poetry: selections from last hand-in
October 20th, 2009
cheerfulOctober 21st, 2007
some poetry
A Pink Lady
blushing sweetness
The red of the Apple
curls and fizzles like Witch Hazel
when exposed to our breath.
Syncopation
Hurt us
now
and in the hour of our death
we are immortal
in the pause
burn in it.
A Sensation that is
not.
Pleasure not
Beautiful not
Yours to own.
To beat
again and against
the beat.
The Heart Has Teeth
Chew.
Chew.
Chew.
Sigh and Stretch.
Feel the Give.
Relish the Pull.
Purr at the Thump Thump
through your cage.
Simper and Scream.
Tread the Clench.
Flick the Meter.
Pine for the Red River
through your cage.
Sing and Shiver.
Caress the Fear.
Climb the Pain.
Chew yourself Free.
I Do Not Hope To Turn
Wonder Which Way
we must turn our faces to the light
ignore the dark
screaming
we mustn't listen
we mustn't listen
The Light Comes.
And Fades.
fight with the beasts
calling
names and nonsense
ribs burning in the noon light
cats yawn their prey
screaming
did we listen
did we listen
The Dark Comes.
And Fades.
I cannot hope to turn my face
to the light
to the dark
to you
Then.
And Now.
Red Pill
a candy red pill sticks like toffee to the tongue.
a strong blood reflex pulls like gravity to the core.
a dizzy pink mood fills like spun sugar to the mind.
am i a candy red face with toffee eyes and sugar thoughts?
am i a bloody dizzy mood with strong tongue and spurn'd gravity?
am
To My Desdemona
Sweet promises on your lips while your tongue pleads
to another dark god with more prestige:
Beelzebub, Lucifer, Shiva;
Ignore the ones that fell long before,
the ones born in sulphurous heat
before sweet cherubs grew tired of a complacent father.
Retreat from my gnarled grasp
gasping in the dark
forget the sharp beauty of thorns for the soft face of a rose
And know this, little lover,
that fallen does not mean forgotten
that dark does not prove the light
that promises were meant to be kept
-He whispered, the gasp cut short.
September 30th, 2007
sonnet 147
My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.