"goldkind" poems
Today was every other day.
My boss says
"Hey Joe, where you going with that staple gun in your hand?"
I draw a blank on my face and turn to face his
.
"You don't really know, do you, Joe?
You don't know where you're going.
You don't really know who you are.
You don't know much of anything anymore,
Do you now, Joe?"
Then he laughs at me
In front of everybody
He laughs and points at
What everybody but me can see.
And everybody laughs and they laugh and they laugh
But nobody talks to me anymore.
My boss don’t talk to me anymore.
My neighbors don’t talk to me anymore.
My girlfriend don’t talk to me anymore.
My doctor don’t talk to me anymore.
My mother don’t talk to me anymore.
My father don’t talk to me because
He's long since gone
Flown far away from the words to this song.
I call my girlfriend up on the telephone
She says, "Joe, I'm not your girlfriend anymore"
And hangs up the phone.
Nobody talks to me anymore.
I call my doctor on the telephone
He says, "hello, is there anybody there"?
I say, "it's me, Joe, doctor help me, nobody talks to me anymore!"
My doctor coughs and hangs up the phone.
Nobody talks to me anymore.
I call on my priest in the church down the road
I say "Hello, Father? my Father, is that really you?"
"Please tell me, dear Father, what should I do?"
My priest says "Joe, God don't love you anymore"
And throws me out through God's front door.
Even God don't talk to me anymore.
So, I go down to a bar to have a little swim.
There's a bar stool there where the Cross should have been
The bartender looks at me,
But he doesn't say a word.
I hold up two fingers pointing up at the sky
So he pours me a double, ten-year-old rye.
Which I toss down and motion for another
All the while calling him "my brother".
The bartender stares at my face
As silent as the stone sleeping inside of that wall.
Nobody talks to me anymore.
On the street, the headlights blind my blinking eyes.
Strangers push past me, some I know, most I despise.
A cop car pulls up and flashes his bright light on me
The cop points his flashlight in my eyes so that I can't see.
But we already know, there's nothing he or I need to say.
He won't arrest me.
It just ain't worth it to talk to me anymore.
A ghost walks up and stares into my face.
He doesn't say a word;
just hangs there in space
And spins ribbons of colored lights
Inside my head.
There's no knowing with ghosts no more
The dead don't talk to me anymore.
Suddenly I see an explosion of lights
There's trumpets and harps and angels in sight
A liquor store, neon vision of light
Promises me the spirits of salvation
and delight,
If I just step inside.
While next door, a gun store slowly cracks open its door . . .
I am my father and my mother's son and
I’ve never before bought me a gun,
But nobody, nobody talks to me anymore.
Igor Goldkind © 2018
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 4:59 PM UTC
Ode to Victory
Steel and rain-splattered chrome
Shield the gyroscopic Dharma Wheels
That just keep on spinning,
Keeping me Upright,
Flying through the air.
I am Sonic
My dominion is the horizon
Between desire, destination and the rumbling between my thighs.
My engine is as powerful as my mind.
As strong as 80 Horses that pull me over this curve of Earth.
Victory, you succumb to my hands,
And the shift of my weight on your saddle
We are living gravity together:
Whitman’s body-electric,
Just beneath the ***** aroma of engine oil and gasoline.
Riding on the back of the California black striped serpent
From San Diego to Santa Rosa
To the very edge of madness
And back again,
Victory, you deliver me from myself,
You growl when I awaken you in the morning,
Nearly choking on your petrol cough.
Occasionally, you sputter complaints at me when I ride you up that hill
But your joy at reaching the summit
Is the sweet surrender to a gravity we both crave.
Victory, your piercing gaze illuminates the night.
All fog of air & mind flee desperate before your flight.
You are the clear sky after the rain: the clarity before thought or rhyme
Our momentum keeps us running ahead,
Out of reach, of God and death and time.
©Igor Goldkind 2017
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
A boy goes to school
And tears his schoolmates apart
With metal piercing bullets
This is normal now.
Igor Goldkind
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
Own What You Own
Learn to recognize your own history.
Like the grass before a scythe
****** is after all
A sort of suicide.
The sacrifice of someone else's self.
Like the granting of a favour
For the sake of your own insecurity.
Or out of jealousy for what we covet
From those in whom we can no longer recognize,
The better part of our selves.
~ Igor Goldkind
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EdRT56WK7Q
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 2:14 AM UTC
Igor Goldkind and John Kingsmill will perform TrypTych: The Third Act of Creation in its entirety at tonight’s Art and Poetry event in Balboa Park around 7.30 pm
With authors Tomas Gayton, Jim Moreno, and Chris Vannoy. People’s Choice Poem Performance Awards follow featured readings and performances. DJ Gill Sotu will provide music and sound throughout the show. This interactive arts and culture experience will include beverages, snacks, and plenty of time to mingle. Bring a snack or beverage to share and get in free. Info: 619-957-3264.
* When: Friday, November 10, 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m.
* Where: San Diego Art Institute1439 El Prado,
San Diego, 92101
https://www.sandiegoreader.com/events/2017/nov/10/poetry-art-at-sdai-fri-sept-22-gayt/?et=219255#
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC