"coarser" poems
Could you ever pretend to understand
living in a world that gave you no shelter
from the coarse wind of history
and the coarser rain of rhetoric?
The shambles of those walls offer no protection.
But, after all, they say
why do you need walls in the jungle?
No one has to tell you
out loud
that you were born
to be thrown away.
The ache of rotting teeth,
the feeble acquiescence
to raw sewage,
and the 400 dollar offer
to silence the poison in your veins.
They were loud enough.
I imagine there is a moment
between doorless stalls
and postless football fields,
where children, who grow like
wild daffodils,
see the other side of the bridge.
And then they know
until the end,
that it has always been
someone’s choice.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Pages of thin onion skin, delicately touched
with the lilting script of a fountain pen.
Coarser pages of sturdy stock filled
with strong characters of printer's ink.
Binding woven with threads of friendships
Dipped in the warm glue of sisterhood.
The poetry of life fills the pages,
sing song limericks of childhood
followed by lines of romantic verse.
Tears stain tattered pages
where losses deep are journaled.
The title embossed in gilded gold,
you shall find "Woman" inside.
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 1:33 PM UTC
Your body was a sacred cell always,
A jewel that grew dull in garish light,
An opal which beneath my wondering gaze
Gleamed rarely, softly throbbing in the night.
I touched your flesh with reverential hands,
For you were sweet and timid like a flower
That blossoms out of barren tropic sands,
Shedding its perfume in one golden hour.
You yielded to my touch with gentle grace,
And though my passion was a mighty wave
That buried you beneath its strong embrace,
You were yet happy in the moment's grave.
Still more than passion consummate to me,
More than the nuptials immemorial sung,
Was the warm thrill that melted me to see
Your clean brown body, beautiful and young;
The joy in your maturity at length,
The peace that filled my soul like cooling wine,
When you responded to my tender strength,
And pressed your heart exulting into mine.
How shall I with such memories of you
In coarser forms of love fruition find?
No, I would rather like a ghost pursue
The fairy phantoms of my lonely mind.
1.5k
I'm just your cigarette.
Burn me away.
Inhale my toxic fumes.
Fed to the ashtray.
Cooler than nicotine.
Coarser than sand.
Softer than velvetine.
Blood on my hands.
Lungs overwhelmed by the blitzkrieg.
Breathe, if your conscience allows.
Das Blut des Bündnis aushusten,
Leide, du schreckliche Frau.
Menthol defies your betrayal,
caffeine defies your shot nerves.
Tobacco curbs your addiction,
cancer is what you deserve.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
Esoteria, this marble body wrought of burden
Of the Halcyon days, breathéd in these coarser ways
I peer rapture ‘pon the retina at what you sought
And won to capture.
I see my kind and its soul in artful craft and oil
Marvel at an author’s hand the suffuse horror
Beauty demands. How fickle the smoke of
Inspiration. My torture scratched half on leaf
Come as these came, fleeing we for it Eden
Burned and pacified this trembling hand needn’t pacify
The true desire of my own a prize for heart
‘gainst, I know the pillar lone.
So ebb and flow melancholia go, ‘twas that despair
Walked hand-in-hand down the ****** gates, no worse
For wear, that belle danseuse undone and bare
Morose lines drawn away in the scope of stare.
My future was so painted thus, these seconds were
A stronger pulse, no stranger to my wicked book
But I know difference; set I to find the charm and
Awe her radiance inspired.
Lo, it was not painting nor poetics, but the hand
Sleepy eyes, such confound this tongue and scene
Pathetic—this waylayer of my woe escaped
With the point of her toe, blind to things as I and drapes.
More joyous I couldn’t be, before aesthetics
As such let be and seeking to seek her out
As fiction demands content, I stay devout
Between pillar lone and the crashing wave of dreams
Come pouring forth. Shall I mar this angel,
Crestfallen, who, nay, suffers for awe?
Yes, I must for fear of my echo’s mate so cherished
Is fate for beauty so raw in moment’s time I’ll speak of love.
Her gaze is passed from room to wall as a spectre,
I, unseen and all, reach out, frozen as David to
Frustrate a period in done, unfinished verse
Still climbing, but to now a leveled curse.
‘T’is fitting a hand as mine would rightly ruin
No eye, nor brain, nor mouth a cage, my hex
An artist seeks Elysium so truth to coincide—
I’m vexed—as love and word step from my life
In tow, they from the page.
Perhaps even these can’t sustain the ecstacies
Ecstacies of the unlovely as I at portrait’s gaze
Stand and profane a sacred she or there,
Genius in the gallery still prey for Esoteria.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
You ran your hands over my body
Like a caress, only not as tender
More of a necessity, grabbing my flesh
Your skin not quite as soft as mine
Rougher and coarser
Kissing my face as you held it in your hands
Moving mechanically in practiced ritual
Taking off our clothing, somewhat with urgency
Before falling into bed
Under the covers, hidden naked in the warmth
We made a tent with the blankets
Giggling like children with a secret
Our secret, our intimacy,
That no one else will ever know
Just the two of us, there in that moment
Our bodies moving together
As you slip inside me
Ever slowly, sensual, gradual,
Your hands still running the length of my body
As I shiver with pleasure
Collapsing after, exhausted with the effort exerted
I lie beside you
Stretching out like cat, feeling every muscle pull
Before snuggling into your side, held tight in your arms
And falling asleep.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
***when you accept the ‘I love you’ invite, coolly quietly
understanding this is but a summarizing way of saying,
let’s enter the gated fence to friendship, locking in & out,
the delving reveals to follow are truths more costly than
any fiction, you see only the too real, how much pain can
exist, survive, be survived, quietly thrive, just beneath the
skin’s preternatural strong thinness, holding us in, together
while yet a sieve, separating the granules of our composition,
the coarser fail to penetrate the finer cells, the molecular level
is where the sensory Alice in Wonderland world coexists with
the blunt exhaustion of so much agony, too much, and in the
early morn these words appear of their owned and freed volition,***
do what you must do to repair yourself
***...and you confess to understanding that to heal oneself,
you must heal others, and that separate and unequal
sorrows can somehow heal each other, praying for ex,
exfoliation, exhumation, excalibur, expelling all the ex’s
so new skin self repairs, a great miracle that, and that
human reparations are a thing you alone initiate, inhale,
fostering a belief that !we! is the solution, the only...
5:46am
11/28/20
Nov 29, 2020
Nov 29, 2020 at 6:14 AM UTC
For some it’s a teddy, a Hotwheel, a dumptruck,
But not Doug, instead he gave lashings and then ******
I knew not to holler lest Doug lose his focus,
Grasping my collar, he shrieked, “Hocus pocus!”
After Doug’s very first drink he’d soon have a hard on,
Then that sinister wink, I knew I was far gone.
Exhausted from ****** my nubile *** on the couch Doug laid
And then out he passed. I was no longer afraid.
The weekend ere last, after ******* Doug’s ****
He’d showed me his bolt cutters cut through a lock.
How many times had I undressed ol’ Doug?
His **** were like limes, his chest like a rug.
Sleeping upright, legs invitingly spread,
Soul black as the night, I began to see red.
O, but the sound! Like scissors through steak,
Doug writhed all around, eyes seeming to quake.
After rising, I followed the crimson trail,
As if suddenly hollowed, gravity prevailed.
Wrists sore as my *** mouth tasting metallic,
Bound like a lass, their faces utterly pallid.
Waddling down the hall, I was greeted with whistles,
“Give me a call!” Words coarser than bristles.
From the infirmary I write, and prone I must lay,
For Jerome likes ‘em white, as do Randy and Ray.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
"I closed my eyes and thought of where I wanted to be. I was in a red wood, colored in autumn. My breath could be seen in the air, and the large horizontal log I was sitting on was cold. There was a woman next to me, both of us were wearing gray hoodies, mine a thin, coarser material, hers warmer and softer. Her hood was up, mine was too. Both of our hairs showed from beneath the hoods. She had a cute nose and a nice smile, and curly brown hair like mine, but, softer and longer.
We were sitting together, clearly interested in each other, but not yet lovers, and not just friends. Facing downhill, we looked into the forest of large trunks and red leaves, or rather, she did while I looked at her silhouette. She let me look, I could tell. Something in her was warm, I wanted to feel it.
A daydream. A forced vision, rather." -October 27th 2013
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
dear mustache,
i used to hate you
because of how dark and prominent
you were against the almost pallor
of my skin
people would
make fun of me for you
in middle school especially
but kids are mean
and i stood out in more
ways than my mustache
that would have been more fitting
on a prepubescent teenage boy
than an angry lesbian
i was
shamed into waxing you away
which hurt so much the first time
that i almost cried
but what hurt more than the hot wax
was my father
whose genes gifted me with
darker and coarser hair
always encouraging me to
bleach you away into an acceptable
shade of invisible
and then
when a switch was thrown
inside my body that had
been crying out from the still
tender age of seven that my being
called a girl was
wrong wrong wrong
you were
there still having always
come back after the wax and bleach
but that
fine line of hairs above
my upper lip
you made me feel more masculine
you made me hate myself less
you make me feel more masculine
you make me hate myself less
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
Come take a walk with me downtown
Where the ancient spirits may be found
The dull thump of techno is not the sound
That assaults your senses, now
It's the baying hounds
Suddenly you're enveloped in a must
Although you're not drinking you feel quite ******
You've never known a feeling like this
No all the times on acid and mushrooms you've tripped
This must be the wrong alley, you've turned in
It's like a tiny hurricane in which you spin
The lights blur, your stomach churns
You have definitely taken a wrong turn
It must be the 19th Century in which you're found
The way the men's coattails skirt the ground
You want to scream, you can't make a sound
People walk right through you, like there's no one around
All of the shops have shrunk in size
Changed from concrete to marble before your eyes
The windows are smaller, tiny panes of glass
As through the mud and **** you wander past
The black horses stomp, their breath it steams
The silver on their bridles gleams
Sewage runs through the gutters like a stream
Stuck in a 19th Century nightmare dream
The words in the drunken shouts don't really differ
But the accent's changed, grown coarser, thicker
. It's gaslight, not neon now that flickers
But you could probably get a decent pint of bitter
The working girls are still around
They look even dirtier, more worn down
Money for Gin, not crack must now be found
But still the sordid beat they pound
Suddenly, the mist it clears
The smell of horseshit disappears
You were there for a minute, now you're back here
Now you slowly walk back home, shaking with fear
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC