Monthly Archives: November 2015

Abecedarian Love Poem to Myself


After all I’m not deluding myself anymore, I’m no longer young.
But still, there you are,
Corner of my eye,
Dread of my senses
Evil image or imaginary
Fiendish sprite of mystery,
Girl who vanishes.

Haven’t you seen me, stretching out my hand to touch you?
I’m right here, you
Just can’t see me. I’d
Kiss the doubts away,
Let every worry fade into the shade of oblivion.
My only motive renders me relentless.
Nothing can stop me,
Only your recognition, a
Pearly smile from your mouth. I may

Question your existence,
Rebut every sound argument,
Stop myself from believing I could love you. But I can’t,
Try as I might, It’s
Useless to say you won’t get older and bolder, that you won’t need my
Vest to keep you
Warm in the winter, cool in the
Xanthous sunlight, in your hair,
You who cannot see me, my dear

(and i still stay up at night don’t you?)

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry


Phantom Limb


in bed, i was


I thought I was immersed in health-that’s wrong-i was immersed in



five different blankets of sick, each the different stages of
obsessive illness:

“you know what?”i smile,
“it’s not so bad.”
im licking my lips
and i notice the obvious
pounding chest, a bit accelerating
that lasts for minutes and comes back several times for several hours
and i think about the way i always end up seeing the world
through your eyes,¬†pretending you’re observing me
like a comforting  spy.
and anyhow-
sick, getting better, it’s all the same
it’s vital and i need it.
it’s like a pulse:
it’s running high
they say
get her to a doctor they say
there is no doctor for this disease they say,
you go to psychiatrists for that.
no for that they go out into the world
and they see that no one is really like the
people they make up in their minds
and then they get sick again
trying to forget the fact.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

For A and B


then I stand behind it all
stepping from the ficus tree, I am clad in silver
midieval delicate

one of you help me down the tree
so friendly, big brotherly,
the both of you talk to me about life,
what it’s like being
just barely grown
and you caution me
not to fall,
as we conquor the tree limbs.

I like it
and wish i could encounter
people like them more often
sitting in trees.
I could center my life in a big tree.
there I could wait out my childhood
put off adulthood
and hibernate without remorse or chance
of either begining or ending.

I’d find company with
the theater company,
the singer and thespian guilds,
bright red and gold tapestry curtains
theaters carved out of
waxy resin oaks and
sequoias, creaking with age
and the footsteps from
decades of blocking
done by decades of feet.

retarded growth,
slothful patterns of sleep
and a good dose of the company love:
better than rye bread
I’d rather die that pass up being the lead.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry 

Pinching Words, Orders


of course we tracked him down;
money was tight and there was no use in keeping him.
there were some hush hush stories but we
smoked them out,
we wanted him to be history.

some people lag behind us
we’re punctual, we don’t stop for them.
that’s saying a lot,
some people are pretty important;
sometimes i think we should make exceptions

bears remind me of us
we like to keep our guard down
when we find something suspect;
a bit sizable at first glance but nonetheless

i personally
liked the way you dug him out
so easefully in the time assigned. lunch?
he said, and tipped his head.
she said no and smiled.

we like to keep things brief here
say hello, kiss, goodbye
off again to see your brothers in europe
your mother can watch from the television
(she’s safe in her livingroom now)

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

Sitting at the School Bench, Talking to Friends


today i saw the tight punctuality
of the person i wanted only to kiss hard (right)
and the person i wanted only to hold, to confide in. (left)
polar opposite.

i hated the personality of one
didn’t care about true intimacy with the other

maybe i have found another universe in one person’s eye
and see the eye as the begining of a very long trail of other parts in another

it was nice to see it spread out so neat and clear like that
i was greatful.
i said i love you to the person that mattered and they said look at her face
i thought don’t you see it?

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

You’ve Got the Wrong Ideas, Probably


I have made you up in my mind
a rosier version of you:
less serious.
more open, less business.

I don’t know why
it makes me scared.
i don’t think i should
keep on talking this way
and if any of this is

I have made you up in my mind
to hide with
to run with
i daydream about you like a miracle
it will never happen.
that is why it is a daydream.

your name and hair aren’t too
perhaps it is the
and your gate is so decided
and the way you move around
so calm and cool
how could i resist,

and though i may compare it to
all i used to know on the subject
this is something new
why is it something to prove?
maybe it is not correct
i doubt it and i hate it
maybe all the poetry is
yeah, it’s wrong, is it?
(you tell me.
you hold me)
well I’d probably hate it in

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

What Was the Feeling of Her?


her jeweled hair
the way she’d speak
you wanted her on the floor
pressed against you, holding
how you’d do it
even in your dream you denied
it said to hell with that
but now you wish you hadn’t
she was cold ice white
her lacy face
why couldn’t she be yours

and why weren’t you jealous of her
almost lover
why weren’t you terrified
when he was in the room
why didn’t you shirk
whenever he said hello
and why didn’t you search her out
in the room,
why did you just stay put
she’s the kind of girl i’d like to

thinking about laying in the fields together
the rides together
the long hours together
and her voice
her voice that could read you
how could you make it through the day
and barely see her
frittering your last moments
with her off,
sharing you her poetry

gleaming when she didn’t scoff
how she’d gently caressed your knuckles
and it felt like a butterfly’s moon kiss
and you stayed in silent awe, observing without her gaze
and sometimes,
you’d hide tears when she’d tell you how wonderful you were.

why did you confide in her a friend?
why did you care so little?
what was the feeling, really?

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry



western frontiersman
gathering their rifles to shoot
a dead bird.

we got him right here, son.
the boy you left behind?
he’s been dead four years
and you’re only finding out now.
stupid neglect.
you’d better feel ashamed of yourselves.

they gathered out in the muddy rains
close to victories and fever spells
peeling off their shells of comfort
slowly but surely
hour by hour.

nevada looks nice
but in the winter it’s pretty bleak
no jobs,
no women to see, aside from your sister.
have to head down the road.
or up.
falling from a height,
you see yourself in a negative after-image
salty blood.
it’s good to be alive.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

First Time Out with the Wolf


baring your incisors
makes sense to smile them at me
after devouring the spoils;
after it’s all over.

there was a pressure to be bad
overwhelming the senses,
invading me like
pariahs of taking
lords of waste,

and those flaring incisors
like a white traffic signal:
not like any human communicator.

then we sat on the edge of a
fallen tree trunk heaving
cold breaths
like endangered
hard to find.

things went along dreamily, absentmindedly
and then you flashed by before me and
not intending to be remembered,
and in doing so became

(running, she clenches her fist around him
but too late, he had already done it it is too late)

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry