Great Poetry
Good poetry is clever. Great poetry is truth.
Good poetry is clever. Great poetry is truth.
I’m in love. I’m in pain. I’m in love. I’m in pain. I’m in love. I’m in pain… I’m in love.
I open one eye the other has fallen behind. In fact, it may not get up today at all and I would be forced to wear a patch or explain why it is that I look like I’m having a continuous stroke: “Oh my eye? No, it’s not lazy or reluctant. It’s dead. That’s okay. […]
This is me in here trapped, tragic and tearing out life in words worlds whittled out from sadness out into the dark from light out from my hand out like a melody from the tree from which robins sing. I speak the language of birds calamitous harmony in my happiness when I am alone always […]
The breeze blows in from unknown places it sails my paper plane into the wide open sky of a child’s eyes wild with dreams a soft kiss of wind remember remember what it was like the living sky enchanted the evening it comes it drums alive drowned in summer chanting as crickets dance beneath the […]
Did you love it? To keep hitting like an excited child what has been hurt as it tries to crawl away? I had never loathed your biting because all that you are is teeth and your teeth are still in me. I could feel you inside of my chest like a heartbeat and I didn’t […]
There’s an itch on my foot inside of my shoe and I can’t get rid of it each time I try to scratch it it moves then returns five minutes later and I can never seem to nail down the spot to relieve it and it’s slowly driving me crazy. And I just wanted you […]
Through the Moon Run your hand through your hair Silly Child and you’ll drag my heart through the moon I am a far away star unventured cocksure and fiercely bright But there are things left out in the cold unchained that can ruin a feast and I am sun-drenched with shame to what I awaken […]
Monday is a duplicitous treacherous whore a midnight murderer (you’re next -it will find you) a useless begging in a dingy alley Monday is going to kill me kill me dead just like my brain -dead just like my soul -dead dead dead Monday is an old man that doesn’t want to get up from […]
Listening to Bukowski speak the way he finished his sentences his enunciation and emphasis; he was walking through a poem when he spoke about everything and it makes you realize this one thing: that we are always writing thoughts even as we walk even as we talk we are moving living being dreaming singing art. […]