poems written on the fly

Archive for April, 2007|Monthly archive page

Why I worked as a bouncer

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 30 April 2007 at 5:21 am

Most poets
are against violence
because
most poets
are whimps

EL SEBBO MACHO

Fleeing for my poetic life

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 29 April 2007 at 5:47 am

Time
runs
out
and
nothing
can
salvage
this poem

(D. James)

Art lyrique

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 28 April 2007 at 6:10 am

The poet is always right
The poet is always wrong
Both assessments are true
now get your ass in gear

EL SEBBO

bumbling be

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 27 April 2007 at 2:57 am

Five years ago …
ten years from now …
where was,
or will, I be

Will I be?

Asked again and again
what did I want to be

If only I could figure out
what that me was supposed to be that wanted to be
or even just be

Free?

But from what
or of what
dare I say,
I know not

(D. James)

Broken spring

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 26 April 2007 at 5:08 am

Spring is back
It’s warm
Dog shit smells
Flowers whither
The city sneers
Spring is back
and my back is broken
I guess
it’s midlife crisis
setting in
or just
the seasons
turning wrong
Ah well
Spring ain’t
what it used to be
and neither am I
thank god
for us both

EL SEBBO SWEATO

memento mori

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 25 April 2007 at 4:18 am

I catch a toe
on the bedside table

For a moment
the pain brings a
rush

Then a loud burst
of sound

This is what it is to feel
like a fragile old goat

In the end
no matter how
crafty you are
or how many books
you read

You’re still just a mess
of nerves and fleshy parts
constantly being reminded
what it means to be human

(D. James)

Fire

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 24 April 2007 at 5:18 am

Sunday
was election day
On my way to vote
I saw a homeless man
build a fire
on the pavement
The flames raged
high and yellow
under the cold
morning sky
I wonder
if it wasn’t
an omen

One for the Old Guy

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 23 April 2007 at 4:49 am

for Mike Blake

Standing in the supermarket
when a pop song
from the mid-eighties
plays over the aisle of canned goods

Memories of an old friend -
long gone – wash over me

Suddenly I find myself
holding back the tears
like the song says

Wondering, where did the years go

Standing there thinking,

“Don’t fucking cry now,
ya pussy”

Just keep holding on

(D. James)

Terror Sutra (or why do we always realize too late that it’s too late?)

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 22 April 2007 at 6:25 am

To Richard Fariña

Monkey-Demon Monkey-Demon
where are you?
Here I am Here I am
right behind you

EL SEBBO PSYCHEDELICO

Days gone by

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 21 April 2007 at 6:01 am

These days
there always seems
something needs doing

A list of tasks
bills
phone calls
e-mails
laundry
shopping

How did I live
my life at twenty?

The only thing
on the list then
was to drink
another beer
smoke another
cigarette

Where oh where
have those languishing
days gone?

(D. James)

A lyrical moment

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 20 April 2007 at 6:46 pm

Poetry can happen
at the strangest
of times
This morning
as I was brushing my teeth
I suddenly thought
of this poem

EL SEBBO

The real battle

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 19 April 2007 at 6:59 am

In another country
we swept north
like the hand of god

In Basra we did
door-to-doors

Killed men
at close range
in Baghdad

Left a leg
and most of
one hand
back in Falluja

Now at home
no one seems
to know
how to put us
back together again

All-American,
treated like
Half a person

Did right
by our country
In the end
left with the nagging
question:

Will it do
right by us?

(D. James)

Home

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 18 April 2007 at 11:58 am

We are
in the back
of a taxi
zooming
towards the city
and its
shiny smog
Why do we call
home
something
that isn’t
and is
definitely
trying
to kill us?

Is it
because
we are stupid
or perhaps
because
we have
no other
or simply
because
we need
to call
something
home?

EL SEBBO BACK IN FRANCE

Lost in a reverie

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 17 April 2007 at 4:41 pm

Lost in a reverie
of a life I never had

Keeping quiet in
a noisy room

I’ve always believed
I knew something
about myself
or life
or people

But when I realize
I know nothing at all

Only then am I
finally set free

(D. James)

Dawn

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 16 April 2007 at 4:57 am

I am awakened
by the beautiful song
of the birds in the garden

It is four in the morning
Fucking birds

EL SEBBO

sunshine

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 15 April 2007 at 9:16 am

If the sun don’t shine
I don’t smile

But when the clouds part
the world seems easier to bear

If only I could find
that place in me
where the sun shines
no matter what the weather

(D. James)

Denmark is like America in the Sixties

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 14 April 2007 at 6:32 am

Life here
is like America
in the sixties
with money
cars
beautiful girls
happy children
and tons of flags

A perfect vintage
advertisement
without blacks
Vietnam
drugs
and rock’n’roll

I wonder
if they’re
not
missing
something

EL SEBBO

no sense

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 13 April 2007 at 6:32 am

taping on the keys
making something close to sense
or nothing at all

(D. James)

AARHUS

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 12 April 2007 at 7:54 am

Walking through the beautiful
green cemetery
overlooking the harbour

I put my steps
into the steps
of my own ghost

It is blue today
and slightly cloudy

EL SEBBO

one way to live

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 11 April 2007 at 9:13 am

ask many questions
die with a few unanswered
this should be your goal

(D. James)

The awful truth

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 10 April 2007 at 7:44 am

Today
I am leaving
for Denmark
I am taking the bus
It will be
a 19 hours
trip
I am 43
years old
I am not
a crazy
beatnik
poet
I
am
broke

EL SEBBO

Life in full

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 9 April 2007 at 5:43 am

At times
life can seem
to pile up on you

Things take over
clutter the way

Events you didn’t
foresee

A rising tide

But still you
stand there

Battered and wet
the tang of salt
in your mouth

This is what
it means to
live in the world

This is how we
face adversity

It is this
or drown

(D.James)

News

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 8 April 2007 at 4:34 am

I am wondering
what this homeless man
is reading in the newspaper
Is he trying to keep up
with the insanity of this world
or is he finding reason
through his own insanity?
Or is he simply
reading the newspaper
trying to remember
how it was when
the world was normal
and strangely
missing
the pain?

EL SEBBO

If only it were a movie

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 7 April 2007 at 7:28 am

And this is not a movie
I remind myself

These memories carried around
in my head

And this is not a movie
these days upon days
night after night

These boredoms
these anxieties
these feelings of fear

But this is not a movie
I keep telling myself
this is my life

Yet I don’t know what
to do with it

This is my life
and this is not a movie

I know
because if it were
who the fuck
would sit through it?

(D. James)

The Siren

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 6 April 2007 at 5:17 am

In the subway this morning
a woman sang so beautifully
it almost made me happy
to go to work

Music can be dangerous
sometimes

EL ULYSSO

1001 nights of the wandering soul

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 5 April 2007 at 8:21 am

She is tall
she is short
she is of medium
height

Her hair is straight
long
curly
cut in a bob

It is brown
black
blond
red

Her eyes are hazel
brown
blue
gray

She smells of jasmine
rose water
Obsession
bubble bath
but never patchouli

She speaks softly
in a loud voice
with a rasp
sounds like
a little girl

Curses like a sailor
is demure
keeps to herself
is the life of the party

She smokes
and drinks
is stone-cold sober
never did a drug
is a junkie
a thief
a liar
virtuous beyond belief

There is a naivete
an intelligence
an arrogance
self-confidence
self-hatred

She is everywhere
you pass her on the street
see her in the cafe
desire her at the end of the bar

And though she
looks like her
and that one like this

In fact they
are like fingerprints
snowflakes
leaves

No one ever
exactly like another
so treat her accordingly

(D. James)

Empirism

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 4 April 2007 at 1:11 pm

One God
One people
Hell on earth

EL SEBBO

Hold the line

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 3 April 2007 at 8:10 am

How much left
is there to go?

Too much time
not enough money

Too much want
not enough desire

Keep the faith
(whatever yours is)

Words can be
used to heal
as much as
to harm

(D. James)

Lao Tzu said

In art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 2 April 2007 at 6:23 am

Like life
TV is
a random poem
full of ads
and beautiful people
Like life
TV
is a wonderful
world of colors
in which
the actors
do not remotely
look like you
and even if
you can
switch it off
it will carry on
without you
So aim your complaints
at life, not TV

EL SEBBO TELEVISUAL

Diner Life

In art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 1 April 2007 at 7:14 am

Always open
always busy

except that one time
when the pipe burst

water all over
the floor

like life
drained out

Pictures of the
long dead
on the walls

Long haired girls
in the booths

The staff moves
with frenetic grace

And everyone
drinks coffee, black

(D. James)

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