I’m all ears and fangs.

Cuz her confident derision
gives me hope.

And you’re gonna have to roll with it
if you have the balls.

Just step back and
leave me happily ferocious.

Hot and wired

Sunday, September 24th, 2006

Skin prickles,
head throbs.
Hot and wired,
sweet sparks
fly tonight.

Such magnificent bounty!
bursting incandescent,
filling me up,
more than
I can possibly contain.

Burning with delight or,
perhaps, fever caught
jumping the fence
to bring my sick neighbor
birthday turtles.

Lay down girl,
lay down, child.
Let your head explode
into the welcoming arms
of the velvet night.

Silly poem

Wednesday, September 20th, 2006

Gather it,
squeeze it,
bend it to your will.

Shape it, round,
smooth and taut.
Push it up against your palm.

’til it whimpers for release
and then…

Deny you had anything to do with it.

Poetry ain’t always purty.

Friday, September 8th, 2006

Sometimes it itches, snarls, struggles-clobbers you on the way out of your head and it’s kind of choppy, gnarly and raw.

Like this one:

Maybe it was the moon,
full, staring me down
as I sagged into sleep.

Or perhaps, some subtle hole,
suddenly gaping cavernous, invited this
sucking, wrenching

One casual, innocuous
moment of unconscious thought bit hard,
slithered, virulent and unappeased,
into my waking day.

Just unpacking leather, lace
and velvet, putting my finery away.
Everyone acting
as though it’s perfectly acceptable.

This tiny impossible closet,
this futile trailor slams me silent.
Fetal screaming-curling inwards,
defiance is not tolerated.

plunging skewed,
gasping at the vicous

Collapsing synapses
shearing swift impulses,
cutting snap and

Not anymore, not now, not here,
not me…
But still it violates,
shrivels, cuts to the quick.

I want to leave this place,
leave work,
get on the freeway
and drive.

Drive until there’s
nothing and no one
and I can
hear myself scream.

New poem

Tuesday, August 29th, 2006

I’m writing buttloads of poetry, most of it unconscionable, or at least unprintable.


This one, however is (mostly) printable, so enjoy!

You can talk all you want,
exert your fine mind in towering feats of
mental masturbation or blather on about
tv shows I’ve never even heard of.

I won’t stop you, nor shame you,
nor yield myself to this
creeping, comfy paralysis
that dulls the edges
and blurs the faces.

I will eat my sandwich while
Oprah reveals the lecherous secrets of cheating
husbands. Savoring the tomatoes,
turkey, spinach and bread
down to the last delicious lick
of aoili.

And then,
I’ll simply fold myself inward
on lines of pure intention;
dive through this meek carpet,
melt into the floorboards,
extend pellucid filaments
through concrete and rebar.

Slide my tasty venules under it all.
pulsing, undulating with the rhythm
of earth, of mud, of the rocks
under us all.

Here, the connection is
undeniable, life and death
happen in such quick succession
there is no denying
the fluidity of all things.

Here, my hands become trees,
my toes earthworms,
and my words
are a stream.

Feel the soft moss of me.
Touch the sparkling invitation,
let the cool water soothe
your hot, tired feet.
Fill your hands with me,
bring me up to wet your lips
and bathe your face.

Know the warm earth,
the strong, tough limbs
that can climb with you,
hold you when you fall,
or wrestle for understanding
in the maelstrom of arrogance
and delusion.

I stand before you abruptly,
utterly human.
Hungry again, humbled,
ready to run or fight
or fuck.

The choice is yours.

I LOVE me a poetic challenge!

Monday, August 21st, 2006

The immortal David Jones, spitter of firey, incisive, juicy odes to pain, deceit, misogyny, sex, love and joy, told me I could blog his poem, if I gave him one on the same subject…

Just so happens I had one. You can read it here



Always says
Let’s just be friends
Friendship is all I have
To offer you
Like a consolation prize
In the game of love
I have so many friends
I cannot sleep at night
Or remember their names
She says
I’m seeing someone now
Looking past me
Like I was an obstacle
Or a minor diversion
In her search
For prince charming
She shakes my hand
As if to say
This is enough for you
And smiles an unctuous smile
Fades into the night
Me ??
I go home
And become better acquainted
With my cock

DJones 6/28/05

Illustration Friday: Jungle

Friday, June 9th, 2006


This one comes with a poem I wrote years ago, while breaking out of a stagnant relationship. I would have just linked to my dear old blog, Loverzan, but it’s a bit of a chore, searching her voluminous, ghostly static copy, so I went and dug it up for ya myselfs(guess I shoulda sent my zombie minions! LOL):


I shiver, I shudder, I feel a coming.
Someone is strumming,
here in my stomach.

Something cracked in my back
and now my head is thrumming,
my body is humming.

Someone’s coming.

I was waiting,
confused and hesitating.
I knew I was going to erupt,
I knew it would be abrupt.

is coming.
is humming, strumming me
throbbing, mobbing me.

chanting in my ear,
shaking up my year,
tossing out my fear.

Now, I’m open and change is here.
The juice is spreading through me
and those who thought they knew me
will wonder who the hell I am
and those who give a damn
will have to wade through the forest,
find my lush and steamy jungle nest.

The change has set me loose,
see me dancing in the juice!

I’m alive! And I know,
I’m WET! From head to toe.

No more need to wait
I’m ready to create.
I’m dancing, I’m singing,
The holy bells are ringing!

Hallejulah, the CHANGE has come to me
EXPLODED in my empty tummy
and filled it with juice.

so fulfilling,

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Thursday, June 8th, 2006

My friend Michael sent me this Pablo Neruda poem. The man knows sadness.

Tonight I can write

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

translated by W.S. Merwin

Treacherous gap

Saturday, May 27th, 2006

Slithering thoughts
butt and buck,

Cutting away,
shutting away,
the ache of manufactured nonchalance.

Cursing between my heart and tongue
a tumultuous hurricane describes
the treacherous gap.

Illustration Friday: Sorry

Friday, May 19th, 2006


‘Shit’she said.

‘I’ve lost it.’ Dragging her fingers aimlessly
through the bits and pieces of people she used to know.

‘It’s got to be here somewhere’.

I look at the box, but my search starts
with her rigid, angry shoulders,
Awkward flutters subsiding under seismographic hands.

Churning loose the dammed muscles,
melting spasms of denial,
exposing caverns of hot, hot shame.

The eruption shakes her whole slender frame.
Wrapped and rocked in my arms she sobs
ten years of damage into my lap.

‘It’s OK,’ I murmur through her hair in my mouth.

‘I found what I came here for.’