Chaotic Poems
Do I need a disclaimer? Do you need protection from
things my poems might unleash?
Turn away now then.
Do I need a disclaimer? Do you need protection from
things my poems might unleash?
Turn away now then.
Last Night's Poem
The world slows down if you let it.
Your mind does rest,
not flitting through the thrills
of fear's cavernous imaginings
with or without consent.
Break free from the fast
mental terrain of scrolling
through judgements at
break-neck speed.
Leave it alone. Slow down.
Open your eyes to
the light of the pure sun
over and over until you
are washed onto your
belly leaving behind
yesterday as the train
whistles away from Eugene.
A distance percieved
by a waning, strong
whistle held by the conductor's
practiced hand - a veteran
driver stoking a good
pace for peace of
mind. Those who
come to your thoughts
now belong there.
Not placed by some
speed demon algorithm
set to keep you away
from your most grounded
connection to the Holy
Ghost. Slow down your
train of thought. Come
OFF of social media, off
of the mind rot of Facebook.
The world slows down if you let it.
Your mind does rest,
not flitting through the thrills
of fear's cavernous imaginings
with or without consent.
Break free from the fast
mental terrain of scrolling
through judgements at
break-neck speed.
Leave it alone. Slow down.
Open your eyes to
the light of the pure sun
over and over until you
are washed onto your
belly leaving behind
yesterday as the train
whistles away from Eugene.
A distance percieved
by a waning, strong
whistle held by the conductor's
practiced hand - a veteran
driver stoking a good
pace for peace of
mind. Those who
come to your thoughts
now belong there.
Not placed by some
speed demon algorithm
set to keep you away
from your most grounded
connection to the Holy
Ghost. Slow down your
train of thought. Come
OFF of social media, off
of the mind rot of Facebook.
In the Garden of Her Bed
In the middle of nowhere
you are Adam she is Eve.
As she lays in her death bed
you'd be knee bound as you grieve.
We can see it all right now
all the beauty that we've lived.
Like a movie in our mind
time will alter our replies.
And it's love that we have known,
all that matters in the end.
There is surrender in her eyes.
In the garden of her bed.
You'd be Adam she'd be Eve
and the rain keeps falling down.
She's a princess in your dreams,
wears an Angel halo now.
We are watching from outside.
Not a whisper from our pride.
Finding strength in all the pain.
Yet in the story it remains
like a movie from from the past
makes the love that we've known last.
There is surrender in her eyes.
In the garden of her bed.
So let the ocean rise again.
Know the story has no end.
Love is eternal my dear Eve.
We will weep in time to grieve.
As the sun will dry our tears,
we can grasp at all the years
slipping into dreams delight.
You have wings to make this flight.
There is surrender in her eyes.
In the garden of her bed. June 2020 for S and D.
In the middle of nowhere
you are Adam she is Eve.
As she lays in her death bed
you'd be knee bound as you grieve.
We can see it all right now
all the beauty that we've lived.
Like a movie in our mind
time will alter our replies.
And it's love that we have known,
all that matters in the end.
There is surrender in her eyes.
In the garden of her bed.
You'd be Adam she'd be Eve
and the rain keeps falling down.
She's a princess in your dreams,
wears an Angel halo now.
We are watching from outside.
Not a whisper from our pride.
Finding strength in all the pain.
Yet in the story it remains
like a movie from from the past
makes the love that we've known last.
There is surrender in her eyes.
In the garden of her bed.
So let the ocean rise again.
Know the story has no end.
Love is eternal my dear Eve.
We will weep in time to grieve.
As the sun will dry our tears,
we can grasp at all the years
slipping into dreams delight.
You have wings to make this flight.
There is surrender in her eyes.
In the garden of her bed. June 2020 for S and D.
Poetry in the time of Covid19
I've been to one lover's
funeral so far.
It has taken more
strength not to show up.
I'll probably have
to go to Chuck's
memorial if he dies.
It'll be beautiful.
I won't be mad
like a hot bee in
summer
alone buzzing along
ready to sting that bitch.
My hands will be
calm
like when I planted
my first geranium
today.
My thighs rubbing
together as life
still is visiting strong.
Last Public Moments
We socially distance ourselves
from each other
scraping the legs of our chairs
safely across the
brick deck river view
where servers wear
masks serving our
freedom of covid death
to us in palpable
polite illusions of safety
discussed as the beer
and the salad.
The thin air in
our last public
moments.
Dress up!!
After That Last Poem
About public
moments of covid denial
there is nowhere left to turn
in the proper airs of hanging
out politely safely saying everything.
A naked man dipped into the
river across the way in risky,
chemical cold green sparkling
water. I sit dining on beer,
poems and salad.
There is no where
else to go or be. Fancy is over now.
So dress up. Put on your lipstick.
(under the mask)
I can only tell myself
how to live now
as luminous grey clouds
roll on above. I sit feeling
invisible ambivalence
from the masked waiter.
Which credit card shall I use?
(I have been bought cheap
by the government)
Oh my. My American
confidence leans this way and
that. Even earlier I
defended my downtown
streets from the antifa boys
dressed in their best
clothes replete with
sewn on patches riding fancy
bikes. They will be no match
for my gun handling mentality.
Born and raised to defend
the city I was born in I
will show up with my holster.
See you there.
(Chuck died Monday April 27th 2020 after a heart attack on the 24th and life support.)
I've been to one lover's
funeral so far.
It has taken more
strength not to show up.
I'll probably have
to go to Chuck's
memorial if he dies.
It'll be beautiful.
I won't be mad
like a hot bee in
summer
alone buzzing along
ready to sting that bitch.
My hands will be
calm
like when I planted
my first geranium
today.
My thighs rubbing
together as life
still is visiting strong.
Last Public Moments
We socially distance ourselves
from each other
scraping the legs of our chairs
safely across the
brick deck river view
where servers wear
masks serving our
freedom of covid death
to us in palpable
polite illusions of safety
discussed as the beer
and the salad.
The thin air in
our last public
moments.
Dress up!!
After That Last Poem
About public
moments of covid denial
there is nowhere left to turn
in the proper airs of hanging
out politely safely saying everything.
A naked man dipped into the
river across the way in risky,
chemical cold green sparkling
water. I sit dining on beer,
poems and salad.
There is no where
else to go or be. Fancy is over now.
So dress up. Put on your lipstick.
(under the mask)
I can only tell myself
how to live now
as luminous grey clouds
roll on above. I sit feeling
invisible ambivalence
from the masked waiter.
Which credit card shall I use?
(I have been bought cheap
by the government)
Oh my. My American
confidence leans this way and
that. Even earlier I
defended my downtown
streets from the antifa boys
dressed in their best
clothes replete with
sewn on patches riding fancy
bikes. They will be no match
for my gun handling mentality.
Born and raised to defend
the city I was born in I
will show up with my holster.
See you there.
(Chuck died Monday April 27th 2020 after a heart attack on the 24th and life support.)
