Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

October 23, 2009


If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

                                        to killing time.


If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands, 

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

                                          myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less


October 22, 2009


An apple, itself ready for it’s  fall

Rolled towards him.

Looking up from his hands,

his distresses, in his Rousseau Tableau;

Big leaves, big cats, even lions;

Definitive lines

Staged around his hazy distresses.

Clearly and neat, his sweet fruit…

His  way for his fall up.

October 21, 2009


I have staved off   lost passions

I’ve held on cold cliff holds

I stayed and endured elements,

Harsh and all part of a hard whole

Where   lost passions

Sounding far, in the fog,

Meaning more in a quiet man

Than a kind word,

Can  work

To urge  his stoic stand


October 17, 2009


It’s good I guess that guilt ignore me

And better, that  regret may

forget me after it all goes down.



Actually,  clowns,

Surely cloistered  in cells near,

Watch the latches,

Keen for keys that wait inside them, some;

compromises, cast in a cold metal fit.


Here’s the thing;

The king knows nothing if not

To let them spring it open,

Anxious, toward the lights,  past massive

Ancient doorways,

And they set off to make fun for themselves.



“Baby, When you’re holding me

You’re somehow saying  ”Set me free’ “                -Chaka Kahn


October 15, 2009

Tryst Test

Filed under: poetry, prose — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:28 pm

Can I fairly confess this?

Can I budge from prejudice?

Can we maintain the attention

Our hearts require and request us?

Can we sustain a substantial

session of no pain?

Will we refrain from dreading

Our parting; fast and near,

Refrain from  dreaming


 our hearts past it clear?


Can I freely confess this?

Can I budge from prejudice

Can we sustain the attention

Our hearts require and request us?

October 13, 2009

last straw blues

Filed under: prose — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:36 pm

One of these nights

and we don’t know when

We’re gonna walk off

& not come back again

I blame the churn

the churn is not near enough to stop

I believe the churn’s the blame

the churn is hot, turns hot enough

                                                     to spill and drop

The churn grinds the mind of me.

And I don’t..won’t mind.

One of these days, here,

We won’t see come

We’ll lose what’s left of words

Kind words and common tongue.

I blame the churn

-the churn is not near enough to stop

I believe the churn’s to blame

-the churn is hot, turns hot enough

                                                    to spill and drop

The churn grinds the mind of me

and I don’t  I won’t mind

because maybe when i wrote the refrain’s responses to “I blame the churn” and kinda heard bosomy beautiful black voices backing me up..thieving , respectful apologies to Ray, & love always

October 9, 2009


Filed under: poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 7:09 am

L A T E N T S                                   -Kay Ryan

Just the hints, say

the side ridges of

fingerprints that

don’t rule out

innocence; or

the loose approaches

to tightening mazes;

ambiguous, smudgy

places. The dilation

dark absorbs; the

thing we don’t think through

before it happens:

all the early

stations of desire–

the first slight tug

against the string

that threads the

wire that threads

the cable that

guys the bridge

that alien traffic



            THE MAN IN THE MOON                 -Billy Collins

He used to frighten me in the nights of childhood,

the wide adult face, enormous, stern, aloft.

I could not imagine such lonliness, such coldness.


But tonight as I drive home over the hilly roads

I see him sinking behind stands of winter trees

and ruising again to show his familiar face.


And when he comes into full view over open fields

he looks like a young man who has fallen in love

with the dark earth,


a pale bachelor, well -groomed and full of melancholy,

his round mouth open

as if he had just broken into song.





Filed under: poetry, rhyme — Tags: , , , , , — namelessneed @ 7:02 am
Black faces pressed against the glass
Where rain has pressed its weight
Wind blown scarves in top down cars
All share one western trait
Sadness leaks through tear-stained cheeks
From winos to dime-store jews
Probably dont know they give me
These late john garfield blues

Midnight fell on franklin street
And the lamppost bulbs were broke
For the life of me, I could not see
But I heard a brand new joke
Two men were standing upon a bridge
One jumped and screamed you lose
And just left the odd man holding
Those late john garfield blues

An old man sleeps with his conscience at night
Young kids sleep with their dreams
While the mentally ill sit perfectly still
And live through lifes in-betweens

Im going away to the last resort
In week or two real soon
Where the fish dont bite but once a night
By the cold light of the moon
The horses scream- the nightmares dream
And the dead men all wear shoes
cause everybodys dancin
Those late john garfield blues

October 8, 2009

Billy Collins/ Kay Ryan II

Filed under: poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 7:02 am



   SHARK’S  TEETH             –Kay Ryan

Everything contains some

silence. Noise gets

its zest from the

small shark’s-tooth-

shaped fragments

of  rest angled

in it. An hour

of city holds maybe

a minute of these

remnants of a time

when silence reigned,

compact and dangerous

as a shark. Sometimes

a bit of tail

or fin can still

be sensed in parks.



OPENING WORDS Lines Lost Among the Trees
by Billy Collins

These are not the lines that came to me
while walking in the woods
with no pen
and nothing to write on anyway.

They are gone forever,
a handful of coins
dropped through the grate of memory,
along with the ingenious mnemonic

I devised to hold them in place-
all gone and forgotten
before I had returned to the clearing of lawn
in back of our quiet house

with its jars jammed with pens,
its notebooks and reams of blank paper,
its desk and soft lamp,
its table and the light from its windows.

So this is my elegy for them,
those six or eight exhalations,
the braided rope of the syntax,
the jazz of the timing,

and the little insight at the end
wagging like the short tail
of a perfectly obedient spaniel
sitting by the door.

This is my envoy to nothing
where I say Go, little poem-
not out into the world of strangers’ eyes,
but off to some airy limbo,

home to lost epics,
unremembered names,
and fugitive dreams
such as the one I had last night,

which, like a fantastic city in pencil,
erased itself
in the bright morning air
just as I was waking up.




October 7, 2009

Addressing Latent Agenda for a Lover

Okay Let’s just say I happen to have happened into maybe

what might be a tragedy of errors

It’s too apparent I meant to do

nothing necessary I needed to do or say

that would prove to move me forward

improve it all  that joy might fall

                                                                    and happen


At least we see at least that now

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