KATHLEEN DANCES
In the night, I saw her dancing,
though, she has never danced before.
Fluid and solid, her feet patterned the floor,
movements mapped by moonlight tracings.
She saw me watching and I witnessed her laughing,
as though, she has never laughed before.
I almost cried, I almost cheered, I almost became no more;
nothing, but a pulse in her melodic trance.
Again, dawn came to separate us,
but, during the night we dance.
LICK YOUR FROST
Your cold steals the warmth from me
as you touch my face with your fingers.
I shiver
with adrenaline.
Weary of the chill
I kiss your neck and lick your frost.
My exhales visible,
short smoky puffs of anticipation.
My body fights to bring yours heat,
hot skin against chilled flesh.
But the friction
only brings a storm.
Like small breaths in a blizzard,
I inhale you into my nose.
I smell your snow
whenever we embrace.
LONGING FOR LIQUID
Sweat filled her
belly button, like a salty sea,
in which I longed to swim.
Stomach upon stomach,
I felt her surface tremble
and tried to wade in.
Again, again,
she tried to pull me in,
pulled, pushed, pulled.
Again, again,
I failed her skin,
as I pushed, pushed, pulled, pushed.
Wanting to dive into her perspiration,
needing the sensation of liquid,
physics denied me again and again.
Every woman is an ocean,
for a dry man to find,
but he will remain on the shore
to never fully enter her.
MUCKED
Phantoms of feelings
From the muck of my mind
Dug and then drug
To the dawn of a dream
Faults forgotten
Failures and vague figures
Resurrected and returned
To a slowly slumbering head
Figments of feelings
Regrettably returning
Forced and then fleeting
To haunt while fading once more
MY LIFE BE STILL
My life be still
and let the air linger
within my lungs,
so I may enjoy
the oxygen
of this day,
this hour,
this minute,
this second.
Moments, like breaths,
are taken in
through the nose
and released by way of
forgiveness.
I shall inhale
and exhale
with conviction,
knowing that my intakes
are limited,
and I’ll eventually
become breathless.
NOW AND AGAIN
Occasionally now
and sometimes again
I stumble upon a cloud
in which to swim.
A puff of white
among blue,
and a rare flight
to dive into.
I’ll flow throughout
the moist piece of sky
until my arms give out
and it passes me by.
OHIO SNOW
Footprints in the dirt
along a ghetto street,
a ghostly imprint in the earth,
a pair of forgotten feet.
What the wind won’t hide,
Ohio snow will.
The walker and the walk
dealer, doper, or child,
high in grass or deep under rock,
hidden forever in the wild.
What the wind won’t hide,
Ohio snow will.
Spring green and Autumn brown
will only change the trees,
the falling, the falling, the falling down,
hopes and dreams and leaves.
What the wind won’t hide,
Ohio snow will.
PIPER OR PRISONER?
Are my words
like the notes
of a piper,
crisp
yet strong,
guiding youthful
and naïve
thoughts away
from safety?
Or will each line
and rhyme
become bars
to a prison
I am compelled
to create
in an attempt
at excusing
my own reality?
PUDDLE AT MY FEET
Stuttering and stumbling
with words, I’m fumbling,
trying to release, converse
and spill thoughts into terms.
Ideas unexpressed
slowly fill my head and chest.
A hidden lake forming within,
rising with every drop held in.
My head shall crack one day,
as the damn gives way,
and a waterfall shall flow,
down my face and onto the floor.
Hidden expressions, waters blue,
and all the swimming I’ll never do,
is now a puddle deep,
forming rapidly at my feet.
RETURN TO OZ
Oblivious
to the realm
of maturity,
I live by the fictitious,
false, and fantastic,
where levitation
is possible
for the grown and gray,
and every age
can fly,
and at the end of their tale
all may return,
by faith or fake
or childish wisdom,
to Oz.
RIVAL THE SUN
Fueling my twinkle,
the glimmer within,
with ambition
and faith,
I’ll create a flame
to set myself
on fire.
A brilliantly
growing
glowing burn,
engulfing the world
to become
a star
that will rival the sun.
SEX AND LOVE
Explosion
Implosion
Everything
Nothing
Epiphany
Idiocy
Loving
Lusting
Taking
Giving
Hating
Needing
Finished
Started
Over
Never
SHINY AND NEW
I always did think
that I would do something wrong
to make you leave me,
but I never realized
I will be the one
who says goodbye to you.
Your love was not a gift,
only something shiny and new
to blind me
from the dark colors of my life
that painted my self-portrait.
The gold grew dull
and the love turned hateful
and the trinket was returned.
Although I have opened my eyes,
I still hope to find a jewel
that will blind me forever
from the oil based picture of myself.
SHINY COINS
Money, money, money
Into paradise you try to bribe
But shiny coins fail to buy
And death is always free
Cannot pay off
the reaper
He’ll take you rich or poor
The shiniest of coins turn dull
Six feet in the dirt.
When the ferryman reaches
To take your last shiny coin
All your worth be gone
And eternal debt remains
SLOW WISDOM
To my final moment I untimely wandered
for I could be patient no longer,
and yet I was still surprised
that, in the end, I could die;
quick release always came to others
and in misery I would live forever.
Slow with life, but swift with my death,
realizing, with one ending minute left,
the reaper takes the tortoise and the hare;
at the finish of the race, everyone arrives here.
Am I late to wonder if I am damned,
or could I be forgiven for hurried hands?
SOBRIETY
Her breath tastes like ash and booze
as the morning peeks,
it is a shame how quickly hangovers
and shadows set.
An alcohol-created night
had intoxicated me with a friend,
and I knew the high could be mine
if she would love me.
But sobriety will let her forget
the spilled emotions,
and how, eager and willing,
we drank them.
The unexpected taste,
which I will never have again,
leaves me slightly satisfied,
yet thirsty for another.
Once she wakes, tired and confused,
after dancing in a fog,
she will smile at me,
before rising to meet her husband.
SOUNDS OF BREAKING
A smack and then a crash
as promises smash
onto the rug and across the floor
into pieces that matter no more
Like the slaps and the swears
that fall on deaf ears
too busy with the hating
to know that a life is ripping
Because words are words are words
and they all sound absurd
below the anger and the lies
and the apologies and the cries
And only as everything breaks
do we understand the stakes
but the echo of the shatter
will be all that will ever matter
SPEAK
I wish I could speak the truth.
I wish I could speak at all.
Speak and speak
until the words are raw.
I need to find a voice
to stun my audience
and kill all expectations of me;
of who they think I should be.
Scream and scream
nasty things;
shock and awe for everyone.
If they expect silence,
I’ll give them noise
fueled by pressure and rage.
I will not shut up.
I will not be silent.
I will not repress at all.
I will rant and rave
and speak and speak,
even while in the grave;
death will not quiet me.
STAMPEDE
Slow the stampeding hours
Hooves of the coming day
Keep the thunder to a distance
I’m not quite ready to ride
The maddening march
Will go on without my horse
Boots and rifle by the bed
I’ll linger a little longer
Before merging with the struggle
Weary to rise and fight
I move to dress
Ready for the stampede to cease
STANDING BEFORE SEA AND SKY
Standing at the ledge
at the edge of it all,
I was a small speck
before sea
and sky.
The water was black
and congested
with the floating damned,
and the swimming souls
wanted me to dive in.
The sky was blue,
and filled with the flutter
of angels and feathers,
they asked me to fly
but gave me no wings.
Remaining even
with the horizon,
where the up and down
met and blurred,
I stood among the mesh.
STILL AS STONE
Love! Her gaze has fallen on me,
solidifying my earthly desires.
With marble flesh and a granite heart,
I am a statue in her flower garden;
a new seat for pigeons.
My face frozen in contorted bliss, I watch
dear Love wander amongst her decorations,
Caressing those favored then pulling away.
Thoughts move toward Freedom, but
are frightened of that place.
A willing prisoner to my dearest,
or a man seduced by seduction;
Either, or, I am here
and still as stone I will be.
STORMY
Furious trickle
becomes an aggressive drizzle,
as mortality empties
through my pores,
in sweat
like rain.
Steps crash,
eyes flash,
a subtle echo
and short lived light,
effecting only those beneath
or nearby.
Choices and actions swirl,
calmly or wildly,
around a moralistic middle,
a sole center,
circled by salt and water,
with an occasional drop entering the eye.
Youthful thrust
until final gust,
my wind will build and blow
and rustle a few hairs
before dispersing
into the sky.
Powerful or weakened,
a storm among storms
may go unseen,
like gray within gray,
leaving lingering effects
down a narrow and direct path of destruction.
SWEET WINE
First time I tasted blood,
thick with copper and skin,
I knew I had found
love.
When she exposed
her veins to me
I hesitated,
fearing the possible gore.
I simply nibbled,
never taking anything in,
no swallowing,
I wouldn’t break her flesh.
But then her liquids began to spill,
deeply red emotions,
which I chose to lick
and then drink.
Drunk.
Her desire filled me,
and it flowed
like sweet wine.
THE PULL
Remembering
when everything was solid
and gravity
affected me,
I watch myself float
life to dream to life to dream,
sometimes without knowing
in which I live.
If I stop questioning the pull,
will the pull resume?
Or am I matterless,
beyond physical touch?
TO BE A GOD
My world revolves around me
And no one else shall care,
Whether I live or die,
Or if I dream or ride.
I am God of my world
And no one else is.
To be a God is to kill
Everything I love,
So I can live
Live
Live
Witho
ut fear.
I am nothing, only myself
And no one else,
Whether I live or die.
I am God of myself,
Not a God myself.
No one is
Or should they be.
To be a God myself
I must die
Die
Die
Without fear.
TOO HEAVY AM I
I cannot imagine when
I’ll ever fly again
gravity holds too tight
for me to take flight
Once I soared as a child
winds were strong and wild
never wanting to come down
nothing for me on the ground
With my youth snipped
and innocence clipped
too heavy am I
for my wings to fly
WAITING FOR GOD
On a rusty bench within a woodland park,
I still wait for God.
Dressed in blue on a seat of brown;
my thoughts are wandering
throughout a poetic rhyme.
In spoken style I said out loud,
“…my faith was a rock,
a stone to throw,
my arm I cock
and into a pond its goes…”
A bright midday lights my lyrical mingling,
as I squirm patiently.
Down a paved path that parted the trees,
the forgotten daughters play.
Three sparkling spirits jump rope;
their dresses fluffed like clouds.
Every beat of the rope in perfect time
with the song they sang for me,
“It’s raining!
It’s pouring!
The young boy is snoring!
Clear his nose!
And pat his head!
So he can sleep comfy in his bed!”
A late eve breeze caught the souls,
to send them on their way.
I was left to hum.
Nearby my bench is a lifeless lake
where the wealthy fishermen hunt.
Hooks of money and hooks of blood,
yet they wonder why they fail.
On the bank I see a tired gray man
and overhear his conversation with himself,
“To me,
this can’t be
that I’m not dead
instead
of alive and well
to survive in Hell…”
The lovely dusk leaves
and so does he.
This man is unable to wait like me.
A train station sits deep within the trees;
Poetry for Regular People Volume 1 Page 2