Poems

Loves

He loves so many people

So much more than he loves me.

He loves my sense of humor.

Love is practically free.

He loves to laugh. I see it.

It's relaxing, a relief.

We visit in the midnight.

But his dearest love's a thief.

Thieves are often hungry.

They don't regularly sup.

Otherwise they're harmless.

You must put the silver up.

Thieves are often dirty.

They don't regularly shower.

And they're usually liars.

They are heaven's little flower.

7-13-13

   

The Game

She said at Cathexis -

I asked and she answered -

I do play a game,

But a single affair.

I pull back from people,

She told me. I'm happy

To hear that my repertoire's

Really so spare.

But I don't believe it.

I love and I care.

Not everyone. Hardly.

My lovers were rare.

However Cathexis

Is no longer there.

7-13-13

 

A Story

Forty years in hibernation,

Fixed, alone in sequestration

He dwelt essaying poetry

Beside the regenerating sea.

He slept and ate and thought and wrote

And questioned: were his poems good?

Was he a misbegotten goat?

Was there someone where he stood?

Was he someone to be reckoned?

There again beside the sea

He read his verse and in a second

He exploded. Poetry!

Blood upon the walls and ceiling,

Guts upon the bed and door!

In an exercise of healing

He wrote poesy no more.

7-13-13

 

Writing Poems In Denny's

I close my eyes a moment

And thereupon I see

My dreams as they occur.

I wake and suddenly,

Things are as they were.

I wake, I write, go back to sleep,

Thoughts and phrases coming

In Denny's. From the kitchen

I hear music, or the plumbing.

7-13-13

Drowsing

I am half asleep,

Back into the womb,

But not that hateful pussy!

Destiny and doom!

I am half asleep.

Denny's is the place.

Filaments and gossamer

Stretch across my face,

And spiders crawling on me

Lighter than a touch.

The moment he is absent

I love him very much.

Am I going crazy?
Where shall I recline?

Jesus owns America.

How much of it is mine?

7-13-13

 

Quick

Coward wrote “Blithe Spirit”
In three evenings on a cruise.

It made the morning papers.

This was quite a piece of news.

So why is it surprising

That I can with some success

Write a couple poems

In an hour, maybe less?

7-13-13

 

Richard

He is here. Perhaps he might

Like to spend another night

In my hospitality

And take another DVD

Like the twelve he stole before,

Instead of sleeping on my floor.

Hairy, fat and tattooed hog,
Hates my guts and loved his dog.

7-12-13