Most poets
are against violence
because
most poets
are whimps
EL SEBBO MACHO
Posted by sdoubinsky on 30 April 2007
Most poets
are against violence
because
most poets
are whimps
EL SEBBO MACHO
Posted in art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing | 3 Comments »
Posted by D. James on 29 April 2007
Time
runs
out
and
nothing
can
salvage
this poem
(D. James)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 28 April 2007
The poet is always right
The poet is always wrong
Both assessments are true
now get your ass in gear
EL SEBBO
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Posted by D. James on 27 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 26 April 2007
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
Posted in art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing | 2 Comments »
Posted by D. James on 25 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 24 April 2007
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
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Posted by D. James on 23 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 22 April 2007
To Richard Fariña
Monkey-Demon Monkey-Demon
where are you?
Here I am Here I am
right behind you
EL SEBBO PSYCHEDELICO
Posted in art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing | 2 Comments »
Posted by D. James on 21 April 2007
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)
Posted in art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing | 1 Comment »
Posted by sdoubinsky on 20 April 2007
Poetry can happen
at the strangest
of times
This morning
as I was brushing my teeth
I suddenly thought
of this poem
EL SEBBO
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Posted by D. James on 19 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 18 April 2007
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
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Posted by D. James on 17 April 2007
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)
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Posted by D. James on 16 April 2007
I am awakened
by the beautiful song
of the birds in the garden
It is four in the morning
Fucking birds
EL SEBBO
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Posted by D. James on 15 April 2007
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)
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Posted by D. James on 14 April 2007
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
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Posted by D. James on 13 April 2007
taping on the keys
making something close to sense
or nothing at all
(D. James)
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Posted by D. James on 12 April 2007
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
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Posted by D. James on 11 April 2007
ask many questions
die with a few unanswered
this should be your goal
(D. James)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 10 April 2007
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
Posted in art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing | 5 Comments »
Posted by D. James on 9 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 8 April 2007
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
Posted in art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing | 1 Comment »
Posted by D. James on 7 April 2007
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)
Posted in art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing | 1 Comment »
Posted by sdoubinsky on 6 April 2007
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
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Posted by D. James on 5 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 4 April 2007
One God
One people
Hell on earth
EL SEBBO
Posted in art, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing | 2 Comments »
Posted by D. James on 3 April 2007
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)
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Posted by sdoubinsky on 2 April 2007
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
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Posted by D. James on 1 April 2007
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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