how do you
wipe out
18 months
of love
happiness
listening
and support
the ups
and
the downs
in 60 seconds?
scream
be volatile
it only takes
a moment
apparently
to wipe it
all away
(D. James)
Monthly Archives: December 2009
wonky compass
you head north
I follow
then east
and I follow
to the west
then south
north again
and I follow
your shifts
of whim
until
my bearings
are lost
and I am
swallowed
in a sea
of emotion
you go on
leaving behind this
reckless wreckage
now
there is
nowhere
to go
but
down
(D. James)
Christmas for Atheists
what can we
give
on this day
that can truly
be called a gift
not something
bought
or even made
but something
of ourselves
to look someone
in the eye
and let them
know
they are loved
and appreciated
to leave
them
feeling
as if you know
exactly who they are
not who you
think they are
or need them
to be
but truly
who they are
(D. James)
a side of me
there is
a side
of me
I do not
like
a part
that feels
unheard
it rages
and I am
in its grip
lost to
madness
there is
a side
of me
I do not
like
and
I have
to live
with the
consequences
of my actions
cannot erase
what I’ve done
there is
a side
of me
I hate
and wish
never to see
again
(D. James)
art on glass
Misty rain
falling all day
and through
the long night
odd streaks
splash the window
a dark
stark beauty
not so
when you’re
out in it
(D. James)
poetry
what I write
when no
other thoughts
come
an image, idea
theft
desire
hope
dreams
sorrows
This is what
I write
when nothing else
will come
(D. James)
pressure
Filled
with fear
not knowing
what the future
holds
worried
I can’t
won’t
make it
That somehow
after all this
time
I’ve finally come
to the end
no more
tricks
up my
sleeve
time to pay
the piper
feeling terribly
inadequate
needing to
reinvent
rethink
shift
(D. James)
For the Love
Love you
like no other
somehow it
isn’t enough
always seems
another obstacle
an endless
row of hurdles
and though
it feels as if
this horse
can’t jump
I must
I must
For no
other reason
than love
(D. James)
This is what you don’t see because I don’t show it
I fret
am filled
with fear
as if
poured
into me
an endless pitcher
overflowing
into my mouth
filling me from
toes to teeth
I choke
cannot breathe
Am I doing
the right thing
should I have done
this or that
before or after
with her or him or it
should I not have
will there be enough
money
time
love
friendship
sex
What will become
of me
in time
before I turn
to dust
(D. James)
Rain New York City
The rain falls
like anger
fierce thunder
barks
the air
thick and wet
Black streets
reflect lamplight
hard sound
of water falling
from a long way up
Tortured soul
of weather
wrestling
with the city
tonight
as if the sky
hurt and afraid
needs to be heard
wants its wrath
to be known
exerting some
momentary sense of control
only to lose
against the granite
and steel
blacktop and brick
The hard city
that falters in flood
but never ever
gives in
never loses
the war
(D. James)
knock em out
Tossing
attitude
throwing words
like punches
not caring
where they land
Uncertain
where this is
coming from
or where
it’s going
only that
I’m following
blindly
(D. James)
down day
Thinking
of giving up
packing it in
leaving
Always looking
for support
someone to prop me up
or just lean me
against a wall
Feeling like
it’s never
gonna be enough
Swimming
in a pool
of self-pity
not wanting
to take
responsibility
wondering how
everyone else
seems to do it
so why
can’t I
(D. James)
the last poet
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)
disposable poetry 