Out to Sea and Back Again

Out to sea
And back again,
Though only on
The shore I stand.
My eyes see far
Into the grey
And blurring lines
Of end of day.
Into the sand
My feet sink low,
As up from Earth
I seem to grow.
Awash with neap
And ebb of tide,
My mind is pulled
And heart stretched wide.
Through roaring silence,
Crash of wave,
I hear my voice
And wailing raise
My cries, as on
This shore I stand.
Full of Spirit,
Empty of hand.
Body weary,
Breathless soul,
Surrender as this
Power rolls
Through me, over,
All around.
My god, please take me
Safe and sound
And ease this burning
Pain inside.
From this ocean
I can't hide.
I rest my love
That has grown thin,
Washed out to sea
And back again.

Lonely Spirits

They stand like spirits, tall and stalwart against the wind, slender as a whisper, and strong. They lay scattered, tossed, as seeds from a sower's hand would fall. Yellow-brown, faded from green, bleached white again and dull with age; weathered faces atop slender necks planted in the sand. They are maidens, golden hair streaking back in the gale, grey tattered gowns flapping and whipping against their tiny frames. They hiss. Lonely spirits, they do not see around them, eyes only straight forward towards the dune that blocks the sea. They do not see the others, the army they combine to form. Could they but turn their streaming eyes from ahead, they would see beside them a million others who share their burden. Sisters, women, fragile as reeds yet iron of will. Before time they stood, guarding their shore and their sad secrets. And here they stand still, clinging to life in this all but barren landscape. If I could see the well they tap to find their strength, I would join them here in their eternal wait, plant myself beside these ghosts and turn my eyes and thoughts toward the deep that creeps close to mock and spray at their feet.

she's got dumps like a truck

baby move your butt! sweat, check it:

http://www.mrcomputerservices.com/DancingHippo.htm

Morning

Wake up.
The fish are dead, swirling, trailing white rot, circling, floating in the water, eyes dark and loose in their sockets.

Coffee.
My mouth is warm, lips hard, jaw set. I need to floss, shower, my armpits and crotch wet with night sweat and dreams…

murder, prison, warm red oozing from slashes and gashes, sinewy yellow inside, and again rot, cold hard cinder, grey dusty blocks stacked high around, all encompassing, enclosed, blue iron, solid smooth toothpick legs block my entrance, exit, glimpses of orgasm, pleasure in brown and purple, I am cavernous, empty and full of white creamy waste, chins and fingers searching, thrusting, and I explode…

Look out.
The fan arches in perfect semi-circles, blowing and sucking, vibrating on its pedestal neck, nothing but mouth and lungs and air. Outside sirens in the drizzly cool wail and scream for the Handmaid. They are coming for her red robe. They will leave her naked, without heart and she will lie heavy and thin, waiting. She has always waited, but she has no patience. She sees all the minutes of my life rolled into a rubber band ball bouncing on dirty hardwood floors, polished by feet and paws and tears. There is no backwards, only forward, and together we wait without patience, without expectation, without hope for what comes in the afternoon. There is no comfort in routine, only restlessness, and the night brings no rescue.

I am beautiful.
A blank sheet of recycled paper, wrinkled, balled up and thrown away, perfectly wasted, unnoticed in the basket.

I quake.
Spin and land with my finger on a country whose name I can’t pronounce. I want to go there, see the people, help them, die for them, watch them yellow and fade, crispy before my eyes. The Earth ages, grows wise, and sees all. She knows what is wrong, what eats us, what kills the fish and leaves them to swell in the water. She sees us running and pushing, yelling with our eyes squeezed shut, hands pressed over ears. I wish I had two more to hold my nose and cover my mouth. Two more to press and shove and close the holes between my legs. Too many holes. Eight arms, eight hands, suffocating, keeping it all inside. Too much goes out, too much goes in. Faster and wetter because I can’t decide if it should stop or keep going. All I know is nothing. I am not helpful. I want to hurt you, especially. The wash cycle is quick and it leaves me dirty. The world is dirty and refuses to stop, keep spinning until you vomit, and then throw it away and do it all over again.


Don’t eat.
Don’t sleep, get the fish out, watch them spiral and circle to the right, the rot washes off.

Fuck you.
I hate this. I can’t learn and you never will. Not I, you, me, nobody. Like personalities all staring at themselves in a mirror, turn away and I am one again, just me, there is no I or you. Just me, to sit here and wait for something I doubt will ever happen. You tell me that I don’t care, but you do care and so does me. There’s nothing we can do but wait. And so we wait. In the morning wet and new, we wait for the afternoon to drive up and drop off night, home from college. We wait for this world, these people to grow up and find meaning, something, anything real, anything worth dying for.

No. Know.
No this. Know this. Know that I would shove it down your throat if I could, and watch it strangle you from the inside. I would sit and watch your eyes begging, your hands pleading. I sit and watch. I sit on my metal folding chair in the middle of the stadium and watch you fall to your knees, face purple, eyes bulging, neck cording and gasping and spasming. I sit and watch you die because you sat. You taught me to sit. I don’t know how to save you and I don’t want to learn.

Enough.
The fish scream, tiny wet screams through soggy wet lips. The fish scream and then all is silent. The world stops turning and all that is left is the fish tank, full of dead cold fish, neon coral, and the drunk skeleton man stuffed under gravel and held in place by the weight of the water.

I am clean.
I floss and pieces of food fleck out onto the mirror. I leave them there to watch what happens. Little guardians, sentinels, pieces of pizza crust, chicken nuggets clinging to the mirror. They’ve been ousted, flung, flossed, tossed recklessly from their homes into a strange sterile place. They will stay there, stuck to the mirror until cleaning day. Disinfectant, bleach, Windex and I wipe them away, flushed along with the fish, bubbling and burping until I’m finished.

A growl and I am finished.

10/11/05 eg

CRY

MY ROOT.
DEEP GREEN MARROW, SURROUNDED BY CAKEY EARTH, DARK AND CEMENTED.
I HEAR VOICES, DO YOU HEAR, YOU HEAR ME.
MOUTHS LUNGE OPEN, AGAPE WITH PURPLE AND ORANGE TONGUES, HOT BREATH
ON MY CHEEKS.
SWEET IS THE HEAT BEHIND MY LANGUID EYES THAT TEARS ROLL FROM,
BROKEN FROM THE LEVEE.

Pillows

Lush citrus green and moist plump velvety purple, cool in the crisp night and welcoming me in her soft breast. The breeze dances in behind me, rustling tiny hairs, and lands with a sigh on the splash of orange pumpkin spice by my belly. My nose is lost in mountains of cloudy white, sweet smelling breath and brown locket discs that seal up your heart at a glance. I hear the rain drip.

(none)

All the years have faded.
I have moved on and you've stayed.
For all the gifts you've given
There's not one debt that's been paid.
You've been patient and unkind
Sometimes cruel, often rude.
Not one pleasure has been real.
All this time my soul was nude.
You've not noticed, nor I doubt
If you even had would care.
All the times you've been beside me
I have never felt you there.

Lickmaster

He licks, burumph, lick lick, goes the Lickmaster.

Smell, I smell you lick lick. Barumph, boo bar, who

goes there? I must know you.

Wee little man, a doctor, quite special. The palm of my

hand is his belly's right prop. Warming and waiting to

cup and bar bar! His tender paws and barumph umph brrow!

sarah rose's wine

a heat enters, and builds, and dwells,
and brings with it a hunger
bright lines like trains approach and crash
the explosion is deadly
glass so thin it shatters upon a word
a breath
one breath and it's gone
the music is carnivalesque, so carnal in its pleasure
just raw juices and you and me and this
heat that has entered and abides

small animal friends: installment #2

penny, penny, quite contrary
has a burden she can't carry
always guarded, all claws bared
not sure if she's bored or scared

tuck'd under bed or coverlet
you never know if she's upset
hiding, plotting, then - ATTACK!
careful not to turn her back...

she'll come running with a purr
begging you to stroke her fur
intertwining through your legs
meowing softly as she begs

but, alas, you must be wary
i've discovered she's quite scary
with a swipe and then a flash
off she sprints, quick as a dash

leaving you with teary eyes
and bloody scratches; but be wise
for she's a princess in her heart
and you'll find she's rather smart

penny, penny, quite contrary
with your burden you can't carry
let your guard down, and you'll see
i want to love you completely

starsucks coffee

this isn't a poem, but it's really funny all the same. check it out!


http://parody.organique.com/001.html

Marshy Marshy Bog

Glip glop sloppidy slop

Muddy bubbles blip and blop

Oh, Marshy Bog

Glip glop sloppidy sloppy

bloppy bubbles glop and glot

and blurpidy blop along the boggy

bloggidy boggies marshy mop

interlude

what if we go?

speak the unspeakable.
it will break their hearts
and turn mine to sweet heavy lead. again.
(i don't know if it will hold. hold!)
and my boys. i hardly-

leave it. all that has become. became.
drop like a dead crusty cursing fly. fly
away.
mine.
haunt me.
familiar streets as ghosts, with buildings - faces -
and black window eyes that have seen me
these past years. seen. and heard. and felt me driving by.

what if all i've made has rotted?

what if we don't make it?

what if it hurts?
it hurts.

small animal friends: installment #1

in tiny tank my four fish friends

live happily; like summer winds

they flit and sway to pass their time,

each perfect in its small design.

there's ponch and john, with tiger stripes,

and otis with his round mouth wipes

the tank and cleans the plants

that float in underwater dance.

and summer, yellow as the sun,

had a mate but now is one.

they know when i approach the tank

-my footsteps make the water shake-

it's feeding time! that's twice a day.

excitedly they swarm and play

around the top where i drop in

their flakes, and let the fun begin!

fins ashimmer, scales aglow

how was i to ever know

the great affection i now hold

for four fish friends with hearts of gold?

now really, fish are kind of creepy.
so i chose mine carefully and named them to make me smile.
ponch and john? you can't ignore the CHiP's, man. their huge black
eyes remind me of aviator sunglasses.
summer's mate was star. they were my redneck friends.
but now summer swims alone, a sad sad tragedy, and
star went swimming in a circle...
otis kicks ass, that's all.

pot bellied stove

she started out quite unassuming
with sheets, clothes, pillows, and the like.
but as time passed she grew more comfortable
with me, with us, and so she unloaded.
the rocking chair i adore;
so much character and love worn into the soft
wooden arms and seat, the smooth buttery
wood that holds memories on laps of laughs.
then came the desk, tiny and tight and full of surprises.
small cubbies in which to keep my knick-knacks and
stationary, my little projects and papers.
stripping it bare of the thick coats of bright paint
i can see it still sitting in my home when i'm old,
opening it's lid at the whim of my wrinkled hands.
and next the decorations. supplies for every occasion;
christmas, easter, 4th of july, halloween, thanksgiving,
birthdays, and graduations. flags and candles,
heirlooms, trinkets and tins for every event and some for naught,
all in boxes and bags stored in closets and under the bed
waiting with anticipation for the right moment to emerge
again and adorn the normal with hints of celebration.
and now, rumors of a pot bellied stove.
another treasure will find it's resting place
beneath my roof. it will witness this uncompromising
roller coaster along side my love and i.
it will remember the past and watch with pregnant heart
as we fill up and float away, still sitting there in it's cast iron shell.
i do not mind. bring them all to find a place within the
warmth of these four walls that make my home.
let them sit or lay as they please, and they will speak to us
as old friends do, long gone, through images and flashes
of memories so bright and yet so faded. and within our daily
exchanges we will make new ones. i do not mind, for they
come from love, and into love they shall pass.

regarding midgets

i have a query for you today;
if a midget approached, what would you say?
he's small and yet intimidating,
looks as if he's almost waiting
for you to wince or laugh or grin
and kick him in his tiny shin.

why so affected by his plight,
like you should shrink to meet his height?
he's just a person, although small.
(reminds you of a baby doll.)
no wait, that's weird, he's a grown man.
you see the quandry now at hand?

if approached by said wee midget
i'll admit, i'd fuss and fidget.
but in the end i'd have to say
i'd treat him in no different way.
a smile, a wave, one small hello
now that was odd, i've got to go!

allergy haiku

blooming, growing plants

pollen in the air around

sneezing, snot, springtime!

4/20/05

take off your hat and stay awhile;

i have some herb to make you smile.

the greenest k.b. ever seen

to make you feel like quite a queen!

today's the day to celebrate-

don't ignore me, this can't wait!

you must sit down and take a hit;

relax, get high, and enjoy it!

un-work

each new morning i arise
to rub the darkness from my eyes.
groggily i drag myself
from comfy bed to bathroom shelf
where in the mirror i half see
my dreams and then i half see me.
i shower, dress, and cough - awake -
the sleep and pollen sure do make
my day begin as i resist
the rising sun and clearing mist.
off to work after swift kiss
this job makes me mad as piss.
before lunch i sit and play
card games, poems, emails stay
my number one, in terms of fun,
and then it's lunch time, time to run!
the afternoon, my work' s begun.
but not too much, it's more like "un"
work. yes, that's right, i must admit
my job is lame, i have a fit
every time my boss says "hey".
i want to run far far away.
and so my question now is this:
do your jobs make you boo and hiss?

(i want to see some poetic verse about your jobs
and how they make you feel (happy, stressed, nauseous, etc.).
please comment in the "comments" section. thank you.)

stream of thought: observations

a week has nearly passed us by...
and here i sit; i ask you why?
why indeed must i so feel
i must go to the gym to peel
the layers off; what layers, hey?
i'd rather just enjoy my stay.
i want to be the best; you know,
life is just one big long show
of who did what and how with who:
i don't give a flying fuck, do you?
the only thing i really want
is to be truly happy, not
most famous, not the most exciting.
all of this is rather frightening.
more and more i've come to learn
sometimes i'd love to watch it burn.
i'll go home and i'll eat dinner;
she'll tell me that i'm a winner,
then i'll know it's all ok,
i've got her, i know she'll stay.
what is it that i'm holding on to?
on the bottom of my shoe
there is an ideal of myself;
i'll have to put it on the shelf
and slowly watch it gather dust
or wither, rot, and then grow rust.
but in it's place i will have found
a different plot of fresh, new ground
for planting things and brand new passions;
bowling, horses, singing, fashions...
where is my identity?
how do i know that it is me?
this is the question i now ask,
(i need a jack-and-coke filled flask)
it's 5:00, it's time to go,
i hope you've all enjoyed the show.
to the gym i now must fly,
i don't care, don't ask me why
we started here, and here we'll end.
thanks for lending your ear, friend.

We've Moved!

downtown we've moved, to the heart of the city.
lend me your ear and on me take pity.
our office has moved, i need some advice;
how do i decorate and make it look nice?
i've got my own office with a big open window,
four giant walls all bare and with no show.
my office is huge and i can't fill it up,
i need some pictures, some flair, some fluff...
i'm all alone, just a soul by myself
with big empty walls and a bare ugly shelf.
my office mate has moved to the office next door;
now my dumb job is really a bore!
we will prevail and we will have fun.
to B's adjacent office i surely will run.
casual fridays will not be the same
we'll sing journey loud and we will not feel lame.
we'll fight for our rights; we're up and we're proud!
we want to waste time, not work, and be loud.
but alas, our paradise has changed just a titch,
insurance is a bore, and this is a bitch!

office chairs

new office chairs arrived today
raise your hands and say "yay hay!"
our backs rejoice
my ass's choice
these new chairs are the way

we both assembled our new chairs
wearing jeans and holding flares
phones were ringing
i was singing
we're rid of ergonomic cares

nuts

roasted, salted, sliced, and whole
eat them out of bag or bowl
cashews, peanuts, pecans too
share with me, i'll share with you
i like them natural and deluxe
at most they'll cost you a few bucks
mixed nuts, corn nuts, all so tasty
but be wise and don't be hasty
walnuts and some almond slivers
oh so good they give me shivers
pistachio and hazelnut
macadamia will make the cut
fancy, jumbo, all the same
i love my nuts, your face is lame

to: the donut and the driver

i am sad that you can't visit.
our soiree wont be the same.
it's only snow, come on, get with it!
on you i cannot place the blame.

we had the guest room prepped and ready;
clean sheets, towels, food, and wine.
fun events and plans to party...
we'll just do it all next time!

DON'T STOP BELIEVING

"don't stop believing!
hold on to that feeling...
streetlights, people...whoaa!!"

just a little tribute

poo

red is for the rage i feel
when you call me names and bite my heel.
green is for your nasty bogies
thank allah that we're not old fogies.
orange is my favorite fruit;
what rhymes with fruit except for poot?
my post-it notes are all quite yellow;
like your belly, you fat fellow!
blue is for the sky so vast
like your very shady past.
purple is because i'm gay.
i don't care what you say.
turquoise reminds me of the beach
where i like to check out hotties. ha!
this doesn't rhyme on purpose just to
piss you mean people off who criticize me for not writing enough.
pink is pretty, don't you think?
i am so close, so on the brink
of something new and exciting.
i need some freakin' blingin' bling!
black is for your cold, cold heart.
you look like poo and smell like fart.
i love my ring, so gold and shiny,
like your big and fat, white hiney.
now i must go and work work work.
insurance sucks.

Our Elite Positions

Oh, my little Erin,
For your humor you should be a Barron.
Work is so lame,
If only we could play a game.
The bird that flew by was a Herron.

Today is a day of work.
I feel like a freakin' tax clerk.
I'm working so hard,
I'll turn into a retard.
For that comment I'm a jerk.

by B$

it's funny you say you're a retard,
for i often wear a tight leotard.
i stand on my toes
and cry for my woes
when i should just call you a big tard!

by poet 1

ily

(this one's about my fiance...i'm so romantic!)

the touch of your lips
the sway of your hips
the smell of your hair
your skin so bare

i love you my dear
to you i am near
my heart does delight
resting in your sight

Bogies!!

At work was I, and working hard.
I reached in my file for letterhead.
My hand recoiled - I had the card...
I looked, I gasped, I'd rather be dead!

For there on my finger, all green and hairy,
(Oh how I wish it was covered in sugar!)
'Twas tiny, and yet, incredibly scary!
I found sitting there a wee little booger!