"tampa" poems
People live forever in Jacksonville and St. Petersburg and Tampa,
But you don't have to live forever to become a grampa.
The entrance requirements for grampahood are comparatively mild,
You only have to live until your child has a child.
From that point on you start looking both ways over your shoulder,
Because sometimes you feel thirty years younger and sometimes
thirty years older.
Now you begin to realize who it was that reached the height of
imbecility,
It was whoever said that grandparents have all the fun and none of
the responsibility.
This is the most enticing spiderwebs of a tarradiddle ever spun,
Because everybody would love to have a baby around who was no
responsibility and lots of fun,
But I can think of no one but a mooncalf or a gaby
Who would trust their own child to raise a baby.
So you have to personally superintend your grandchild from diapers
to pants and from bottle to spoon,
Because you know that your own child hasn't sense enough to come
in out of a typhoon.
You don't have to live forever to become a grampa, but if you do
want to live forever,
Don't try to be clever;
If you wish to reach the end of the trail with an uncut throat,
Don't go around saying Quote I don't mind being a grampa but I
hate being married to a gramma Unquote.
2.8k
Cigarettes and coffee and you.
If I had to name three things I couldn't live without,
I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction,
per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers
offer them to me,
your wordless expression showing concern and contentess.
I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later,
thinking I’ll make some coffee again today.
For both of us like I usually do.
Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right?
My toes are suddenly cold
I dip them in these tender aqua waters,
juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity
that laces my cup. I can't tell if
you resting your arms around my waist
brings a fire within me
or if it gives me chills.
I start swaying to some synonymous tune
that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment,
even though the only music is
the wind whistling
through the shells and stems of the palm leaves.
My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained.
The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us.
So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow.
I wouldn't want to live without it.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC
Moons ago I smoked till the filter,
Drank Johnny’s backwash
And slept hungry.
How can you know an empty stomach,
Without dancing in Tampa for a buck fifty?
What’s for breakfast?
“cowboy killers.”
lunch I asked,
“Kentucky deluxe.”
Dinner?
“A bent Porto Rican kitten.”
But people are seasons
And springtime had come.
Now it’s easy, but still stiff.
In the end of the day.
ehh.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
A Moment in Life Twice Lost to Time
The Swiss watch is my paradigm
Residing now ‘neath Tampa Bay
A moment in life twice lost to time
The gift, from a wall of ice to climb
In Luxembourg where I did stay
The Swiss watch becomes my paradigm
Research belaying the banker's crime
Through valleys green, o'er bridges grey
A moment in life twice lost to time
While belching diesels share their grime
And church bells call all souls to pray
This watch, my truest paradigm
In this city from another time
In Europe's heart I found my way
A moment in life twice lost to time
Returning from this land sublime
My walls and battlements fell away
Rodania watch, my paradigm
A moment in life twice lost to time
2 March 2000
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
I live for two hours, five hours, bite to bleed.
A cryogenic coma until we begin.
Arguing in vain with the town around me,
over nothing able to be justified, and he and I don't care;
reveling in the confusion of the tri-city area—
drowning our egos and taking our time
until we truce with razor smiles; shift
to removing tongues with pliers in our words.
(living amputation and too much diet coke)
Shouted disclaimers spread to the rest of the state,
in case they never wondered how it feels
to watch a living heart exposed.
He gleamed gold with self-confidence as he cracked his knuckles.
"I'd like someone to hit me, y'know?"
Next to him, Tallahassee rolls her eyes, Tampa looks away.
(I catch his stare. Deo gratias. Deo gratias. Father, Son, and Violent Thoughts.)
Thank God, I whisper, and I am yelling.
He is split from throat to hip and I drain his open truth.
Speaker static shifts the room,
podium to floor.
This isn't over, he says, and we laugh
because nothing we ever say can be proven,
and we intend to prove it all.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Doctor and Mrs Granger raised their family
In the foothills of the lovely state of Tennessee
All their children have left the Granger compound
They're all traveling to other grounds
The good doctor and his adoring wife
Have now established a retirement life
On Tuesdays and Saturdays they go to the local museum
To show the tourists the many artifacts found at Atkins stream
Yesterday I saw Doctor Granger at the shopping arcade
He asked if I'd team up with Major Rogers to play charades
He said Mrs Granger so enjoys these afternoons of fun
And that she'd be making one of her famous fruit buns
Doctor and Mrs Granger shall soon be going to Tampa Bay
To have a holiday with their friends Doctor and Mrs Day
While they are relaxing in the sun shine
I'll be thinking up some more story lines
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
I thought of you in Paris
and remembered
you in Zurich
I was reminded of
you in Moscow
and I could not forget
you in Cancun
My memories were of you when I went back
to New Orleans
and Tampa Bay
I continue thinking of you
in Dallas and LA.
-R.
(16)
-LA
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
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Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Doctor and Mr Granger have gone on holiday
They boarded an interstate bus at seven thirty am yesterday
By three this afternoon they'll be sunbathing at Tampa Bay
It's been years since they ventured down that way
Mrs Granger needed to escape the winter chills
Which had been so extreme in those Tennessee hills
The warmer Florida climes would give her such thrills
As the sun in this location has always heated her blue gills
The good Doctor Granger is a wonderful chap
He didn't want Mrs Granger to be in the cold snap
And he made sure she'd not have to feel its cold wrap
Hence the nice holiday into Tampa's warm lap
The Grangers will be staying in the South region for a while
Where the sun ever displays its radiant dial
And gives Mr Granger a good reason to smile
As she gets away from Tennessee's frozen wiles
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
we held hands behind the Black Lives Matter banner.
we took to the streets in solidarity with Heather Heyer
opposing white supremacy and every vestige of bigotry.
the cops stood idle while racists circled
the park like sharks to shake our resolve.
but we carry a new world in our head and hearts.
we marched down Kennedy and Ashley
no badge or gun could hope to stop us hundreds.
we mourned and wept and rose like lions.
*no justice, no peace! no racist police!
1-2-3-4, this is ******* class war!
5-6-7-8, organize to smash the State!*
i cannot find the rhythm and beat amidst this misery.
but, in her memory, we will drive the fascists out.
from Tampa Bay, FL to Charlottesville, VA: ¡No pasaran!
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
I can still taste
oranges on my tongue,
tropicana from tampa,
extra extra pulp in my mouth.
The orange groves are
dying, frost encroaching, and I
can do little; I'm at the
supermarket searching for
coconut oil and lavishing
honey straight from the bottle
onto my tongue; empty
bears litter the linoleum and
the taste of your ***** still
evades my fractitious memory.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
I left because you wanted me gone.
I love you!
I came back for you.
but...
I left my thoughts in Immokale.
I left my drive in Lehigh.
My inspiration is scattered over the waters of Ft. Myers beach.
My plans wait in South beach.
Orlando, Tampa bay, and Fort Lauderdale still whisper my name.
It's time to go back to the sunshine state.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
call me when your flight lands in Munich
and we can discuss
how the cinder blocks
standing stationary in the walls
like cold queen's guards
meet so seamlessly
they touch so cleanly
never a crack, never a pore
call me when your flight lands in Tampa
and we can talk about
all of the clothes on the floor
folding and crinkling
discontinuing continuum
they haven't been touched since July
and when you call,
we can talk about how they
make my room smell like
gasoline
let me know when you land safely in Munich
and I'd be happy to go on
about the smell of the parking garage
equal parts old rain and new exhaust pipes
and the open air
underneath the moon; so close
that I will grab it out of
the closet sky
and give it to you instead of saying:
I'm so ******* sorry
let me know when you land safely in Tampa
and we can assume the position
of conductors
of a grand orchestra
of lost crickets and cracking bones
of the dogs barking at
spilled black ink
and chasing the painted Sun
and maybe when the song is over,
we will clean up the mess
and be able to fall in love
with nothingness
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
Dad has told me since i was born that theres a shark out there with our name on it
Thats why i never go as deep as my shoulders in the ocean
warnings rattle around my head and a sense of abandonment wraps around my legs
maybe the riptide felt like gentle hands leading him home
he’ll find us one day
i wonder if he’s talking about the shark or neevie
often i imagine him living in puerto Rico, having found his way among the waves he would reside in a tiny hut near the ocean side
listening every night as if to receive a whisper saying “come home”
the sole reason of dads birth being to replace his mothers only son
stand in for a deadboy
came out looking the exact opposite
blonde hair, blue eyes
stevie, her sweet boy
pouring all the bitter, tainted love she held into him
didn’t they tell you the bruises left behind were just love marks?
cherish them, it means she cares
mommie dearest loves you so, did you not know?
the closest form of loving someone is hating them and he’s got that down to a science
thoughts of prying the jalousie windows shut during winters in west tampa
counting each bullet that echoed in the distance
sitting on cotton bags skinning potatoes as his father prepared dinner for the navy ship
uncurling himself late at night when the sound of the door opening would alert him that he could finally stop hiding and embrace the warmth his fathers smile radiated
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
i hate this town
and all the memories
tied to it
like broken symmetry,
loose wires
misfiring
in a fragile mind.
flea markets
and dog parks,
the Orpheum
and Foundation,
every inch
of this
coastal city
whispers quietly
of you.
each moment spent
in this ******* apartment
is a constant reminder
that waking up
beside you
felt like coming home.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
it's not your fault, i think, as you smile in your sleep.
so upside down inside and out blue and red then yellow and purple
i am a swirling sea of color, never settled
tide in, tide out
in tampa bay there are two tides.
you are not always on my mind, nothing is always on my mind,
maybe just a fear of high tide.
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault, i think, as i'm sinking i try to hold on but
there's more than one kind of addiction.
precisely!
you can quantify any data you'd like.
you are a candle on a window sill late at night, you are sunshine
which sometimes i feel too dark to be allowed in, but
the sun always helps.
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault, i know, as i storm angrily to bed
lay towards the wall
looking at the wall
choosing the wall
while you ask "can i come in?" i enjoy saying "no" to hear you ask it
again persistent. you are better than rain or ocean or snow.
you are someone to grow with. but my anger is stronger than reason or the world would be a better place.
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault!
i understand, yearning to be held, felt, touched
my thoughts shut down like broken links in a fence, but instead of letting something in i keep you out.
you can't touch me because i want to be the rulemaker of our game.
when i was a kid they never let me play.
it's not your fault
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault,
i think, as i struggle to breathe. is this asthma or anxiety?
will the migraines ever stop? will my excuses for pain ever feel like they are allowed to be real. you see me.
you help. you don't ask. i've never been so felt before.
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault,
i wonder, as you lay there in your sleep
i will always question life more than perhaps another
am i meant to be a Mother? will i doubt my child from the day it's born because it's mine? will i give them scorn?
would you be a father with a mother like me?
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault
i wonder if i should leave
after my blows, only trying to hurt.
you are only here for me but i can make anything ugly with time.
i hope this sickness doesn't spread. please only take my head, leave him alone.
He is the most beautiful thing i know.
it's not your fault.
sometimes i'm melodramatic, or when the mood strikes pragmatic.
but never the same.
sometimes i think i should leave, but
i can't.
you are sunlight in the window, you are glass in the mirror,
you are steady and patient and far more than i deserve,
you are a quiet reserve.
you are a new park to watch the sun set
you are a life i haven't met yet
you are more beautiful than rain, ocean and snow,
You are the most beautiful thing i know.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
5 pm Halloween afternoon
87 degrees outside
I wonder--is that in the shade?
Anyway,
I'm not expecting many snowmen
Looking for Snickers bars.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC
Your world is going perfectly
Your life is as you want it
You are healthy and in good spirits
You have a beautiful life, spouse, family -
You are an alternative physician
making a real difference -
helping people,
healing their bodies,
eschewing petrochemical prescription drugs,
using ancient knowledge to make them well -
making their lives better.
And then you die.
Three doctors,
all “alternative,”
all targeted by the FDA
and other government entities . . .
all dead within two weeks.
Coincidence?
If you think so,
I have half a bridge
across Tampa Bay
to sell you.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
It was Friday
I was...feeling lonely
like a lovebug that lost its pair
telling my self I was okay!
How did I let myself end up in parked boat
somewhere in Tampa bay?
It was Saturday
you lifted your arms
I saw your stretch marks and I thought...
Hey!
I can finally take my clothes off in front of someone
Will it be okay?
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Almost a year in this new city and things are still new to me.
I don't like it here.
I think about home quite often; the way the city lights of downtown trickled upon my face as I sped up in my car.
The bass of a song vibrating my body as I swerve under the bridge and onto the interstate.
The smell of the air as the heat rises off the pavement on a hot summer day.
The hug of my mother as the scent of Chanel perfume stains my clothes.
The laugh of my father as he tells a "dad" joke.
I'll be home soon.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
I leave my love for you in the sun.
I leave my love for you in the gentle breeze that caresses the palm fronds, the way you used to caress my hair.
I leave my love for you in the clouds that kiss the sky, just as you kissed my face.
I leave my love for you in the warmth touching my skin, just as your warmth soaked into me as you held me in your arms.
I leave all of it here, in a place of my greatest dreams and my worst nightmares. I leave it here, so that someday I may return to it. I leave it here, so I can finally set myself free.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Hanging a warning
sign on Tampa Bay's bullpen:
"Flammable Solids".
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:09 AM UTC
Cool zoo--
dry ground--
the kind meerkats treasure,
perfect for tunnels to escape sunlight,
and reside in--
be a part of--
whatever it is that's holding everything up.
It was December in Florida,
and the cold hung silent in the air;
as if someone spoke, heaven's branch might snap,
and snow would fall all at once,
and cover animal exhibits.
Christmas lights--
tiny suns,
each thinking its gravity formed the center of the universe,
connected by this green vein that seems to connect everything.
I watch my partner exhale,
my partner's breath resembling snow,
and somewhere in the distance,
we can hear a hyena cackling at my joke untold.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC