catching up on my backlog

So. Here I am catching up on my backlog of poetry I wrote last week/weekend.

This first one was from an exercise where we had to use the first and last lines from other people at random.
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The cancer of corruption oozed through the city's orifices-

The growth was not as strange
As what caused it;
Flowing through the natural
Impulses in us all
The body is sick
The cells revolt;
Organism subject to
Individual will.

The body kept alive by electrical pulses
In Dr. Zhivago's Fabulous, Wonderful
Museum of Things Magnificent and Strange:
A beautiful woman, neck slightly distended
Hanging, by guy wires gently suspended,
The puppeteer's art is here magnified;
The lady in white seems almost alive.
A turning assemblage of cogs and flywheels
Gives her the semblage of thoughts and feelings.
A bladder of air in her throat
Makes her seem to breathe and choke-
For in this pale-eyed fantasy
The corpse is paraded about in a play.

To set the stage, the voltage is
Applied to our delicate subject.
Our audience confused to cause and effect:
Our lady seems to react and move.

At that moment, as a discreet signal, the back door swung open and Desdemona received her second shock.

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innocent love

In the shower this morning I had some difficulty
Thinking of you that way, for the first time;
I tried but you seemed to slip away;
I tried but I couldn't put you in that frame.
You're a watercolor to me now,
When I see you, when I talk to you,
A distant lifeline on the phone.
Last night we were close enough to touch,
I only thought to hold you, keep you safe -
My thoughts of you are innocent, awkward,
Like a kid. I can't imagine
What to do.

get it off the front page

So now I need to post some more poetry to get some of my worse stuff off the front page. Although I'm not too proud of this either.

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I slept a while, and dreamed
Of all the girls that rejected me
And in a while they showed the same
Face; or looked at me the same way,
The face was your face, of course.
And knowing meant nothing to me;
And tears would have said nothing,
Truth was useless and already on the table,
Words choked me in any case,
Words were too large for my mouth,
I couldn't work my way around them;
You looked away politely. Thank you.

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speculation

You think I go outside to satisfy my secret need;
In fact, I'm bored. It's this or read.
Tonight I'm in a walking mood;
I'll scan faces, store fronts, cars, listen to conversations,
Anything that's rude.
Anything that intrudes on others, if my gaze intrudes,
If my speculation bothers them
It's the only consolation to me now
To think I have that secret knowledge about my fellows,
About you for example, while I went out. What did you do?

Too damn tired

I seriously have pages and pages of poetry I need to get up here. And I'm putting it off because as usual, some are personal. And some need more work. But anyway, I have a good excuse now because it's late and I have work tomorrow, of course.

But let's have some quotes first:
"I have an issue with treating people like machines. Because I've seen 'The Terminator'" (John Higgins)
"You have to shake it first, 'honey bunny'" (Melissa Carraway; imagine this said in a sarcastic voice)
"Doing nine to five in the crazy clown jail" (Mike Monroe; but Steve suggested this is an old saying of some kind)

OK, so here's song lyrics again. To give me the illusion of having accomplished something. Although I know I'll never get this into a decent melody anytime soon.

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Chorus:
Nothing to do, to look forward to,
Whistling a tune, a lonely tune,
Go out to shows, drinking all night,
Numbing my mind till I feel alright, all right
Verse 1
Get up early walk the dog and go to work
Somewhere deep in the belly's where it hurts
Somewhere behind my head it hovers
Over my shoulder, passing back and forth
(chorus)
Verse 2
Sitting at work, not at work
Focus so tight, so tight it hurts
Clench my teeth, bite down on the pain
Inside, don't let it out, see it again
(chorus)
(bridge)
Verse 3
Home again I'm drinking, hold the nothing
In, get dizzy pacing, looking in corners
Go around, around, around, not satisfied
By what I said, you said, I lied, you lied
(chorus)

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Hey actually I'm going to hide a poem down here where no one will see it.

White Pines
Your life is the white pines of your development, careful cultivation,
And when I'm on your porch I watch the turning star with its many faces -
Happy homemaker, your ramekin fell from a high shelf today; broke in three pieces,
I picked them up and took them home with me.

some quick poems

I had a couple ideas about one-act plays I might want to write. But I'm letting them simmer for now.

We had a new exercise this Sunday; write on a random subject for 5 min. only. So I ended up with a lot of crummy poems. My apologies if these repeat existing themes, so on.

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"the radius of movement"

turning my cup a degree towards you,
I seek to precisely define
the arc of our relationship;
To measure the feeling
In our eyes with calipers and compass,
Tracking our paths,
Forces balanced in separate equilibria,
Rolling in our planes, we dance.

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"his direct contribution"

I could attempt to calculate
His direct contribution
to my dissolution;
His assistance in my depression
Or resistance, resilience
In the face of circumstance.
In some celestial arcology
On a delicate abacus
The beads slide appropriately
As I affect him, he affects me
And in the mind of Judgement
Our precise relationship
Is understood to nth degree;
We cannot choose friends, only enemies.

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"tumble washed for exceptional softness"

Tumble washed for exceptional
Softness, steel toed, pre-stained,
Broken in boots, made of
Flexible plastic, breakaway
Glass, blue-jean fabric,
Essential technology for the
Modern age; Hardened circuitry;
Environmentally sensitive
Reused, refurbished, ready to wear;
Purchases guaranteed for nearly a year.

A few things I noticed about this party

Broken glass in the sink = party foul.
We know who you are. One of these days, there will be broken glass in your sink. Count on it.

Hard to relax when you're worried about people having fun.
How does Ron do it? I'll never know.

Argh!
This is heartfelt. But I really have to keep it to myself.
--
Actually, in retrospect, 'Argh' is too much. Some people are just like that. You know? You have to expect it of them. Just relax.

a non-emo poem for once

Yep, I am so happy I wrote a non-emo poem I'm going to break my rules and write them down in reverse order of how they were written - the positive poem goes first, even though I wrote it afterwards.


Oyster

The world is my oyster.
What does that mean?
Roll it over in my hands,
Admire the shell.
The world is turning
At my command.
Feel ridges on the palms of my hands.
Watch the blue-green shimmer in the light.
Open it carefully.
Touch it where it glistens.
Trace the liquid on the surface.
Bring it to my lips
Sip salty-sweet water
Taste the world slowly.
Move my nails around the edges.
Grasp it firmly.
Tear it from the shell,
Brutally.
Swallow it.
I am chewing on the continents,
Drinking the oceans, I consume it.
Pry the suckers from the shell,
Clean it; wash it; drill holes in it.
Wear the world for earrings as a sign.
I have it on a chain;
The world is mine.


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This thing (won't honor it by calling it a poem) is something I wrote in Workshop. We had to pair objects with actions.

Whipped cream drips down the cup.
The napkin absorbs the drop.
She holds it up in her hand.
I trace coffee on my mug.
She complains about the coffee here.
I watch ladies tracing paper.
She smokes her Marlboro Red.
I smoke my ultralight.
She flicks it in the street.
We walk along the street.
She looks in storefronts.
I watch her shirt collar.
I'm drinking Shinerbock.
She drinks her Magic Hat.
The river's cold and still.
My car echoes with chill.

A couple more to do

I wrote this one up last night, kinda cheesy I guess. Well got to get it out anyway.

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Nothing like the night in a strange house
To make your mind turn in circles;
Nothing like the night to clarify
Your thoughts, your life
Nothing like the night to see
Where you are and have been
Nothing like the night
For feeling pain.
Tomorrow I can wake and say
"Here's a new day
Here's a sun rise"
But in the night I see the mirror
In the empty dark, in the strange house
Nothing but chill air against my skin;
Nothing like travel to see again.
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Hey, this one's actually positive, so there. Take that!

For J and G

You were drunk, I was driving
Singing with the radio
Offhand I said I'm done with music
And you said together, "no
What a shame to lose your voice."
I dropped the subject, reached the store
And as it does the night went on
And we never heard that song
Again; but when time's dust sifts
Into my throat, numbness grips,
I cling so gently to the thought
That two good friends once loved my voice.

Some thoughts on personals

Here are some personal (ha!) thoughts on the personals.

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Dear blonde girl at CVP
I still see you there facing me
Tables away I see your face
So delicate, the red lips
Raising the longneck and sipping
All evening;
I said "excuse me," all
I said when we passed in the hall.
And hours later when we left I saw
A man beside you, leaning back
And like the coward I am I went
On; not knowing the score
I quit the game. Someday
I want to see you again
And say 'hello' - what will you say
But I know that day will never come.
Ron didn't remember you
We looked the same way all night
Why do I see that face, those lips?
My chest is tight, mind gripped
Teeth ache, can't sleep
You're all I see
Blonde girl at CVP.

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OH yeah, this gets worse.

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My Personals Ad

"Damaged only need apply here
Is a half shell, a discard
Come for service
You're welcome; don't scratch
The surface, there's nothing there
To reach - Living in foyers and entrances
Eying the door inside, Kicked out I
Slink back again.
Closet romantic, I keep it
Beaten half to death, starved, locked
In its room under a landfill
No exit; no chance."

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Having fun yet?

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Me: posing, unsure. Afraid.
Nothing left there to give. Witty.
A fat pig.
You: confused, secure. Marking
Your time; until you meet someone who
"blows your mind."
Me: cat-scared, careful. Nervous
of loud noises, glasses, emails,
phone calls.
You: too young, too old. Waiting
for the right one, right time. Love,
wine.
Me: lost on the path. Freezing
outside, looking at your back door.
You: hurt, scared. Worried
You'll let in the wrong one, like
Before.

Boston Poems

Girding my loins and writing these up before they get any older.

You know how it is. I can't let them sit.

Not the phone
I thought I felt it in my breast
Pocket; but it's not the phone
The tremble in my chest -
The face is blank; it's not the phone.

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Ambulatory
Shuffling, they meet at the pass
Don't look each other in the eye
He swam every morning then,
Said he'd handle everything,
Now he's a fast fish in this sea
Of slow walkers, ladies years his younger.
When he said to my little cousin
"Don't worry, I'll handle it,"
I almost broke down there and then
We've exhausted him. Exhumed it;
Thin white and dried, rough as his cheek.

I've been drinking

Well, I went to Boston and all I brought back was some stupid poems.
Some of which are too personal to put in here, some are not ready.

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People I called today
Every woman I know, seems like
John. He answered. We may hang out later
My boss at work
People that called me
A friend of mine from work
My wife's psychiatrist
My housemate

Stuff I like to do while drinking vodka
Work
Ogle women
Get red in the face
Go outside for a bit
Write bad poetry