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

May 29, 2017

STARES AND A LOOK

Filed under: fragments, lost, POEM, poetry, prose, Uncategorized — Tags: , , , — namelessneed @ 2:28 pm

 

 

S T A R E S

Where is the wound that shines?

Well Over 50 years on

Over this  his day, on?

My Back  way against all this memorial day shite  here

I’ll intentionally send me  to a ill-shielded shy there,

Back at  again to that  day where

I’m Far  too young  to fathom,

Or even  notice  yr. crevasse,

Yr  Grande Malaise,

Yr. countdown…Yr. Pass.

It makes me madly think now

It takes  the saddest thing    to tell now..

Stuck in a stack of old NewYorkers

There’s this raw cartoon drawing;

A mere boy  drawn in black & white

Stands on a step of his own basement,  stares,

He did look down on his own  livid  apocalypse,

His lips, and the caption say

“It’s  A.O.K.”

.

Here is the wound that shines

Tonight, a glint off yr. cracked onyx ring.

I lift it  in my open fist to my lips.

.

.

L  O  O  K

.

Hope  we’re having  a heaven  so

I’ll look all about  &

Daddy can call out, (& it won’t hurt, no)

He’ll look just like he just got home from work:

“There’s my inquisitive young man,” he’d shout.

We’d have it out;

My young man’s mystery,

His young man’s misery.

We’d upheave it out. One Heavy inquiry would unfold

If he mightn’t have killed himself  he might have taught me:

“You gotta take the bite of bitter with the cold”

.

My Mother could steady things when she told me

When I was ready she told me:

“I know, I know,

With time…

We’ll  heal.

He  was  not  well.

They say  that You/

Have his look.

You  know.

You know

I say  ‘You’ll/

Try having my smile’”.

.

.

.

.

For always, again, rest in peace, daddy 3/21/1929-5/29/1959

September 22, 2015

TRICKLE DOWN VOODOO ANTICS

We say bad things about people who hurt us.

That way they’d let up to haunt & to curse us.

We didn’t dismiss their nonsense,

just cruelly,

We vent  and vanquish their malevolence.

& thus  Renewal.

March 17, 2015

Try Another Dawn, Against Green Leather, On

I take my ten tablets.

Wash  ’em w/ Irish.

It’s my time

for medicine,

& no time for nonsense.

I’m ready I’ll try to pull hard

for a merciful god.

Finally I’ll try my hand

To move a pen

To move my words

To move me.

.

.

.

.                                  (from 2009, Slainte.)

March 5, 2015

Mostly Too Costly

When the task  at hand…

When I’m asked to pay & pay

More  attention,

I  say,

It’s mostly  too costly and

It’s evident  one’s needs warrant

Intervention.

.

It’s  ridiculous,  

I’m  impossible,

I’m impervious  to all I’m capable.

July 31, 2014

“COULD HAVE” –Wislawa Szymborska

Filed under: lost, mirrors, POEM, poetry, private, prose, surreal, WISE UP — Tags: , , , , , — namelessneed @ 7:53 am

It could have happened

It had to happen./It happened earlier. Later.

Nearer. Farther off.

It happened, but not to you.

You were saved because you were the first.

You were saved because you were the last.

Alone. With others.

On the right. The left.

Because it was raining. Because of the shade.

Because the day was sunny.                                                                                                                     

You were in luck — there was a forest.

You were in luck — there were no trees.

You were in luck — a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,

A jamb, a turn, a quarter-inch, an instant . . .

So you’re here? Still dizzy from

another dodge, close shave, reprieve?

One hole in the net and you slipped through?

I couldn’t be more shocked or

speechless.

Listen,

how your heart pounds inside me.

Submitted: F