The Illusion of a Democratic Republic
A government run
by corrupt fools
is still a government
still corrupt
and it is still
run
by
fools
(D. James)
in the weeds
The waitresses
upbeat chatter
doesn’t match
her sad face
Tea is steeping
milk and sugar
patiently waiting
And I am lost
among the
knives and forks
plates of half-eaten meals
Thoughts adrift
in shafts of sunlight
spilled across the counter
Pay the check
leave a tip
and walk out
the same door
I walked in
Keep things simple
until my mind
returns
Bringing with it
what was lost
and found
(D. James)
bedtime poem
Heavy with sleep
everything to do
but no time
Wait until morning
when I can think
straight again
Right now
it’s all I can do
to stay awake long
enough to write these words
(D. James)
Anniversary (to my father)
Ten years ago
you left us
under a cloudy sky
and the cold wind
was warmer than our bones
Well, today
the sky is pretty much
the same
except for the clouds
which are a little bit
whiter
but I guess
that’s just a trick
my memory
is playing on me
EL SEBBO
forward
Life moves in one direction
(D. James)
Marquis de Sade
In this prison,
I -
EL SEBBO
can you leave things behind if you’re going in a circle?
The world changes
and we change in it
Divergent paths
verge
Veer off
into other lives
Meet again
in some other form
Do we recognize
this place
as if sprung
from nowhere?
Are we known
here anymore?
Or has everything
simply moved on?
(D. James)
What I remember
What I remember
are images
The words are gone
and live a life of their own
They never call me nor write
but the images
are still with me
and sometimes
I do wish
they would pay rent
EL SEBBO
empty
I looked in the place
I’ve looked before
where I thought
for sure I’d left it
But it was empty
I checked again
to make certain
and found nothing
I could swear
there was a poem
in my head
one I’d thought
about all day
But the cupboard is bare
Whatever happened
to those words?
I guess I’ll never know
(D. James)
Billy the Kid
Caught at the dusty crossroads
of violence and justice - never
quite a man nor a boy
a question simply lingers:
quién es?
EL SEBBO
looking past bottom
Can you feel it
because I can’t
For too long
I tried to suppress
all this anger
all this pain
Now all I know
is this aching
numbness
Wildly searching
for an answer
when all the while
it’s been right here
Inside my head
inside of me
It doesn’t matter
It means nothing
It solves nothing
nothing at all
(D. James)
Crazy Birds
An hour before dawn
and blind birds sing
goodbye to the bitter
dregs of night
Chattering away
as if they had
something to say
But it doesn’t
bring the day
any sooner
(D. James)
Were things really easier or do we just remember them that way?
In the good
old days
when we were drunk
the world
moved slower
as if underwater
Now time
lurches forward
can’t seem to stop
the flood of years
rushing past
Let’s get drunk
one more time
drown ourselves
in memories of
days gone by
(D. James)
Bauhaus
Structures
Elements
Shadows
Your naked back
My heart like a keyhole
Wood
Steel
Wool
Footsteps on concrete
Love like a half-lifted curtain
Ich liebe dich
A three-step danse
Red lipstick
Black shoes
Your hand in mine
A cold sun
Sharp walls
Spring is coming
Ah ah
The purpose of art?
Usefulness
my dear
usefulness
EL SEBBO
Zero out
No one knew
the damage
being done
How could we
it was all
so long ago
when we were
young
Someone
should have
stopped it
Someone
should have seen
what it would do
to all of us
Now we have
to deal with it
on our own
Break the cycle
end this chain
of anger
and pain
(D. James)
Blue and white
White roofs
blue sky
the children play
in the bedroom
my fingers
silently
write this poem:
“it is cold outside
it is colder
inside my mouth”
EL SEBBO
rushing to the end
Back on track
like a train
at speed
Where it goes
we’ll have to
wait and see
Enjoy the ride
and hope the end
is nowhere in sight
(D. James)
spring moon
Yellow moon
hangs fat
and lush
in black sky
Warm night
of spring
finally arrived
Breathe it in
keep me sane
(D. James)
max headroom
I crack my skull
on a violent shift
of perspective
Eyes sting
from the blood
but now
I can finally see
the pain
of reality
(D. James)
This is not a love poem
I don’t write
love poems
Though I love
writing and poems
an emotion
that deep
needs an ocean
of language
I do not possess
My words on the
subject of love
are trite
and best left
to others
Amen
(D. James)
Water on road
Water on road
blood in mouth
twisted chrome
fading sky
Shallow breathing
heart beating
This must be
where the journey
ends
(D. James)
Mirror, mirror
Eros is sore
EL SEBBO
showers expected
gray clouds
wait all day
for the rain
wind picks up
weeps heavily
with the sound
of flapping flags
and water on pavement
people run for cover
as the world
becomes glossy
(D. James)
Delicate
Delicate
isn’t my name
and yet I am moved
by the imbecile
gently led by his father
down the street
while screaming songs
at the top of his head
I am moved
by a white cloud
standing still
over the city
like a gentle threat
I am moved
by your breath
gently lifting the sheets
deep in the night
when I can’t sleep
Yes delicate things
move me deeply
and confirm
the rage hidden
at the core of my words
The rage of impotence,
hope and rebellion
- but not despair
Despair, you see,
is too delicate
for me
EL SEBBO
Destination Street
Black street
blacker heart
Someday the road
will end
in dust
And no one
will care
to even give it a name
(D. James)
There’s no place like home
but we sure wish there was
EL SEBBO
traveling
Bland rooms
and bad food
Time shifts
and lost days
Windows
that don’t open
and beds that
make themselves
Fitful sleep
in unfamiliar places
Makes you
appreciate
the little place
you call home
(D. James)
cereal killer
I shot
the box
of Rice Krispies
stabbed the
Fruit Loops
and strangled
with bare hands
the Raisin Bran
Now
there’s nothing left
for tomorrow’s breakfast
(D. James)
Bad ear (or I should get a medal for doing this)
My ear is shot
Haven’t slept in two days
and here I am writing
this miserable poem
Is it friendship pushing me
or just poetry’s bad junk
shaking me up and down
and never letting me be?
EL SEBBO
hello it’s me
Nasty habit
of self
referential
involvement
centeredness
Even being aware
only focuses
on the single point
So it is
to what
degree
do we see
there are others
not just me?
(D. James)
Anniversarery pome (To my partner in crime, DJ Eldon)
no candles
but fireworks
no explosions
but roman candles
we have written pomes
for one good year now
we are very tired
but our mouths are still
full of spit, tongue, stones
and words
no firecrackers
but live ammo
no funeral pyres
but a feather
of the Phoenix
EL SEBBO
About
“Disposable Poetry” is brought to you by The Lucky 13 Writers Club , which is really just 2 crazed writers, one a Frenchman living in Denmark (El Sebbo), the other an American living in the United States (D. James).
Conceived in Feb 2007 as a transcontinental experiment, they put this blog together to share their work in the hope that someone, other than themselves, might read it. Today there are more than 350 poems and growing. Late in 2008 the structure changed a bit as El Sebbo took a break to work on other projects, but still posts occasionally. New poems are now being posted every other day and if you haven’t done so already, please browse our extensive archives, check out our tag and category clouds or pop a word or phrase in the search bar and see what you find.
If you get something out of any of it, great, if not, then turn the page.
If you feel strongly about something we write, or just want to, leave a comment. Bookmark us and come back, we’ll be here with something new.
Occasionally we may invite a guest poet to post - that is if we can find other poets who want to be associated with us. Thus far we’ve only ever had one brave soul who thought he was crazy enough to post here. Check his poem out on the Guest Poets page.
For our readers who like reading in their readers, the blog is available via RSS, at “http://disposablepoetry.com/feed/”
