When did the days become so long, when did we get lost in this song?
The repetitive song of day rolling into night rolling into day constantly
rolling away from me. The hyperactive struggle of the world against my intentions against my lethargy against a lazy generation stuck in front of the television paralyzed and unable to move. When did the words of a writer stop mattering, When did the words of a writer stop writing? They jumble and float but never become just lay and mold and rot away, never accomplishing.
When?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Lunchbox
(A tribute to Wm. Carlos Williams "This is Just to Say")
I knew I would
wake up and
the bed would still
be warm
So,
While you eat
your peanut butter
And strawberry jelly
sandwich; slices of
multigrain bread
layered with chunky,
salty peanut spread,
The place
where your head
Laid on my pillow
is waiting
To be filled again.
(enjoy your sandwich.)
I knew I would
wake up and
the bed would still
be warm
So,
While you eat
your peanut butter
And strawberry jelly
sandwich; slices of
multigrain bread
layered with chunky,
salty peanut spread,
The place
where your head
Laid on my pillow
is waiting
To be filled again.
(enjoy your sandwich.)
Syllables of Reconnection
Pursed lips hold back the sounds
Syllables, consonants, vowels
Trying to vocalize what feeling
Is:
Heartbeats faster and faster
Skin silky
hands touching
arms, back, face.
Eyes closed
Lips form the first idea
“wel”
too much to see you
for the first time in
too long
remembering the this and that of you
back of tongue strikes roof
mouth
“welc”
tears gather, fall
Eyes and lips close
together
“Mmmmm”
Feet barely touching the ground any longer.
“Welcome”
here again…back.
I won’t let go, you are safe with me.
“Home.”
Syllables, consonants, vowels
Trying to vocalize what feeling
Is:
Heartbeats faster and faster
Skin silky
hands touching
arms, back, face.
Eyes closed
Lips form the first idea
“wel”
too much to see you
for the first time in
too long
remembering the this and that of you
back of tongue strikes roof
mouth
“welc”
tears gather, fall
Eyes and lips close
together
“Mmmmm”
Feet barely touching the ground any longer.
“Welcome”
here again…back.
I won’t let go, you are safe with me.
“Home.”
Morning, Revisited.
Big, bright
eyes
peer over whitewashed
windowsills;
Tiny hands reaching out for
The first
(orange, peach, pink) rays of dawn.
The earliest recognition that each day starts
A beginning.
(You are
Refreshing;
Our heart to hearts lying
Head to head
Drinking rootbeer;
To see you truly
smile;)
Explosions of color
fill the once darkened sky
And for the first time
I can see it clearly.
Falling in love (with you) is seeing sunrise.
eyes
peer over whitewashed
windowsills;
Tiny hands reaching out for
The first
(orange, peach, pink) rays of dawn.
The earliest recognition that each day starts
A beginning.
(You are
Refreshing;
Our heart to hearts lying
Head to head
Drinking rootbeer;
To see you truly
smile;)
Explosions of color
fill the once darkened sky
And for the first time
I can see it clearly.
Falling in love (with you) is seeing sunrise.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Items Previously Posted...
Just for the heck of it, i'm transferring the 4 pieces I put on Livejournal into this post.
Seamstress
Pinpricked fingers stain cotton fabric, she sits hunched over
the humming, glowing white singer
in the dim light of a bedroom at 2am.
Low jazz rhythms play form the radio and she
taps one foot
while the other patiently pedals on.
Piece by piece she stitches
through another quilt
or costume for another grandchild.
Eyes not so sharp as she tries to thread
the needle, she continues forward, molasses candy hidden in her cheek
and the wind sifting through the window
cools the small clusters of sweat curled
on her temples.
At The Hop
Echoing off of the buildings, lights turn green.
Doors open to sidewalks permeating the atmosphere
With the beat poets the rock bands the wannabe superstars
The smell of beer, of sweat, of strong roasted espresso
From corner to corner there are people
Selling their image hocking their flyers
Saxophones steel drums laughter cursing
Neon lights infiltrate the eyes of the young
Hopeful with his art hanging on the side of his car
The cart of multicolored blown glass and Free Tibet
T-shirts are strong competition, maybe he’ll move next week
To where the coffee cart is, better business there.
The pushing of body against body through a crowd
In the middle of the city sidewalk to sidewalk wall
To wall of filled with people all wanting attention
All looking for the next best thing
as late into the night the music fades, the motion halts
to streetlights, trash covered streets and revving engines.
Ballpark
200 miles to Detroit
for ballpark hot dogs
salty pretzels and overpriced
pale yellow beer that tastes
like spring water
in the afternoon heat.
Get there hours before the
first pitch to watch batting practice and
you caught a ball;
We spend the spare time riding the
baseball shaped merry-go-round.
Pushing our way through the people
there are parents and children running around;
it’s little league discount night. The four year old boy
in back of us keeps explaining to me what
RBI and WHIP mean…I can’t stop blushing
and you can’t stop laughing.
Our seats give us the perfect view of the line from
third base to home. Runs from
Polanco, Rodriguez, White, your face cringes
each time they beat past Alfonzo and make
the stride. Pushing your bottom lip to your chin,
in deep concentration, willing just one more hit for
our boys in uniform.
It’s the top of the 7th and it’s been
4 runless innings for the Giants.
As always, I’m much harder on
Linden when he gets caught trying
to steal bases, again. The crowd cheers
for the home team at the end of our lost game.
200 miles home
to Columbus
singing to mixed tapes,
laughing at street names,
Black night like
a blanket,
Your smile in the driver’s seat.
Voyeur
I.
Shiny scarlet skin slippery
with condensation
invites the first bite
pearl white teeth
slice sharply through
the supple skin
crunch into the solid crisp
sweetness.
II.
Beautiful bittersweet browness
melts until it’s malleable
builds up on the
pale pink tongue
breaking bluntly
but bravely bleeding
down the palate until
it disappears.
III.
Chunky chippy wonder
crumbles when the delicate
cascades of milky white
corrode its concrete form
mushing in the mouth
caught carefully in the cheek
one last contemplative chew
before it’s finished.
Seamstress
Pinpricked fingers stain cotton fabric, she sits hunched over
the humming, glowing white singer
in the dim light of a bedroom at 2am.
Low jazz rhythms play form the radio and she
taps one foot
while the other patiently pedals on.
Piece by piece she stitches
through another quilt
or costume for another grandchild.
Eyes not so sharp as she tries to thread
the needle, she continues forward, molasses candy hidden in her cheek
and the wind sifting through the window
cools the small clusters of sweat curled
on her temples.
At The Hop
Echoing off of the buildings, lights turn green.
Doors open to sidewalks permeating the atmosphere
With the beat poets the rock bands the wannabe superstars
The smell of beer, of sweat, of strong roasted espresso
From corner to corner there are people
Selling their image hocking their flyers
Saxophones steel drums laughter cursing
Neon lights infiltrate the eyes of the young
Hopeful with his art hanging on the side of his car
The cart of multicolored blown glass and Free Tibet
T-shirts are strong competition, maybe he’ll move next week
To where the coffee cart is, better business there.
The pushing of body against body through a crowd
In the middle of the city sidewalk to sidewalk wall
To wall of filled with people all wanting attention
All looking for the next best thing
as late into the night the music fades, the motion halts
to streetlights, trash covered streets and revving engines.
Ballpark
200 miles to Detroit
for ballpark hot dogs
salty pretzels and overpriced
pale yellow beer that tastes
like spring water
in the afternoon heat.
Get there hours before the
first pitch to watch batting practice and
you caught a ball;
We spend the spare time riding the
baseball shaped merry-go-round.
Pushing our way through the people
there are parents and children running around;
it’s little league discount night. The four year old boy
in back of us keeps explaining to me what
RBI and WHIP mean…I can’t stop blushing
and you can’t stop laughing.
Our seats give us the perfect view of the line from
third base to home. Runs from
Polanco, Rodriguez, White, your face cringes
each time they beat past Alfonzo and make
the stride. Pushing your bottom lip to your chin,
in deep concentration, willing just one more hit for
our boys in uniform.
It’s the top of the 7th and it’s been
4 runless innings for the Giants.
As always, I’m much harder on
Linden when he gets caught trying
to steal bases, again. The crowd cheers
for the home team at the end of our lost game.
200 miles home
to Columbus
singing to mixed tapes,
laughing at street names,
Black night like
a blanket,
Your smile in the driver’s seat.
Voyeur
I.
Shiny scarlet skin slippery
with condensation
invites the first bite
pearl white teeth
slice sharply through
the supple skin
crunch into the solid crisp
sweetness.
II.
Beautiful bittersweet browness
melts until it’s malleable
builds up on the
pale pink tongue
breaking bluntly
but bravely bleeding
down the palate until
it disappears.
III.
Chunky chippy wonder
crumbles when the delicate
cascades of milky white
corrode its concrete form
mushing in the mouth
caught carefully in the cheek
one last contemplative chew
before it’s finished.
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