Clouded Glass

The first poem I ever had published, in grade school:

Scribble scribble on the wall/Scribble scribble down the hall/Scribble scribble everywhere/Oh no I scribbled on mom's favorite chair!

Copyright 1986

As if that wasn't bad enough, in Jr. High they encouraged me again by publishing this sclocky cheese.

My love seeks love with butterflies/And other pretty things/Like sprites and nymphs and moppet curls/And dainty scraps of nothing/And she, with song of little girl/Owns his stone-packed heart/Able only with her pretty wiles/To wrend that stone apart/I am not a butterfly/And ne'er shall airy be/I stalk the woods with silent gaze/And drink of moonlight's beam/And silver-furred and amber eyed/I remain on vigilant prowl/To watch him chase his butterflies/And disdain my mournful howl/We magick kindred of the woods/Give our hearts for life/And long ago I sent pledge to Moon/To be this faerie-chaser's wife/My love seeks love with butterflies/On heartbeat's flowing shore/And I hold him safe from their poison sting/Until I drink the moon no more.

Copyright 1995

Cheezy and floufy, no?  Thought you might get a chuckle.

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My favorite Shakespearian sonnet - Sonnet 130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun/Coral is far more red than her lips' red/If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun/If hairs be wires black wires grow on her head/I have seen roses damask'd, red and white/But no such roses see I in her cheeks/And in some perfumes there is more delight/Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks/I love to hear her speak-yet well I know/That music hath a far more pleasing sound/I grant I never saw a goddess go/My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground/And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare/As any she belied with false compare.

I know it's not mine, but a moment must be taken to give a nod out to the masters.

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These poems I actually wrote in the midst of a weird day on the back of a cardboard insert from a package of Hanes T-Shirts.  I'm not even sure what I think of them as of yet, but I guess they're allright.

(1)

I'm not the Queen of Sheba/Or Jezebel/I'm not your dead girlfriend/Or your new surrogate mother/I'm not your comfort food/Your one last true romance/Or a throwaway whore/You picked less-than-fresh/On a lucky night with old #7/I wish I were your ultimate fantasy/Your all-night, have-to-fuck/No mere pick-up line can work/Oh darling where have you been all my life/Dreamgirl/But I always wish for that/No matter the company/And if for a spare moment in crime/You could make me just as sure of who I am/As I am of who I am not/Then I'll be everything at once for you/Maybe, the muses cry/That could possibly be what it is/To be in love

copyright 2004

(2)

Eventually the dead rise to eat the living/In fancy cafes/Where one may sit out on the sidewalk/Should they wish to smoke or mock the passers-by/And once on a rebound date/My suitor, quite dead at the time/Took me there for the atmosphere and mulberry wine/And we sang holy arias all night/Mocking the hookers that were our mutual friends/And eating the steady radiant beat/Out of your blasphemous ever-loving heart

copyright 2004

(3)

If I had a pound of marijuana/And a couple thousand bucks/I'd be following the raven east/Right now/If I knew who I was going to be/Would never be who I believed in/I'd pull this fucking trigger/Right now/If I knew that less-than-loathsome man/Would fuck me into the cosmos/I'd be driving fast to his house/Right now/And if I had a perfect friendship/With my undisputable soulmate/I'd have nothing left in life to learn/Right now/All I have is an empty anticipation/And a wish to teach the world/The grey lovely lonely that I'm feeling/Right now

copyright 2004

(4)

The damage has been done I fear/As though fear had an answer/Or were an answer/To anything/The way I once was travelling I find/Is a fruitless circle/And drab of any scenery, but he/Was at once ready to walk with me/As if it were a form of love/To keep me to my circle/And if I dreamed a new demarcation/Of this moment on my map/I would mark it quietly to one side/And off of the page/Near the clever board-game corner/Waiting in pitiful pewter/Once again, as always/For the dice to finally fall/As if I had never really moved at all/But in fact had not even started/To play

copyright 2004

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Have you ever had a dream that cast you not as the hero but as the villain?  Not that you are specifically yourself (or hey, maybe you are) but you are somehow someone evil and vile, and suddenly you can understand the mad passionate pain of being so demented.  Okay, maybe it's just me.  Anyway, that was the tone of this dream.  Yeah, I wrote it in the form of a poem.  So sue me for gross artsy-fartsiness.

Perhaps I could have saved her

Perhaps I wish I tried

Or

I filled a golden cup halfway/With hemlock and mulberry wine/And gave it to my love to drink/That I could make her mine/I filled her mind with poisoned dreams/And kissed her hazy eyes/I laid her on a bed of nails/That I could make her mine/When at last her breath expired/And her light no longer shined/I dressed her in my leather gown/That I could make her mine/For in all the world I recollect/There was no more perfect time/Than the moment peace came to her soul/And at last that soul was mine

to

Malaria/I recollect in a time/when the worlds collide/for friendship I could not uphold/and peace bourne of the rhyme/my love I made of wax and clay/she was from first light wholly mine/for friendship I could not uphold/and all the worlds collide

Dementia/my lover spoke beyond the grave/and breathed into my mind/for friendship I could not uphold/to end the dying line/my love I ate in spice and wine/to ever taste her sighs/for friendship I could not uphold/and a curse cast from her eyes

Provencial/more of this was yet to come/to kill the bleating sighs/for friendship I could not uphold/and winter burned the sky/my love was broken by the wind/and burned again in kind/for friendship I could not uphold/within the bleated bloated sighs

liken

My world at last was full complete/And nothing spoke of pride/But goD has nothing more to say/Now that I've made her mine/And angels may have died that day/That blessed her virgin eyes/But virgin my love shall purely be/That I might call her mine/And ever after I shall recall/The empty hollows of the plight/And time would never speak again/That I had wholly made her mine/But darkness now will etch away/My identity lost in goD's domain/This moment, perfect, lived and died/Mine, but never mine again

copyright 2005

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