Some poems of mine

[cancer]

Well, I'm not very active here, but I like the atmosphere so I plan on sticking around more. These forums aren't littered with a bunch of dumbasses like many I've been on. Anyhow, I've been writing since I was like 9 pretty steady. I used to mainly do short stories but I've mainly done poetry since high school. Not very prolific, my output comes in short bursts.

Here are some poems that are more recent, I hope you enjoy.

I really appreciate any kind of critique, negative or otherwise.

=================

cancer and the all things bad
clutching on the letting go
of shade and left for another's noon.

swings cascades o'er prickly ropes
the unstable granite boulders
the hollow spots--no water fills.

cancer and the all things bad
the children losing and miss
their eyeless toys to no one parent.

and the people downtown all
jump off their towering polished marbles
and suffocate in the glass of their car--weeping.

cancer and the all things bad
the phallus of an oak can break away
and in an instant kill us all.

there is no one to save us and there never has been.
there is no reverance in physicality.
there is no care.

===================

but then i turned over and lost to my own reflection,
i'd seen it a thousand times before and each time marred, filtered through
the distorted lens of self-image. what had i learned?

leaned in over the sink i studied my face;
a million whiteheads, what had i done?
and the fine hairs that cover most of our bodies,
they even come right up to my eyes..
didn't have to squint hard to see evidence of a unibrow with its
five o'clock shadow, odd.. why shave it?

and then i remembered being a kid, probably four.
on the first morning of summer my dad poked in over the threshhold at around eight a.m.
after just shaving off his winter beard.
dad? i was so frightened, should i trust him now? i couldn't tell.

1818 hilltop dr. our home out my window through the trees over mahopac lake.
it's been eleven years and now they've built in a two-car garage.
i couldn't tell where i was going, so i just thought of that woman's breasts (the
woman at the lake one time, she wore her bra instead of a bikini and it took to
water almost too well, and dad flirted with her right in front of mom and talked
about the average lifespan of parrots).

now dad's dead, he died. but, i don't care, even the great basin bristlecone pine dies.
i know of one of those trees, its name is methusala... alive over two thousand years
before jesus christ and still alive today. i don't know exactly where you'd find one,
but i hear they're hard to miss.

i feel so easy and at peace, even if only one sock is on.
it's quiet, dark for a change save for the light emitting from the computer monitor.
i've been real good lately about not taking breathing for granted,
it feels so good to breathe. whether through the nose or mouth, it's nice for now.
is there anything so underrated as my chest swelling up with each breath
i take?
i don't think so.
i don't.

i'm gonna go smoke guys.

======================

the milkman every wednesday morning.
he's a beautiful man with his
eight, half-inch-thick, perfect jars--
i see my smiling eyes in the reflective glass
and all the glorious white calcium at once.
i kiss him. i love him. i wish only to be in his presence.
for what is two dimes for all this milk?
what a generous bringer of life,
all in his bottles.

the bill collector beckons me with his
startling ringing and his frightening tone.
trained to intimidate, he threatens me.
"fuck you and your voodoo!" i wanted to yell,
but i hadn't the nerve. instead i offered,
"next time" meakly and cursed him later.
what an inconsiderate prick
with his calls at all ungodly hours.

but once the bill collector started bringing the milk
and the milkman came for his due,
i turned on one the other.

==========================


when you're a kid you ain't got no heart,
and getting old is just no fun.
when you're a kid that frolicks grown old to break,
we all grow old with pain.


i don't want to leave without the skies i now hold in my fists enclosed,
or the golden meadows unseen the same.
but it's you that i want to keep forever, it's for you that i cry.
still i grow old with pain.

=========================

death don't make you hungry

or make you cum no quicker

in the wooded fields of home.


no warmth for sparks through liver or knees;
no bowl for pasta, no cup for drinks.
ewan crawls on four legs, eats his plastic
bags of an industrious man lived short.

but if asked a question of that sort
i might have made a case for the use of a period.

======================

my eloquence is spent and i'm left with cold numbers,
the who's and why's and how's have been irrelevent for some time now.
bob dylan once said that sometimes even the president must stand naked..
i'm no president, but i sit here reluctant to the complacency of putting my clothes back on.
and i should have children? let us hope he is spared of being a person like me.

all i'm good for is fingernailing the scab on the back of my head
and letting out piss,
and no i don't want to go back to the day to day tomorrow-- even though i'm miserable
i'd rather be here than stupid.
"but" nothing, fuck my rationalizations for the morning's promise and jerk-off normalcy,
i rebuke you, me! for all my angst and existential dread i'm placid and cool-- my digits
come at the keys slowly and erratically like a predator, i'm preying for expression,
futile futile expression.

hold on while i sigh.


i'm in debt, and i've always been in debt... i can't know when i'll pay it off

butiknowthatiwill and of course that isn't a fun thought and certainly not
fun to say, especially if people are around. and that's why i don't have any friends
because i don't care about fun and i do say it... to people that i don't even know.
eh, forget it.

==================


Anyway, that's probably too much to bother with, but.. I do have quite a bit more if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoyed. I know I'm not a big poster or contributer around here so I hope posting this isn't a problem.

 

[cancer]

post-birth abortionist (id freaks)


my taste buds send for bitter--
i think i'll not let the music lull me,
i think i'll pace about some more.

i'm such a digusting bitter man.
fuck you.i'll kill them all.

"her uteras is emty" said god.who then
draws low his body and high his brow and
conspicuously inconspicuously inquires in
an annoying inflection-- "you need me
to fill 'er up for y'eans?"

the droll of the sinister washer-dryer and my brooding phallanges.
yes, it's very dark here.
drugs.
exacto knives abound.
hmm i'm the devili'mthedevili'mthedevil. huhuahaha.>?

the burning buddha burns out cold
and it is i that must sweep his chalky remains up in a dust collector
and throw them away. and for what? is my energy so cheap that
i should be inconvenienced by a monk?



waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahyuh! i tell you what
you gonna do girl! bahhhhh bahhhh bahhhhhhh you
gonna buy that rope! buy buy that rope, baby!
yeeeeeaaahh from that ol' fuckin hardware store across the street!
and you gonna fuckin hang yourselfYEAH YEAH YEAH YEAAAAHHH!
YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAAAAHHH! WOO HOO WOO HOO!
WOO WOO HOOHOOWOO!
yeah baby, yeah yeah baby you gonna fuckin KILL YOURSELF!and you goin straight to fuckin hell!
waaah!waaah!waah! like a little baby bitch!youcry


"you know, i just love sparking up random conversation with geriatrics. it's just uuuh, my thing I guess.
i guess it's because too they've been there a'back'n'again you could say. 'cause you got these precious
folks right that have seen it all right, you know. they voted for herbert hoover. the nuclear family types.they've seen so many people die and are about to die themselves most likely. i mean, they can't even walkor wash themselves. they have no hair or real teeth. what do you talk about with people like that, youmight ask.. i say anything, it's not hard to pin them. 90% of the time the concept of wisdom holdsno water, they're just as dumb as they were when they were my age. but sometimes, you've got a cool old person. i'll just suck the knowledge out of these goodiesbutoldies. hell, they're about to go anyhow.
you know, most regular folks are made to feel uneasy around geriatrics, but not me. i'm like a duck.
but most people are and it's not their fault. those alzheimers despise a normal person's youth and
pray to the devil about us. hence another good reason to befriend them, no hex mostly."




no, you can trust me.
i'm starting to feel like myself again.
my blood pressure has eased up a bit
and i'm not as red as i was. breathing also is easier.

hmmm.. you knew it was gonna be alright the whole time, didn't you?


===============================


Taxed again and headed home
for an Autumn skyline
drawn by trees and other things.

'Spirit-marks' highlight the Summer highlife,
heads on a dock preaching, somber,
sewn like threads into this evening, bare.

We must always remember how this space felt
between us all.

The skies above show yellow spilling out
behind the random branches
to fall leaves which mark our citizen efforts.

=====================


it came as a gift
a childhood ago,
this symbol i hadn't
seen in years.
i'd nearly forgotten.
but its foil familiar,
this cell came back
to remind.
cadbury creme egg,
you've been missing
so long.
your green, your blue,
your red evoke something
i now cannot know.
cadbury creme egg.

==================

her breasts were huge and swollen
her nipples pink and horny
a pin-up climbing the pool ladder to freedom.
she explained to us then
in the most feminine german:
the men i worked with were kind
they smiled and offered me cigarettes.
(those cigarettes tasted awfully funny
but how they did relax me
on those dog days of summer).

"fischen is for boy
kochen is for woman!"
and he screamed from his pulpit
the bible in german
with his signs
with his pointing at the pews
with his unacknowledged fury
and impotence.

"fischen is for boy!
kochen! for woman!"
the cerbral palsy girl
was the executioner's example of "kochen"
he held the sign against her twisted red body--

and look
she's fashioned her friend doll
in a similar palsy-manner.

"fischen is for boy!
recht minderwertig is girl!"
the german bible suddenly becomes
a lot more violent
there's blood even.

outside the pin-up girl
with the huge and swollen breasts
with the nipples pink and horny
is free.
she can't seem to shake stupid
retreating into the german cathedral
looking for a rapist
to understand her
through reading of her huge and swollen breasts
pink and horny nipples
and english subtitles.

===================

lunges out of portises and high rise buildings
looking for a way out.
lunges out of backseat dwellings cold without moisture
settled into the microscopic crevices of the many rusty vestiges
of cars whose owners ran away
looking for an exit.

though the plains are dry and yellow
its nights are blue and ringing
and steal minds far greater than mine.

a family of rodents inhabit
an abondoned car
cold and rough from rust
a shell of its year on the road when it drove the country
on nothing more than gas and cheap cigarettes.
the '87 buick was destined to live
to die and then rot.
and then the sun cracks the already faded
paint and leaves it real thirsty-like.
o of the year when i traversed this yellow day terrain
with my poor passed auto
and hummed and rumbled and flattened rodents and rocks
and SAW THE FUTURE!
o of that day when i saw the future
and was so wrong, so wrong.

--but i am better off than the rodents, right?




There coasts an auto.
And there are paved streets
through dusty desert plains,
flashes of poor oil
garages willing to oblige,
a constant orange sun
perfect from so far--
settling down to cool my eyes.

It's been a long way.

==================

i'm a gloomy air balloon
filled with an anti-matter cool wind.
i'm floating
over miles of fire.

========================


the other short lives which with mine are tied
do not exist in my own world.

not unlike you---
unknown and breathing
with a long yawn which does not cease
even for dreams.
you are carted through the dungeons of my day
within time which does not belong to you.
my reminders account no effect
and you're courted smiling with the most terrible breath.
you've founded in you someone else.
you dismiss the travel.
you dismiss its breakdowns and startups.
you dismiss everything.
me and you.
death and heaven.

life is much too long
and nothing exists outside of your own world.

===================



a country
a town
a cafe
a nook
a table and two chairs
stares at one sits in the other

gray
the room breathes
entraps him with not more sound
than a relentless dark droning
the train is coming for him,
his health,
his death

shaking!
screaming!
disorient!
in a fit his newsboy cap flies away with his sanity
as he gasps and his age-addled fingers tear skin for heart
collapse!
no longer do they eat, no
now they're in a moment
no longer animals but spectators

CRUNCH
CRUNCH
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUTCH
and now friend lion out for the first bite of the day
HE is animal
WE are spectator
HE is animal

death ensues
all for pharmocology
who'd a thunk?


my eyes scan the paper
for worthy consumption
same ol same ol
when is something going to grip me?
when will MY crazy old man who i love to the depths
fall victim to my lion?
woe is me, woe is me
another one for the recycling binaintitashame

==================

I know no one asked, but there's some older stuff I wrote. Figure maybe someone will like those.

 

[deadstar711]

I enjoyed them, thanks for sharing.

 

[KeisaCheeba]

beautiful

 

[cancer]

Thanks guys. I saw how many page views versus replies and thought no one liked them.

=============

What is a tiny black ant on sea sand?
The white crest of the tide drew back leaving behind a tiny black ant.
A tiny black ant? Out here? So close to the mouths of red clay pillars,
sea gulls, sand?

The sun cracked her shell like a snare, guts fizzing like burning polyethylene.
She'd take all the shortcuts she could but she can't, she's stuck
a tiny dead ant on sea sand.


======================


today is a simple day.
it is going on without you.
once you knew,
but now it is as if
it never happened--
i empathize quite well.
my friend, i would say,
i love you!
but not because i would mean it,
i do not love any person.

chopin, heroic now
chopin. you are
not special.
but i love what you've
done with the place.
it is genius.
but not for you.
not for your music.


i look into a soldier's eyes,
i once knew of him
and i guess i still sort of do.
but now his eyes are different.
i see in his eyes an obsession,
and an obliviousness to
all in which he is not involved.
he cannot understand.
that's okay.
there are outcomes,
we know now.

my father struggles,
as i do.
he can't get the brain to
accept.
just as the natives
to the ships,
he cannot see death.

====================



there he goes
taking shots
and brushing against you
and all your infinite wisdom.
we're told you know so much
about us
but where were you in '87?
where were you when skies were born
of their impregnable pigeons (landing whereever they pleased)?

there he goes
taking shots
and brushing against you
and all your infinite wisdom.
he loved you, baby
and you ripped him apart.
you let him see that we're just animals
and he could be happy without you.

idle trees with weak leaves,
giving up is always hard
until just after.
and that car you had sitting there,
in yonkers with italians and no philosophy...
the sun shined brightly then,
set stronger than the clouds.
but you, baby,
not making any sense at all
just keeping to yourself
hung about your dentures.

there he goes
he's dying old
and telling fables.
he's living a lie,
though still he'll see heaven
and he'll see it very soon--
it's in the sun, he's fucked
with all his infinite wisdom.


=====================


i'm gonna be in big trouble
some day.
i'm gonna be in big trouble
some day soon.
i can feel it in my chest,
i'm fucked.

i look down at my keyboard
and let out a sigh
at once contemplative and meloncholic.
i hear her blowing her nose around the corner
and when she stops i can hear the
tv again.
and my heart beating.
and my thoughts again escape paralyzation
from knowledge of death.

a light is switched off
and my eyes grow.

i'm a living drunk.


my walk through the day
on the dark and thicklky laid pavement
of a lower-class section
was full of life.
there were dogs on piles of trash
muzzled and chained to the bottom
of hollow trailers
barking. literally
trying with all the energy they had
to come loose of the chains
and get to me
enjoying bird music
though squinty eyed
and sad when thoughtful.
i once came upon a dead squirell
on one of these thoughtful walks
and i stared at it then.
i thought,
one of me is gone.


================


back when cars used gasoline
and you had that camarillo brillo
when death stirred restless only in
the most obscure lumps of man-brain
(and form-- what form?).
i was there too
but i didn't much like it--
those years of buddy-cops wearing suspenders
in brand new color tvs with shiny guns
in your apartment every week--
so i'm here write now.
and i can't stand anything anymore
really the timing is off.
find a faster way to stop work
and smoke bongs and listen to
frank zappa and say the word "shit" with friends.
i can't imagine what anything means
but i'm sure it doesn't matter anyway.
so time spent with the girl
is time spent best
even better when she's in there
and i get to write and still think about her--
here she's come up.
i enjoy things more when i think about them.
existence is a disappointment
retrospect is best.
i'm in a lost time capsule
enjoying what i piss in.
i deliver pizzas in 1970s america
listening to "camarillo brillo"
from frank zappa in my ultra shitty motor-car
and i get paid $2.10 an hour
but i don't
and it isn't 1970s america.
that doesn't exist anymore.
i live at a time in a place
they've called it
they've called me
they've called you.

the brass section wails
and the piano is saying
whatever hands tell it to
and he's speaking in terms
that i don't understand
that i've never even heard.
but dammit, it sounds like
i will die in yonkers afterall!


====================


She drags my bones all through the night
across a field of grain.
And though I've heard she speaks of love,
I float afar another plane.

Nocturne of hers
so drought and dark,
as dark as whim can be.
I see for her,
the contrast stark,
her warm naivete.

And though I know of futile things
I burn a hole into the night.
And though the motion reads with wings
this plane for now is lonely.


=========================



A line of red forbearing fruits
cries, green jungles shake their roots
Men eyes hath filled a film less felt
fills flies abhor this soldier's clot
Change consumes, the striders high
life burrows, wilts, and surely melts
Sandy tide thus bulrush petals
Fall the Marches, Call to April!


==================

Bad vibes--anxiety,
on top of the city,
the city's on top of me.
Good vibes, I'm only lying--
I hate the world,
the world hates me.

Vibrations felt,
the remnants of a man: his soul--
high flyin' over the city now.
Such a ghost, so white--
transient 'lectronics.
I'm gonna buy and
I'm gonna win and that's
just what I said to Her Majesty
Jesus.

Cold nuts--labotomy,
I'm not sure what that means
but it's inside of me.
Can't die unless you've lived--
so I'll scare my children
until they love me
or at least fear me.


============


he lurks there
in the corner there
hiding his lights
from grown-ups
feeling obscene
in the dark
with his penis on.

he dreams there
in the bathtub there
feeding soap to
his pores awake
eyes burning clean
then in bed
tired monster's scribe.

he says nothing
he never does
unless spoken to.
but in there
in his room at day
He
is king.


=================


I pick the atoms of a space rock apart
from my old rockingship chair
and share my books with a space creature
whom I met on the darkside of a black hole
and watch his mind wither away before me
like a terrified infant crawling back and deeper
inside bumping into corners of the universe
which don't exist except inside a Mother's Love.
Singing about the red giant that ate his father
for death.

And now my legs are done
and my brains are mush like astronaut food.
Boy, I sure got a lot to do back home.



===================



we deep thirsty ones
digging holes to find water
while it rains on our backs
we exhaust and succumb
with cracked and bloody throats
and die and rot into the jungle floor


==================


i cannot do except to define the plots of your music,
to absorb it for my own thought.
i cannot think without the voice of
television running in the foreground, distracting me
from what i really feel.
i cannot turn off except to sleep
and even then this plane is lost to myself.

i cannot help wanting to be undone,
to not exist and to not be a part
and i cannot be anything but afraid to die.
i watch my commercials and i order my pizza,
i get my delivery and eat
and everything is fine.


================


i know love for your golden floors---
floors of wheat, two feet standing,
hold close our grain
and harbor magnificent bugs (gleaming
with the sun-- the Star of No God)---
all living things.

meadow,

i know
your earth,​

though its contents evolve and grow hair in the night.

and see now how we're served with night?​

[SIZE=-1] and so i fear the darkness
though i curiously close in on you---
your gravity is a force no matter the time of day.[/SIZE]

o gayest meadow that i've known, when
shall we part?
at one or the other's destruction or perhaps long before?
might i chance another meadow (or perhaps a brief and lucid garden)
as once
you were chanced?

shall we conquer death?


====================

a dragon lives in the brain.

and i live in the disorient that it brings
all red and smiling with great white teeth
and celebratory between the ears.

my thoughts aspire
from confetti adorned canals
and fire from islands
long rejected from the brain i am today.

====================


That's all I care to share really. I figured I'd press my luck with a few more.