Melting Metaphors (Insp. by Wallace Stevens)

Get down to the marrow of it.

Truth is not prescribed for pain;

This uncertain light shakes the central of my being.

In dark rooms of silence when I try to rest,

I am soothed only by you, my gentle muse,

Imposing onto me the burden of discovery.

It is possible, possible, possible. You must

Still your incessant lyre and allow me

Moments of peace. As in any Supreme Fiction

Peace is not the end but the beginning.

Auroras under the trees in autumn;

Feeling half dead, deserted on a beach.

It is white. The single bird, the obscure moon;

Lost and all at once in direct position

Between primary noon and the A B C of being.

There were ghosts that spoke the feeling,

Which was what they lacked.

Poesis, Poesis, The palm at the end of the mind.

Stripping this tree to stoke the fire fangled

Furnace in the early March wind

Of sleep’s faded paper mâché…

Morning Thoughts

I am an insect pinned to the cork board of my bed.
My eyes barely flicker as the entire house vibrates from the
Motorcycle dealership across the street apparently having a sale.
The warm Saturday morning gives my neighbor the chance to be a
Rock star again and he beats furiously on his drum set while some
Mysterious friend plays along on a distorted bass guitar.
This is how the weekend will begin. Etherized on my bed,
Hungover, and way too enthusiastic about being home alone.

This is the worst part. The last ten pounds.
They cling to my waist for their putrid lives and
No number of skipped meals loosens their grip of me.
I go jogging twice a week. Push ups every morning.
I eat so little, I get dizzy. I'm scared to drive.
When I eat I feel so guilty. I'm just making it worse.
Yesterday, I had an apple and a tomato sandwich.
Today I'll leave off the mustard.

Winter Collision

Christmas means shopping
Rushing home to cook dinner
The garage is full

Lifting Belly (Insp. by Gertrude Stein)

Today I learned about a woman.
I read about a poet, long dead now
but alive and living in a person I know.
This poet loved language and wrote well
in a style I preferred not to read.
A man I respect loved this poet and he wrote about her
in a style more my own which spoke to me
and sounded vaguely like a girl I once knew; a poet herself
that once told me to write as well.
This girl I knew: she gave me the pot and this man: the seed.
I supplied the soil and the world: the water.
My work blooms now and I think of that girl from my past.
Were you someone else? Were you Gertrude? Was I earnest?

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
No, I was always Hemingway but you were never Faulkner;
not like I thought.
You may not even be Stein; like I think now.
This is this.
Violently delightful dinner parties
sung to the tune of empty bank accounts.
No, you are not my competition, just the orientation.
But you have always been represented in my mind.
Ever since you worked to carry drinks in cups.
Drink im ups. Drink hipups.
A news is pressing. You did want me. Say it again.
Strawberry. Oversweet and moist and dangerous.
And if you please. And if they please. And they please.

to Die and Live (Insp. by Ezra Pound)

My love, I've lost you - lost my center
Fighting the world and launching revolutions
And who would've thought that was the lesson?
Nickels and dimes in freefall in the saltmine
Of my wasted indulgent life.

With a bang. Not with a whimper.
When it happens, it will be in a pillar of flame
Trumpeted by the roar of tearing steel
And weeping maidens high on
A tangle of works unfinished.

With Usura (Insp. by Ezra Pound)

She stands and greets the class
With a confident smile
And fiery eye.

Speaking with passion and aplomb
Moving between topics like a bee
From flower to flower.

She cracks esoteric jokes
On fine art and fashion.
Twisting in the heels of expensive shoes

Sipping designer coffee from a lip
Stick stained cup.
Pause. Sip.

She finishes with a quote from Pound:
"...With usura the line grows thick"
Concluded. Smiled. Sat.

No one applauded.

Charcoal Metro Station (Insp. by Ezra Pound)

Give it up. Give it here.
Aren't there as many of us?
Aren't we equal?
Look upon us as outsiders
If you like to condescend;
We are the minority.

I am smart and articulate
Insightful and amusing.
I am a hero and a scientist
Useless to conquer or understand.
The painting passes from hand to hand;
But I never see it.

School Haikus

Water Planet
Weather charts and rainfall
Patterns spread before the whole class
To see the globe warm

Albedo
The Sun beams light down
The Earth is getting hotter
The Heat gives us life

Hazy
Morning talks about
Evapotranspiration
I'm too high for this

Winter Clothes
Imagination
Better than reality
Where girls are concerned

Hollywood
We own everything
Vertical integration
Try and steal from us

Ideas of Symbolism (Insp. by William Carlos Williams)

No ideas but in things. Say it.
Because the best ideas have no ideas.
This is my idea, something devious and powerful and
When ideas occur, I altar my sense
Of what things are.

This is not a poem.
Ink on paper
not thoughts and emotions not love or guilt
The worm is in our brains and it changes matter
to something that matters

Rose≠Heart≠Love≠Change≠Improvement≠Construction
Pix-elated in a picture too detailed to notice
Plummet from a peak so tall the houses and farms and
cities and countries and continents and oceans are
Just patches.
Of green.
And grey.
And yellow.
And blue.
And white.

Friends and Felons (Insp. by Lewis Carroll)

Getting lazy:

I dreamed of the short haired girl with knobby knees
And the petulant pooch festered with fleas
Of a seductive siren with audible stutter
And being usurped by a younger brother
The sharks in the ocean that swim with glee
Come all at once and bear down on me

Going crazy:

Retreat to a place where no sane people go
Sexual freedom, friends, and drugs all in tow
Like your first day in Hell, it all seems droll
Until the host grabs knife and demands his toll
Some get upset, but most of them laugh
It's not a party of people but rather of raff

Crescendo:

They all come and go, avoiding to see
That their work reeks of forgery
Hushed whispers and secrets, masks and disguises
Hiding devils and despots of all shapes and sizes
The perverted truth left to seep from the seams
From a patchwork of plans and terrible schemes

Blame:

Accusations and assumptions turn saviors to serpents
Dump out their bags and search through the contents
Interrogate and torture all who might plunder
Mistrust is learned and deceit is their blunder
Muster our troops and prepare for attack
As defense fails and dark villains stack

She says:

Lock up the good; set the criminals free
I'll overwhelm them with lies and hypocrisy
The drugs and abuse make my comments so crass
That I'll smear my goodbye with lipstick on glass
Empty bottles of vodka and sharp shattered dishes:
My response to presents and kind Christmas wishes

I say:

Pass me the pills and say all your prayers
'Cause you will never have me or get my several deep layers
Take your psychobabble your buzzwords and put them on the shelf
'Cause my treasure, my precious is only myself
Try on new clothes and leave me to pay.
The bills stack up; lie that you'll pay me back someday.

Today:

The turtles and tadpoles tell over tea
of all these things and others to me
Dream instead of the light-hearted girl in the breeze
Or the loyal pooch in the shade of the trees
Feast on dark green veggies that spread like butter
and mumble soft calming whispers to soothe like a mother