Disposable Poetry

Time
runs
out
and
nothing
can
salvage
this poem

(D. James)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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

(D. James)

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

(D. James)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)