Tag: poetry

Poem 20150513b

crow

recycle everything
squeeze the last drop out
like you’re rolling up the end of
a tube of toothpaste
or wringing out a wet dishrag
use a spatula to scrape around
the inside of the skull
and your finger when the spatula
isn’t flexible enough
collect it all in a pile
so that you can sort through
the oozing grey matter
searching for any idea or word
overlooked
or not used to the point of
frayed edges and
blurred meanings

Poem 20150513

crow

swiftly moving clouds filled the sky
our hands were coated with clay
as we tried to answer the question why
before the ending of the day

this thing before us, so like a man
seemed all but to move, yet lacking breath
stayed still upon the earth–you began
to mourn a life that could not know death

since it had not yet been alive
these tears fell upon its eyes, washing them clear
it rose and and walked and began to thrive
and faced the sunset without fear

and you and i, still holding hands
watched it leave for greener lands

Poem 20150512

crow

according to my high school
biology teacher
we are mostly water

sacks of salty liquid refreshment
a little fat
a little meat
some gristle and bones

but even the meat and bones
are mostly water
and if you could siphon that off
maybe reclaim the water
for the drought
and apply enough pressure and time
to the bones and powder-soft organs
we would all be diamonds
shiny, hard scintillating gems

Poem 20150510

crow

we shake the tree
and fruit
one single piece falls
it lands with a solid thump
in the grass
rolls in a half circle
and stops at our feet

it’s enough to share
and we do
but it tastes bitter
i choke down a bite
she chokes down hers

how is it, i ask

she grimaces but says, it’s good
don’t you think so, too

so this is a lie, i think
swallowing another awful bite
i think it’s great, i say,
better than anything else we’ve had

but i think about the false
sentiments in advertising
and how this is going to come back
and bite us in the ass

Poem 20150509

crow

too much twitching
–a damaged seventh cranial nerve
thank god it wasn’t the fifth–
squeezes like a vise on the temples
just like uncle fester
only not funny
and pressures the ear
so that you hear the ocean

the throbbing of the sunlight
early in the morning
hits the eyes
even coming from behind

and the malevolent glare of brake lights
of the cars on the 405
well, that just adds menace

like a spider it stretches its legs
at the back of the neck
and crawls over the scalp
and drives hairy fingers
right behind the eyes

the throbbing behind my eyes
is the pulse in my head

Poem 20150507

crow

i saw a fire burning in the sea
in the sea
in the sea
and within the fire grew a tree
grew a tree
grew a tree
its leaves were flames
its fruits were gems
and one of these a diadem

i saw an angel upon the shore
upon the shore
upon the shore
and in its hand a sword it bore
sword it bore
sword it bore
the edges of the blade were eight
made by heaven’s mysterious art
and with the blade it pierced my heart

i saw a tiger in the night
in the night
in the night
its skin was dark but its stripes were bright
stripes were bright
stripes were bright
its mouth was filled, a froth of blood
its feet were hands like those of men
its eyes were ice, its breath a wind

Poem 20150506

crow

we walked
through the dark woods
dark not just because of the canopy
of green and grey leaves
that hid the sky
whenever we came into a clearing
we looked up to find black clouds
and we could taste the metal
tang of rain wanting to happen

but one clearing blinded us
when we entered
we looked up but the clouds
hung black as before
thick and oily

in the center of the clearing
huddled the angel
wings folded over its shoulders
hiding its face
it trembled, racked with sobs
and the light came from a pool
of tears gathering at its sandaled feet
unbearable to behold

we moved on without speaking
either to the angel
or one another
what could drive an angel
to earth
to tears
and what human comfort
could stop those tears

Poem 20150505

crow

the sea looked like green glass
almost but not quite still
the sky looked like gray glass
with its smooth, motionless clouds
a handful of seagulls screamed
and the breeze
was almost nonexistent
the salt of the ocean
clung to the skin
and the stink of bait hung
a cloud of fish smells
and also clung to the skin
surfers paddled in the green water
waiting for the few, weak waves
and under the pier
seals waited for scraps
waited to break the lines
of the wrinkled brown men
hauling up fish too small to eat
though they put them in buckets of ice water