Poems

The Rain

Coincidences, synchronicity!

Horrify like midnight which is foul!

The statue's face is gargling in the rain,

Mouth open, head aslant. And to explain

The situation, look. And in the garret

Rodent toenails scratch. She cannot bear it,

Sitting in the parlor underneath

In a shawl, and planning to bequeath

Everything, the statue, rain and house

To her nephew. “Darling, will you douse

The candle? It is smoking.” “Yes, my dear,”

He answered. And she thought he was sincere.

Down the roof! And spontaneity!

Flood the rain! Can this be poetry?
Through the window in her cushioned chair

Floats the woman. Still the statue's there.

The rafters jar. The blocks will fall apart,

And out will come the contents of her heart.

8-8-13

 

Hurt

I don't think you hurt as much as I.

And it's for you I hurt.

God help you (no one can) if you hurt more.

Night will end. Throw off the baggage. Sunlight

Will show a thousand faces new to you.

Most of them benign, not from the gutter.

Can they love or care for anyone -

The common folk who populate the streets?
Like every Christian since the word was coined,

They mock and pillory their deity,

To get their portion, share and due and more,

Which motivates a tear and a charade.

Some are bad. And evil doesn't change.

What changes is a good man driven mad.

8-7-13

Smiles

I'm living in a world

Of sabotage and guile.

Smiles were once benign.

Beware the friendly smile.

I cannot sell my books.

I write them very fast.

We need a new transmission,

I'm paranoid at last.

As everybody knows

Who's sifted through the sod,

It really isn't wise to say

Unpleasant things to god.

8-7-13

Changing Styles

Once again my style is changing.

3 X 66.

The second session was atrocious.

I rather ruptured an intestine.

But the first was strange and timid

With a memory of Keats

And a touch of childish wonder

Before the world has snuffed it out

With hard familiarity.

Now the third is yet to see.

And every feel except the crystal,

Crisp and brittle, is the same

As the others – now the third one -

What is there to write about?

8-7-13

 

Two Feels

I have two feels – the brittle,

Crystalline and clear -

And the soft and cottony,

That seems to say “sincere”.

Which do I prefer

And consciousness hold dear?

The brittle cuts like diamond.

The soft will disappear.

8-7-13