Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

 

KYLE

 

It was freshman year of college Kyle

you and me hanging out in your room.

Me crying over the boyfriend

I left behind back home,

you doing the same about your girl.

It was a new city for me, Kyle

and I didn’t have any friends yet really

and I thought that maybe this could be

just that

after you hugged me goodbye

and held on for a little too long.

But it wasn’t until two years later

outside poetry class

when you came up to me

angry

and called me a tease

told me that I had started something

that day that I didn’t finish.

Made me remember

10th grade when Rob told me

the worst thing a girl can do is give

a guy blue balls.

When he said that I started to think I had some kind of power

over boys

a power I needed to be careful with.

Something that could medically cripple them,

I thought of this

as the word

slut

bubbled up out of your mouth

and I realized there is power here

but it does not belong to me, Kyle.

 

Any problems?

Yes, I’m standing at the window

Watching the streets, watching life:

Blue herons, red packets of JPS,

Cobalt blue pills, my closest friends –

Too bad the blind and their dogs,

Too bad the crippled in wheelchairs

Don’t give a damn for this set,

Such a waste of colours!

Oh, fancy that, an old man in green trainers

Is spinning a green windmill, is it hope’s day today?

Heck, no one to ask, Cassandra lost in her thoughts

Wondering ‘are souls for sale?’ while staring

At an empty bottle, the draught is looming,

But no one listens, of course,

Kore shrugs it off, lost in her longing

For those wild white waves

Where she can drown fears and failures,

‘Cept they keep afloat smearing the water –

Plastic is a tough thingy, sister,

Only the fire might dissolve them

But she says no, no, dunno why –

Before I forget, where the heck are you, misery,

Still dragging across the desert

Looking like mad for an oasis?

There, only few miles and you’ll camp in my mind

As soon as the sky flakes out before the screen –

But mind the sins, they’ll cut loose until dawn

And no, don’t ask who gave them flesh, limbs

You must fill, feed, slake, those bodies

Ridden hard and put up wet:

Water, joy, light –

Oh say you can see Pan dancing wild

Among the crowds before the Earth falls silent,

Say you can hear him shouting if my heart

Is game for fun and blast when the shocking moon

Highlights my failures and the blissful lovers –

You can’t, right? Well, neither can I go

All Django Unchained on my earth, my sins,

My heart waiting for the bloody rhythm to quit –

C’mon, God, c’mon border life, we are great pals,

That’s why I so enjoy our jokes, our spats,

That’s why you know I’ve fouled things up

‘Cause I was in love with gardens, dreams

And Jewish blondes –

Only, the writer killed off the lights

After a fast ride on his bike –

Madly in love, I mean, God,

Simple as that, border life –

I kid you not.

 

 

STELA XEGA

Posted: May 5, 2017 in Poetry, Prose
Tags: ,

THE END

Love.
I knew i was in love when sleeping
On your floor 
Was better then sleeping 
In my own bed

I knew i was in love when staying in your arms
Was all i wanted 
and was better then every other place on earth

I knew i was in love when I cried into coffee cups
and kept drinking anyway, 
slept nearly 20 hours a day 
Since last Friday

I held onto the hope of you
tighter than my own sanity

I have felt
pathetic
and wrong
and amazed

I knew i was in love when at nights 
I wish that with my last breath
I’ll exhale  my love for you
And i desperately hoped
It was a cold night
So you could see what you meant to me

I knew i was in love when we were staying 
Together in bed and i wrote
‘ Please don’t leave me ‘ 
With my fingertips on your skin

I knew i was in love when i decided to let you go and I’m happy
That’s the perfect end for a piece of shit  story like this

And now i think i might brutally murder the next person
Who says they love me and leaves

I knew i was in love when you looked at me
In the middle of the night
Rain pouring on our faces, phones constantly ringing 
with pity somehow and said
‘ listen, i have to go, i don’t know what to say ‘ 
And i tiredly answered ‘ Don’t worry i know what we are
And i know what we are not ‘

I knew, i just knew that i wanted it to much 
And you didn’t want it enough 
A basic imbalance

My mom told me once 
‘ stop setting yourself of fire for someone 
Whostays there and watches you burn ‘
I guess mom was right

I knew i was in love when i realised i used to shake 
At the single thought of you loving someone else

 

a monster, truly 

it’s a shame

you can’t drink tea

anymore

perhaps you ought’ve

stuck with

drinking coffee,

but no one would say

you were the most

sensible;

you did trade a ruby

for a marble

you were the wolf that turned

to shatter the heart of a girl whose

only crime was loving you—

i remember you told me i didn’t have

a temper,

but you should have felt the impact

of a hurricane by now;

i hope every time you’re with her

you’re haunted by the shadows of my name

that the sunsets of my dreams shatters through

yours causing only nightmares

until you can look yourself in the face and see yourself

for what you truly are:

a monster.

 

Devlin De La Chapa

Posted: May 5, 2017 in Musing, Poetry
Tags:

 

she wasn`t a Playboy Bunny

 

she spat toothpaste

into the sink

mumbling

that there was

nothin`

“underground“

about my poetry

nothin` worthy

of Bukowski & ink;

she had

pink pubic hairs

and her old man

drank a lot of

nothin`

while I stood there

thinkin`

on how

I was a fool

to believe

easter eggs

fell

out of her snatch

 

 

David Lohrey

Posted: February 16, 2017 in Poetry
Tags:

Hand to Mouth

 

We die alone because old people stop fucking.

Once you give up sex, you’re on your own.

That so-called friend, your partner, no longer

returns your phone calls.

She’s found someone, as people used to say.

 

She’s found somebody else is a polite

way to say she’s no longer fucking you.

Dating is not about popcorn.

More than friends is the opposite of only.

 

Who controls the hands, controls the sex.

Your life is in her hands.

Hold them (down), tie them (up), or cuff them:

there is no on the other hand.

Her hands are all over the place.

 

What he needs is a hand job.

But you can hold his hand instead.

Go ahead, if it’s clean.

Isn’t that what “give your hand in marriage”

means?

 

Stolen kisses.

He had a hand in it. He conned her out of it.

The crime of the century was an act of indiscretion.

He pinched her bottom but she didn’t flinch.

Give an inch and he’ll take a mile.

 

Copulation won’t prevent death.

I never said that.

It’s Philip Roth’s brutal insight I have in mind:

Without sex other people don’t matter.

Without sex, there’d be nothing but hand to hand combat.

 

Jessica Gleason

Posted: February 16, 2017 in Poetry
Tags:

Remembral

 

Five years ago,

I wrote about

aging.

In my late-twenties,

I struggled with

being rounded,

all soft corners

instead

of sharp edges.

Peddling my

woe is me

poems across the web.

In re-visiting

those words,

now in my

thirties

I long for

that

roundness

that

I hated

so

so

much.

 

Now, while still rounded,

I’ve started seeing

cracks in my

surface.

Skin

splitting where

once it was

a smooth

placid

slate covering

my muscles

and

bones.

Things sink

into

these new

cracks.

Food.

Specks.

Crumbs.

Makeup.

Those of us

without

disposable thousands

watch

as time

deteriorates

our

outer

shell.

I am

vein.

We are all

to some

degree

vapid.

 

But, beyond that,

my insides

are starting

to rot.

Five years ago, I had

most of my

organs.

Today,

I do

not.

They move, shuffle around,

inside of

my body.

They stop

functioning

as they were

intended

to do.

 

Surgeons with

sharp instruments

cut them

out and

study them

to see

what

went

wrong.

There is a dent,

a cavity,

in my torso.

It once held

an organ

that I will

never hold

again.

I cannot eat

what I want.

I cannot sleep

how I like.

I take pills

each

night

before

bed. They help,

but they do not

fix.

They do not

restore.

They simply

placate my body

for the

better

portion

of a

day.

And,

I wonder.

In five more

years,

will I think

this is

whiney?

Will I

be

empty?

 

 

Sanjeev Sethi

Posted: February 10, 2017 in Poetry
Tags:

 

 

NOMENCLATURE

After a certain age
there are no secrets,
only issues.
One or two things
are obscured,
even from ourselves.
These aren’t codes
of confidence but
burdens.

 

Tom Hatch

Posted: February 10, 2017 in Musing, Poetry
Tags:

A Dance

Simple Life?
She puts on
Michael Buble with a sigh
He sings Leon Russell’s
“A Song For You”
We dance and sing
I spin and fall
Dislocating my
Finger after all
On the floor

The Emergency Room
Wants and will bill $500 bucks
The doctor relocated my
Dislocated finger
I howled
The beautiful black
Nurse with blond hair
Rubbed my legs up and down
It feels better don’t you think
She said
Don’t Stop I want my
$500 bucks worth, I said
Blond hair
She has Blond hair
$500 dollars she makes it fine
My wife paid the bill
what the fuck

 

 

John Grey

Posted: January 24, 2017 in Musing, Poetry
Tags:

 

PEST CONTROL

A flea kicks me down the stairs.

A fly keeps me guessing.

A gnat figures that a full grown man

is a suitable opponent in a battle to see

who can bite the other first.

A mosquito is not one to ever

fall in love with me.

It’s always hate at first sight.

And then there’s that fly,

buzzing here, there.

treachery with wings.

A bed bug steals my sleep.

A tick ticks me off.

The fly finds a crumb

then it calls me a crumb

under its fly-blown breath.

Ants are on the march.

They wish to enslave me.

It’s a contest as to whether

they or the termites

will get to me first.

The moth imagines itself

a tiger moth airplane.

It threatens to drop the big one.

The fly points out

exactly where to hit.

But. while its attention

is elsewhere.

I grab the swatter.

slap it into insect hell.

Thus, the fight back begins.

Meanwhile, Martha irritates me.

Jenny only calls

when I don’t want to hear from her.

Chrissy two-times.

Holly has no time at all.

But please be patient, I tell them.

The invertebrates saw me first.