Disposable Poetry

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poems written on the fly

What idiots and poets believe

the main difference
between men and women is sex
luck exists
words have a different meaning

EL SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

up all night

Stayed up all night
to watch the sunrise

Only to find
the morning sky
covered thick
with clouds

And another day
gone

another night
another time
another life
but the same
me

D. James

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

Strange things you remember (or what poetry can be made of)

I remember that
in the summer
of 88
DJ must have had
the smallest room
in New York
closets full of books
and ghosts

Crossbones laughter
in the heat

EL SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

little black holes

Falling through
an emotional hole

I no longer
see myself
for either who I am
or who I could be

Waiting around
for the day,
the hour

when it will make
some semblance of sense
when the world
and my life will
finally make peace

D. James

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

Air Force None

757 isn’t a plane
it is a haiku
you uncultured morons

EL BASHO

Filed under: art, bad haiku, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

The amazing poet that hides in my head and only comes out when no one is around

Something about speed
velocity
and my mind

how quickly thoughts move
created and forgotten
before I can even write
them down

Moments of shear genius
(to me)
that I’m rarely ever
able to get right
on the page

So in my mind
I’m Frank O’Hara
I’m Pablo Neruda
I’m Jack fucking Kerouac

But on the page …
on the page
I’m a stumbling
bumbling
mumbling
clown
who can’t even spell

But in my mind …
in my mind
I’m the goddamn
demigod of poetic fire

If only …
If only I could live the
life in my head and
not the one
on the page of the world

D. James

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

Brand new poem in cellophane wrap (Never used before!)

It goes like this

EL SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

publishing blues in f-sharp

At first they love it
“love it”

Then on second
reading there are
problems

“problems”

But they can be overcome
“with some work”

more work
another month of
edits

Then they don’t return your
phone calls

they disappear,
fall off the face of the earth

Repeat
shake
stir
rework
re-edit
but no redemption
for the sin of writing

D. James

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

Opiluo – To Jacques Roubaud

the poet spoke about
jpnese haiku
it rained outside

EL SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

“Down comes the night”

Sunset

Dead-end job
driving alone
in the company van

All those miles
from home

Radio plays a song
from a long way back

Guitar sounds
“Listen to the wind blow
watch the sun rise”

And you are suddenly
awash in memories

Volume up to full now
“Damn your love
Damn your lies”

Pound the drumbeat
on the steering wheel

You are here
and there
at the same time
except now, unlike then,
you feel free

“Never break the chain”

D. James
(song lyrics lifted without permission … sue me)

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

Sky blues

looking for something in the sky
reflected in my eye in the sky
objects are larger than they appear
in the mirror of your soul
rickety-o
rocket to the moon
my heart slowly suffocates
like a sweet-eyed Laika
oh la-la-la
space conquest is a lonely business
that’s why all poets
are astronauts
doo-da-oh
my eye in the sky
telescope of love
and distant emotions

EL SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

Tell it to me

Life is a
long story

Told in intervals
occasionally changing
direction
somewhat tangential

At worst, stagnant

At best
told in a rush
to someone who
knows exactly
what you mean

And you don’t
get to the end
until it’s over

D. James

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

What are friends for

This morning
Death knocked at my door
That’s how I realized
my doorbell was broken

EL SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing

use your words

Never thought there’d be
a loss for words

No-thing to say?
How can a poem
work without them?

Unsteady, unstable
unusual, unforgivable

Hand me a dictionary
end this fucking madness

D. James

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing

The Return of the Prodigal Poet

 

So I’m back

yackety yack

nearly broke my back

and really need some smack

 

El SEBBO

Filed under: art, bad poetry, literature, poem, poetry, seb, writing