Category Archives: poems

D-Day of love

And all that time
And all that love
In the end
Came to mean nothing
And the dreams of the young
Oh, those passions
Died on the beaches
Shot down storming life
Killed as surely as any man
Put to their end
And they bled out
All that they had
Tattooing the sand
With all their crimson hopes
Until the next tide
Erased them all
In shifting colored eddies
And washed them out to sea
To be gone forever

Shades of Amber

I’m hoping that she lives now in the green pasture
That’s nestled into the curve of the forest
Outside of the dappled dewy shade
And hued moistness
The blue sky running like water above
And the lazy trickling creek running it’s course below
All the red clay gone
Cut through to shale and rock
By the water that cares nothing but to run
I hope that she has a place here
A place in the meadow in the Sun
A place to be warm
After all the cold she had in life

Shine, perishing republic

While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening
to empire
And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the
mass hardens,
I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit rots
to make earth.
Out of the mother; and through the spring exultances, ripeness and decadence;
and home to the mother.
You making haste haste on decay: not blameworthy; life is good, be it stubbornly
long or suddenly
A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains:
shine, perishing republic.
But for my children, I would have them keep their distance from the thickening
center; corruption
Never has been compulsory, when the cities lie at the monster’s feet there
are left the mountains.
And boys, be in nothing so moderate as in love of man, a clever servant,
insufferable master.
There is the trap that catches noblest spirits, that caught – they say –
God, when he walked on earth.

Robinson Jeffers

Hate poem written for a friend

Succubus

Love is a lie
Because she makes it that
Sordid and dirty
Drunkenly whispered into the ears of other men
Dingy sweated sheets
Makes the temple
She preaches her lies from
Love cannot be truth to her
Because love gives
And all she can do is take
She has greed in her heart and soul
That makes her claw at anything she wants
Like gold
She consumes men and sex and passion
Like Dionysys himself
But there is no love in her
Her still heart is cold and dead
And all she has
For the one who waits at home for her
Are lies of love

Rain

The last piece” The drought” is a sequel to this earlier piece

She sits in the cold rain
And lets the dark night weep onto her skin
She does the only thing that he can’t
Which is to feel
She is as cold as him now
But she breathes
Weeping into the night
But breathing nonetheless
Still having life
Even as the cold sting
Robs her of her warmth

The drought

It was like waiting for the rain to come

Waiting for the drops to strike the parched dust and feed the earth

Hoping into blue skies and cotton clouds

That something would form

Would come

Given by grace or God

And it was that God awful wait

Not knowing from day to day

If she would live or die

It was as bad as the wait at a death bed

Waiting into the dawn for the dying gasps

And then one day it came

The skies opened

She told him that she wanted to decorate for Christmas

No tree or gifts and not even the inside of the house

But he knew

As soon as she said it

The wait was over

The rain had come

The water would run in the fields

She would live

Simple pleasures

 

She had become a pale wraith
Just a ghost of the girl gone
Blondness and whiteness faded into one
Dead already
But not yet really
Still breathing
But with no heart beating
Nothing warm or filled with love
Just the pinch of the needle
Stinging in her arm
Her only smile
For that pleasure
But that too would soon be gone
And she would be cold and still
And she would wait in her bed
Frozen like a statue
Waiting for someone to find her
And consign her to the ground