Poems

Without Poetry


Without poetry I'd die
Or rupture and explode -
The ocean would
Come gushing out my eyes
And nose and mouth -
My head would drift toward the beach
And settle in the sand -
And my cadaver like a craft
Would undirected float
Upon the sea -


"Shine"


I sit alone upon the beach.
Thalassic thunder rolls.
The ocean whispers to the fog,
"Madmen have no souls."


But if they do have hearts and souls
(In ruins and in tatters)
They wander by the sea and ask,
"Whatever really matters?"


Madmen are not brave
But cowardly and wrong,
Seldom make much sense,
And are not loved for long.


The Sea


The ocean is an ugly thing.
You drown in its embrace.
From its depth you don't escape
In animal disgrace.
You like a sunken galleon sink
And settle in the silt,
Investigated by the fish,
Eyes closed.  Do what thou wilt.
And as the currents carry you
Beneath the sea and far,
You are extinguished like a lamp,
And buried, like a star.

 

Mad As Hell

He smashed into the planet

Like a swift and sudden comet.

He's so fucking cute, I want to vomit!

Baseball cap on backwards,

Gutter slang and hoodie.

Would he bust your mandible

If he got angry? Would he!

All his friends are like him.

A jet of dirty piss!

God created life -

And also this!

4-20-12

The Ragged People

Lying on a metal bench

Drinking Gallo from a sack,

Many infants sweetly sleeping

In their cradles, safe and homeless

At the Greyhound, early morning -

New York City, San Francisco,

Goshen, Fresno – until dawn -

Crazy, streetwise, not an Elwood

Dowd amongst them, many Harveys.

12-24-11

Two Stanzas


In a world ephemeral and bleak,
Evanescent as a rainy day,
I unearthed a treasure that endures,
Old, archaic, desultory fey.

It's you that I discovered in my dig -
Youthful, fair, not swathed in bands and tatters.
From an archeology of sleep,
Something more than poetry that matters.


3-13-10