"cressida" poems
You and your Greek hair
slanting on the table and
smiling:
Trolius and Cressida in the morning.
Could you imagine? With coffee mugs
and grape leaves in their hair? Cressida
with a loaf of bread, standing over an
aroused Troilus, "Stop pressuring me,
Sweet Honey-Greek!" While the crowd
laughed and clapped,
this is all a misunderstanding.
Stop pressuring me, sweet Honey-Greek.
Christmas tree lights weaved in and out of your eyes
and I was reminded that I once
gave up on you.
Your mind turned up as sprigs throughout the summer.
Sprigs of Honey-Greek and sprigs of you:
on land, under my window,
behind the basketball court.
And I thought I chopped them all up.
Cressida built a blanket fort
and Trolius thought it was a
reason to sprout.
There were sprigs of Honey-Greek underwater;
and then I gave up. How can you think with all that stuff on top of you?
You can’t even breathe. You’re not even breathing.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
nightsong/fallsong
nippy nightfog, dark drive (solo)
breathy windshield, elmvale driveway defog,
a naked girl/thru the house panes
whose bareness
is shown teasingly. (full aware)
homestead.
lamplight, "goodnight!", golden readlight.
bowl of noodles -- broccoli,
darkly pacing silent upstairs/eight-track recorder loudsound (genesis/trick of the tail)
weedpipe outside cold fresh nighttime.
outdoor pissing/rockwall/hosetap,
posters/scotchtape/pins
(troilus & cressida pages taped to th'wall)
alone with thinkcap, lady dreamin'
(that ass!---ahh!) (sighs)
ragged joint thru windowscreen . . . baked-up mouth pasted---ice tea sippin' (glorious)
warm blankets & an empty bed;
need to get out of this ****** old town
empty; lonesome songs.
---but, think better . . .
this pre-spain hometown transatlantic waitin' sadness won't last
forever.
& tripping gets you nowhere. (snoop dogg)
smoke again and maybe put on
more genesis.
. . .
*(tho it is fleetwood mac instead
that i slap on/toss myself into bed.)*
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
Explosions & gunshots
(Simulated)
says an urgent text
from Notify NYC
on my cell,
well recv'd
reported to be
in Central Park,
my heart now skipping beats,
not comprehending the detensing
the declensing cleansing of...
s i m u l a t i o n
thinking only
my park, my park,
my country, my country,
a ****** battlefield!
a second glance, it's just
a heads up to keep my
head down,
from my bud, my boy,
Free *****
having a bit of fun
with us Ameddicans
Shakespeare in the Park presents:
Troilus and Cressida
which contains the use of smoke, haze,
cigarettes,
explosions, loud sounds,
blank gunshots & strobe effects.
***cigarettes? cigarettes? ***
there is no smoking in the park,
not even for poets and
Playrights of renown,
no exceptions made
in this hard-nosed town
and that ladies and gents
is how
one distinguishes a
genuine New Yorkah
neither smoke nor haze,
explosions and gunshots,
an apple-cheeked citizenry faze
these hardy city folk,
from their pursuit of
the golden yolk,
the reward of the
dog-eat-dog yoke,
worn in the pursuit of
Life, Happiness & Liberte
don't even thinking about
smoking in our park,
or near my face,
then the loud noises
may be more than merely
stimulating
than blankly,
s i m u l a t i n g....
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
We are not a fairy tale,
we will never be a fairy tale.
We are not Romeo and Juliet,
Troilus and Cressida
Cinderella and prince charming.
We are not a happy ending,
fairytale ending
perfect ending.
We are not the embodiment of
true love,
loose love,
new love.
But we are love,
our love.
I am not perfect,
I will never be perfect.
I’m not a princess
but sometimes you call me princess
and you are not a prince,
but I guess….
I would call you my prince.
I’ve come to realize
without Disney’s eyes
that
Drunk and throwing up,
I was there for you
sick and sniffling
I was there for you
stressed and upset I was there for you
through it all, and to it all I was there for you
and I will always be there for you.
Just like you
were there for me
last minute, late, losing your mind
still there for me.
feeling hurt, me making it worse,
still there for me.
We are not love,
we are not a fairy tale
but we are our own fairy tale.
One that might not have a happy ending wedding,
but one I’m proud to be a part of,
so until the end,
if we end,
I will close my eyes and
I won’t pretend.
Because my prince who is not a prince,
makes me happy.
And being his princess
is the biggest honor a non-Disney girl can get.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
There were sparks on her breath
Where the fire's caress had left her
tongueless,
the yolk of youth spat the
wrongness of existence.
Take the high road
***** resistance.
****** it's folds of fat.
The guilt of passivity sat
dead, and diseased, in
her throat
Invisible moat cutting into
face,
erase her social security
and the soft sand slopes of
unmarked dark purity.
The girl's existence fought
clarity
An apple lacking search
for sanity.
Once inside her mind, the girl
fought free:
she cupped the face of maturity
and licked his salty lips
her tongue scenting soulless spit
upon a torn pervaded face.
Ripping a loveless, humbled, embrace
into ashes, her
imagination cymbal clashes in
realities orchestra.
Shooting sighs worked up
her vertebra. Her lips, as
faithless as Cressida, lay
curled and cut forlorn
at her feet. Her tangled
continuation a
mangled, drawn out
defeat.
Life force-fed her a caps-locked
delete, a sunken voice sang of
soft sleep.
But the stump of a tongue
pressed
Repeat.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
If you speak of me in such oily vinegar,
then reply to me with joy subsequent,
I shall think of you as polar Cressida,
as she slalomed between bi-encampment.
To see your mouth forming my name-
Blisters peeled back so I may openly lament-
Of every rolling hill your fingers grazed carefully,
And every forged wanderlust you splashed upon my chest
Hellbent on spent days and evenings anew,
Lipped old promises freshly feigned undue.
Take me for bitter, and taste me all too sweet,
Storm whorled to ebb, still flow we accrete.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:47 AM UTC
Let me introduce to you, HP,
AB!
My MUse
The one who've seen my unspoken truth
She was my shot to the blue moon that hit
The pig that grew wings and flew
My albino crow
That one moon who heard the wolf's howl
She's my warmth even when hell froze over
The dragons of Cressida Cowell
The celebration day of Saint Never's
The rising sun in the West
My rainbow unicorn
Even the salt lightens and glows
The rain of leaves from the oak
The donkey on top of a blossoming flagpole
Hers is the bite marks of hen
On my hairy palm
The wind caught on my net
The calves dancing on ice
You can hear the cow cough
And see the snake smoke
The crawfish' whistle from up the mountain echoes
While the long-haired frog croaked
She's my improbable
My impossible
My fantasy
Now a reality
So let me introduce to you
The reason why my fingers are poet-blocked no more
The proof that broken hearts can still start anew
Beat again, and open a new door
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 7:39 PM UTC
Why did you come here, complicated man?
The sun had not yet fallen when my name
came tumbling from spiced mouth.
You've never said it before,
You must have known what I am.
Allegoried Calypso and Cressida and Dulcinea,
How did you find me?
Know to send two syllable plea running over wired bridge,
straight into aching ears,
over chaotic revelry and muted sorrow
you let me drip from wrought iron balconies
drank me up straight.
You chose the city of tragic love to make
sweet girl hiccup her penitential prayers.
Perhaps I never learn,
to stop making gods out of men but you,
you make it abhorrently easy.
Twice you called out for honey girl and I screamed
alongside the brass to drown out the swell of cinnamon voice.
One more time and I would surely sink.
Do you sing so sweetly knowing nameless girl
was violently trying to put the mist back?
Because each careless wink and wolf grin
shorn down grey forest of poorly concealed intention
and weak resolve.
You called my bluff, licked coppery maw,
laughed at the familiar futitilty.
Many a sweet girl have tried to ride scorpions.
Only when I run from you do you wail from silvered moon, comefindme, donotloseme.
You know I am trapped by my own fate.
You become my darkness, abashed devil
and now I know you dream of drowning in me,
la fuente de la juventud, lion man.
I want you to fall for me and I never want to find you at my feet.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 1:28 PM UTC