Most poets
are against violence
because
most poets
are whimps
EL SEBBO MACHO
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Monthly Archives: April 2007
Fleeing for my poetic life
Time
runs
out
and
nothing
can
salvage
this poem
(D. James)
Art lyrique
The poet is always right
The poet is always wrong
Both assessments are true
now get your ass in gear
EL SEBBO
bumbling be
Five years ago …
ten years from now …
where was,
or will, I be
Will I be?
Asked again and again
what did I want to be
If only I could figure out
what that me was supposed to be that wanted to be
or even just be
Free?
But from what
or of what
dare I say,
I know not
(D. James)
Broken spring
Spring is back
It’s warm
Dog shit smells
Flowers whither
The city sneers
Spring is back
and my back is broken
I guess
it’s midlife crisis
setting in
or just
the seasons
turning wrong
Ah well
Spring ain’t
what it used to be
and neither am I
thank god
for us both
EL SEBBO SWEATO
memento mori
I catch a toe
on the bedside table
For a moment
the pain brings a
rush
Then a loud burst
of sound
This is what it is to feel
like a fragile old goat
In the end
no matter how
crafty you are
or how many books
you read
You’re still just a mess
of nerves and fleshy parts
constantly being reminded
what it means to be human
(D. James)
Fire
Sunday
was election day
On my way to vote
I saw a homeless man
build a fire
on the pavement
The flames raged
high and yellow
under the cold
morning sky
I wonder
if it wasn’t
an omen
