last week’s poems 06
we slept under the
bridge. in a small sleeping bag,
tangled; like our dreams
all the morning tasks
were stacking up
all the eggs on toast
and making of beds
and driving to places
and paying of rent
all the morning tasks
seemed so trivial
compared to the task at hand
writing poems till i’m dead
i wondered when i’d run into you next
at some LA bar
or somewhere
where we are less dressed
like the beach
by the jetty that we’d surf
when we had that life
together
or would it be
at a house party
with mutual friends
where we’d have to act all innocently
i wondered where i’d run into you next
and would it be chance
or would it just be coincidence
Fishing for Caiman in the Reeds of the Black Water
As it got dark we departed in the canoe. It had a small motor on the back but we used long rods to push us down the river. Numerous stars hindered the darkness. Twenty minutes on the river and our guide, Juan, whispers down the canoe to get our flashlights out. He shines his along the banks of the river where we see reeds coming up a meter above the water.
We scan the banks for some time. Eyes appear, brownish-yellow in our lights. Juan signals to us, and we push in to the reeds. He reaches over the bow leaning carefully forward. We glide over reeds now, silently as predators. We reach the place of the eyes, and Juan dunks his arms into the water. Dripping water, out his hands come holding a small odd looking crocodile, strong, but frail looking in the leather hands of Juan.
Juan hands him to us. Us, the spectators of this primal relationship between The Amazonian and his creatures.
ran out of paper
so now i’m writing poems on my phone again
and the typing doesn’t feel natural
to my skin
there’s no ink
but the blood is there
maybe i should give it a prick
get that feeling back
just a little bit
because i ran out of paper
and digital devices are beginning to feel like shit
a hidden bar is a powerful place
lonely man
found a hidden corner
at a bar
down the alley
in town
sitting there with a pint
and a smoke
he’s slowly changing his mood
from introspective
to top bloke
cute flower aggression
screaming roses
at you
throwing flowers
at your gorgeous face
smashing daisies
on your slim waist
crushing petunias
over your head
blowing dandelions
into space
ripping petals
trying to figure out if it’s love or not these days
always been a low-key talent
sooner or later they’re going to realize
that i’ve had it
under their noses
this whole time
i’ve been writing rhymes
that could blow some minds
always been a low-key talent
maybe in summer
winter morning, i walked out the door,
knowing i was looking for you
little did i know, you were searching for me too
i searched coffee shops, and phonebooks,
finding nothing but memories
of our only encounter,
and your eye’s hooks
i thought i saw your hair in a crowd,
but it wasn’t true
there were too many faces around
i couldn’t see your smile coming through
the day was coming to an end
my memory was fading
as i realized it might have been a dream
but my heart would not give up hope,
even watching the sun descend
i could never tell you
but when i walked out the door
i knew i was looking for you
little did i know, you were searching for me too
yeah, you love me still, yeah, and i wouldalwaysloveeeyyooouuuuu
lost my way
found it in your arms
lost my head
found it buried in your chest
lost my heart
found it in your sheets
lost my soul
found it when the devil let us meet
the art coming out of my crowd is going to be insane
look out for those friends of mine
where do these girls come from?
they appear with a smile
and a croptop
when you least expect
and they introduce themselves
and its always with a pretty name
that sticks in your brain
slowly driving you insane
a wild horse on a freeway of grass
only a couple pages left in my notebook
but a ton of ideas in my head
and a few daydreams
about me and you
which would now
never be read
baby, baby, baby
you never come through, lately
baby, baby, baby,
you and me might have been lovers, maybe
baby, baby, baby,
you left town but didn’t call me, crazy
baby, baby, baby
i know i said something wrong but its all hazy
baby, baby, baby
ill fix myself up, i’ll be the man you met, daily
baby, baby, baby
come back through town, take me
did he know
the genre of tv
that you’d watch with me
did he touch you
like lightning striking a tree
and sometimes gently
like dew
sliding down a blade of grass in spring
did he surprise you with the words he said
and whisper sweet pillowtalk
after giving you head?
i need a new journal
and i need a new pen
i need to write a few more poems
about touching your skin
i used to be a traveler
and go all happy-go-lucky
with the wind
then for no good reason
i stuck around in LA
and that’s when my dreams
started to die
like to write poems
and stories
that meant something
but didn’t pay money
became a sin
and a waste of time
amongst all these
capatilist minds
maybe i wasn’t good enough
maybe i couldn’t get my chops
maybe i had waited too long to start
and maybe my adhd had played a part
in always being so close to my dreams
but never closer than the start
too many half-finished poems
on hidden hard drives
never to be seen again
Portland bombshell (from the archives)
Portland bombshell
you go off the grid for days at a time
but i always smile when you come back by
you live in the mountains
sketching the clouds in the sky
and i know you go up there
barefoot on the rock side
you’ve a van that you live in
for months at a time
and i’ve never felt more at home
than when i’m inside
you hike to waterfalls at night
you take naked dips in the moonlight
you show up at my door more than often now
and i think maybe, somehow,
i’ve done something right
Portland bombshell
lets go off the grid
for an unknown amount of itme
the world never knew secrets
like the poetry of your mind
