"sante" poems
that trendy heroin(e) addiction
becomes you- and your fiction
goes well with the pale
-skinned thin western booted
blue-eyed shooter
riding sidesaddle
on your scooter
does she kiss like me
and bring you coffee?
i could lay you both down
in the in-betweens
and make heaven-
til hell is heavy as a monday
track day in albuquerque
while she sells your jewelry
in sante fe where it's trendy
-i'll be waiting
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/19/14
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
ON the one hand the steel works.
On the other hand the penitentiary.
Sante Fe trains and Alton trains
Between smokestacks on the west
And gray walls on the east.
And Lockport down the river.
Part of the valley is God's.
And part is man's.
The river course laid out
A thousand years ago.
The canals ten years back.
The sun on two canals and one river
Makes three stripes of silver
Or copper and gold
Or shattered sunflower leaves.
Talons of an iceberg
Scraped out this valley.
Claws of an avalanche loosed here.
2k
Fragile, opulenta donna, matrice del paradiso
sei un granello di colpa
anche agli occhi di Dio
malgrado le tue sante guerre
per l'emancipazione.
Spaccarono la tua bellezza
e rimane uno scheletro d'amore
che però grida ancora vendetta
e soltanto tu riesci
ancora a piangere,
poi ti volgi e vedi ancora i tuoi figli,
poi ti volti e non sai ancora dire
e taci meravigliata
e allora diventi grande come la terra.
1.4k
Ì faccio 'o schiattamuorto 'e prufessione,
modestamente songo conosciuto
pè tutt'e ccase 'e dinto a stu rione,
peccheè quann'io manèo 'nu tavuto,
songo 'nu specialista 'e qualità.
Ì tengo mode, garbo e gentilezza.
'O muorto nmano a me pò stà sicuro,
ca nun ave 'nu sgarbo, 'na schifezza.
Io 'o tratto comme fosse 'nu criaturo
che dice 'o pate, mme voglio jì a cuccà.
E 'o co'cco luongo, stiso 'int"o spurtone,
oure si è viecchio pare n'angiulillo.
'O muorto nun ha età, è 'nu guaglione
ca s'è addurmuto placido e tranquillo
'nu suonno doce pè ll'eternità.
E 'o suonno eterno tene stu vantaggio,
ca si t'adduorme nun te scite maie.
Capisco, pè murì 'nce vò 'o curaggio;
ma quanno chella vene tu che ffaie?
Nn'a manne n'ata vota all'al di là?
Chella nun fa 'o viaggio inutilmente.
Chella nun se ne va maie avvacante.
Sì povero, sì ricco, sì putente,
'nfaccia a sti ccose chella fa a gnurante,
comme a 'nu sbirro che t'adda arrestà.
E si t'arresta nun ce stanno sante,
nun ce stanno raggione 'a fà presente;
te ll'aggio ditto, chella fa 'a gnurante...
'A chesta recchia, dice, io nun ce sento;
e si nun sente, tu ch'allucche a ffà?
'A morta, 'e vvote, 'e comme ll'amnistia
che libbera pè sempe 'a tutt'e guaie
a quaccheduno ca, parola mia,
'ncoppa a sta terra nun ha avuto maie
'nu poco 'e pace... 'na tranquillità.
E quante n'aggio visto 'e cose brutte:
'nu muorto ancora vivo dinto 'o lietto,
'na mugliera ca già teneva 'o llutto
appriparato dinto a nù cassetto,
aspettanno 'o mumento 'e s'o 'ngignà.
C'è quacche ricco ca rimane scritto:
" Io voglio un funerale 'e primma classe! ".
E 'ncapo a isso penza 'e fà 'o deritto:
" Così non mi confondo con la ***** ".
Ma 'o ssape, o no, ca 'e llire 'lasse ccà?!
'A morta è una, 'e mezze songhe tante
ca tene sempe pronta sta signora.
Però, 'a cchiù trista è " la morte ambulante "
che può truvà p'a strada a qualunq'ora
(comme se dice?... ) pè fatalità.
Ormai per me il trapasso è 'na pazziella;
è 'nu passaggio dal sonoro al muto.
E quanno s'è stutata 'a lampella
significa ca ll'opera è fernuta
e 'o primm'attore s'è ghiuto a cuccà.
1.4k
Drip Drop
That's my heart bleeding
Why are you seceding?
I thought you were the one
Your lies stabbed me in the heart
How could you say you love me
But then depart?
Now , I'm trapped
Trapped by the voices in my head
Telling me I ought to be dead
Going from one another
Mistreating the one that's unlike the others
My heart is saying NO SANTE NO but...
My mind is telling me GO SANTE GO
BOOM
There it is did something I regret
I just knew that boy was a threat
Drip Drop
There's the tears
Smearing my glasses
"I learned my lesson"
Now the voices are saying "Babygirl wipe those tears, LEAVE ALL OF THEM ALONE, JUST ATONE
Stay low, keep your head up
Don't let them know
BANG BANG
Let me out! Let me out!
I'm now free
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
My mother was a little girl when the Western Union man
Put the dreaded telegram in my grandmother’s hand.
It said that my grandfather would not be coming home.
It told her that she’d have to raise my mother all alone.
Grandfather was honored, in death, for his service overseas;
the Medal of Honor, we still have, awarded posthumously.
We thought that his remains were lost, committed to the sea.
Just one of many thousands who have died to keep us free.
Then recently, I traveled to the island where he died;
A mass grave had been discovered with some brave marines inside.
They found a tattered uniform that dressed grandfather’s bones.
Emotion overwhelmed me as I thought: “He’s coming home.”
In Sante Fe, New Mexico he’ll rest with all his kin.
Guns will fire in salute; they’ll fold a flag for him.
They’ll place it in my mother’s hands; his little girl grown old,
For her hero who died long ago on the Betio atoll.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
a shadeless lamp
lit her face,
" i'll teach you how to dream,"
she told me in her room
broken and beautiful,
she was 32
red hair.
she had freckles
on her *******
and lost eyes,
desperate grey
eyes
like a coming storm
that offered only heartache.
her name i can't remember.
it was a kind of whiskey,
she loved whiskey.
she said it again
"i'll teach you how to dream"
but i had surrendered
many times
many years ago,
somewhere along
the road
to nowhere
and she passed out during the act
and the rabbit
was dancing in the ditch
and,
so i finished.
"don't you get it," i whispered
through her snoring, my hand
on the door ****
"we were ******
broken
a long
long
time ago."
the screech of the garbage trucks brakes
and out the door I went.
tonight she'll have her arms around
another lonely man.
Santa Fe at sunrise
no better place for feeling so low....
Mar 9, 2023
Mar 9, 2023 at 2:01 PM UTC
you saved me
i saved you
similar species
matching tattoos
met in sante fe
a fading memory
or maybe a dream
those days are so fuzzy
you stared me down
i stood my ground
i asked you to be gentle please
you said i got this no worries
i gave myself a mohawk
you said i was a fool
you had missing teeth
made it look cool
you showed me the ropes
not live stay alive
fed me with a slow steady trickle
all you need to survive
you said before me
you had not known equal
if you see these words please reach out
i'm down for a sequel
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
Ha ha! How ironic is this conception?
A bottle, filled left in the oubliette that you and I fill!
Perhaps it's a cruel joke, or maybe compassion
To let us drown our sorrows in a doldrum like fashion.
Hell, my friend, it surely awaits, so let's take our swigs
And numb ourselves from our unmerciful fates.
You know, this situation as I drink gets funnier and funnier...
I'd bet right now, de' Medici herself stands above in the Louvre,
That crafty witch!
Would you like some more of this Cognac before the dungeon master
Comes back?
One more joie de vivre until the chemistry fades?
What does it matter if it isn't ours?
Our final hours will be forgotten, and between you and me,
This will start the after party early.
A votre sante!
To the nobodies!
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC