The Voice

THIS TIME, THESE WORDS

there is no flame left
for this last cigarette
a shimmering flicker
left in jest-
&
i’m the jester,
poet-hero
caught in a perpetual
battle against there
addictions-
&
i should have known
was it not obvious?
i’d put on the uniform
it’s tongue in cheek
so to speak
&
when i set this ink down
i can no longer mask
what i really am
&
maybe what i am
is just afraid
but
these words
are not for running
&
these words
are not to shake away
all that numbs me within
the day to day
&
sometimes i suddenly wake
thinking we’re all barely awake
&
this time, these words
are just to try
to see,
to remember
what really keeps all of us
from truly being free…

THIS IS HAPPENING (NOW)

why do you think this is happening?
there isn’t time to go
why do you think this is happening?
there isn’t time to go
we’ve been travelling &
there isn’t time to go back
no, there’s no-thing, not
even angle bikes anymore-
so, just leave these times
alone, like this &
why do you think this is happening?
there isn’t time to go
why do you think this is happening?
there isn’t time to go

GOLDEN IN HER OWN LIGHT (SHE WAS)

she certainly started softly enough
long stem legs
&
flowering petal shine
somewhat what
one would expect, yet
special in her own way

yeah,
she was golden in her own light
&
she was downright pure
to me
so heavenly naughty
as can be
she was
what every gentle wild lover
dreams

she certainly had a plan
something borrowed-
even stolen perhaps-
from another time
&
she wrapped that plan
around my waist
and tickled me
until the fall
of my breath
cried out
gasping for more…

LITTLE ONES

little ones
are left to undo the dying
to undo
what cannot be done

what are we leaving
for our children?
what will be left
for our little ones?

there’s nothing really there
to take from religion
but I’ll be the first, with faith,
to get down on my knees and pray

please listen,
war is not the answer
no, we’ve got to end this
and begin with the healing, ‘cos

little ones
are left to undo the dying
to undo
what cannot be done

our very own little ones

you love to love.
you hate to hate.
what if you love to hate,
and hate to love?

i once loved to love,
but my love ended in hate.
so now i hate to love
in fear of if i love again,
it'l end in hate.

i guess im scared to love,
as im not scared to hate.
but if i learn to love,
i may be able to scare away hate.

so tell me something
do you love to love?
do you hate to hate?
or do you love to hate?
or hate to love?

How often I remember
Your hand seeking mine
As we lay gentle in the dark
The midnight city lights
Seeping through the curtains
Our breathing slow and soft
Heartbeats keeping rythm
To the solitude of our night

The wedding was over and the reception well under way.
You had time only to kick off the heels you weren't used to.
The train had already been stepped on and pulled so many times
that it wasn't worth the effort it'd take to detach it.
And he, in his untied bowtie and wrinkled cumberbun,
had given me his jacket to wear over my pink, itchy dress.
I'd chewed on my lacy white gloves throughout the entire two-hour ceremony
so they were useless now (even more than before)
but I kept a firm grasp on my empty flower basket
and waited for you to notice me --
bored and hungry and tired enough to admit I was tired.
We kicked at the stucco next the steps a while, Cousin and me,
until he got so restless he went crying to your sister.
Without anyone to play with, I set out to find you in a sea of stomachs and hips.
Until slowly, purposely, with creepy grins on their faces,
each one of your guests began to fall to the floor.
One by one, they lay flat on the dirty wooden slats
(that made my little black shoes make a funny noise when I walked).
It made it easier to find you, at least -- everyone sprawled about --
and when I did, you read my eyes and answered,
"It's the Rock Lobster."

He is nothing but a man.

A man with a thousand mistakes and a thousand more packed bags.
Waiting to be unleashed, unlocked, he considers his sources
and laughs in the face of reality with me.
We are just two, making one, unusual mix of love and hate
and spite and psychoticness and infatuation
and passion.

He is nothing but a man.

A man with salt in his hair and a constant tune in his head.
Humming to tidbits of information I may never retain,
he tells me anyway, and I'm certain he'll tell me again.
We live in moments of pleasure and surround ourselves
with listless thoughts of what we'll do and who we care about
and why we cry.

He is nothing but a man.

A man with a heart bigger than he can sometimes handle.
He passes me in silence, pausing only to kiss my shoulder,
or tenderly touch my self-consciousness in order to comfort me --
assure me that he is real. And I am real.
Our hands fit. Our laughs mingle. Our thoughts meet.
Our dreams collide.

He is nothing but a man.
But he's everything to me.

I updated the info page:

Critiquing is sometimes just another way for people to feel bad about themselves, and isn't poetry usually the thing people turn to when they're already feeling that way?

So, as creator, I hereby declare that critiquing is not necessary, nor should it be feared.

However, constructive tips should still be appreciated, especially when prompted; in other words, if you ask for feedback, and your poem happens to sound like it was written by a 12-year-old, you should not expect to be lied to (nor should the reader be asked to lie).

Post as many poems as you want, whenever you want, however you want. No rules, no secret codes... just plain common sense and decency.

How can you stand the sight of me?
This poor pathetic, desperate girl
Who only wants to be loved.
My eyes blood-shot and tear-stained
As I look upon your heavenly face.
A face that has haunted my dreams at night,
Eyes I could drown myself in to ease the pain,
So that you would never know my deep..dark..
secret.
Yet you know.
My lips betray me as they utter the words
I never wanted YOU to hear.
Yet you know.
And now as I curl into this fetal position
memorized from a million times before,
Going through the motions of my body,
rejecting my heart for it's wanton lusty ways.
This slut that beats in my chest,
Making me fall at its every sadistic whim.
Desire to rip it out for making me its slave.
Love being nothing but a thorn in my side,
Constantly bleeding as time goes by....

We could surpass the essence of expectations
and not separate tonight.
We could surprise the world with our thoughtful
quips and homely passages.
We could convince those who doubt our purity
of a cleansing route of rights.
Or we could turn around and walk away.

You could apologize for moody tendencies
and maybe cry a little.
You could peer deep into my child-like eyes
and find a bit of wisdom.
You could cease to search for answers in a failed,
out-of-date relation.
Or you could turn around and walk away.

I could deny all disagreements and submit myself
to your every need.
I could subsidize every payment I have made
and hand you the full amount.
I could desensitize my uncanny sense of insecurity
and develop a new perception.
Or I could turn around and walk away.

We could unmix our hands and return our toothbrushes
to their original cups.
We could settle for a quick fix and simple solution
and live with a fear of simplicity.
We could sanctify a compromise, but secretly
wish we'd listened.
Or we could maybe stay.

It's a revitalizing relation,
the air between you and I.
And I can't really tell which finger is mine.
And I'm not really sure if I want to get up today.
We could instead soar into another world,
forget the complications, forget the distance,
forget the things we cannot see --
all for the sake of our sanity.
Reach out for the ripples of ever-moving bodies.
Disappear into a dark, black, heavenly bliss.
Look to each other for companionship.
Smile until our lips bleed.
Bold and bleak, the routine returns
and I remember my list of trips and turns.
And we rise with the sun, and we set with the stars,
and even time and agains
become a revitalizing relation
in the air between you and I.

Not wanted
I can tell
By the sound
In your voice
Words written
On a page
I should go
You don't need
Me anymore