A Dork

A dork.
Such a dork.
An insufferable little brat.
You think you're funny.
Well, so do I,
but that doesn't make it right.
A dweeb.
Such a dweeb.
I'll best you in this game.
Truth be told,
I'm so damn old
that I envy you for that same.

Repair
in cell block
one.
The roof
is leaking
lye.
This hurts
a little
much.
Twenty
years of this
drip
drip
drip.
But there
will be a
way.
But there
will be an
out.
The hole
in the floor
ouch!
Though a
stumbling
spot
now, will
be a great
place
to crawl
through later...

Affliction

The affliction brought out the worst
in the boy; in the man.
He careened through life listless
borne upon the nagging pain.
The ruin wrought of those too near
scattered, ash-like, upon the wind.
He was blind to his disease;
blind to their suffering.
None could repair the damage,
nor even convey warning.
He knew not what he carried
for the pain eclipsed thought.

Boring, Vain Poem

Janice floats, and
her words steer.
Janice aches because society in venom.
Janice has a voice like Piglet.
Janice loves a woman; they went to the next state over
and married when it was legal.
Janice is little.
Janice thought I was vain; I am.
Janice inspires me.
Janice,
Janice,
Janice writes dull poetry
that aches and craves and spills
into the water like it were her blood,
when it isn't.
Janice is good at writing her dull poetry.
Better than I am at writing my vain poetry
that lacks the pity party and
has had a few too many drinks.
Janice is heavy on my mind
in these days where I figure out
what the hell I'm going to do
about this poetry affliction.
Janice could stand ten foot tall
if her words were blocks.
They'd be sturdy to stand upon.
Janice has black hair, night black, so
black it beams.
Janice has short black hair, and
conjunctions that hang like turbulence, and
that's where I got that annoying habit.
Janice has brown eyes, kind, and
annoyed.
Janice once made me read a poem aloud, because
it made me laugh when no one else did.
Janice wanted me to be better.
Janice was impressed with my handwritten, illustrated chapbook.
Janice knew that I was, am, still vain enough
to care that she was impressed with my handwritten, illustrated chapbook.
Janice will reach nirvana before me.

The Voyage

The thimble ship bobs betwixt
the high and briny waves.
The tiny fleas traverse the seas--
vasty, fierce and dark.
The captain jumps amidst the rigs
and calls out to his boys.
"Fear not the deep, nor truest sleep!
"The far shore meets my eyes!"
The tiny mates work fro and to
to steer their shiny barge.
And by Godspeed, they may indeed
live to bite again.

Fracture

She's nervous for falling
just so, just so
like a thimble
or coin in the pocket.

Connoisseur

I don't know what I am.
A connoisseur? surely not.
I'm indiscriminant; well no.
I'm discriminating, but
not excessively so.
I find beauty--wonder,
wherever I look
and relish each moment
for its flavor.
Some turn up their noses,
refuse to partake,
and lose part of life
in the process.

A human;

a baby born of human parents;
a worrisome creature;
a playful beast;
a lover of breasts;
a connoisseur of land.

Forced

Forced upon, foisted;
unlooked for, unbidden;
it reshaped the world,
the earth and sea hidden;
it burned with a fire,
reeking of ruin,
and grew through the clouds,
a high, evil mountain.

Forever

My words are small.
'Forever' is not
my word. We do until
we don't and no amount
of carpe diem or cogito
can change this.
Flowflowflow,
it's forced.

My words are XXS.

Was

I was a god.
I was the devil.
I was afraid.
I wasn't sure.
I was a king.
I was a kinsmen.
I was a pauper
I wasn't pure.
I was prideful.
I was strange.
I was a monster.
I wasn't safe.
I was there.
right there.
just in there
forever more.

Beauty in Two Syllables

In part, embark on quests! She said, I know!
Impart me, bang! with knowledge grand to show.
Her name was soft, in part, like water's edge
it lapped as foam, imparted sweet farewells.
Her bosom swells! like novels sold for dimes.
The plane does come, and she departs for Spain!
In part, she wants the sands to keep her here;
the now, the tide, the moon have tied her fear.

Will

that will, troubled, ever near
that want, sated, never clear
that one wisdom held in heart
that might one day still impart
that which willing soon arrives
there once preserved many lives
one will, one world, one design
one mind, one soul, ill defined

Dreadful...

Mak nae toom ruse.
Without understanding,
my two feet've been lost
to my large appetite.
Oh, what will be the cost?
Spoken without one sight;
I'm left without landing.
Mak nae toom ruse!

Adept

She called so adept in deception,
cloaked as she was in adorability
and invited me to party at grandma's.
Like a fool, like a fool, I believed!
Dressing and showering and driving,
I found myself outside the door,
but where were the guests?
Where was the pony ride?
Why don't I see any gifts?
'Twas a ruse, such a ruse!
And I've not an excuse,
to be tricked by my three year old niece!

Nuclear

It is necessary that her name is said aloud,
in full, with a grin and admiration.
She, so freely, is what I was before
the need to "get by" won... I can feel
myself fading, flowing, eyes drifting shut
as my pen and my paints and my pain are
sucked from me, and I become more and more
balanced, responsible, respectful, socially
adept in the arts of dinner parties and
tiny conversations along with strong
statements about politics and the weather
when I DON'T GIVE A DAMN. I didn't choose
this massacre that we are living. I didn't
choose to temper my emotions in this way.
I am as strong and as capable as those
fucked up old men. I am daunting at best.
I am animated, alive, I am craving... she
beat me to it all! and made others forget
what I was, and I wonder what she will be
in three more years. It will not be like me.
Unicorns are adept in the art of living forever.

Brilliant

The brilliant sun has gone now,
Lost behind high-deep clouds
And forgotten as the rain beats,
heavily, frigidly, on and on.

The brilliant memory fades fast
Behind eyes closed in thought,
Eclipsed by the bright new flavor
Of a red cinnamon disk.

*Brilliant* Pome:

Transeunce

The internet hasn't heard of it.
I asked twice.
The Scrabble dictionary was also bust.
Too many letters.
I asked a friend and he thought it was soup
I doubt that's the case.
Google and Websters and Yahoo all think
I meant something else.
Bastards; they all let me down.
I hate that.

The internet is supposed to know.
Google is supposed to find it.
Scrabble might tell me the value,
Websters is supposed to define it.
But they all drew a blank today.
Maybe it's not even English?

Dear, Brad,

Construction paper
pulled together
by a golden brad--
blustered weather
at her head and foot--

She held the kite strings
with both hands
and blink-blinked
as the kite flew-crashed
into the wet morning grass.

Brad, dear, you are fishing for compliments.
I will, put aside my irritation and oblige, but
this may have bitter side effects. It's just
the nature of things... don't fear.

You are:
reliable, hospitable, creative,
clever, intelligent,
too cool for the cool kids,
careful, lucky enough
to have the parts that
equate transeunce.

I am:
grumpy when I wake up.
Grumpier when I wake up
to a list of my attributes.
Grumpier still
when the reasoning
is that someone was tired,
when we are supposed
to be carefully writing,
so tiredness shouldn't
be a reason.

New rule: nothing to do
with human sex or love
unless it also has to do
with a donkey or goat.
We're making the rules
up as we go, right? I impose.

Love, Diane

Diane

It’s a cruel trick to play.
I’m not sure what I’ll say;
I’m a little afraid, I confess.
What might I let slip?
Were you just fishing?
For compliments?
For a boost to your ego?
I’m sure I could oblige,
If that’s all you need.
You are, after all,
Everything a man could want.

Smart-sassy-beautiful-funny-sexy-alive,
Gifted-witty-challenging-generous-kind,
Warm-knowing-mysterious-impulsive-sweet,
Amazing-amazing-amazing-to-me.

Is there more I might say?
Yes-yes, of course there is.
But is there more you were asking?
I’d have to know first.
This is not the first poem about you
I’ve written, not likely the last.
But this is the game,
And that’s how it goes.
But now I leave it to you,
Turn about’s fair play.
“Brad” is your word,
What will you say?

Word Masterbation

Doubt
about
a boat...
Taboo
taToo
toots
stool!
Stole
tiles,
idles,
dials...
I said
I slid!
Slide
dines...
--Diane

Trips and Falls

He trips all over himself,
fumbles about and nervously
clears his frog throat.
He tries to explain
the world in his mind,
the hope and the light,
the fear and the doubt,
but all falls, trips,
down the stairs of
her thought, dismissed,
tossed out like refuse.

Red & running
All around
Parks & pack mules,
The trollop trips
Up and under;
Reason's road
Erupts!

Ivory

Her teeth glow like dull ivory
in the dim night wash,
flashing with each small
smile: taunting, inviting.
They glimmer and beckon
and I answer in kind
drawn into the wine
red lips from across the
darkness. Ivory teeth and
alabaster skin and black
silk hair and honied voice
and our shadows joined
one to another in rapture.

Pome for Year TWO.

I am not mirth...
I AM ANGST ANGST ANGST.
I am not birth, but
a bottle of black paint.
I am not creation, but
I am carving my calves
into hearts and mermaids
to sell at the fair...
bone, not quite ivory,

what have I done!?

The Night Died When...

The light brand pierced the soft black vale
which bled orange and pink and blue.
The bright fire drove deep into the sky breast
as the nightingale despairing cooed.
The newborn woke, alone and afraid,
to the light dancing on the wall.
And the soft warm voice of a woman lost
whispered mirth from a dream to all.

Grown Up

The last time I felt grown up was
Summer 1991: We caught a garden
snake... I let the snake loose
(on accident!) and it died behind
mom's water bed. We painted flies'
wings until they couldn't--fly.
We sat up all night on piles
of inflated inner tubes watching
MTV; we were the shit. We made
fantastic mustard sandwiches...
and I rapped Twinkle Twinkle
Little Star until I died laughing, and
you taught me to spell 'ghost.'

Wriggles

The worm wriggles in the mud,
resilient, resistant, resigned.
The bird hops quick, expectant,
and scissors the worm in half.
Still wriggling, the worm half dangles
from the bright yellow bird beak blade.
The second worm half squirms blindly,
digging for safety with its head,
blind to the fate of a newborn brother
soon swallowed and born upon wing.

Exposed

Covered in green yarn
from top to toe,
he threw himself on my floor.
He begged me, muffled and moaning,
to pull the string wrapped 'round
his mummy body. LOVE ME! his wriggles
pleaded. After fifteen or twenty
minutes of pulling the thread,
he lay on the floor, nearly naked
and sweating hard, LOVE ME! and I
couldn't.

Tiptop

The tiptop tree swayed to and fro,
I clutching to the highest bough,
Found all the world wide open near
But far below; I clung in fear
To the tiptop branch and smooth gray bark,
The jewel green leaves wet and dark,
tickled my exposed and waiting skin
As I watch the tiptop world begin.