quiet now
in the small hours
of the morning
with the heart
and mind
aligned
peaceful now
as the new day
dawns
and everything
seems as one
in the vast expanse
is it a straight line
from our ancestors
to now
or is there a circle
that completes each moment
are we really alone
in this world
or surrounded
by the billions
who came before
and since
(D James)
not enough
sleep tired
too many
cigarettes tired
tired all the
time tired
two in the morning
writing
poetry tired
brain tired
road tired
time for bed tired
over-tired
wishing I didn’t
have to get up
and go to
work tired
nodding off
with my fingers
on the
keyboard tired
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
(D. James)
this thing strung together making no sense yet kept writing these words and not even thinking letting them flow and trying to keep up like in life when everything moves at the speed of sound and people keep moving and I seem to be in the way, slower than everyone else feeling tired and left behind it all seems a bit too much maybe I’m still on west coast time or it could be that I’m no longer interested in the rushing and running, the pushing and shoving, shouldering my way through life trying to get in front of the person in front of me assholes behind me kicking at the backs of my shoes, knocking them off skittering across the platform as the E train rushes out of the station and the next group of followers gathers in the station, and on to the next thing, the one after the one right before this one, how can anyone make sense of the world anymore when people start conversations in e-mail and end them in text, and no one, no one, answers the phone any longer, why can’t this rant end? because there are no endings and no beginnings, there’s just all this rushing around in the middle and when I go, and when you go, there will still be 6 billion and more on the planet to take up where we left off, and there is no reason for it, no meaning – it all is and it all isn’t and we’re here to sort out what it means to us now, and then we’re gone. And the sun will rise and the sun will set, and the sun will rise and the sun will set …
(D. James)
don’t take this
away
it’s the last
small joy
we have
like a slender shaft
of sunlight
through the basement
window
don’t take it
away
we won’t
know what
to do then
waiting,
like refugees
under a rain-soaked
tarp
hoping,
for what was
what might be
so please
don’t take it
away
they’ll be
nothing left
to say
(D. James)
like bits of paper
blown by the wind
which ones will I catch
in the net of my mind
hold onto for dear life
which ones will I let fly
laughing at what nonsense
I can come up with
what if they were all
just passing
like a small spark
or bolt of lightning
electric and fleeting
shinning a momentary light
then gone
instead of being turned
into the truth
(D. James)
nothing
no thing
no nothing
no
begin
at the middle
go back
to the end
then circle round
to finish
at the beginning
once you figure
it out
let me know
I’ll be waiting
(D James)
where does it
go
the time
seems like it
used to crawl
now I lose
track
of the days
and memories
are like stories
someone once told
I’m not even
certain
I’ve not written
this poem
before
(D James)
light and dark
laughter and tears
never and always
right and wrong
bone and dust
blood and guts
intransigent and flexible
solid and liquid
everything
and
nothing
(D James)
white sheet
blank paper
and the
screen in your head
goes black
who ever said
you can’t get there from here
didn’t know where you were
to begin with
so how did they know
where you’d end up
(D. James)
this is a test
there is really
nothing
to say
if this were
an actual poem
we would tell you
how to feel
about it
or at least
express something
worthy of an
emotional response
(D. James)
and and and
adding to what
was said
and and and
bringing together
disparate thoughts
and and and
an endless string
of ideas
and and and
where I’ve been
and and and
where I’m going
(D. James)
years ago
skinny kid
thought he knew
everything
full of bravado
and half-believing
how is it
we lived
through all that
and have come
to this
desire
still tugs
at us
reaching across
the years
the miles
our lives
converging
this path set
before we walked
upon it
no idea
where it leads
only where we’ve
been
maybe
this time
we’ll get it right
(D. James)
I’m asking
I’m asking too much
but I’m asking anyway
’cause if you don’t ask
you don’t get
and I think
you want me to ask
it’s why
you found me
waiting for you
to come around again
so I could ask
so I’m asking
(D. James)
to live
for a great love
something imagined
but never attained
a moment
in time
regained
an improbable
second chance
do you defy
the odds?
or is it all
rash insanity
fools folly
destined
to self-destruct
in the end
do we care?
not if we are driven
by our desire
think
this is our
destiny
perhaps then
we make it so
or burn in the fire
set so long ago
suddenly too close
(D. James)
this is bad
this desire
this wanting
this is not me
this is not you
this isn’t even who we think
this is
this is some evil
this
this twist
this pain
this feeling
this ache for you
this is just a dream
this nightmare
this remembrance of you
this haunting
this stillness of still wanting
this with you
this ending that never ends because I don’t want
this to ever end never wanted
this to end always wondered why
this did end
this always ending
this
(D. James)
here’s where
we get to that part
of the night
closer to dawn
than dusk
when the cars
rubber by
less frequently
and your
eyelids
will not
cooperate
everyone else
is long down
nothing
but the hum
of the refrigerator
to keep you company
and that last car
rolling past your window
won’t be another till dawn
best to wait for it
under the covers
if you’re lucky
it’ll go by
unnoticed
if you’re not
it won’t
(D. James)
up all night
looking
for something
that doesn’t exist
something
I don’t want
to see in me
avoiding
myself
by looking
everywhere
other than here
trying to get
out of my head
when I should
be in bed
another late
night
another wasted
morning
couldn’t I get
the same result
in another way
or another result
in the same way
it’s all the same
in the end
(D. James)
there are times
like now
when there is
nothing to say
and so
I say
what’s
right there
” … “
(D. James)
in bed
curled around
her sleeping self
I think
this is what
I’ve always
wanted
to whisper
in an ear
that she’s
my one
and only one
but I don’t
realizing
that’s not me
that’s not her
it’s just an idea
in my head
from a song
Taupin wrote
about one of his
ex-wives
and what
does that
tell you
(D. James)
there are
all these words
and feelings
and messy things
spilled out
on the floor
like blood
seems there’s
no place
to put them all
can’t swallow them
try stuffing them
back into your gut
but they
no longer fit
feels like
you’ll die without
them
seems like
you’ll die with
them
where will you …
how will you …
what will you …
why would you …
go on?
(D. James)
I’m so good
at making it all
about me
that even when
you think you’re
talking about you
it’s still about me
do you do that too
or is it just me?
(D. James)
there is something
and yet … and yet
a look
in the eye
something
or something
I made up
how
do you know
ten thousand
subtle seconds
and you only have
a moment to act
am I
the only one
who notices this
(D. James)
When the night
is over
and the final
cigarette
has been smoked
what will
the last poet
say
After all
the evoked emotion
failed relationships
dead boyfriends
abortions
abusive parents
drugs and alcohol
laughter
and pain
have been spilled
out
in some cases
artfully vomited
what could
this last poet
have to say
How to summarize
this night
these words
life sentences
bad grammar
poetic license
driven to excess
How to follow
the girl who told
of losing all her hair
the guy who
crashed his car
the gay biker
who longs
to be dominated
by a she-wolf
of the SS
the boy
who lost
his virginity
so late
the girl
who lost hers
so early
the words
of so many
who want change
yet stay
right where they are
What can this last
motherfucker
have to say
that can top the
triumphs
tragedies
surprises
sorrows
What will
the last poet
leave us with
as we file
out of this
basement grotto
into the light
of dawn
Do we expect
too much
as he steps to the microphone
the crowd
too drunk
to hush
even the white
of the spot light
seems a bit dingy
as he steps into it’s shaft
The last poet
will speak the
last poem
and we will leave
to sleep it off
Whatever he says
will be the final word
so our expectations
are far too high
The last poet
poor fucker
has nowhere to go
but down
unless he’s more genius
than genius itself
more brilliant
than all of us
The last poet
clears his throat
touches his lips
to the mic
the wait
has us spellbound
and half-hopeful
Even so
when we wake
in the afternoon
hungover and
full of piss
will we remember
any of this
(D. James)
like a dog
that won’t come
a bird
that refuses
to sing
or a cat
that won’t hunt
what if
I just sat here
all damn day
listening to Nina
the sound
of all that pain
washing over me
like rain
(D. James)
autumn …
things begin
to die
the start
before the start
of next spring
the end
of this
the beginning
of that
life
is
a
circle
a cycle,
there are
no straight lines
which may be why
it feels as if
we’ve been here before
(D. James)
