"vinegary" poems
(1)
The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Of the death vats clung to them;
The white-smocked boys started working.
The head of his cadaver had caved in,
And she could scarcely make out anything
In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.
A sallow piece of string held it together.
In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow.
He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.
(2)
In Brueghel's panorama of smoke and slaughter
Two people only are blind to the carrion army:
He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin
Skirts, sings in the direction
Of her bare shoulder, while she bends,
Finger a leaflet of music, over him,
Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands
Of the death's-head shadowing their song.
These Flemish lovers flourish;not for long.
Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country
Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.
6.7k
Lustrous but also lackluster
We are gems yet salvaged
Formed inside of a shelled world
Waves waning and whining
Sailors nauseated on our waters
Drifting towards an aggrandized land
Where they might find us oysters in the sand
They'll tear them open,
In search of what only we bear
Camouflaged amongst the cultured,
Or even those with nothing there
Darling,
We are wild,
Yes we are rare
Open up to me,
We've so many layers to share
Your metallic smile,
Your iridescent articulation
Everything happened so naturally
A miracle to be in the same location
They won't crack us,
For our muscles will defend
Our valuable and vulnerable interior
From the worlds vinegary intent
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
Nanu, I had a dream last night that you came back
From being gone almost 3 years
We embraced and I told you I missed you so much
It was bittersweet, really.
I had seen you, and then you disappeared.
Like a shadow, when the sun decides to sleep.
I could've slept eternally knowing I would've been with you; forever
I remember when you were first diagnosed with lung cancer.
You held a smooth stone and told me, "Emily this stone is going to heal me one day."
You told me how it would make you better.
I remember one thanksgiving you gave me a glass of your wine
It was, bittersweet.
Vinegary as it ate away my tastebuds
Sweet like strawberries marinading in sugar, only.. Wine is made out of grapes... You taught me that.
Its funny, you used to let me sit upon your lap when you mowed the lawn, it was my own mistake for crashing it into the fence.
It was, bittersweet.
I got to drive a lawn mower and you had to fix the fence.
I look back to how happy you were on the sun porch in the summer heat, especially when lightening would strike the area around us,
I'd hide my face in your tarnished sweater
It was, bittersweet.
This morning I stood in the snow
Weeping as I stared at the sky,
Then I remembered, you didn't disappear, you just went on vacation for awhile.
It's bittersweet, really.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Nanu, I had a dream last night that you came back
From being gone almost 3 years
We embraced and I told you I missed you so much
It was bittersweet, really.
I had seen you, and then you disappeared.
Like a shadow, when the sun decides to sleep.
I could've slept eternally knowing I would've been with you; forever
I remember when you were first diagnosed with lung cancer.
You held a smooth stone and told me, "Emily this stone is going to heal me one day."
You told me how it would make you better.
I remember one thanksgiving you gave me a glass of your wine
It was, bittersweet.
Vinegary as it ate away my tastebuds
Sweet like strawberries marinading in sugar, only.. Wine is made out of grapes... You taught me that.
Its funny, you used to let me sit upon your lap when you mowed the lawn, it was my own mistake for crashing it into the fence.
It was, bittersweet.
I got to drive a lawn mower and you had to fix the fence.
I look back to how happy you were on the sun porch in the summer heat, especially when lightening would strike the area around us,
I'd hide my face in your tarnished sweater
It was, bittersweet.
This morning I stood in the snow
Inhaling the heavy smoke of my marlboro cigarette
Weeping as I stared at the sky,
Then I remembered, you didn't disappear, you just went on vacation for awhile.
It's bittersweet, really.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
He stared at the lines on his hands for a moment,
his fingers in particular;
the candlelight had fallen just right,
making it clear that the wrong side of thirty
was approaching at the speed of light.
He pulled up his socks,
slipped on his DCM shoes.
Tying the left one with care, he shook his head;
the laces were worn,
and the mere thought of being spotted
walking with a limp was of such … dire concern
that it forced a rather vinegary
fish-and-chips
up, into his throat.
Adam’s Apple bulged when he stroked the Bible;
on the bedside table
he’d taken a swig of bourbon from the bottle,
swallowed the sweet liquor like a child would a fable,
burped fire-fish stench,
picked up
the gloves and scalpel.
Dance.
Church.
******
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 11:21 PM UTC
One morning I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead;
That evening I pace in gullible love.
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
With intravenous need their hearts drop dead:
The death boyhood knew nothing of.
At daybreak I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead.
I walk encased in a narrowing shed
That keeps me hidden from the sun above.
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
From the pulse of my trusting veins they’re bled;
The needle fits like a vinegary glove.
One morning I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead.
In them I saw lunacy's fountainhead,
Drug-sickness, soul-loss, young skin grown mauve.
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
Maybe if I’d not trailed they’re pitch-black tread,
I’d be whole: A full, unpitted olive.
One morning I see my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead;
(Nightfall!) I know wished-on stars have fled.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
Pantry shelves hold jars of jam
sweet spreads of life made from fruits and berries
so succulent drops of saliva
rain on each touch of tongues
Cautious people stack rows
of carefully canned fruit
preserved with small portions of honey,
sugar cane or molasses.
Tin lids eventually “pop”
leaving elastic bitters
for knives to daub and rub
against stale breads.
Must life endure until
only vinegary fills remain
and I am left to consume
sour roughage to sustain me?
When perdition creeps
across the sands to envelop me
what will become
of unopened jars?
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
for C.S.R.
One morning I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead;
That evening I pace in gullible love;
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
With intravenous need their hearts drop dead
(The inward death boyhood knew nothing of).
At daybreak I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead.
The mind, encased in a dark, narrow shed,
Blindly estranges the sunlight above.
The unlit night resembles my dread.
From the pulse of my trusting veins they’re bled.
Fitting like a vinegary glove,
The needle transmogrifies their eyes to lead.
Unforeseen fallout from the needle's head—
Drug-sickness, self-contempt, flesh grown mauve—
Imprisons them. (The stars are dead.)
Maybe if I’d not trailed their pitch-black tread
My Pyrrhic sobriety would be enough...
One morning I found my f(r)iends' eyes were lead
And all the stars I'd wished on fled.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
It’s the one
I’ve heard a hundred times before
track number twelve
belching out the stereo.
It’s either six or five AM
anyway the horizon is orange
like a papaya
and I’m next to your window
with a glass of flat 7-Up in one hand.
No alcohol all evening
but tipsy somehow
maybe the music got some hormones
smiling inside me
or your dancing in next to nothing
gave my brain a vinegary kick.
Now you ask again
I say I have two left feet
you pull an I-couldn’t-care-less face
so it’s settled
I’m dancing but not really
and my arms are thrashing about
so much I worry I’ll belt your lampshade off
and then you jump on the bed
and Teddy goes flying
and somehow I’m quickly up there with you.
We’re teenagers at our first festival
location - your bedroom
headline act on stage
and we’re going effing nuts
at the front shrieking lyrics
hoping our sweaty faces are on BBC Three.
I’m totally knackered so I pant to you
that I’m totally knackered
and you lean in for a kiss
but bump my nose instead
and laugh just as you’ve done all night
so loud so lovely so couldn’t care about
what comes next.
We lie down now
to catch our breath
except you don’t catch your breath do you
it’s just a thing people say
and our four feet are together
naked red sock naked blue sock
you say the song listen it’s ending
so it is
fading away like every night
that comes and then goes.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
I ponder the reflection on the night sky,
gazing at the finite moments that gaze
upon my eyes. And I shed a tear, for I
brought these in to my existence.
I'm a singular person, a lone voice...
but I had a chance to voice my opinion,
that had past dead trees were our
currency.. Dead trees sealed there sap,
sealed our future frozen in there ending.
For our time could have been wonderment,
but we stayed silent. And now our sewed opinions
fall foul of the breath our kin's breath..
A world of wonderment turned vinegary to the
taste, as blind thoughts bleed into what we breath..
I wanted a better future, but vocals are severed for
we fear of our moment, not those we give life to.
We care for them, but not the moment for after
were gone. We forget this is a place we left for them,
it was meant to be grand but we made mistakes.
This was a reality turned in to famine, breathless
nights, a moon no longer shimmering dulled by
forefathers greed. But what did it pave, that time
has not passed. So stand now, or those of our future
will huddle in cemetery's of actions instead of just breathing.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC