Restlessness

What does one do
with a free and sober mind
on an unencumbered evening,
when the birds find nests in
neighbor trees
for chirping cat-calls
amidst Orion-shine nightclubs
till the peacocking sun
flies over St. Mary’s Peak
while roosters rouse farmers
and pigeons drown downtown
with sour monotone coats
and begs of coos and cas
outside the Depot and the Rose?
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Hands 1-3

1.

In search of brutal hands

that can bash in skulls and eyes and tongue,

hands that turn the person to primordial

and leave visceral poetry across

the crime scenes, hands that pour

goat milk and raw honey from Grecian vases

and waterboard this temple until

it cries out cosmic truth,

hands made of serpent flesh

that pull hearts and lungs from cages

and examines them in the fresh mountain sun

looking for potential jewels,

hands that do the work of Revalations,

that drum and trumpet the beat of four riders

pulling apart this husk

in those cardinal directions

leaving a mandala of all one was

for scavengers to fight over,

hands that won’t let go till our

fervorous pleas of OH-PLEASE-KILL-ME

aren’t speaking from a place of fear

but from the roots,

in search of those hands

that show us all that remains

good in a man.

 

2.

If I rub my hands together, with enough force

I can turn the dust into sparks,

a handful of lightning thoughts and thunder beliefs,

and if I do it long enough,

there will be plenty for you and for me.

 

And if we rub our hands together, with enough force,

we can turn all fear into a seedling,

a tree with roots tangled in and out our

skin, blossoms bursting through our chests

and fruit shall fall from our eyes

as we age.

 

I rub my hands across the petals of your lips,

I can turn them into ash, with enough force,

and then I can hold more of you

in my hands.

 

If I rub my hands together

I can turn your dust into sparks

all lightning struck tree,

planted in the palm of me.

 

3.

Those who can read

Know her as a star map, already fading

 

those who can touch

Know her sympathy can, in fact, vanish

 

Those who can hold

End up knowing she doesn’t really want them

 

Those who are offered, though,

Know she is handing them a second chance.

Again, Maybe

He was wine drunk and in love, again.

Maybe.

The wine hadn’t taken charge just yet.

The girl was still just an idea.

But, in the December downpour,

With its wind-powered organs and drizzling flutes,

He felt wine drunk and in love, again.

Maybe.

He’d been wrong before and sometimes

Being wrong was alright, and

These days gave in too easy to the night,

So he hid and read and wrote in his

Room’s soft light, and

He got wine drunk and fell, again,

Maybe.

Pantoums I Stole

I teach a creative writing course. I tasked my class with writing Pantoums or “found” poetry, where you lines from other people’s work to recompose a piece. I wrote two myself, using both prompts together. They suck, so they get to get posted here.

 

The Back Ups

 

When my mind is uncertain, my body decides

I laugh till I cry, I party all of the time

I’ve got them bad boy blues, baby

I need a spiritual cleansing.

 

I laugh till I cry, I party all of the time,

I don’t know what I’m gonna do

I need a spiritual cleansing

I like the in-betweens.

 

I don’t know what I’m gonna do

And there is someone out there just like me.

like the in-betweens,

I wanna contribute to the chaos.

 

There is someone out there just like me,

With them bad boy blues,

Wanting to contribute to the chaos.

 

And when my mind is uncertain, my body decides.

 

Shaky

 

Take a chance, roll them bones

Yeah, try to make a dollar from the grave

To fame and fire, to dame and dandy

I’ve got nothing on my mind but you

 

Try to make a dollar from the grave,

I know you can see it in my eyes

I’ve got nothing on my mind but you

One-track mind, one-way street

 

I know you can see it in my eyes

Who knew a man’s fate was such a hard thing to find

One-track mind, one-way street

Here I come, bored and lazy, here I come, no dignity

 

Who knew a man’s fate was such a hard thing to find

To fame and fire, to dame and dandy,

Here I come, bored and lazy, here I come, no dignity,

Yea, take a chance, roll them bones.

The Marriage of Samhain and Pomona (Old Poem)

A piece from this time last year. Little Halloween history poem for y’all…

 

The Marriage of Samhain and Pomona

 

I stumbled through all that fall foliage

To perform my duty as the last druid

And wed them before the full moon.

 

Ceremony aside, I aimed to find

A vampyre or witch to lie with

And send up magick sparks

Next to all those escaping bonfires.

 

Goal in mind, I was rather taken back

When asked to proceed to the bedding

And assist in some manner personal.

 

Samhain, brute he be

Wrapped me in his crimson arms

And asked this favor of me,

Bed Pomona in place of he.

 

She was too foreign a taste

A bitter little drink,

not what he wanted in a wife.

 

For her part, Samhain told me

This was her idea,

She did not want his stains on her robe

Nor the wild in her.

 

Thrice I declined, and thrice

They pushed and pulled,

Groping hands moving in waves

 

The moans of our lovemaking

Sent the beasts into a frenzy,

Such divinations I’ve never seen

As when Samhain forced Pomona on me.

 

They stuck an apple in my mouth

And a spit through my back,

Let a fire take the mattress

 

What a feast, at the midnight wedding

What beasts, my vampyre and witch

What release, this consumption of my flesh

What an end to the last druid priest.

Reveries (Fresh Poem)

Do you remember that summer

On the coast

When we walked on grey pebbles

And you didn’t ever wear shoes

Preferring to develop calluses and wounds

And leak blood into the Pacific

 

Do you remember that summer we spent

Washing whale bones

And you tried to teach me

Arabic phrases?

I know your secret now

All those stolen tongues

 

We stood in place                                                      We ran into each wave

Watching the sunrise                                               and I held you under

Watching the sunset                                                 The current for too long

And when it vanished we                                        cause I never learned to say no

Dug up the shoreline                                                 and you called it refreshing,

To see what it left behind                                        offered to do the same for me

 

Do you remember how the car

Choked and coughed

When we forced it up that hill

The one with overgrown firs

And all the turnouts

To catch a glimpse of bathing deities

 

Do you remember that look on your father’s face

When I brought you home late

Smelling of beer and raspberry stains

In your hair, our only excuse

Was that we were both Leos

 

Do you remember that summer

We stood in place

Smelling of beer and raspberry stained

And you didn’t wear shoes

And made me say things like

Ana Bahebak Ya Amar

Cause I never learned to say no.