"shostakovich" poems
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...
we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.
I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...
and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.
the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
195.8k
The lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...
we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.
I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...
and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.
the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
Dmitri Shostakovich woke up feeling sad
In his home town of Leningrad;
The naughty Nazis were shelling his lovely Russian city -
So, for consolation, he ****** hard on his wife's left *****
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
The city offers me nothing
but mortal mortar and soulless stone.
Destiny summoned me here:
to Nature, my forgotten home.
We voted against a union
and were met with derision
For all whom had hailed
a vengeful decision.
Within the distant dreams
of a broken ghostly soul.
His cryptic mind's silver lining
Weaving a fable left unforetold.
My inner voice is translucent
with rays of light, shining through
like a silhouette over water.
Echoes over my hometown
A fleeting feeling amidst the cold.
You said something, but
Your words meant nothing.
Shadows over Leningrad
Shostakovich's theme.
Shadows over Sochi
A conservative dream.
"Thou shalt not give into the gimmicks."
"An urban fox as a metaphor for societal shunning."
"Commerica & Collaborative Chaos"
"A Friendly Fascist"
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Beautiful, brutal,
"...our business is rejoicing...";
strings being tortured,
trumpets scream in agony,
tympani broken at end.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
Trumpets scream out in
agony for a man too
terrified to speak.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
your vignette fades into itself
static plays on the television
in and out my vision comes, loving
you, watching you leave me again
every night in which I incite myself to rise
on my lips lies only your name, and never yours
drifting away we know this can't last
if only it hadn't elapsed, then you could stay
Shostakovich's 15th builds in, ardent in passion I
remember your sultry dance, a pout,
a glimmer, take me back into elysian
Ariel couldn't bring you back herself
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
In his eight quartet Shostakovich
externalizes his most internal self.
Using his own name
to paint the hellish moodscape of a city disassembled by violence -
as his own body too
went to war with itself.
That doleful counterpoint of haunting melodies,
lacking all life, vibrato-less,
yet twists into demented dance.
Some demon, puckish, plucking at the strings.
And moves the observer,
uncontrollably,
in time with the music.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 7:55 PM UTC
In that
place
which is North of normality
where
insanity's just a formality
I'm sat
listening to
Dmitri Shostakovich.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC