poem 11
Reading your words makes me anxious and subcutaneously aroused
in some way I don't comprehend like a child reading some forbidden text,
something the adults don't want me to know
but your expressions speak to me
through half intelligible tongues in apocrypha.
I remember when I used to sit in my uncle's sitting room
and listen to my father and aunts and uncles and grandmother speak Spanish
and I was so enthralled and frightened and exasperated and transfixed
and severed octopus tentacles and old stuffed owls
and bowls of my aunt's chile verde con huevo filled the room
with their aromatic stench and plastic bubble wrap
just out of reach each bubble waiting to be popped
and every thing in that sitting room smelled like coffee.
How am I supposed to tell you I love you
when I don't speak your language.
The ants crawling on my skin don't bother me much.
Shit, maybe it's just the 3 pots of coffee.
Thank you.
poem 14
Reading your words makes me anxious and subcutaneously aroused
in some way I don't comprehend like a child reading some forbidden text,
something the adults don't want me to know
but your expressions speak to me
through half intelligible tongues in apocrypha.
I remember when I used to sit in my uncle's sitting room
and listen to my father and aunts and uncles and grandmother speak Spanish
and I was so enthralled and frightened and exasperated and transfixed
and severed octopus tentacles and old stuffed owls
and bowls of my aunt's chile verde con huevo filled the room
with their aromatic stench and plastic bubble wrap
just out of reach each bubble waiting to be popped
and every thing in that sitting room smelled like coffee.
How am I supposed to tell you I love you
when I don't speak your language.
The ants crawling on my skin don't bother me much.
Shit, maybe it's just the 3 pots of coffee.
Thank you.
poem 14
that I'm not
worthy of you
but the
hard knots
on my head
recall the knuckles
that wrote
those words
and I
touched greatness
or it
touched me
and I
new beauty
and also
you said
my name
once
poem zero
room alive
remoulade
a sauce of me
marquis de sade
at last I'd die empty
you'd be my trampoline
trampling you
lifting me to burn in the cold of space
cold lonely place
poem for _____.
You never talk to me in public anymore.
I miss who we were to other people,
but you want to be taken seriously
by the boys on the docks.
Meanwhile in the backyard...
you smile at me over sweating bottles of lager,
and dogs wombats caribous
the sub-imagos of mayflies
circle over the pond.
And we're happy in private.
poem zero
room alive
remoulade
a sauce of me
marquis de sade
at last I'd die empty
you'd be my trampoline
trampling you
lifting me to burn in the cold of space
cold lonely place
poem for _____.
You never talk to me in public anymore.
I miss who we were to other people,
but you want to be taken seriously
by the boys on the docks.
Meanwhile in the backyard...
you smile at me over sweating bottles of lager,
and dogs wombats caribous
the sub-imagos of mayflies
circle over the pond.
And we're happy in private.
6 comments:
'I miss who we were to other people'
- This is a great, great line!!! The rest of the poem follows suit.
I also really like how the playfulness of 'poem zero's opening lines open up into something much sadder and resigned.
x
Shai, your blog is great! The poems have a really cool voice in them. Shit, I'm bad at saying why I like stuff, hehe. But I like these. End of. Poem for ____, shook me a little bit. That's gotta be a good sign, right?
TM x
I love all this.
And it comes with a warning from Blogger - the ultimate compliment!
And a link to my blog too - which is sleeping like Lestat slept, underground, listening, taking it all in...until the sun goes down and it rises.
This post was originally entitled, Poems Inspired By JW Veldhoen, but I changed it when he was unnecessarily cruel to me. However, I feel that I should note this for some reason.
The necessity of cruelty is not for you to determine.
The necessity of my determining the necessity of your cruelty is not for you to determine. Wait, did that make sense. It doesn't matter. I get to respond to someone treating me poorly, without due cause, however I wish... especially on my own blog. As awful as you can be though, I have a strange affinity for you. You bring out poetry in me, even when you're mean. I hate that.
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