When we smoked
life was much easier
We had beautiful cars
with supersonic fins
and lipstick red tail-lights
We had flat-roofed houses
with swimming pools
of impeccable blue
and custom-designed wives
that hummed jazz tunes
as they fixed our ties
We drank bright colored cocktails
and wore steam-pressed clothes
watching with a distant eye
the ghettos burn in Panavision
Yes life was easier then
We were already dead
but we didn’t care
EL SEBBO
Hand of love
hand of pain
Who have yours
touched
and how
What’s on them?
Dirt, grime, blood,
the scent of soap
What do they tell
others
Do we know
the truths that
lie in our hands
(D.James)
A poem a day
keeps the women away
EL SEBBO
Is there no fixed
meaning in words
Are they merely
like dice,
toss them
Win or lose
(D. James)
Went to the book fair
drank with my friends
smoked some
then drank again
Didn’t go home
Didn’t eat dinner
but went straight
to see more friends
play some rock’n'roll
in a club downtown
Finally went home
sweated some
shook some
puked some
and crashed in bed
Awesome
EL SEBBO VIEJO
Water for washing
Water for rain
Where does it
all come from?
And why am
I never able
to stay clean?
(D. James)
I
am
the
poet
and
who
the fuck
are
you?
EL SEBBO
In a dream
I searched for
myself
and found
nothing
In the rain
I see clearly
the shelter
In life
I see death
as well as
the other
way round
But I have
yet
to find my
way home
(D. James)
Some things
can happen
for a reason
but
I proclaim
that
death
never does
EL SEBBO L13-WC
A bird sings his song
sounds like a broken whistle
still it brings the sun
(D. James)
How come
you can always
remember where
you have bought
your clothes
but not
the exact features
of those you loved
when they were still alive?
EL SEBBO
A trick of
the mind
Memory
Not what’s actually
happened
but what you believe
to be so
Yet it makes
up who you are
or at least
who you think
yourself to be
What has passed,
that which is no more
But lives
in your bones,
shapes your face
and makes you
feel whole
For who would
you be without
memory?
The elusive
unreliable
self-truth
The only record
you have to live
by
Like a taste
of something
you can’t quite
name
(D. James)
Some people say
that silence
is the poet’s best companion
dividing the invisible
and stressing the thought
Like a familiar
it rests on the shoulder
or makes you coffee
when you come home
Yes they say silence
is the poet’s best friend
wife or mother
Personally I prefer music
EL SEBBO MUSICAL
Words like broken glass
scratch my throat
silence me forever
(D. James)
You ask me
if our love
will last
forever
Some questions
are just too big
for a poem
for red-headed Heather (R.I.P)
Desire is red
while soul is yellow
and heart is black
Silent footsteps
in the clubhouse
Silent screams
at the theater
The dream speaks
of mad, deadly bikers
that you have tamed
Silent death of love
laid at your feet
I am not dangerous enough for you
(D. James)
Watching
my son and my daughter
laugh and splash
in the bathtub
I suddenly realize
that to love
is to accept
mortality
EL SEBBO
Words like fire
burn bright
for the moment
Then eventually
die out
like passions
of young
lovers
And the rebel
too
(D. James)
This haiku
broke
like a cup
EL SEBBO
All this time spent
looking for light
in the darkness
Groping, stumbling
looking for something
in nothing
Trying so hard to
find a meaning
Yet denying
true substance
Go back
Go back
Go back
To where you know
to what you were
But you can’t
because that doesn’t
exist any longer
Perhaps it
never did
(D. James)
My love
take this flower
especially written for you
It doesn’t need water
and it will never lose its petals
you can give it any color you want
fragrance thorns anything
and if I should die before you
you can choose to burn it
erase it crumple it
or simply put in on
your refrigerator door
under a heart-shaped magnet
EL SEBBO ROMANTICO
I’ve spent countless
nights without sleep
just to be awake
when the sun rose
Climbed a thousand
steps to stand
over the city
and watch its
lights shimmer
in twilight
Sometimes lost
and wounded
Others found
and made whole
All this
and I’m only
half-way
home
(D. James)
“Daddy, look!”
My son points
at the thin white stripe
of an airplane
plowing the sky
and I tell myself
that for him
this is only
the beginning
of long years
of wondering
what blue
really means
EL SEBBO
Each day
new questions
Are we here
simply to ask
them?
Do they have
definitive answers?
“When will
I die?”
“How should
I live?”
“Why is Hell
easier to find
than Heaven?”
Will these questions
drive us or
drive us crazy?
“Could you even
call this a poem?”
Should this be
the end or
have I already
gone too far?
(D. James)
In this restaurant
no one ever leaves the table
The glasses are always half-full
and the food randomly prepared
Everyone’s a waiter
yet everyone is served
This restaurant never closes
and nobody can remember
when it first opened
No one knows if it’s heaven
or if it’s hell
but it certainly is
the center
of every conversation
EL SEBBO
