Free Verse
Barbie Dolls
They lie there
Frozen in action
Like mannequins
Pretty hollow heads
Little hollow hearts
Arms and legs stiff
Lifeless tiny lips
Never uttering
A sound
Not a smile
Not a whisper
Not a moan and
Their eyes are
As shallow
As marbles
Blame it on
Africa
Whatever happened to
The deafening crack of endless nights,
Hot thundering starlight singeing my eyes?
You say the sky is too quiet here,
Blurred by pollution and too many people,
And Orion is mute.
Of what use are the skyscrapers
And pitiful zoos of America to me,
Having pressed my face to African soil
And tasted the boiling beat of deserted beaches?
Green
Tangerines
They can’t help but
be loud
And obnoxious for sake
Of simple want of knowing.
Mostly they wonder why oranges
Hold so very tight to themselves,
Allowing only to be pulled apart
By the sheerest of seductions
Or
Why the oldest of the tangerines
Open wide at the touch of a finger.
Imagine, sometimes they think
They can even relate to tomatoes,
Suddenly reeking odor a lot like fish
Or lovers when they sweat,
or is it onions?
Watch them wonder where they fit.
Listening to Kenny
Life ain’t sweet
like it used to be.
You and me playing chicken on our bikes,
burning rubber streaks down the street,
stealing cigarettes to smoke under that tree
out in your yard. It’s harder now.
I remember how your friends laughed
when our mothers took us to the store
and made us eat shit for what we stole.
Three hundred cigarettes under that tree
and us thinking we’d pulled one over.
I still smoke. What about you?
Yeah, nothing’s free. Remember that!
You’ve gotta pay for everything eventually,
like I am paying now. That’s how it goes.
Who knows...if you hadn’t gone to Africa
maybe you would have been there with me,
maybe it would’ve been different
when that queer kept coming on to me.
I never had another friend like you,
you never had a temper like me.
Yeah, I wish you’d been there all right...
that night changed the rest of my life.
I’ll bet that you would’ve stopped me
from killing him with my bare hands.
One More Time
for Norah Jones
Your velvet voice
Flutters like butterflies
Hardly breathing
Just under my skin
A tingling purple itch
Taking me places I’ve never been
A lover against me
Tongue touching mine
Olay fingers
tracing
The ages of my face
the birds
barbed wire...im
thinking...
barbed wire strung across the sky
when i look at them spread out
across the electrical lines and
hitchcock...im thinking...
hitchcock back in the 50’s
when i watch them gathering
on the rooftops and when
they fly their crazy loop the loop
in and out of view i am dizzy
On the 5th of
July
It’s clean up time
But dad and I don’t mind.
We find leftover firecrackers
And powder to make cannons,
Or blast coffee cans
As high as we can.
We plan to swipe a lead pipe,
Pack it with powder
And heavy duty bolts,
The shoot out the windows
Of the abandoned bus
Behind our house.
And when dad goes back to work,
I want to blow the hoods
Off the cars out back.
The ones I’ve tried
To pry open, but can’t.
I want to see
If there are engines inside.
The Host
Trickster hosts an
open mike
Once a week in Chicago.
One night I’m there,
Excited to be out
And anxious to read a new poem.
Trickster tells me I’ll read last.
In time he says
“...and next, our last poet tonight.
But first
Let me read my new piece...”
And he reads my poem.
kissing
they kissed on red
sheets
under red blankets
in the bathtub
on the floor
kissing and crying
in the car
the garage
they kissed naked
in a king size bed
in the kitchen
outside
under the sun
in front of the dogs
they kissed in their sleep
in front of his mother
under trees
at the airport
in front of everybody
again and again
kissing
they said goodbye
Elephant
My dream is to be an
elephant let
Me
Bellow when I run flap my ears
A rogue crashing through the trees
Seventeen
Broken Things
Broken dreams
Broken rules
Broken bottles
Broken fingers
Broken pictures
Broken laws
Broken beliefs
Broken promises
Broken wings
Broken glasses
Broken bowls
Broken resolve
Broken records
Broken plates
Broken windows
Broken locks
Broken deals
Broken hearted
Broken things
watching clouds
in oklahoma
there is a blazing
white dragon
floating over there in the sunlight
it expands like a balloon filling up
slowly as i watch and there is a
herd of black horses thundering
rumbling directly overhead as if
this sky is just an endless prairie
to be trampled by hooves in a fit
of skittish frenzy i see the glory
of wet orange sunset splashing
through a hole in the sky tonight
trees thrash around like lightning
electric brew in an iron cauldron
these clouds dont know where
theyre going trapped indecisively
headed north south east west a
double exposure across the sky
i wait for the sizzle of rain to fall
it is tornado season in oklahoma
Watching Daddy
Die
Something weighs
heavy on the man
Lulled to sleep deep in the recliner.
Something has cut his taut line
And slashes age across his face
Faster than I’ve a mind to see.
And something makes me wonder
Why death deals a winning hand
The shouts foul play across the table.
I could say I’ve seen for years
His lively eyes grow slowly dim,
His love of hunting birds at dawn
Turned to birdseed across the yard,
Or simple tasks become frustrating
Like hands shaking through a shave.
But I have to question who this is,
And wonder where daddy has gone.
To be sure, I know it’s my father
Who’s grateful that I’m mustached
And not to be mistaken for a woman,
Who says ‘hurry home for Christmas
I want to meet my grandson,’
Who calls to tell me once again
My son is the prettiest baby he’s seen
And he’s proud of the father I am.
But who is the old man silent behind me
So nearly a shadow in the back of my mind,
So resigned to the speed of his flight?
Who is sitting weary on the carpet
Staring absently over my shoulder,
Curious to see how I tend a fire
Like my father taught me years ago?
And here it is that mother reminds me
Of the many years I’ve spent away,
And asks me to move my family home.
We don’t know how long he has,
Her eyes appeal to the son in me.
But they are Tulsa, and I am Chicago,
And it’s far from boredom to adventure.
But it’s not just that exactly,
My life has seen enough of both.
It’s more that...
I don’t have the heart to tell her
I’m afraid to watch mama cry,
I’m not strong enough to watch daddy die.
Las Vegas
Snooker Club
Snookered in
Johannesburg
AT 132 Market Street ,
Beaten by the bitter-sweet heat
Or scotch whisky neat,
They’re discreet here
and I’m grateful for this
Treatment of boys at sixteen.
The place is not clean
But it’s fun! I mean it’s
Nothing like the under-age clubs
Overdone with snubbery
In Pretoria . It’s just that
They speak English here and will
Serve us whisky, wine and beer.
They leave us to cheer and holler
And drink to our clever deception.
Cherry
Said to be
Red
Sweet
With seed
Once in a lifetime
Treat
Firm
Ripe
So certain
Like love
Then lost
Forever
I Wait in
Judgment
Because I stand tall
and proud
In judgment a man of Galileo
Da Vinci and Shakespeare
Who cannot hold with mongering
They would have me stripped
Bare lashed to the whipping post
A heretic drawn and quartered
Burned loveless and alive
My ashes life out side your door
fear of
deadlines
in doing this again
i
stew on submissions i
fret over selections i
listen to music i
smoke and i
smoke i
edit poems i
chew them one at a time i
make no excuses i
wrestle i
write i
re-write i
read commentary i
indulge myself i
take my own
sweet time
fifteen minutes
of fame he said
andy warhol one
weird assed dude an
artist who
said everyone gets
it whats coming
to them
i mean ive
already had mine
up to here so
no biggie no rush no
pressure
thanks all
the same
