Disposable Poetry

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
blood in mouth
twisted chrome
fading sky

Shallow breathing
heart beating

This must be
where the journey
ends

(D. James)

Black street
blacker heart

Someday the road
will end
in dust

And no one
will care
to even give it a name

(D. James)

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)

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)

Rain falls
over the city

Everything swells
and creaks

Water trickles
along the rails

The apartment
feel like a submarine

I await the order
to blow the ballasts
and rise again

(D. James)

frustrated
impatient
impertinent

totally
intolerant
and spiteful

feels like monday
coulda been sunday
just not certain
anymore

where ya goin?
where’s this headed?
it can’t be anywhere
good

(D. James)

Like a bad meal
that repeats

This town
loves itself
more than it deserves

Rewarding mediocrity
Substituting false beauty
for real emotion

Masking belligerent consumption
with blinding sunlight
and palm trees

An American microcosm
of what’s to come

“Reality” TV
played out
in lives of
unconscious consent

Leased luxury
parked outside
your shared apartment

It’s what’s on
the outside
that counts here

This is not
the place
for epic poetry

(D. James)

To live a life
epic like the night

Full with the
weight of the moon

Dark with occasional
streaks of light

Dotted with
a billion possibilities
like stars against
the blackened sky

To be complete
and silent
in an endless expanse

Reaching beyond
the humble existence
of just walking the earth,

To the never-ending
edge of the universe

Swallowing planets whole
and still waking, in the morning
to brilliant sunlight

(D. James)

Waiting
for inspiration
like a brick
to the head

disjointed ideas
false starts
fragments
that go nowhere

Pondering
a fierce headache

the poet
and poem
remain unfinished

(D. James)

Just because
the ocean waves
ceaselessly
pound the sand

doesn’t mean
the beach is
all that fond
of the abuse

(D. James)

I want to
stay up all night
watching movies

I want to
find someway
to feel

I want to
stay up all night
and listen
to the rain

I want to
find a way
to get back home

I want to
be free
from wanting
and just be

I want to
stay up all night
and listen
to the pain

In the end
I just want
to believe

(D. James)

Falling fast now
through this life

Waiting for that
never-coming
something
to happen

Not sure
if this is sadness
or the edge
of madness

Each day
goes by and
all I want to do
is stop

(D. James)

Damp clouds
like steel cotton
darken the day

Rain falls heavy
on the city

Good time
to be drunk
if only
I still drank

Maybe I should
leave town
or become
a fish

(D. James)

In the garden
of silence

All sound
becomes peaceful

There is nothing
to say

(D. James)

Listen
listen to the quiet night
as the crickets tell their stories

Listen
listen as the world spins

Listen baby, listen
while the sun rises
to bring the morning

Listen now before
it’s gone

Listen to the sound
of my heart beating
to my steady breathing

Listen baby, listen
while there’s still
a bit of night left

Listen to everything
as the city sleeps
’cause tomorrow
might be too late

So listen baby, listen
as I sing the night goodbye

And listen as the early light
stretches across the sky

(D. James)

Impossible imagination
trickles along
through the minefield
of emotions

Biding time
or making tracks
it’s all the same
in the end

Stuck is not
a state of being

Only a state
of mind

(D. James)

Speak softly
to yourself
as you wander
through
the night
of the mind

Darkness
will settle itself
and bliss comes
in some form
even if only
for a moment

Another misspent night
of lost and hopeless
dreams

Light a last cigarette
like a candle
for the dead

Watch the sky
for the blue light
of a new day

Only then can you
lay down
and rest
your weary
head

(D. James)

There’s a hole
in the plan
wide as the sky
and bleeding
like an open
wound

If we push on
there will only
be more blood

Hold off
and we
get
nowhere

Best to take
our chances
and bleed
then die
in this spot
with nothing

(D. James)

Like a curse,
seeing the world
differently

Having to explain
the colors of
another sky

or what it
sounds like
in a sleepless
city

It’s the gift
of seeing
through things
instead of looking
at them

the difference
of knowing
rather than believing
in the beauty
of nothing

(D. James)

stay with me
in this terrible
night

tomorrow will come
too soon

and I’ll
be gone

leaving you here
with little to say

even less
to hear

so stay with
me now

while I wait out
the night

wading through
the darkness
of my mind

only a bit longer
and tomorrow
comes

then there will be
new battles

not like this
not all
un-won

(D. James)

If there were
no language

but simply
one person
who stood up

it would say
more than all
the words
we could hope for

(D. James)

New York
is where you come
to be known

even, if only,
in small ways

The pizzaman
who calls you buddy …
“Hey buddy.”
“What you need buddy?”

The guy at
the cigar shop
who silently nods
acknowledgment

or the homeless man
who says, “Hi, how are you?”
then quietly, “can I
get a little help?”

The bar
on the corner
the diner
down the street

Everyone greets you
like a friend

This is how you know
you’re home

(D. James)

The rain comes down
on MacDougal Street

as tea goes cold
in the cup

and the Chinese girls
speak Mandarin

while the rain
comes down
on MacDougal Street

Italian opera plays
as the waitress
bumps through
the crowded tables
and chairs

Outside
people run
under coats
like silent Banshees
on parade

while the rain
comes down
on MacDougal Street

The awning
catches a gust
of wind like laundry
drying in the sun

Drunk girls
puff unsuccessfully
on damp cigarettes

With the check comes
the smiling-for-the-tip smile
and time to call it a night

while the rain
comes down
on MacDougal Street

(D. James)

For inspiration
use your life
or steal
someone else’s

use words
to evoke images

If all else fails
light yourself
on fire
and tell me
how that feels

“Trust me”
the man said
“it works”

(D. James)

Is there time?
with all the waste
the things we do
perpetually
perpetrating
the idea of busyness

Is there time
to live, to think,
to be?

Or are we simply
taking up space
in between commercials
waiting to purchase cheap thrills
in a Chinese box?

Lost and out of time
not even sure what
words mean any longer

People speak at me
in languages I don’t
comprehend

With gestures and
too much emotion

Yet none of it
feels real

(D. James)