Drowning

Can someone throw me a line?
I beseech you! A line, please――

I thought I could swim.
I thought I was ready

To test these new waters,

But now I’m sinking.

My limbs have tired out

from fighting the currents.

Now I float here, motionless,

My efforts for naught.

Oh, for a life preserver!

For a sign of hope!

Someone...something...

Come and save me!――

One...two...three...

Too late――

I’m done.

Confession

It’s hopeless, my dear――
I still think of you.

Sure as I sit here tonight

I cannot deny it.

Try as I may, it seems

I am unable to suppress
My desire...

Still, I know I must try

To silence it, for both our sakes.

February 10, 1982

It’s bright! It’s cold!——

I don’t wanna get out of bed!
I’m not fully awake.

I’m surrounded by strangers, naked no less.

There’s a mirror set before me——

Everyone sees the seven-pound blob I’ve become.

Someone in mask, cap, and glove

Takes me, cleans me, wraps me in warmth

Though it’s not the warmth I knew before.

There is one whose voice I recognize;

She holds me close, smiles at me.

She waits for me to open my eyes...

I’m not ready to wake up—I need more time.

Give me another three to six decades...

Then, maybe, I’ll understand why I’m here. 

December 1, 1995

It’s a few weeks to Christmas.
I peek into my little red stocking
And see a lonely lump of coal.

Surely, Santa didn’t give me this.

He’s busy double-checking his lists;
The sleigh’s still in the shop. No, no――

I think I know these prints, these

Black smudges soiling my sock.
See, Santa never leaves a trace;

Even when he dishes coal,

He does so with a silent grace―
Not this appalling ruckus.

It appears I received this ugly stone

As a going-away present――and yet
I had only arrived not long ago.

My holiday will not be happy;

Before long I may cease to believe

That reindeer know how to fly.

Persephone and Hades (revised)

I pick flowers one morning in my valley
As I walk on to begin another day.
I have never known any pain,
Under the umbrella of my mother’s love.

Diem perdidi! My days are lost

To rusted metal and screeching wheels;
I shall never know the world again
For I have left my dear Olympus.

You drag me far below the Earth
And lock me away with your dead,
Reteaching me the concept of love
And building for me a dungeon of sheets.
 
Three years pass; I know the cost of a cat

And in exchange I pay with pain――

Three-fourths of the year, incapacitated!
My days of youth and joy have now died.

Four more years—the brooding season returns.

My young belly swells once again.
By now I beg to be free――
But alas, slapped silent! So I write it down.

You keep me “home,” feeding me books

And a pantry of sour arils;      
I again see light, two-thirds of the year,
But under the distortion of haze.
 
You claim yourself divinity
And tell me to worship sex;
My girls become your altar boys
And I, your temple prostitute.

Has the cold heart of Hades become aflame?

Have you finally seen the face of God?
You have now shed your devilish mask
And released me from your shadows.

For eighteen years I forget the Sun

But in her place find two brilliant lights;
They shall shine on, now and always
Among their divine sister stars.

Purge Scenario #3

Alone, in the dark,

Outside of your house...

I’m screaming.

I’m screaming...

I’M SCREAMING!!!...

All falls silent.

You...I...we...

Fall silent.

Striptease

I’m standing before you.

I’m standing before you

In some static dimension.

I’m standing before you―

Inside and outside of myself...

I'm standing...I’m peeling away.

As you command, I’m peeling away,

Removing my layers, one by one...

My walls, my barriers――

As I peel away, you see it.

You see the grunge, the skin of dirt.

You see the truth. You see it――

You’ve seen enough. No―

You’ve seen more than enough.

But it’s not enough...you want more.

So I continue on, discarding

My last line of defense.

You see everything. You see my――

I swallow my breaths...

 

I’ve been exposed.

A few notes... (4.12.2011)

I thought I'd give a few notes on some of the poems I've posted so far...

Purge Scenario #1 (4.10): This is the first poem in my series of "scenario" poems, referring to a thought technique that I had used before with unfavorable fantasies about people I either didn't care for or wanted to get over. I call my efforts "purge scenarios."

*"Written verse," of course, refers to my poetry drafts; "black pearl" and "Dell baby" both describe my computer.

December 7, 1998 (3.31): This poem describes a bullying incident in high school.

In Defense of the Superwoman (3.16): I had gotten tired of online trolls picking on Alicia Keys, one of my favorite artists. So I wrote this poem in her defense. I don't intend for anyone to agree with me, only to hear where I'm coming from.

Persephone and Hades (2.21): By now, just about everyone's heard the survival story of Jaycee Dugard. This is my tribute to her. In the poem she is the speaker, her words directed toward her captor, Phillip Garrido. I thought that the Greek myth about Persephone's abduction fit perfectly.

*Diem perdidi is Latin, meaning "it's my unlucky day"; literally translated, it means "I lost the day." In the poem, I was playing on the phrase's literally translated meaning.

Purge Scenario #1

At an ungodly hour, in my dusty night garb,

I drift into my usual waking notion,

Which takes me to a place foreign to me

In the weeknight’s cemetery hours.

I see you, in uniform, approaching me,

Singing to me a familiar selection

Which here makes sense, while dancing

In a way that just makes you look like......

I’m pulled into a place that I may have seen.

You’ve undone yourself, surrounded by

Scantily-clad women in colorful adornments.

Your newfound audacity amazes me.

You shove me into a nearby chair

And force me to listen as you sing

Of the non-necessity of spoken language

As your concubines dance around you.

Before me I see my investments—

My written verse and my black pearl.

You take my verse and tear it in two;

My Dell baby you grind to dust.

I rage, and scream, and cuss, and attack

But my words are muffled behind your notes.

Your helpers pull me back and away

As I guarantee your immediate death.

Before I can break free to keep my promise

I return to myself and my own dull reality,

Laughing at the thought of my secret boldness,

Hoping this adventure will distance us.

Keys

While window shopping at the mall

I stop by a jewelry display case

Where something catches my attention――
 

It is a set of silver keys.

Shiny, beautiful little keys.
I am obsessed by these keys.
 

I don’t know why, but I like keys.

Lately there’s been something about them…
Something that gives them importance.
 

I guess it’s what they signify.

Keys, to most, mean access―

A way in, a way out.

 

With keys we open many things――

Locks, doors, chests and drawers;
Hearts, souls, our wildest dreams.

Keys can also set us free――

From prison cells and rusty cages;
From the confines of our own madness.
 

Maybe I’m seeking access to something―

Something that’s been denied me for years,
Or something I myself have denied.

Or maybe I long to escape,

To break away and be free…
Or, perhaps, to set something free.

Whatever my desire, here I stand,

Admiring these trinkets and their sparkle,
Thinking to myself,

Gotta have one, one of those keys.

But my money isn’t enough. See?—
I need a way out. I need access.

Love Scenario #38

We’ve disappeared together―

Vanished, you and me.

We’ve abandoned our lives

To escape for a night,

Out into a field of darkness

Under the moon and her stars.

We give in to our passion

Upon a blanket of wild grass.

For a moment we gaze into the heavens,

Overtaken by the vastness of space.

Our sweet throes are accompanied

By the chirpy ballads of crickets

And the warm, whispering whoosh

Of a summer night’s breeze,

Which caresses the canopies

Of the nearby willow trees;

We retreat to their shadows

Once the open cools down,

Resuming our rendez-vous while

The moon peeks in at us from the sky

And the fireflies entertain us

With their illuminating tangos.

December 7, 1998

You don’t think I remember,

But I remember everything.

I remember breakfast—

It was served ice cold

And the taste was unbearable.

The aftertaste was worse.

The Inquiry

At the bus stop there’s a girl,

Blonde with red streaks;

She says a man at the stop

Asked if she dyed her hair

Kool-Aid…

I find it amusing that

I understand the question.

Love Scenario #15

Today we give someone a birthday—

Her very first, one of many.

Behold: This warm little love ball

Who has effectively stolen our hearts—

And your eyes, and my nose,

My hair, and your smile,

Both our colorful personalities,

Our hopes, our dreams. All of these—

They came from us, and here they are

In a divine little package, given by God.

Our little package, full of surprises

To emerge with each passing year.

We touch her hands and feel her heart;

We look into her eyes and see her soul.

I see you hold her and not let go—

This is what I’ve been longing for.

The Procession

Today I lay a dear friend to rest.

I proceed along Bardstown, dressed in black,

Toward the final resting place.

Along the way I glance out the window

And happen to spot you on the sidewalk

Accompanied by a group of unknowns.

I come to realize that you, like I,

Have chosen to don the funereal shade.

Did you know of my affairs?...

Of course not...but perhaps

You are attending your own procession,

Marching solemnly with other mourners.

Maybe we each have something to bury—

Perhaps we wish to bury each other

And lay our past to rest.

Awakening

What is this?—it appears

The sky can’t hold itself together.

The sun bleeds red; the

Clouds are on fire.

Inferno everywhere!

Cracks in the heavenly blue

Reveal the black of space;

Through this I see the planets

Aligning, the stars around them

Exploding and collapsing in a collective nova.

The moon absorbs the sun’s blood

Like a celestial gauze.

Back at home, I look up and

Could swear I see a flock of pigs

Soaring over the Ohio…

And no one sees this but me.

If one had, they would have supposed

That the world was ending.

But I know the truth:

I don’t love you anymore.

In Defense of the Superwoman

So what did she do?—

Did she take a wrecking ball

To your dreams?

Did she burn your fondest memories

And put her own in their place?

You must think she’s

A cuckoo bird

Who kicked your eggs

Out of the nest

While wearing nothing

But a trenchcoat and

Red stilettos.

She’s not so immodest as

You insist she is.

Have you even caught her naked?

Stripteasing and

Dry-humping for him

Atop her baby grand?

Or worse—

Sticking fragrant rose bouquets

In her forbidden regions?

No? But my, wouldn’t it be juicy!

Too bad for you, for a Superwoman knows

How to kiss the sky—

No need to fondle the dirt.

She can rise above it

And touch the sun.

Can you?...

Resilience

I see an abandoned rose;

Its stem is brown and thirsty

Yet its folded face maintains

Its vibrant rouge.

And so is my love for you—

Malnourished yet ever resilient.

April 29, 2008

In the hall, after class—

I confess my unfortunate sin

To a tattered priest in a down vest.

No prayer as penance,

But instead a dismissal:

“The love you seek is not free.”

These words, they sting my heart,

Tearing away its flesh

Like a slab of hot ice.

Disheartened am I; nevertheless

I accept my penance

And all its torturous ways.

Three years would pass, with

My hands bleeding from my love rosary

And my flayed heart festering.

Jitters

A mile, a mile, a mile a minute –

My thoughts race, rip and run
(Will you stop it

With the radio static already?!).

Wind whips in my face;

My heart begins to race.

The eyes lose their focus

And I become a zombie—

Undead and “about to die,” with

A headache to last a thousand years;

The warmest day turns bitter cold

Within the second. Then—

I come alive again

And I fall to the floor.

My mind comes rushing back

With solemn reflection.

A-I-R-E-N

Must you misspell it?

Must you, must you,

Mispronounce?

It’s really quite simple:

Five letters unchanged

For twenty-nine years.

Must you feel the need to

Crack it, stir it, mash it, and

Mix it with unnecessary flavors?

It wouldn’t taste right.

It was made authentic, with

A distinct flavor all its own.

Different, yes.

But never complicated.

Different rarely is, turns out.

Name the atmosphere, then

Tack “en” to the last letter—

Won’t take much…

The Thirty-Seven Cent Store

What will it be tonight?—
Coffee, muffins, tea...

Conversation?

Perhaps I’d like an apple or orange…

Or a shoulder to cry on.

I need something to keep me from the night.

At night…the city around me…

Slows down…becomes…silent.

It’s a slow, silent, lonely place.

The night is lonely.

The city is silent.

Silence and loneliness dance together.

February 10, 1994

A field trip has ended;

The children have returned to school,

Glad to be relieved of their lessons.

Not quite the end of my day—

This is just the start of a celebration.

A cake and a dancing elephant wait for me at home.

I notice you going inside;

An item falls from your pocket.

You don’t bother to turn back.

“You dropped your bandanna!”—

This echoes in my head

But never reaches my lips.

I know you find me unfavorable.

I act with silent kindness, out of fear.

(Neither you nor I know what we want.)