heavy head
raise the lever
open eyes receive
light transmissions
signal time and space

je me reveille dans une chambre
qui ne me connait pas

j'attendais la vie me lève
mais il n'a jamais fait

melodramatic voices
echo through my head,
liquefy out my lips,
and pool at the curve of my palm.

sometimes the voices
get too much.
so i smear them unto paper

and call them art.

to the tune of "My Favorite Things"*

Poems in all caps and no punctuation,
Mixed metaphors and clichéd observation,
Roses and rainbows and angels with wings--
These are a few of my least favorite things.

Morbid obsessions and self flagellations,
Self involved rantings and dull ruminations,
Exhibitionists’ ****** preoccupations--
I’m just not dying to read these creations.

Statements of true love to those I don’t know,
Plodding prose poems that go way too slow,
Syllable stresses that aren’t found in English--
If only I’d see them no more is my true wish.

When the urge strikes,
When the words flow,
When you grab that pen--
Just take a moment and think…again.

A good Dictionary, and a Thesaurus,
Some time to read poets who wrote long before us,
Revising, rewriting and time to review--
It’s only these small things that I ask of you..

I’ve climbed the wall
Been up high,
Basked in twinkling lights
Told the past goodbye
Trapped in a corner
For so long, a passive
Doormat for you to come
And stomp your shoes on
In hopes that one day
It’d be me who once more
Swept you off your feet but
I have risen, I have seen
That life goes on, that
I could grow and change
And yes, my darling, it’s true --
I no longer desire
To be married to you.
Go and turn around now:
The door is open --
I’m telling you goodbye.

Poor little man!
It's like kicking a can,
Did your footy team lose?
Do you wish you had a *****?
Now you're a'sulking,
In your lair you are skulking,
Now no one loves you, churn,
Go down the garden and eat big fat worms,
Sad violins,
Pity parties for him.
His team did not win,
Wah!! Wah!!! Drama  mama man!
You poor little man!
OH!!

evening loneliness arrives at dawn
and knocks on the dusty windowpane

in the kitchen, i lie — with threadbare arms —
against the shabby wooden cupboard frame

this house is void of all electricity
except for the light bulbs, the fridge, the T.V.

and my steady-beating heart of rhythmic defeat
lying naked across the tear-stained sheets

if you come home and find that i am dead,
perhaps some ***** dishes fell on my head

but most likely, i'll be, in the living room gloom
with a half-drunk bottle of wine to consume

with emergency flares tied to both wrists,
i'll leave you a smile, a sigh, and a kiss

A woman's an isle, and men explore
He sails on and returns to shore
He docks and walks
Traces in the sand
Changes her with just his hand
He rests and loves and then he leaves
Her wind pushes through the sails and eaves
But I'm more, the wind carries her whisper
She needs you to come back and kiss her
I can be the ocean too
If that's what it takes to keep you
She rocks the sailor off to sleep
And holds her secrets fathoms deep
Dark and stormy, calm and pensive
His heart makes her apprehensive
He moves on with no resistance
Vows to carry him any distance
Miles south
She loses sight
Something lost in the pitch black night
Nowhere near her lovely isle
Blinded by the sailor's smile
He docks and walks
Traces in the sand
Changes another with his hand
****** and lost she's strung along
Sailor's charm a siren song

I thought you loved me.

I had so many things planned for us.
I still had so much left to give.

But you left anyway.
Now what am I to do
With these plans
All this love
But to fling them out
To be trampled by pigs
And eaten by birds

You lied to me.
You're cruel.
And why would I want to remain friends
With someone that selfish?

I tried to show you
That I wasn't like him
Blind to the fact
That you're just like her.

I've done nothing wrong
Except give my heart
And love wholly -
Something I will never do again

When I departed
Who knew
It was for the final time.
Perhaps it was for the best.
That's what I tell myself
In an attempt
To ease the sting
Of your abandonment.

A star is a star, after all
Meant to roam the frigid emptiness of space
To blaze and shine
Through the barren loneliness
And inspire bards and priests and murderers
Here on my patch of dirt

And this neanderthal
Was meant to walk this humble rock.
To vie for the heavens
Is blasphemy.
This simple-minded caveman
Can do nothing else in his grief
But perhaps
To find something more worthy
For which to paint his crude smudges
On the walls of his hovel.

The girl who captured my heart
And held my hand
And kissed my cheek so sweetly
Died back there
With my final vestiges of hope
In The Land of the Morning Calm.

The sad saga
and brittle memories
for the cast and crew
of a sinking melodrama.

No badinage
their faces turned away
silent as secrecy
in the bright artificial light.

Rewinds of prototypes
of decaying greys
with visions
that glare at shadows.