The heart is pink
lips are blue
revolutions are lost
red is a liar
EL SEBBO
Category Archives: bad haiku
White
White is the easiest metaphor
EL SEBBO
Umbrella
If writing poetry
is like pissing against the wind
remember that the wind
often changes direction
EL SEBBO
The poet’s consolation
A beautiful car
is nothing
compared to
a good conversation
EL SEBBO
Red
if my words were colored
like heads and then hands
then sometimes they could be
red machine or red lips
but mostly red silence
EL SEBBO
Sphinx
What we could say
is hidden
behind our words
EL SEBBO
Perfection
sun goes down moon comes up
I hold one in each hand
EL SEBBO
Double lines
the apple-tree is blossoming
the songs of the birds again have meaning
EL SEBBO
Periphery
I am writing a poem in my garden
the sun at the periphery of my thoughts
EL SEBBO
Fall
When things fall
objects happen
EL SEBBO
The limit of poetry
rain
depression
poetry
more rain
North
No
matter
where
you
are
Poetry
is
always
at
the
center
of
the
horizon
EL SEBBO
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
Walking through the valley of the rich (Paris – Auteuil/Passy)
Never saw
so much dog shit
in my life
EL SEBBO
Down to the basics
rain rain rain
then
sun sun sun
then
poem poem poem
EL SEBBO
Mirror, mirror
Eros is sore
EL SEBBO
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
There’s no place like home
but we sure wish there was
EL SEBBO
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
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
If not
poems
are
free
like a bank robbery
a good fist fight
or a major break up
I said
poems
are
free
I didn’t say
they were nice
EL SEBBO
Another mystery
The white veil of morning
creeps around the house
The birds are black notes
and their song hang frozen
in mid-air
We drink coffee in the kitchen
and I want to tell you something
but your words erase mine
and I forget what I wanted to say
and there is no way you can help me
and we laugh it off and another mouth
replaces my mouth with different words
forming behind the seemingly same teeth
although they are actually a few seconds
older
EL SEBBO
Em-ba-ra-ssing (To DJ Nic)
Went to a party last Saturday
and all evening I wondered
if my fly was open because
the zipper was broken or because
I was too stoned to zip it up
Time to quit?
Hell no
EL SEBBO
Capitalism
Bank
is a
four
letter
word
(D. James)
Imperialism
Free
is a
four
letter
word
EL SEBBO
