Poetry Fragments

We make ourselves a place apart

Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone find us really out.

(“Revelation” by Robert Frost) 

My life is like a frozen thing,

No bud nor greenness can I see:

Yet rise it shall--the sap of Spring;

O Jesus, rise in me.

(“A Better Resurrection” by Christina Rossetti) 

And I have heard God’s silence

like the sun
And sought to change

(“Introduction” by Franz Wright) 

When the child was a child

It walked with its arms swinging,

wanted the brook to be river,

the river to be a torrent,

and this puddle to be the sea.

(“Song of Childhood” by Peter Handke)

The Bush (close-up)

The budding leaves cannot hide

Your shark fin thorns.

White razors upon red stems

Death, too, now born.

The branches bending over

A weary king.

And before Easter morning

Death, too, in spring.

Buffer

I

wish

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ter

net

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so

fuck

ing

slow.

A Raspberry

One thing I’m amazed by –

the fruit itself has no flavor.

Put one whole in your mouth and

don’t bite down. Nothing.

Roll it around on your tongue.

Just a fragile, bumpy ball.

But when you break its skin, ah!
River of red! Sweetness of summer!

Trompoem

Regal and ridiculous,

drunken and dignifying,

mellow and magnificent,

you glide past definition.

A double rainbow flashes

on your ever-reaching arm.

White, blue, red, green

a sonic spectrum of gold.

Your round sound pours

from the great mouth

like the finest wine,

the sweetest fruit.

And to think that I,

I, could tame you!

As I splutter and gurgle

and choke on your magic.

Cliche Poem

Once, she was head over heels in love with him.

Floating and skipping on clouds of ecstatic certainty.

But it was all up in the air, nothing more or less.

When she saw him kiss his loved one and slip

A ring on her finger, two stones killed one bird.

She fell like a bomb and hit the ground running

So hard and so fast she dug herself into a hole.

And remains there still, grounded by reality.

Love is blind leading the blind leading the blind.

Epigrams

No calamity will conquer.

One day at a time.

You don't have to be sad.

God shows off sometimes.

Laugh every day, and never die.

Being single and indifferent is better than being single and in love.

Nothing created by man is worth living for.

Time is a monster.

Real art won't stand still.

O Harpo!

You invaded this monochrome planet,

won football games in makeshift chariots,

and shoveled the books into the fireplace.

From your trench coat of possibilities

you pulled candles, sleigh bells, scissors, a dog.

Joyful madness glinted in your child eyes.

You were grotesque and beautiful to me,

a force of laughter – a freight train, a bomb.

But now you take up your tool, your weapon,

and the comic thunderstorms cease at once.

You stop the world’s spinning, you command all.

Anemone fingers reverently play

on harp strings and heartstrings, on wire and air.

Now we are mute, and you speak for the Lord.

Contents May Explode Under Pressure

I have wanted to cry all week long now.

For months, really, just wanted to sob like

a four year-old girl watching a movie

where a grizzly bear consumes a housecat.

But I’ve felt this way so long I can’t cry.

But I need to. My constipated skull

is filling with unshed tears, and my brain

floats and soaks in a putrid pool of me.

So I hold the pocket knife to my face,

a centimeter next to my right eye,

and I gently, lovingly twist my hand.

The blade breaks my skin, a drill desperately

searching for oil. And I weep scarlet tears,

but I still don’t feel purged, or healed, or new.

The First Time I Saw You in a Bikini

It was sometime during the summer of 2002,

during that weird, brief, dream-like time when 

we were twelve, and we both liked each other.

(I think I was madly in love with you, actually.)

We were at your house. The two of us

and our mothers had been out somewhere,

for ice cream, I think. Then we came back

to your house so you and I could go swimming

in the above-ground pool in your backyard.

After I changed into my blue bathing suit,

my mother took me aside and told me

that you had just recently gotten your first bikini

and were feeling shy and self-conscious,

and that I should make sure that I compliment you.

This whipped me into a frenzy and a panic.

I was in the pool before you came back outside.

I remember you coming out of your house

in a beautiful, colorful, bikini.

Your renowned hair like nightfall,

Your skin the color of almonds.

Your mother trailed behind you

with an oddly proud expression on her face,

as if she was somehow responsible for your beauty.

I was scared out of my mind,

terrified of how stunningly beautiful you were,

yet I was also very happy.

I noticed that you had breasts now.

Tiny ones, little rosebuds, but they were there.

So I was definitely looking, at least a little.

Forgive me for that.

But more than your new body, I remember your face

and your shy, embarrassed, excited, trusting smile.

And we played, 

but it was different.

I was afraid to touch you,

and have been ever since.

I’m fairly sure I complimented you,

or at least I hope I did.

But if I did, I forget what I said,

or if it was even in English.

It was late in the evening.

The sky was orange and purple,

and the air began to cool.