Almost Like Poetry

[paradoxical]

I thought I would create a single thread to post my poetry; I will add more in time and I may still create a separate thread now and then. Feedback and suggestions are always welcome.


Mrs. Pratchett in Samsara

a recluse lives
in apartment 17D,
subject of gossip
and maker of lists,

under liner of
all things important

afraid of the outside,
through the window,
she sits watching
the flowers grow

"Where are the butterflies?"
she asks, "They should be here by now."

writing letters and
Facebook and email,
her real connection
to the world outside

she sits at the table,
and finishes the crossword

on the phone with
Mrs. Carlson in 24C,
she can't explain-
what would you say?

these phone lines
connect to an empty shell?

it's lonely in here,
the worst kind
of darkness,

and there is
nothing to hold on to


98º

in the kitchen,
the smell of
ginger and
burning oil
mixes with
Summer heat.

the AC runs
but we move
in a stupor,
languish under
August humidity

evening brings
the mercy
of rain
and lightning,
streaking sideways
across the sky.

at dawn, you
will walk across
wet grass–
boxes in hand

you're packed,
you have your plan,
and this will be
our very last night

In the morning,
I will slash
my chest with a razor,
will pray to
fearsome Gods

and I will take
down the pictures
of someone
I used to know.

[paradoxical]

Because of All This

The road screams in silence, under the crushing weight of cars and trucks. The interstate lies awake with our constant movement, ancient communication between rock and tree, tree and sky, disrupted. A map of stars against the sky, even the lizards, they watch, and the deer traveling at night. They sense it, like water flowing underground.

Who built these roads through the desert? Asphalt lines running through Anasazi burial grounds and Apache land. You could turn onto unpaved roads, but that is all private farm land now – public space growing always smaller. A gate, a barbed wire fence separating you from this valley, that mesa.

Only the smell of stars left, and the sound of the highway. Small houses far off the road, windows flashing with TV light. No more jaguars. No more white buffalo. The old magic is dying, a distant drum beat fading away. This is cattle land now. Too many people and not enough room for wild horses and antelope.

Dead coyotes and noises in the sky. Government aircraft. The ancient wisdom speaks of a comet, that will be the sign. The return. The man at the Texaco station lets you know these are the worst wildfires he's ever seen. You tell him it's worse in Arizona. Oh yea, buddy? he says. Just wait till next year.

[Bar22do]

sad and lonely... longing for the sign?

[paradoxical]

"... longing for the sign?

Yea, I suppose I am.

[Jack of Hearts]

Doxy,

There is something quite right about your writing. Take it from someone who has now rolled around in it, so to speak- poems and story both.

You owe it to yourself to develop your beautiful talent/potential.

This reader is tempted to bother you about the line breaks again. But nah.


Onward!





J

[Jerrybaldy]

really enjoyed 98 and anyone with a Pink Floyd avatar has my vote :)
JB

[paradoxical]

Doxy,

There is something quite right about your writing. Take it from someone who has now rolled around in it, so to speak- poems and story both.

You owe it to yourself to develop your beautiful talent/potential.

This reader is tempted to bother you about the line breaks again. But nah.


Onward!


J

Thank you, Jack. That's about the best compliment a writer can get, and encourages me to keep going. In many ways, this forum has helped me more then my creative writing class.

I'm beginning to experiment with longer lines, as well.


really enjoyed 98 and anyone with a Pink Floyd avatar has my vote :)
JB

Thanks man, set the controls for the heart of the sun!

[Jerrybaldy]

Frittering and wasting my hours in an offhand way. Love your Zen proverb too. A Genuine truism.

[paradoxical]

Red Sky at Night

an old man on
his way to death,
he says there's
something's coming
and you better
take warning

a red sky, and the
whole city's burning

said he's been
around the world,
and it's like this
everywhere, you
just gotta try
to do something

are you gonna
just sit and stare?

he rolls a cigarette,
leaning against the wall

but the rain comes
and he buttons his coat,
takes one last drag.
street lamps switch on
in the evening light
and the transformers hum

[paradoxical]

24 Hours

Give me your hand and meet me at the top of the stairs. Where the sign says This Area Under 24 Hour Surveillance, better slink so far down into that concrete that nobody's gonna find us here. A beat up guitar, and the wind blowing just right. Outside the chain link fence, everything dreaming itself alive. Walked around all day, now looking at the street below. The glow of lights, a stairwell with empty cans of spray paint. Kids tag the whole ****ing city. Don't say a word, we can sleep in the morning. I think I left you a voice mail telling you where I'd be.

[paradoxical]

Eyes Turning Grey

nothing to do
but sweat it out
downtown Phoenix,
108 degrees,
cop on Van Buren
giving me that look

"You better keep it
moving, boy."

angry looks on
city streets,
my thoughts moving
through the black
magick of this town

some dude named José,
said a bad wind's coming
and it ain't the weather

feel those eyes
watching me,
lost in this place
nothing but a ticket
two shirts,
cargo pants
and no backup plan

just head to Sante Fe

riding Amtrak
in desert night,
eyes turning grey
asleep in my seat,
wake up sweating
and sit and stare

just need a bag
and a lighter,
a cheap room
smell of ozone
coming down
ain't no way
to make it stop

but the sun's coming up and
you better think of something

[Delta40]

I like Eyes Turning Grey. I also think it would end better with a reference to eyes as you so well referred to eye states throughout the poem and very subtly too. It has constant motion which I liked and it got me thinking about the many ways our eyes reflect our moods. The last two lines really are bloodshot eyes - that is if there was little sleep. But you're really onto something good here Paradoxical. I like your writing very much.

[Bar22do]

Your poems always feel to me authentic, intransigent: true, in one word. I think the end does allude subtly to eyes again, as you mention sun coming up, so your poem is haunting with "its" versatile gazes, looks etc... consistent.
I too like the title very much.
Interesting writing, paradoxical!

[paradoxical]

Thank you both very much. Your comments also helped me realize things in the poem that I hadn't been consciously aware of. I'm thinking about changing the ending.

[Jerrybaldy]

Love your stuff. You remind me what is cool in americano.

[paradoxical]

The Thinnest Line

westbound on I-10
and crossing lanes,
take the next exit
and pull into
Burger King at 3am,
do another line

put in a Black Sabbath CD

lean the seat back
and grind my teeth,
looking through
a cracked windshield
up at Texas sky

thinking to myself
that even the stars
are dying,
time is dying,
and there's
nothing we can do

turn the key
in the ignition
and pull out slow,
take another hit,
telling myself,

That's it. I have to come down.

but a promise
is just another wish
and I never want
to stop driving,

merge back on
the interstate,
each mile going
by in seconds

pass an
18-wheeler
doing 90,
a white cross
on the side
of the road
reminding
me how it
all can end

slow down to 75
going into
Fort Stockton
and hold my breath
as a State Trooper
goes by with
his lights flashing

saying to myself,
He doesn't know.
How could he
possibly know?

wake up in
a cheap motel
outside El Paso,
and try to remember
what day it is

think of Jessica
and reach over,
it's almost like
she's there next
to me but she
said never agin

so **** her
and **** New Orleans,

I'd rather be in West Texas

cut a line
on the table
then walk outside
into that dry,
warm air
and it's like
I can see across
the horizon

enough money
to last a
couple months
at least

and something
pulling me
forward,
through all
of this pain

I know it's real
and nothing will
ever touch me again

walk to
the office
and pay
for 5 more nights,
gonna get off
the tweak
and come back down,

drink for a week
then head to Utah
to look for work
or maybe Colorado,

anyplace will do

and freedom
is a broken compass,

a road is willingness,
a road is a river of dreams

[paradoxical]

In a Place Like This

the girl in the
Slipknot shirt
needs 50 cents
to ride the bus
and there's no
time to explain,

don't even
look into
those eyes,
just give her
the money and
go **** yourself

you think you can
handle this kind of pain?

a need so bad
it sends
a flare up
over the city,
on her way to
meet the man
waiting outside
the liquor store

he's sitting
with a knife
between his teeth,
a white trash
bloodline flowing
back to Alabama,
like sunrise
over Tuscaloosa

fading memories
in a dying brain,
left home at 16,
took the highway
to New Orleans and said,
It is here I will remain.

and now he feels
her coming,
chained
together
by this hunger,
she's sweating
on the bus in
full withdrawal,
standing,

holding the rail

$20 in her pocket,
she tells herself,
it is to death
we are born
and to death
we shall return,

but even into death
I will follow you,

into the next world and beyond

and her vision floats
out over the city,
watching a tourist
walk between graves,
St. Louis Cemetery #1

can see the ghost
of a young girl
weeping at her
mother's grave,
and a crackhead
coming up from behind

the man watches
that ghostly figure
until the little girl
turns and says,
Now you will be one of us.

she hears gunshots
as the vision
fades away and she
steps off the bus

I have the eyes,
she says,

The gift of sight.

and a connection
with everyone
in this city
who understands

that sometimes
there's some killing
that needs to be done

[paradoxical]

Jackie

Take me back to '97
and the night
we spent in the park.
Lying on the soft grass,
arms around each other,
listening to the train

"Which one is the North Star?" you asked me
and I took your hand and pointed,
the sky gun metal blue

Do you still remember me?
Hey Jackie, I remember you. Listen.
I am in the sky now,
up above the trees.
I'm calling your name
across the years,
after everything that's happened,
do you hear?

I am in the void now,
between dark and black.
Like a shadow,
but it's not the night.
Hey Jackie, I am the spirit of the night

I am in your veins now,
your blood flowing free.

Hey Jackie,
are you still a bad person,
just like me?

I think of you
when I hear that train blowing,
out there in the distance.
Don't know where,
but I stay up all night and listen

[Jerrybaldy]

dangerously romantic and evocative of love and lust and loss universally experienced but always always personal.

[paradoxical]

Thank you very much.