Poetry

Works of verse

Furry Curtains

I thought of telling you tonight

of the secrets I hold, or the barriers you bring upon me

forcing my eyes to be sealed grimly

in spite of your beautiful face,

held up solemnly to the bright light.

Too bad baby, your water is near gone

and it’s drought season this November.

 

And “Daddy she’s making me cry.

Daddy, she’s hurting me again.

The blue and dirty lady,

she came from underneath the bed.”

“Hush sweetheart, it’s only a bad dream.”

“But Daddy, the furry curtains are scaring me…”

 

Under the bed, baby, is where I’d love to be.

Just the two of us, clinging to satin sheets once more

as the night light slowly fades away

leaving us with nothing to hold

except each other.

 

And I’ll be all you need,

I’ll tell you all the bedtime stories you never heard before,

because Daddy was too drunk to do it.

And besides,

he always skipped the best parts.

 

You remind me of a river in a storybook I got

for my 12th birthday

from a sweet, but absent-minded auntie of mine

who wore her shirts inside out,

and forgot to put her teeth back in

after making love to the fishes.

 

And I’ll take you far away,

to the places we dreamed of going

everywhere you always said you’d rather be.

Anywhere but here…

 

She said bedtime was half an hour ago,

but I’m just not tired yet.

Scare me one more time,

I want the furry curtains back.

Practically a Joke

We huddled anxiously; five flashlights

switched off to let our eyes adjust,

all systems Go after a week of planning.

We pushed from our canvas

platform tent into the scattered moonlight,

crept to Ricky’s tent, carefully

lifted the stiff fabric door flaps—

he was asleep. Counting on fingers:

1, 2, …3, we lifted his cot and carried him,

cleverly, into the woods on a path

we’d cleared and marked. A hundred feet,

holding back laughter. We snuck away; he

snored. We flocked around the picnic table.

Leigh, usually quiet behind his thick Welsh accent,

cackled, and we busted up. Seth hopped

on the table and ripped off his shirt,

dancing around, reminding someone

of the one-armed stripper joke.

 

Then we heard twigs snap,

whispered shut up.

Ricky emerged from the trees,

feet bare, hair awry—

our laughter erupting. Then,

his look of confusion

magnified by his voice:

Guys, I woke up and

I was like, ‘Where

the fuck am I?’

and we howled.

 

The words aren’t that funny, anymore—

too many times I’ve

fallen asleep, been carried

into the woods,

slept there so long

that when I finally wake

up, I think nothing different.

 

Finally, Matt, the dumbass,

booted a tin fire bucket like

a soccer ball, sent it clanging

over rocks and roots,

and a flashlight beam darted

out from Ricky’s father’s tent.

Christmas

I sigh and lift the covers

over my head

the rain pours down outside it stopped

then I wonder to my amazement my surprise

I see a familiar face standing in the doorway

grinning I rise and shine and sort through my underwear

Misplaced underwear perfumed socks and so much yes

much more I can hardly wait to open your present from

last year’s Christmas

Echoes of Forgotten Song

Bitter silent release washes over the land

bitter silent release grabs you by your hand

 

Alone by yourself, not alone with yourself

listen to your thoughts and converse with yourself

 

And speak the distant ocean, and think the river long

Question the ancient forests and listen to their song

 

You are one with the natural beauty, distant from us all

Play with fairie spirits, when they respond to your call

 

No human interruption to distract your earthen mother

no human misconceptions to make you stray to any other

 

Silver trees and pale seas, no questions and no lies

silver trees and pale seas are but a reflection of your eyes

 

Kindred spirit and mountain king, travel far to hear you sing

Song and tale of mystic knight, using stars as guides through the night

 

Speak the distant ocean, think the river long

Question the ancient forests, then write your own song

Unheard

Ouch

 

There’s something pulling at the inside of my chest…

 

It’s almost as if—my soul wants out… to show itself

…escape this carnal cage—

and all it can do is expand in my center

…causing all this mortal hurt;

a pang in my chest, a beating at the fore of my brain…

 

I wonder how far my soul would spread

If it were unlocked…

…unleashed…

…unwrapped from all this flab and phlegm

…let to shed this mortal shell…

 

I wonder what color emotion would be…

I wonder how loud it would sound…

 

Ear piercing, I’m sure.

Lovestruck and Unworried

oh to be lovestruck and unworried

if the sky is falling

but my feet are numb now

so the water

creeping over my ankles

laughs without peril

I enjoy having my feet wet

and then some

 

the perils of trying to be multidimensional

only arise

when the paper people break their bonds

and shrug into reality

like the way your shoulders look like

a tilting coathanger when you sit in front of me

and I know you have no depth within

those collarbones and

back muscles that flex beneath cotton

anything not filled with holywater

holywords and trivia

is ignored and spiderwebby from lack of use

 

I know it’s too much to ask you

to understand

but the unspoken promises between the three of us

vibrate just beneath the skin

and the trembling of my fingers soothes

the aching of shoulders that should carry wings

instead of bookbags

and your words penetrate my ears over any tiny din

although the voice is little but a whisper

 

“when I look around I think this

this is good enough

and I try to laugh at whatever life brings

’cause if I look down I just miss all the good stuff

and if I look up I just trip over things”

 

but oh to be lovestruck and unworried

if the sky is falling

Back for One More Taste

Back for one more taste

of her sweetness.

Lying in the bath tub again.

Honey, can I get you some more wine

a little something to go with your love

or are you saving that for later

dessert just for me

between your waiting thighs?

 

“Again” and she comes back

Shows me all the things she’s been saving for “the one”

The one she wants to live forever next to

Maybe…

Does that mean I’m the one?

 

And she comes to me again

through the walls

this time it’s through the blood

Through the love we share and then she’s gone

gone and it was just another dream

another shitty fantasy the toaster wakes me up for

so I can roast marshmallows on my hunger

Shallow pools of saliva left in the sink

from her midnight snack

Happened to be feasting on me

It’s two o’clock in the morning

just dying to have you back baby

 

Break my windows

Do what you have to do

So afraid of losing you

What happens after love?

Do we just move on

pretending we never loved anyone?

What’s it to you, beautiful

Who needs your ways,

who needs your promises

All right I know

I do

 

And she comes on hard to me

Rips my clothes,

shreds my innocence

Wondering what it is she wants

and prepared to give it all to her

Just love me?

It’s all I ask

But that’s too simple for her

Her love is all sticks and stones,

she’s already broken every bone,

and she’s trying to scare me away

Touching me in all the right places

But baby I want you more every time our skin meets

You’re somewhere between heaven and earth

and I don’t ever want to leave

Even Public Transport Arrives Eventually

We’re all waiting

For the right one

To come along

Make everything better.

Waiting to share food

With a real life human

Not a television version

Who smiles without us.

Waiting for the voice

To articulate our hearts

And lift us

Right when we need it.

Waiting for a hand to hold

Down a street

Through fear

In ecstasy.

We can’t help waiting

It’s called being human

It all comes down to

What we do in the meantime.

Will You?

Will you

be there for me?

when I’m broken

when I’m lost

will you always

be there

for me?

 

Still a little child

in this world

in this world

I’m still a little child

without a clue

I’ll even trust you

 

take my hand and lead me away

from safety

lead me to you

rape my mind

steal my soul

take it all

it’s waiting for you

Paper Demons

It was her bedroom:

we all stayed over

and were young.

 

I remember seeing my face

contorted in the mirror,

freckled with shy lips.

 

My friends

busied themselves about me,

studying the imperfections of beautiful women

who were sung girls.

 

They pushed their hair

and lips every which way

at my sides,

busying themselves

with reassurance

while I—undaunted,

but not inordinately beautiful—stood silently

and thought them lovely.