Tag: Poetry

Dirty Linens

I lay in this mess that is memory
tangled in the mistiness of morning
the comforters from last year
ruined by the color of reminiscing
all the things missed, collecting in a bundle.

With each cycle as yellow sweats
on the submarine eye glass, the t-shirt
with the smell of her arm-pits, spins
360 at the 24-hour all you can clean.
I realize how lonely I’ve become.

And I’m not relieved by possibilities
whispering promises like crickets
while her laughter fades
in this room’s blue-black ear.

A Stranger I Know

As I walk along side her, never do we touch hands
and it is evening now 

never do we sing a love song,

even though I unknowingly want to,
secretly she is in my thoughts.

She wants a home while I want everything
her smile, the sound of her voice…
 
Maybe if we weren’t predisposed as the evening sky
we could find a hymn to hum.

Sweet Maker

First, blame will pursue you for everything you can’t control
and everything you can’t control adds up to a magnified monster
beneath your dreams, magnified as one singular, pet peeve.

But what kind of existence is that? Does it make for adulthood
a well trained dog perhaps? An artisan of a war to come, however
small to come, treading lightly, but eventually exploding as an unforeseen bomb.

Then, this honeymoon of pull and submit, scared by scorn
restrained by the way space makes you regret, when the only
shame is in a smite, so sorry this will be your place. Inside and out.
The world will have its say on our marriage as if we invited them. Like a homemade porno.

After, if we go, so blind and mindless of our thoughts, so reckless
with each others existence, we so go anew, drunkard and stupid
suffering the end of a tale so tall that it allows us not to wonder
drowning our roots, our branches break with such blight
with no remedy to really mend, to mend us for the road that comes
it will be the proof of our submission.

Naked

The first day of Summer, when parks are peopled
we smile at each other for no particular reason
other than the darkness has been lifted
like we were taking off our clothes.
Funny though, since we’re ashamed of the sight
of nakedness.  But here we are when the air is thick
and bodies play in the sun barely clothed.
We are exhibitionists teasing each other
and ourselves with these desires.

And ah 1, 2, 3, 4… Version 2

play that guitar
hit me that drum
forget de cost
for living hike

forget money
tight, grab lover
spin her around
sing she something

nothing too nice
let she feel de
heat, and yelp
holler all night

play that guitar
hit me that drum
forget de cost
for living hike

lets howl and dance
to the moon light
lets howl and dance
til the sunrise

clap those hands, shim
shimmer those hips
clap those hands, shim
shimmer those hips

kick those boots off
let me kiss you
on the lips, pinch
you on the thigh

spin you around
tell you i love
you three times, babe
you are all mine

And ah 1, 2, 3, 4…

play that guitar, hit that drum
grab your partner, pass de rum
forget de cost of living hike
forget how money tight.

grab your partner, spin her around
clap your hands, sing me a song
sing me something not too sweet
sing me something that feels my heat.

play that guitar, hit that drum
grab your partner, but pass me de rum
clap your hands, sing a song
nothing too sweet, but feels de heat.

forget de cost of living hike
forget how money so tight
lets dance to de moon light
lets dance til the morning light.

You as Conductor

I’ve lost this place I’m suppose to have
my place in this thunder, ringing, ringing clear
what I have, and trust in what I haven’t gained
with this losing war, I’ve won something?

I’ve lost my place in this thundering mess
that lightening tragically strikes on paper
clipping my worth together.

I need a bow and my own arrow to make this right
I need an exorcism done to baptize
my worried hands together

and into a pit of strangers I’d dive
un-bruised by bravado’s curses
I’d dive into this tidal wave of circumstance
I the interpellator, lose myself

I hail
i lose
this champion.

Sabotaging Blueprint

I. IF

Delirious with the minute by minute
how different it could have been, I realized nothing.

And then like a solution, I’m stuck again on If
If I was a time traveler.  It interrupts the answer for why

like a sucking between the teeth, it’s juvenile.  If I was
If I was a time traveler.  Yes it is.  Unconcerned about culpable

blame, ripe with unfortunates, If I were a time traveler I won’t have to
wait for an anomalous filler for fragmented voids, or even wish to delete a moment.

If I was a time traveler, unconcerned with real time
since change is my past and the present is my future

what once was a rabbit hole, no longer becomes familiar
with its miniature tea cups, with its no longer cluttered exclamation to the unknown.

Hair

I was getting rid of some boxes that’s been just sitting in a corner of my apartment.  And I came across a book that I thought I had misplaced.  It’s the Collected Poems of Robert Hayden.  Flipping through the collection I came across a favorite, Snow.  The reason I think I’ve always enjoyed this piece is that it uses so little to express so much.

Snow by Robert Hayden

Smooths and burdens,
endangers, hardens.

Erases, revises.
Extemporizes

Vistas of lunar solitude.
Builds, embellishes a mood.

 

Here’s my attempt at using as few words as possible to express my feelings on my hair:

Hair

Nappy nappy
springs split-ends
soft wild dusky velvet.

Bold black beauty
spry leaping panther
rich as the Nile
subtle as wisdom

Nappy nappy
springs split-ends
soft wild dusky velvet

Lyfe

I thought I’d try writing something fun.  Here’s my attempt at alliterative verse.

Living in lustful love with another
letting lunacy’s lingering lull end
and to never come again…To be
brilliance as a besake, with brighten
becomings for beholders, who beguiles
being as befitting beliefs while betwichted
with blasphemy’s backdoor. To be aware
to antagonise the anti-freedomist
and awaken the spirits of the dead.

The World is Such a Wonderful Place

it doesn’t matter if you’re sober now
those words remember while you weren’t
while you called me a whore, a bitch, a nigger

oh, just kidding
i was drunk, too

like the time that the Professor made it okay
to say the N word in his class, just because
his 9 year old son was singing it
(outloud)

at some point there’s a responsibility held by the facilitator
even if it’s an investigation? And even then it’s a fallacy.
Maybe you should look at yourself first before you try saying those words.

Let’s say that I might
as well be someone’s celebrity
because you know we’re all going to be celebrities
and celebrities are going to be as faceless like the rest of us.

Yeah, I’d be that celebrity
Caught in a collision
And because of my popularity
Everyone takes a picture
Instead of calling the ambulance
I lay there swallowing my own blood
I see the camera flash die.
And all those people
Who stopped to take a picture of my demise
Are rich and happier than ever now…

All because my Professor couldn’t afford to travel to Europe

And he found the information from his son while traveling through South America’s
Easy dollars, that anyone with just enough US dollars can buy the entire island,
Oh but they have, and still won’t want to live there

Calling niggers sons, and sons, niggers
He found it an opportune time to say nigger
And that’s why I love academics
They don’t get killed in the street anymore
for what they say, because their impact is knowledge.

₣7 Across, and 18 Down

Got, swallowing spurious crossword-puzzle
chucks of spotlights to choke on.
A golden casket, yawning
prominence, port of then rides!
Tripping channels like waves, your
servings: words gullible full
say and not say, drowning in
in a wild sizzle that burst.
Got, conjuring certainty
with prays on Fridays, drinking
on credit, flicking a lung
aside a curtain, Always
hustles for platinum chains:
a diamond in a watch tells
time better, chicken wings and
chicken things, quick wicker sight
cruising down Broadway, Park Place
a Lexus teething gold rims.

A Taste of Vanilla

ice-cream-pic-21
by COCOYEA
ice-cream-pic1
by COCOYEA

Mask a howling
behind a curtain
tattered together letters
embroidered pieces of paper.

Pray for a taste of vanilla.

Brush her hair back into a braid
revive the smooth bump
imagine her shoulders
finger her firm even skin.

For a pair of fireflies
moonlighting days
light a room full of candles
kiss her eyes gently
watch them squint awake.

Function of a Proof

There’s a function: too quickly killed

your over spent self comparing

and no, Never has a place 

a cause as meaningless as Too

even while, Like

the study of Broken

makes a Whole.

Ah, Panacea…

photo by Craig Marston
photo by Craig Marston
With this pull
crawling on all fours
a killing ease of breath
with this swallow
comes a lush
spawning a dancing line
bitter burnt out
cool regret.

With this…
as slender spirals
rush the room
careful of the outer air
exhale gently
as appetites loiter
a mouthful
Panacea.

Something in the Middle

Something In the Middle CoverMy band uploaded a new song on our myspace page. It’s called Something In the Middle.

I can’t remember the details which lead to  Something In the Middle. Maybe it was a day when one of us was so beaten down, that we just spilled all of our guts out.  Because that’s what we do when we’re together, we spill everything out, everything that is trying to kill us. We sing louder, play harder, speak in tongues. We joke that our band practices are really therapy sessions.

Anyway, Something In the Middle is probably one of our most political songs (other than our very visible presence as women playing rock music) on our line-up.

Oh wait, it’s coming back to me now, how it all began. I was talking about the issues surrounding gay rights, and Hanna (bass player and vocalist), or maybe it was Maggie (lead guitarist and vocalist), made a scathing remark which lead to a beat, to a riff, to a refrain…

The recording is homemade, live at our studio. It’s not as polished as our previous recordings, but I’m digging the rawness.  We used this really handy recorder that fits right in your pocket,  Olympus LS10.

You can listen here: Something In the Middle

Something also reminded me of a poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago.

Yeah!

when tomorrow is just tomorrow

when we know that our phenomenal experience

isn’t as immediate as the phenomena expected

where Yeah exists.

I hope that these impressions stay with you

like the scars dealt to me for being open

as long as you live

I hope you live with just that amount of fear

living, breathing, preparing yourself for an attack

as you sit calmly with someone’s else’s blood on your shit: maybe it’s your own

wishing they were gone

as you sit and wait for Yes

to magically appear?

I’m still going to have Metal beating through me tomorrow

I’m still going to text my lover, I heart yous, and still be under-represented

infected with insanity, perversion, illegality

until I’ve been completely molded into something accustomed

I, continues, growing into a form

a persuasion for pettiness

and oh, I thank you God for my nose, eyes, and ears

because I couldn’t have reckoned without them

I couldn’t have survived this Love.

Black Friday

Some where
far beyond dexterity:
a suburban half life for
Fahrenheit’s latitude
a man is being wrestled
down by the state police.
Shoved complacently in the cold
white fluffy snow covers his naked face
as he’s still assured his rights
for cutting the line in front of Walmart.

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago.  I’ve always thought this idea of waking up at 5:00am for a sale to be ridiculous, but then again I hate crowds, I’m not a morning person, and I’m very suspicious about everything, even sales.  Regardless, I never thought that someone would be trampled to death over a sale, especially in 2008.   This is really sad.

On WHFR

I read (out loud) two Sundays ago on WHFR, which was really exciting.  I haven’t read aloud…for years.

It reminded me about how important it is to hear the words you’re speaking, the importance of pronouncing your voice, the completely unstable voice. 

I met some really uplifting artists at WHFR.  It was like an arts commune that ranged from reading excerpts from novels and poetry manuscripts, playing live music, comedy, improv…   It was an apartment full of breath, full of buds ready to flourish in this time of uncertainty, a room filled with togetherness. 

I read 8 of my poems, and played a couple songs off my band’s full length (Love, Lust, Sci-fi & Monsters), and our self-titled EP (Telenovela Star). 

Here’s the list: BackSpaced, The Season, Mania, Architecture of “You”, Soucouyant and Loupgarou, Vampire from Telenovela Star’s Lust, Love, Sci-fi & Monsters album, Elma, My Imaginary Margin, Brown Girl In the Ring, A Plum from Telenovela Star’s self-titled EP.

Listen here:  Reading on WHFR