Guilt

You are human built
a fallible, fleshy machine
with thoughts and dreams
and pitiful guilt.


Like shallow, hollow trees
we human built
with time we wilt
and crumble by breeze.


You are human built
with onion peelings
of unnecessary feelings
and plentiful, pitiful guilt.

Hotel Poem

The hotel I live in
isn't open anymore.
I don't know what
I should do.


I'm not afraid,
I just don't like
you. I'm sorry.


The exception to
the rule is a sad
song, and it
happens everyday.


Your eyes still shine.
It reminds me
of childhood.


The heart of the
country is a myth;
or,
it's you and me.


Imagine taking
your mask off,
and smiling.


I love you, but
more for who
you ought to be,
you see.


Why didn't I think:
What in the
world?


It's getting to the
point where things
get sad, and I don't
want that.


But I've learned
to keep going,
and smile.


Live through this
and you can't go
back.
It's closed.


You cannot live
there much
longer.


Beauty is ageless,
that is the main
reason why it
doesn't exist.


This
should be a good one.
Try as you might.


Let me just
sleep,
and dream,
one more night.


Let me begin
where I have
failed to end.


Wait for me,
She said to him.
He didn't, or
so it's told.

It's Not What it Looks Like

This is my house,
I don't always live here.
You understand.

This is my house,
it's not my home.
You understand.

She judged me,
when she asked me
"Don't judge."

I wouldn't judge
if I weren't so human.
It's just a house.

We all have houses,
not all a home.
You understand.

I like to stay home,
but
I get around.

Your vanity
was like
chocolate.

My pride
like alcohol.

Our greed - it was
like love.
You understand.

My love is like
a woman.

Yours
is like fiction.

Let's just
go home.

Two by John Ashbery

The Problem of Anxiety

Fifty years have passed
since I started living in those dark towns
I was telling you about.
Well, not much has changed. I still can't figure out
how to get from the post office to the swings in the park.
Apple trees blossom in the cold, not from conviction,
and my hair is the color of dandelion fluff.


Suppose this poem were about you-would you
put in the things I have carefully left out:
descriptions of pain, and sex, and how shiftily
people behave toward each other? Naw, that's
all in some book it seems. For you
I've saved the descriptions of chicken sandwiches,
and the glass eye that stares at me in amazement
from the bronze mantle, and will never be appeased.




Today's Academicians


Again, what forces the critic to bury his
agenda in interleaving textualities and so
bring the past face-to-face with his present
isn't naughty, but it is both silly and wrong.
The past will have to get by on sheer pluck
or charm, entirely consistent with its ten-
dency to nullify and romanticize things. The
way a pain begins. The flying squirrels of
this particular rain forest mope in flight;
the audience has already done what it can for
them; and the pure light of their endeavor
bespeaks the modesty of the program: "mere?"
anarchy. That the men with spotted suits
and ties get down to it is one more nail in
their coffin. These portly curmudgeons dig-
nify no endeavor and are also about as "right"
as the weather ever gets. All in my time.
More meteor magic. Seems like.


-both from Ashbery's Notes from the Air.

bug.spray

Bug.spray is so over-categorized.

The bugs are alive,

and with poison are sprayed.

They shan't survive,

not matter what you paid.

that future

Yes, but it changes nothing,
that which you spoke of.
Changed, though indeed
we may be - 
and I've heard what some
dare say,
evolved -
still, we are unchanged,
and cannot be changed as they say
by our own power.
We still are
who we've always been,
and should have no hope
in this future direction,
except for the constant direction
of the future itself.
All despair aside,
it sure does make things
easier. Easier,
but not better.

please

inspire me
poetically
please.


don't be confined
just let your mind
ease.


someone has to
let it be you
please.

Bob Dylan at Princeton, November 2000

by Paul Muldoon


We cluster at one end, one end of Dillon Gym.
"You know what, honey? We call that a Homonym."


We cluster at one end, one end of Dillon Gym.
"If it's fruit you're after, you go out on a limb."


That last time in Princeton, that ornery degree,
those seventeen-year locusts hanging off the tress.


That last time in Princeton, that ornery degree,
his absolute refusal to bend the knee.


His last time Princeton, he wouldn't wear a hood.
Now he's dressed up as some sort of cowboy dude.


His last time Princeton, he wouldn't wear a hood.
"You know what, honey? We call that disquietude.


It's that self-same impulse that has him rearrange
both 'The Times They Are A-Changin'' and 'Things Have Changed'


so that everything seems to fall within his range
as the locusts lock in on grain silo and grange."

The White Man

The White Man-
The White Man-
Jesus was White,
says the White Man.
livin' in
a colored man's world!
Not now, says the White Man-
now, it's White Man's world!
Oh!
I hope He comes soon!
He'll like it
So!
So much more
than before-
says the White Man.

Some Fertilizer, Please.

"I need some fertilizer, please,
to spray on my world. But I
can't find any anywhere."

"Everyone else just uses
generic worlds," she said.
"Don't you just want to

pick a plan? We have plenty,
and they're practically painless,
at least for now." I walked out,

depressed. She shrugged, and,
slightly confounded, returned to
help a more cognizant customer.

Ellie

my friend Ellie-
you should meet her-
the only soul I've ever known
to wear a dress that looked just like a flower
with shoes she bought from a hurricane
and if you meet her, you'll know what I mean
she could barter with a hurricane.

the key to everything

the key to everything
has long been misplaced, but
we didn't know how


to use it anyway.
the intellectuals insult humanity
on the subject,


but that is just
part of being an intellectual.
everyone knows


they were the ones
who lost it so many years
ago. the amount of


years has always,
curiously enough, been unclear. I
was just reminded


today because it
was so abnormally hot and humid,
and I thought that if


we still had the
key, we could address the issues.
then I remembered


which is why I'm
not an intellectual, that we couldn't
use it anyway.


So I just went on with
my day, absentminded and quite pleased
to simply be able to.

I thought of You

It was Wednesday in the summer
when my mind flew to you
.
The outdoors were like an oven
and they were missing you
.
I worked all day and thought about much
like how the woods, too, were likely missing you
.
I remembered the wise men and women, once we knew
and how, likely, they were still admiring you
.
I remember in the museums, the canvases full of colors
I quietly, abashedly tried to compare to you
.
In attempts for drama we regrettably tell not the truth
for it was not until tonight that truly I thought of you
.
Looking into the mirror, a blemish I squeezed
and unintentionally, thought of you
.
Complimentary, nonetheless, for with the slightest pressure
you would always come through.

River Rhyme II

by W.C. William


Shine miraculous
mottled river
dancing flames
patches black with
doom.  We shall
never see what our
love portends
never its flower
in bloom.

wide awake

I'm wide awake and its morning

but really its night

I can tell by the stars

and the lack of light

and the clouds, milky and glowing

and faintly bright

I would probably rather be sleeping

but there is something...

perhaps the peace of the night

so unlike the day

that makes it always alright.

music

music - I love

all kinds of music

music - especially - that makes you think

and music, makes your hips down sink

and makes your heart sink

music of praise

of this or that

music that lasts hard for days

and then never again

I love it too,

just for those days

I love music with color

I've learned

you've got to be real colorful

to be white and colorful

music with soul, history, sharp sharp teeth

music to bite you,

at your knees

how I love that music

music that lies

just to tell you the truth

music with love too

real love

love like a question?

real music, strange music too

science music, word music, wind music too

cloud, dream, and cold cold cold music

music for money,

now that's not my thing

that's a disgrace to sing

I like music for murder

for mystery

for the mind

for the me

in its meaning

music for slaves

for kings unseen

for love and hate

simultaneously

I love music, real music

mostly any kind

music rare, made for and from

the hungry mind

music beyond time

music for the fine mind

pretty guitar sounds

pretty guitar sounds

holy brothers - restless souls

life as always, on this earth

our only, lonely earth

holy sisters - vibrant souls

sometimes you wake, thinking differently

not like the jar, echoing, on our earth

the mountains, reaching past sometimes

the birds - with the liveliest wings - sometimes too

you wonder, your body and your thoughts

and this earth

and your fellow walkers

there is no blame

our eyes given, so open, early to late

not enough to reach

like inside a portrait, out of reach

like the ocean, never silent

just to die someday

all to die someday

you will die, some day

with your questions best answered wordlessly sometimes

by pretty guitar sounds

holy brothers and sisters, laughter bound?

one mornin

woke up one mornin

an wished I didn't

....................felt like my head

....................was still a spinnin

an I went back to sleep.

woke up again

after nearly a week

....................an my head felt thin

like I didn't even know

....................where to begin

all I knew then

....................I'd drink that licker

....................never again

an I went back to sleep.

presently

a bottomless grave of foolish tears

varying colors of the same enslaving bells

we indulge, eating our very fears

living disillusioned in individual hells

wearing costumes, adorned with the black kiss

dulling, ignoring the servants' thorns

forsaken bliss

while the forgotten ring their warning horns

the sickness is the lure

we watch ourselves bleed

there is no cure

there is no need

darkness' mistress, this doleful theory

we are young and silver, but already weary

a dreamer's dream

my head at night, late at night

not the same as in the day

not the same in any way

somewhat eerie but not a fright

consistently contemptible

but occasionally a delight

it seems that I

have lost my head

it last was seen

out in the bed

among the flowers

unusually red

though in between

there was some green

essentially important

it is to find

I seem to be

a bit behind

additionally

I am blind

oh - some caffein

in my head unseen

I cannot divine

where my finest might've gone

it was in the garden

comfortable at dawn

sniffing incessantly

and digging the lawn

this whimsical scene

reminds of a fabled halloween

after all of my effort

I thought it be wise

to give it a try

to open mine eyes

and in more than a moment

I was made to realize

that in my day, in between

I must have dwindled in to a dream

so it wasn't at all

my head gone adrift

twas my mind with no time

that flew away swift

to daydream indeed

is a glorious gift

and a dream pristine

is any dreamer's dream.

flying fish, flightless birds

laughter is like few other experiences

my memory experiences decay

decay is so full of life, in a way

life is like a dream

dreams are like decay.

when things go wrong

things have been better before

are decaying dreams better

than decaying life?

life is not what we made it for.

birds singing in the middle of the night

fits like birds without feet or birds without flight

flying does not fit in the ocean

one reason why flying fish does not make sense

reason is like mind motion.

the mind is like laughter

because laughter requires memory

and memory is just another isle

an isle in the store of my life

life is like dreams with more time and less style.

Frank and She

She was sick, or so said She

She wanted inside the door, you see

Frank was inside, or so I suppose

for She banged on the door, and bellowed her prose

I was inside, as She wanted to be

but in the next flat, at quarter to three

of this melodrama I watched every second

like watching television, from a small hole I reckon

so simple it was what She did roar

so sick was She as I did say, and this affair she could not afford

next She did mention She might lose her job

yet from Frank on the other side I heard not a sob

twas late in the night and in bed all were bound

nonetheless this lady termed She was not shy with her sound

this hassle lasted for hours or so it did seem

and I am absolutely positive it was not a dream

yet for every inch of my attention I cannot make this story valid

for I left my station and wrote this ballad

therefore with apologies I know not a fact of the finish of this story of She

but I do know for certainty a fool would She be if reached in her pocket and found her - her key

to be free

to be free

....is to not be

and to not be

....we cannot perceive

too many lords

....in life have we

the freest we could be

- if you could believe -

to be enslaved willingly

to have as master

....only one

and by freest possiblilty

....to be treated as his son

to believe with all ability

....then freest freedom we have won

a murderer

a murderer

changing his mind

is like heavy sunshine

in the fresh

still cool

springtime

death to me

death to me

......and time goes on

a symphony

......with time's great yawn

wooden floors

......and plastic ceilings

none will last

......without His healing

death to me

......like in the letters

life to me

......infinitely better

the geese at dawn to stay

all the geese are gone

today

the mall is open

anyway

the music is playing

in the field

the sun is glowing

weird

everything is set

like a date

but the geese are gone

and I can't wait

shorter still

a love that I-

cannot have

our heads cannot agree-

on abstract things

of mind and heart

and heaven's divinity

still

a love that I-

cannot have

our heads cannot agree-

on abstract things

of mind and heart

and heaven's divinity

things to be seen

and felt or smelt

are easy as a dream

but there's no guarantee

or point to plea

on the holy trinity

above or below

the passings

of the soul

to and fro

like kin without blood

still I love and still I go

words

........slave........time

mercy......beast.........fire

........brand........sun

free..........spark.........push

........words........king

kids..........roses.........guns

Red

a fire eternal in days of old

the skies are for gods and heroes bold

illume our sudden days - ease our sheer ways

flourish our grounds - nourish our bowls

I've seen men cry and crumple dry and die

wars of freedom gained but a sigh

monsters alive not the shadows but high

they're in disguise their words the sky

this ancient light has lost - bloodlessly dead

true only in our electric heads

not meant to fall this far this falling star

lit up till death - his radiance still red

beasts

hunger, satisfaction - different beasts

....belly and head - can't agree

who is in control - who can win?

....(who truly - wants to begin?)

from birth we've been overpowered

....till death we'll be outnumbered

this death may be welcome

....to those who fight

this death is most feared

....to who haven't fought

Haiku

It's good to be sad

like a leaf with no water

but I don't like it

tears

tears would form-

if i would let them

years are gone

i have to let them

tears would form

if i wanted

everywhere......everyday......yet

tears would form

i wish they would

(years of mine - they cannot stay

like winter's hot frost

and summer's white day

they burned their memories

into my cool skin

but not as great as felt within

years are leaving my gray u.s.a.)

I'm not unconscious

of my every action-

so unlike you

and your reaction

I said I was Inspired-

that is all-

your misunderstanding

it's not my fault

Inspiration-

is like a grain of sand-

it can be found anywhere

even miles from it's homeland

So it's not even you,

you see?

just something you said

(as salty as the sea)

come now-

let us make ourselves fools-

it fixes everything

to break some rules

Two by Hughes

Bible Belt

It would be too bad if Jesus

Were to come back black.

There are so many churches

Where he could not pray

In the U.S.A.,

Where entrance to Negroes,

No matter how sanctified,

Is denied,

Where race, not religion,

Is glorified.

But say it-

You may be

Crucified.

To Artina

I will take your heart.

I will take your soul out of your body

As though I were God.

I will not be satisfied

With the little words you say to me.

I will not be satisfied

With the touch of your hand

Nor the sweet of your lips alone.

I will take your heart for mine.

I will take your soul.

I will be God when it comes to you.

Langston Hughes

cheerio

your brain
..is a cheerio
impossibly small
....prone to crumbling
and with a noticeable hole
..............................yet still
...............essential to breakfast

cracked

my cell phone's
......touch screen
is cracked on
......the inside

with the mountains

i was with the mountains today
they were cold, like an apple, but colder, and crisper
there were trees, too, like most mountains
the sun struggled to get through
as did the snow, white still
not yet trampled and tarnished by the earth
not by anyone, in fact, not one living soul
of any kind did i see
gone south, like my neighbor
or underground, like the dead
it was me alone, as far as i could see
the sun, trees, the snow, and me
water still dripping, quickly freezing
forming icicles, i could have watched each one
if i wanted to, but it helped to keep moving
he didn't mind me being there, the mountain
he could have shivered, just like me
at just the right time, and he would be free
i would have fallen to his feet
to slowly be absorbed
and quickly be forgotten

blood

my memories
..........they bleed
but not, no never enough
some do, but no not nearly them all
and no not never enough
i would stab them
or slit them
and wring them
..........if i could
..........anything
to stop the clotting
to release my memories
to make them bleed
..........freely
as they should

Comfort

comfort, of the sort

............i know nothing of

when i speak of the child
.......less than two years living
moments away
........from having a baby brother
and a baby sister
.................and a world, not the same

Ants

Ants on a tile
trapped for a while
walking for miles
walking for miles
life's lying smile
ants - cross over
trapped in the grid
lost on a tile

Bugs

i like honey
i don't like bugs
can't have honey
without some bugs

i like billowy clouds
up in the sky
i like to tickle them
until they cry

i like to root
my toes in the ground
live like a tree
and not make a sound

i do like to dream
as i am tonight
i still dislike bugs
bugs just are not right

Evolution - help

evolution
where are you, where have you been
I'm genuine, not mocking at all
if you are real, if you exist, answer my call
evolution
where have you been, I've not seen you
for thousands of years
evolution
I am a man, and have been
for thousands of years
evolution
am I your limit? am I your master plan?
evolution
with who do you side?
is this all you can do, or is this about pride?
evolution
I think I understand, with that, I struggle too.

something I like to do

laying on the earth
opposite the sky
preferably a blue one
clouds are beneficial
but not necessary
eyes open
arms and legs
spread wide
as if you
are about to catch it
the sky
or as if you
are falling
eyes open
arms and legs
spread wide
hoping it catches you
the sky
something I like to do

If I could dream of you

If I could dream of you

I might never wake

it need not be true

it might ease every ache

if I could dream of you


If I could just dream of you
my dreams would come true.