Poetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique. - Karl Shapiro
I took a fairly interesting picture today
or maybe I took it yesterday--
or was it the day before that?
Hell, if I know since everything is a giant blur.
Finding myself alone to think
staring out from my blue window
I push the shutter
my eye blinks
to capture the scene
Picture taking -- making a visual record of my life
which too will someday pass away
an unsteady stream -- a short film
perhaps it's all just a lost and lonely dream
A pair of warped lenses
call them the maker's defect
out of focus, out of touch
I'm just an observer
in this world of make believe
And you might say, the whole thing is so funny --
so funny that it's killing me
Each click before the next
with a degree of innocence
each image unique
And no one to share it with me
He said he loved her longer
She said nothing
She should have said something
But nothing was said
It's all been said
And yet nothing
Nothing has been said
Just love, practice and find faith in something
She loved him, always did
There's a song in my head
the words are lovely
while a lonely guitar cries
fingers on a piano
follows along softly
and a smooth saxophone
filling my soul
a constant beat
I heave a sigh
the chorus of voices
"stay with me tonight"
I threw a bottle in the sea, I wanted to find someone
I took time choosing the right bottle, no cracks, a green one
I found a spot where the sand was filled with my memories
So that my feet would feel comfortable caressing my history
The wind was coarse, beating like cockroach cruel wings
The sea howling mad as if it had seen the end of all things
A girl on a dune, crouching, sad like a mouse waiting on the cat
Her midnight red cardigan flapping flayed fleshlike at her back
I skipped a flat pebble to make sure the sea was ready
For my bottle, my message containing the very essence of me
It bounced crazy, seven times, then drowned without waving
A gull stopped and stared cold, then escaped it's cries raving
At the sky, a thousand wash grey, like my old clash tshirt
A skeletal chill at my neck reminds me how much it does hurt
When you try and write down everything you've learned in this world
And as you try and force the memories to make sense as they unfurl
I throw an empty bottle into a blood black sea.
Wherein lies the peak of life
When all's been said and done?
I return to the park
retrieve the bench -
the warmth is gone.
The sandpit is still awash with sand
my sons had bathed themselves
in times of yore
and flung the grains in glee midair
like fluff from wilted daisies
when summer's done.
The swings still sway in the breeze
but the seats are bare -
the boys in sheer delight
both shrieked and shrilled
with each forward push
I made to spur them on -
ascending skyward with pointed toe
and descending feverishly
with the downward ebb and flow.
In time they'll come to know
the rhythm of the swings
resonating from within
the very ups and downs of later life.
As I watched them in their fervor
to reach the heights
soaring as if to touch a passing cloud -
I thrilled with each thrust they made
and recognized the splendid wonder in their eyes -
I had been there too.
We aren't in love
but we sure are in deep like.
And from that one kiss
I haven't been right since.
We both had too much to drink that night.
All the conversation thereafter
the flirting back and forth.
So here I am
chasing after you
like a dog
chasing a rabbit
to its hole
It's not fair
to put me on this way
I'd love to know
where this is going.
Words are broken and the smallest token
From minds half broken and mouths wide open
Show the game we play on this absurd liars plane
And ignore the shame usurping our selfish domain
when we fight our own and ignore all we are shown
while others wank and moan and the dying groan
into ears deaf to the sounds of those left
who appear to be adept at hiding among the rest
baa baa black sheep have you any wool
I do, but it's mine, so get fucked you greedy tool
Ok, let’s get that filthy scent…
The silver sparks burst down the spine, blackout, pleasure blackout
Mercury rising behind eyelids closed, afraid to see who she is
Like a huge, throbbing over ripe fruit, greased and on a buttered lilo
Lightening spurt, love hurts, scratching nails on your back feeling like a hero
A grunt and a groan, a quick peek and a moan, the man is embarrassed
Does having my cock sucked demean her? The thought is a micro flash
Keep licking girl, play that filthy skin flute, make it sing, you love me
The great lie is about to be exposed, the big one, the one they all say
Kaboom, I won’t come in your mouth, it’s probably protein, the Chinese do it
Remedial remedies for those who believe in tantric sex and sperm based medicines
Calm down Mr. Kama Sutra, that back bending one really doesn’t suit you
Just like snooker, potting pinks and browns, billiards making sure the white goes down
Hugs all tender, in the mind of the drowned, what time is the bus for the one with the empty bag
Ah but we love each other, it’s so nice and clean.
Well I love it filthy, raucous and mean.
Love is for talkers, poets and fucking stalkers
Sex is for driving the demons out, crashing the train, cursing the stains on the bed once again
Sex is a battle, sweat, blood, laughter and madness, biting down hard, passion is the fashion
Flames and hot coals, not flowers and crystal bowls from tuppeny stores, fuck that I want whores
I’m foaming as I write, biting tongue blood red gaping, laughing knowing that there’s no escaping the fact I’m a man, with a dick and desire
And I want to fuck the whole world…
At least someone should
Stop writing, get it on
Stop the adjectives! Get it on!
Stop the metaphors! Get it on!
Stop the world...and just GET IT ON.
I can smell him on my fingertips. Scent. Sent me away while he leaked out of me for the rest of the morning. Clinging. Cloying. Long after he has gone I have him. Still. On the tips of my fingers. I don’t want to eat, wash my hands, brush my teeth. His tongue has been in my mouth. Polishing my teeth. I shouldn’t talk. I shouldn’t urinate because that hastens his seed into the toilet bowl instead of coating my underwear in cream. I want to wrap myself in Gladwrap and slowly suffocate in his scent. Draw arrows on my neck pointing to his teeth marks. I delight in the marks he leaves on my body. Branding me his. Owning every inch of me. As a sign to others. Like an upside down claddah ring. But you are the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. Only it is I who have set my watch to American time and wear it to bed.
"Happy anniversary love", a body smeared across a broken road
Bow to the cow, holier than thou it is, while hunger is the heaviest load
Gods and demons clash against stray dogs and car horns, "don't drink the milk!"
"Don't touch the water, don't talk to the beggar, barter over the price of silk!"
I mean a saving of 20 rupees means everything to me, a wallet stuffed with a lifetime of local cash
The bargain hunting tourist, scowling and undefeated as he bargains a childs lunch to trash
"They walk and hold hands, how queer, it's all so strange here isn't it dear?"
Khaki shorts, white socks, two packet of crisps and a bottle of pop, "we're here for the culture that's clear"
"Don't give cash to beggars!", "I didn't, it was food"
"you could have asked us first and not been so rude"
"they'll all want some now, do you think that's really fair?"
"what? people wanting food? fair? wanting only a paltry share?"
"Get fucked, you horrible, shitty, bulbous headed, evil pig. The world would be better if rid of you"
"This man is rude, Jude, abusive and attracting filthy beggars with food, we'll go to Florida next year is what we'll do."
I saw the Taj Mahal, shining dead forts of red
My wonder wife and the graceful tune of her tread
Temples and peoples, good, bad rich and poor
Spices and dresses, conmen, dead men and much more
Yet my holidayed mind, is left staggering and confined
To the idiocy of tourists like me, who are so dumb and blind.
They say there are many fish in the sea
But on tonight's menu, you are the one for me.
You see, I ain't no slimy squid
no clown fish
no big dumb tuna
And I'll forgo the expensive sole
cuz some cross-eyed fish
just ain't my style, you see.
And for your information,
I ain't no shrimp neither
just check out my size.
Even the boiled red lobster bores me.
I'm a barracuda
circling above you
wanting to come crashing down
breaking you open.
You pretend to be hard and tough
such a cool cold mollusk
iced and waiting
but I know what is inside.
You are so sweet and juicy
my little cute oyster
as I go down on you
and place you slowly in my mouth.
I am your imaginary lover
like Charles Darwin might have been
how we all evolved from the sea.
Your milky juices bring out--
you bring out the beast in me.
Oysters are a God-given oral treat.
And they make you horny
as horny as a man can be.
Your taste explodes in my mouth.
I bite, chew and swallow
My tongue now stiff
and goes back to lick your shell
still searching for your pearl
But wait . . .
I haven't even ordered yet!
Anticipation can be as erotic as the act.
But by any chance
you are to not available tonight
I'll go find another.
Then, I'll have the red snapper.
I happened to stumble upon
the moon reflecting in the dark of night
as we were both up quite late on such a lonely night
I suppose you could say we happened to meet--
the full moon and me
A chance encounter
One round white spot
a concentration of light
A moment to look down and stare and ask
"So people actually walked up there?"
Then, my gaze naturally turns upwards
to get a better sight
at the moon's glow --
at the wonder of it all.
I also spy a few bright stars
those few visible to the eye
But it's moon's fullness that fills my mind
I'm talking to the moon
but hearing only
the voice inside.
Time for a short cosmic journey before sunrise
after which such thoughts
are overtaken by daylight
when time is measured by hands of the clock
when we are too busy--
to explore within.
"I hate my job", bleats the international banker
The cow shit collecting beggar thinks "wanker"
And my wife looks at me as though I'm mad
As I say the lazy fuckers should get a job.
These blues keep swirling--
swirling around in my head
These are the same blues
I had yesterday
and the days before that.
And everybody says
"Joe, you should wear a smile."
Well, I try
I try to paint on a smile on my face
that is, once in a while
and to hide any tears and the tears deep--
So I'm just sittin' here imagining
what would be like
if the hand of cards
had been dealt--
dealt with a different deck.
You see these blues
Yeh, these blues never leave
have never left me, not since the day
not since the day she went away.
It wasn't and it really wasn't fair
the way Love slipped--
the way it slipped through my hands that way
I didn't say so,
and neither did she.
When she left, the blues wasted no time
and came rushing in
filling my heart
And since then, the blues keep rolling--
like the waves
at the sea shore
And I should--
I should thank her for that.
It's been a scenic sight.
and how these blues became my friend.
how these blues
stayed and stayed
You see these blues
never left me
not since the day--
not since the day she went away.
The crown palace dome
Hangs ominous over the poor
Pepsi signs flash cold
I should have left you alone
Adore you only from a distance.
However, careful of your thorns
I picked you
hold you gently in my hand
and closely examine your pink petals
who made you?
Who made such beautiful being anyway?
I am drawn closer to your beauty
to discover what is inside
As the sweetest smell
touches my senses -
surely there must be a perfume named after you.
Up close I see nothing else
but a flowering rose
In my mind
I trip and fall deep inside
landing on a stigma,
sliding down your style
the tube-like path
to your center
Unlike many other flower species
the rose flower possesses several ovaries
located within your rose hips
to impregnate thee
It must be
the Italian blood in me.
(Zanghi - the family name my father gave me)
Because when I see you
I begin to salivate.
You are so hot!
You hot tomato
Baby, I dig your saucy ways -
and the way you seem to melt
waiting for my mouth.
And if I don't watch out
I'll burn my tongue.
Oh, how I want you--
and get myself a piece.
I pull you apart,
so I can take my the first bite.
you are tasty -
such oral pleasure.
nibbling at your toppings
I work my way up
to your soft crust.
And as Dean Martin used to sing it,
"When the moon hits your eye like
Well to conclude,
all I can say to all of you is:
"Get you own piece."
You know the girl
ain't right for you
when all you do
is be polite
She has me on a rope
leading me down the wrong path
Don't chase Alice
into the hole
It's not the only Wonderland
I know I should leave that girl alone
you see, this girl spells trouble for me
Trouble with a capital T
So I'm trying
trying to shake this girl loose
get her out of my mind
think about something else.
So which is your favorite doughnut?
Such a variety on the shelf
to chocolaty brown.
To be honest
I'm sort partial to old-fashioned
but I'll give others a try
And ya see
long, stiff crullers -
well, in this doughnut shop
those just ain't my style.
Ah, look at those sugar-glazed
truly soft and sweet
and right next to the sugar raised -
when you eat,
around your mouth
I'm very fond of a jelly doughnut
or cream filled
wiggling my tongue around inside.
But, I don't mean to get to philosophical or nothin'
about the meaning of doughnuts
but as my daddy used to say,
"Life is like a big doughnut shop:
a bunch of sugar-glazed
This is a little universe
because actually, how high
do we ever really get?
I'm eyeing the stars beyond
like our dreams deferred
Then I look down
at what appears...
on the ground
their business -
so that's our world.
And I can only wonder
do We love?
Close your eyes
And feel my hot breath
Just below your earlobe.
Listen as I take a bite of
The crisp white flesh,
puncturing the skin.
Trace the juice as it travels
Down your chest.
My tongue not far behind.
You think you are
larger than Elvis
especially when young -
green and hard
cocky and confident
boastful and adventurous
When I pull you out,
you invariably make
or even blush.
To have a sense of humor
is important -
girls like that.
You're such a jokester
such a Romeo.
You ripen with age
big and sweet
her oral treat
and to satisfy her deep
True, a diamond may be prettier
but a big
just may be
a ridiculous fruit
with no brains.
A billion balconies facing the sun
Spreading an unstoppable virus of nothingness
Creation paint balled back in its place
Digital middle finger
Creation is dead
I can’t wait for you to cut your teeth
on my unmarked flesh.
Trace the veins in my arm
with your forked tongue.
Nuzzle my nape
with your blunt nose
Before you devour me.
There is a crispness
to your words
as they coil inside me.
I am planting an apple tree.
The possibilities are endless.
I shouldn't have you
But you always
You don't look cold
you are my favorite flavor
Most of all
I love the way you drip
as my tongue goes
down on you
I know you are not good
for my health
whether in cup
or on a cone
The last poem I'll ever write
The words just aren't there anymore
The point is lost, on another moonless night
And the doors are closed on this mind for sure
Tired and wasting words on a world deaf
Bored of bored faces and closed old eyes
Sick of banging a drum with no strength left
Being the only one asking all the "whys"
So, this flaccid work will end 30 years
of swirling, crazy and homeless words
These few cockneyed lines, devoid of tears
Will be my last testament of the absurd
It's quite refreshing.
Life is not so precious
why would I think so?
It doesn't look so precious
We get sick
some terrible disease
While for too much for a few
much to little for many others survival
We take a life
or don't give it a chance
murder in degrees
Lucky to get old
call it Life
All content for the daily news
and hapless poems
until one day I am the one
in the ground.
But in meantime
Don't touch my television screen
The pub singer plays her set
With yet another three songs
Heard on radios since asteroids began
But, god damn she’s beautiful.
The notes play out like a picked on playground genius
Screaming off the world’s end
She doesn’t pretend to be any good
She does it live on stage
Half the audience sees her heart
The other half are out smoking
Hanging on to love bitten shoulders
All the best books have been written
At least the new ones won't sell
Triangle, square, circle, cross, no gods
Just games, stations of play
rotting young imaginations away
while the books mould and fade
on shelves old and wooden grey
and minds rot and display
nothing other than game over eyes
some folks try, scream, scrawl and splash
words on pages and paint on canvas
bubbling intelligences, burning softly
waiting for someone to throw petrol
on the fires of the global mind
Below are keys to a change
maybe a door we could open
grab hands, walk through cold
yet smiling as it's an intelligent breeze blowing
Can't shake this awful feeling of grey
Keeping the horrid bright of day at bay
I want to keep the curtains closed
Avoiding the questions my inner voices pose
But still hearing them, incessant, insane
A self defeating mantra, over and over again
"did you see their faces, their beautiful eyes?"
"see the unspoken question, why dad why?"
The airport more like a hospital, sterile and sad
The lights go out on another worst day you ever had
My sadness is an offering to the nothing in the sky
In the hope that I can see a happy spark in their eyes
Weak, I am weak, failure I am, all is fear
My defense pointless against a solitary tear