"joiner" poems
the zombie has opinions about nutrition
but lives off of tasty urban debris
the zombie is standing on the beach
whipped by grey
watching the waves roll in high
the zombie is on the computer again--
where nobody knows he's a zombie
the zombie seems to be listening but is looking at his phone
the zombie is not a joiner, so don't be uncool and ask
though he might join and then drop out, which just proves
joining was pointless in the first place
oh definitely the zombie likes to go down
the zombie bites the hand that feeds him
the zombie does not mind poison if it means saving money
the zombie is against bad things.
the zombie is not a sheep.
the zombie is dying of loneliness but can't ever seem to connect.
the zombie is spreading deserts
and drowning deltas.
the zombie is standing up for what's right, on facebook.
the zombie knows that *** is safer than alcohol
and it makes him safer
the zombie feels guilty sometimes but ultimately
not personally responsible.
the zombie is tired--not enough sleep, not enough brains.
the zombie doesn't need you,
he just wants you,
when he sees you.
ahem: the zombie wants you for your mind.
the zombie is free.
the zombie embodies Csikszentmihalyi's state of "Flow."
the zombie may have made you one of his kind,
you will never know because
zombies don't know they're
zombies.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
Almost happy now, he looked at his estate.
An exile making watches glanced up as he passed,
And went on working; where a hospital was rising fast
A joiner touched his cap; an agent came to tell
Some of the trees he'd planted were progressing well.
The white alps glittered. It was summer. He was very great.
Far off in Paris, where his enemies
Whispered that he was wicked, in an upright chair
A blind old woman longed for death and letters. He would write
"Nothing is better than life." But was it? Yes, the fight
Against the false and the unfair
Was always worth it. So was gardening. Civilise.
Cajoling, scolding, screaming, cleverest of them all,
He'd had the other children in a holy war
Against the infamous grown-ups, and, like a child, been sly
And humble, when there was occasion for
The two-faced answer or the plain protective lie,
But, patient like a peasant, waited for their fall.
And never doubted, like D'Alembert, he would win:
Only Pascal was a great enemy, the rest
Were rats already poisoned; there was much, though, to be done,
And only himself to count upon.
Dear Diderot was dull but did his best;
Rousseau, he'd always known, would blubber and give in.
So, like a sentinel, he could not sleep. The night was full of wrong,
Earthquakes and executions. Soon he would be dead,
And still all over Europe stood the horrible nurses
Itching to boil their children. Only his verses
Perhaps could stop them: He must go on working: Overhead
The uncomplaining stars composed their lucid song.
2.6k
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
The baker's wife
is neither surprised nor impressed
when he brings her cakes and pastries.
The child of a joiner
can take or leave a treehouse.
But since I am not a poet,
I hope you can take these inelegant lines,
their lack of rhyme or rhythm
and their false humility
and read this in them:
After all this time
you still make me think and see
in new and unusual ways
and for that, and all else besides,
I thank you.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 4:36 AM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Early morning,
houses blink at the light, curtains lift, fall.
As Dads march down garden paths
windows see my hysterical feet fling me outside,
tiptoes, Y shape, appease the eyes
of the white knuckled joiner,
“please come home in a better mood”.
Sign language; I am too young to speak.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 4:03 AM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
.
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
To pick up this chewed end pen and when no one is looking and
wondering why
I want to jam the chewed end pen in my eye, the left one will do and I
want to ram it right through until it hits a nerve or possibly two.
I can spew out a rhythm with the ***** of a schism, but the madness
has been done once before,
I need a joiner
a plumber
someone to come numb me or
someone to take numbness away,
ipso facto don't come back though
the lace is never still and the curtains
will twitch.
**** me with kindness your Highness
I am humbly your servant 'til dawn when
the Romans will come and
make a wish that you'd never been born.
But born though I be, the pen still hates me and I loathe the ink in
the pen, **** it then don't write,
spend the night reading Tolstoy
undress in the lamplight,
be coy with the white Knight,
they'll hang you
tomorrow for sure,
checkmate.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
She was a young girl, just fifteen,
when the wondrous deed was done.
Behold, a ****** had conceived;
It was foretold she’d have a son.
She was promised to an older man,
a joiner of wood, simple and plain.
Many a man might have demurred;
exposing her to the stones of shame.
In his troubled sleep, he had a dream,
revealing all that God had done;
Joseph took Mary to be his wife
As the Roman census had begun.
Mary considered these things in her heart
As the infant grew and thrived.
He was strong in wisdom, kind of heart.
Though Herod pursued Him, the child survived.
Three years he traveled these ancient hills;
In synagogues and Temples, he taught.
Until, betrayed, he was arrested,
and brought before the Roman court.
How hard for Mary to behold
her only son upon a cross.
She heard Him cry out to the sky
and yield His spirit when all seemed lost.
It seemed he was in Satan’s power;
When even gold appeared but dross.
Then Joseph of Arimathea came
to claim His body from the cross.
Hope is a slender reed;
enough to build a dream upon.
She, too, beheld the empty tomb.
The stone removed, the Master gone.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:56 AM UTC
A separation of fragments
And a joiner of phrases
A brief pause for the white background to scream.
My thoughts are written in black
While my mind races in the white.
Look at the sky.
Were I to record my thoughts on the night -
they would disappear
And my mind would shine like each star.
Let my thoughts vanish, my mind go free
And fill the rest with nothing
But space.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
I received a re-invitation email this morning. A ‘come on, why don’t you want to?’ note that struck me as odd. See, I’ve been ‘tapped’ for a couple of final clubs at Yale. It can happen if you earn top grades and interact easily with male friends by day (the crew club scene is ol’ school patriarchal).
Three of my roommates have been tapped - for one thing or another. The upper-crust, traditional networks and secret societies are a huge part of why young men and women choose Ivy League schools.
I’m not talking about frats - I enjoy flippant misogyny as much as the next breasted-American and really, does “Yo bruh,” sloppy binge drinking, and ****** assault ever really get old? Yeah, it kind-of does.
And I’m not talking about the more open and popular ‘eating clubs’ - no - I’m on-about the elite social orders that enjoy a subversive and exclusive appeal.
Some students desperately want to be ‘IN’ and believe those memberships prove they’ve somehow ‘made it’. Let’s face it, someday - if you can’t actually earn it - that skull & bones handshake might open some doors.
I’ve attended a few meetings, meals, and parties in “tombs” (in upstairs libraries and houses) around New Haven, but I guess I’m just not a ‘joiner.’ Groucho Marx once said that he wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have someone like him as a member, maybe that’s it for me too.
Anyway, this harangue is sponsored by the glower that that silly email put on my face.
“What’s the matter?” Leeza asked, seeing my expression.
It reminded me of watching people suck-up and ‘social mountain climb’ to get into my grandmère’s (boring) circle. If your club is so exclusive (email sender), why on God’s confused earth would you want me?
Hey, I like parties, dances and hanging out with eskimos - but I'm a pre-med student and the time/value equation just doesn't stack up for me - I’ve got the M-CAT tests next summer and prepping for those has taken over my life.
It’s ironic though, how by day students at Yale go-on about ‘elitism’ - in stylized outrage - and then by night they strain to join these crew clubs.
slang...
final clubs = elite clubs and secret societies
eskimos - really cool people
crew = elite (crewing is seen as a sport for the elite)
Dec 29, 2023
Dec 29, 2023 at 8:58 AM UTC
I made a friend in May, it was a long long time ago
In nineteen ninety four, that’s twenty years or so
By the door to a hospital we chatted and generally chewed the fat
Him there after a heart attack, me a by-pass, and that was that.
A table is what we spoke of and the fact that I needed one
He said, ” I’ll make one for you, but a condition, there’s just one
I’ll make you your new table and you must help me where you can.”
I wasn't sure what I’d walked into, but I agreed to my new friend’s plan.
So together we laboured at it, him working at his trade
Before long we’d made a table, even rails with carved rose ends
I'm not much of a joiner, to think I am is daft
But it was a genuine pleasure, seeing my friend alive at his craft.
Time has passed on so very much, a long time since that May
My wife and I sit by that table every single day
It’s withstood things you’d not believe and yet it is still game
And the friendship that was born that day, well that has done the same.
©JRW2014
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
So soon do we go bye
that it’s almost impossible
to recognize the beauty
before it passes.
They told me to stop and smell the roses,
but the roses have been set loose
and their out of the light before I’ve come to a truce
within my own mind,
or when I look up to the sky
to see the sunshine.
If too long gazed
the blaze will make me go blind.
Dressing up to something you want to be
(or something someone else wants you to be).
Before you know it
your something you never thought you’d believe.
A situation you never thought you’d see
like looking up at a smile to be had,
and held,
and kissed.
Next thing you know you’ve already missed,
as they pass by on their public transit.
For all to see.
Walk into the giving machine
with who you don’t agree,
but holds your fortune by the throat.
Digging a personal moat
becoming remote
and not giving back
until you not only ask,
but also make and take.
She’s here not there,
not waiting for me.
I don’t care unless there are three,
or one less - for you - I feel passion without a bless
and to attest I know that I will.
No bitter pills,
no sorry shrills,
and nothing to ****
I’m back in the egg,
I’m in the void,
and I’m ready to be re-undeployed.
Even if I get annoyed
I know I’ll come back
to where I’ll be in the stack
and without a lack.
To all who are near
the joiner is clear
...
A flutter of her eyelashes.
Her flicker has forever lasted.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC