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)
Monthly Archives: March 2008
Where does that leave us?
Love is
its own
metaphor
EL SEBBO
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)
Walking through the valley of the rich (Paris – Auteuil/Passy)
Never saw
so much dog shit
in my life
EL SEBBO
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)
Paris as a tourist
Is it me walking
under the white balloon clouds
or a figure of myself
pretending to be the Parisian
I once was?
But still –
the smell
of the
metro
ah
that’s
me
EL SEBBO
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)
Down to the basics
rain rain rain
then
sun sun sun
then
poem poem poem
EL SEBBO
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)
500 pieces
sometimes
life becomes
a puzzle
but you know
that all the
colored
cardboard
pieces
you hold in your hand
will never be enough
to finish it
Yet
bravely
you set them down
hoping
you can guess
the final image
anyway
EL SEBBO
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
