28 February 2007 • 3:37 am
Reminds me
of vast spaces
The pain and beauty
of isolation
Trees grown
on angles
of endurance
Taut cables
straining to stay
in line
It’s sound,
that constant voice
of desolation
Can you hear
it now?
(D. James)
Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing
27 February 2007 • 1:59 pm
In my street
I can hear 27 different languages
and I don’t understand
a single word
of any of them
It’s exactly like
living in a poem
EL SEBBO
Filed under: literature, poem, poetry, seb
26 February 2007 • 8:22 am
We said so much
to each other
about the other
Yet never bothered to
listen
to one another
So now we don’t speak
at least not to each other
but perhaps, occasionally
about the other
I know I do
I’m doing it now
What about you?
(D. James)
Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing
25 February 2007 • 9:38 am
When in bed
I turn my back
to my wife
my kids
everything
and I stare
into the void
until I feel
vulnerable
confused
abandoned
Then
I know
that in my life
I have made
all
the right choices
EL SEBBO
Filed under: art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing
24 February 2007 • 6:21 am
If I lay my thoughts out
one after the other
in a straight line
Pick each sentence apart
word by word
Then break those apart
each letter separate, alone
They would scatter
in the wind
And mean nothing at all
(D. James)
Filed under: art, d. james, poem, poetry
23 February 2007 • 9:38 am
Surrounded by laughing children
I watch a distant TV
while my mother
cooks a familiar meal
Nothing here is unknown to me
yet many questions remain
such as the weather tomorrow
and why are our bones so white
EL SEBBO
Filed under: art, poem, poetry, seb
22 February 2007 • 10:05 pm
Who got my self-confidence?
I walk around nervous
and afraid
Wondering, who got my self-confidence?
Whatever was alllotted me was misplaced
or simply walked away
I look around at this one and that
Maybe he got it, or she
shit, somebody must have got more than me
Check your pockets
dig deep and tell me if you’ve got any, really
Because I’m curious
was I short changed, or do we all feel this way?
I used to get mine out of a bottle
Now I don’t know
Maybe I never had any
Who got my self-confidence?
or his?
or hers?
Who got my self-confidence?
or yours?
or anybodys?
Maybe I’ll ask on the subway
“Excuse me, does anybody have some self-confidence to spare?”
“Excuse me, has anyone seen my self-confidence today?”
D. James
Filed under: art, d. james, poem, poetry
