Stream of Consciousness 19: Pardon my French

Pastry where’s the thinking you eat chocolate like there’s no tomorrow
Wendy’s eaten three hamburgers this week my mouthful is stuffed where’s chicken where’s the turnkey I’m eating from sandwiches every day where’s pasta where’s lasagna where’s my mother’s baked goods

I miss the sky I miss crying I miss dying or wanting to feel like sh– where’s the pasta where’s mamma where’s tangos and having s– in the garden where’s my meals where’s the oregano where’s your hands on me where’s the lipstick I asked for where’s your angles sides on me and I’m probably going to throw up and these books list things like a laundry all the things you f——saw in Paris we don’t give a f— he says f— every other sentence and I thought he was a real weirdo he plays video games and curses three times a sentence but he’s good looking and he does accents what the fuck and he’s–

here’s to being single ha we’re only just five years older than five years ago that was when I dreamed about everything I was so f—— hopeful and where’s the glory in being single the easy self-gratification self-gratification my ass my ass can tell you we’re all going to hell, and there’s zero tolerance policy around here mister I hate to have to haze you but there are certain rules you do not break and Antoinette has better yet to come and eat and serve the meals get to it hup hup and old men on the f——bus It’s disgusting get some f—— manners, and he’s on the train he’s always on the f—— train get off already

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Baby

What a man wants is quite opposite from what the air wants you to be
And I can assure you, eating from silver plates is fantastic in reality.
I make arrangements and I break them and I get things where I take them
And my many men are after all the money in my manor and I’m
Sitting by the fire laying golden eggs and cotton and my
Father’s making millions in a castle in brazotton
Oh
I say, wasn’t it sold off to that sailor from Southampton?
(If I get him we can clean him up and groom him in a mansion!)
Oh he’s picture perfect when he gets behind a glass display
And then maybe we’ll destroy his fame and say that he’s gone rotton
No
A scandal makes for worry and I’m never in a hurry
So I’ll dance and ride the trolley and meet men who call me dolly
There are lots of shabby shoppers but im surely something chicer
If you penny pinch you’ll know that stashing stock just makes you weaker
I am free, I am rich, and I wear a pretty stitch,
And I’ll sing a song for all your friends who wound up in a ditch,
We make friends, we drive cars, we stay late in all the bars,
If you think that I’m not happy, baby, I’m among the stars. (hey!)

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Temporary

temporary dressings over temporary wounds.
we seek shelter in an abandon garden and
hope that we will take fruit. In a garden we see many faces often,
the father who takes no notice or the mother who stoops over the dandelions,
the friend who coddles the petunias like sisters and the grandmother who sits still.
we hold candles to the dahlias and when it gets cold, we hope they do not burn.
we hide and lick our wounds in the grass, wimpering and withering like pruned hands.

I held on to you because your voice was soft like a suede glove,
and I liked the unnabraisive hair you could brush up to my temples and say the
only way I could have met you was the only way I could have met you, and the way I could have held you was the only way I could have held you, and we would have
spun around in blurred green clusters where the bushes ran off to meet the sky and
the
sun ran off to meet your eyes, and the way the green houses flitted behind the dark shade of green like the house in the spring
and maybe I could if I stand here.

if I stand here in the green grass in the garden I will remember it as a footpath for soldiers who defend love, keep it in high regard and pay no heed to the
fashion of believing that all we say is trite anyway.

the slow stones are fawn beds for lovers, and the grass is coverlets for milk bodies,
(ours,)
and now and again the firs can pine away for you instead of me.
I may bend over sideways like the arches of a tended forest, my limbs over your limbs or the tree limbs
and patience is a virtue and you are a virtue. But patience is temporary and
burdens are temporary and so was the kiss, the kiss you gave me, too soft and cream, too negligible and sparse, unvaried and smoothing, holding not possessing and static not unstable. I can lie down for hours and notice that you are neither sleeping nor waking, just like the sound of birds flying is not availed to my ears but I trust it is there notwithstanding.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

The Last Time we Visited the Lake

An old poem I never published; after watching txf episode “mind’s eye”

When we reached the edge of the water
When we reached the edge of the pool
When the clams reached out to pinch my toes
And I think I was thinking of you

I could hear the false note in your consoling voice
The kind of thing you could sense with the sound turned off.
You’d be an angel but your face didn’t match up,
It was feigned, and terribly cold.

I was sure I was dreaming that morning,
Watching you by the dock near the pool
Facing the shoreline of water,
Piled neatly against the blue.

There you stood,
A magician of frugality
Trying to regain your composure,
Looking at me with disappointment
But the fragile, fragrant air was tripping up your movements,
And you paused,
Mid-pace,
To close your eyes
And erase
All else,
Smelling deeply,
Remembering.

When reached the edge of the water
You said
“This is the place”

I heard the false notes in your voice again, as you released
Sweet smelling words out into the air, to savor
But it was only just for show;
Just to admire their grace

You smiled a meager smile and looked to the water again,
As the boats heaved and creaked in their wooden cages.
We stood together, silent.
I was sure you were feeling some kind of secondhand pity,
But it was usually just a feeling.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Unusual Grammar

(kjasdkfjas;kdfrt8udofafff0oonepakfn) speak to me

(oifbn3pikeakmdnnbbfjuiia fuineamdnagf ap[o3elskdb) out of context

(lknnnneksnaokkdrjuposmngakjfnepsklepj) so they can never know

(sidfeoakcmvniu 4r yppphphhjhjeanfk,fmsdkjrfnrg) what we are saying.

(fogjgpwsmaswitpa,vnvprfororof,f nrprfek,cvofjwnsdplfv\) otherwise 

(dflfgr0y06 ,smnvosfkn[spgksd.of[speincvkrkip;dl,mripw;llllfieklmjgs) it’s not a challange;

(dpfklmjdkngwoufhwlmanru wjuadkisfba shqjsdh a dfapsidfhnds) it’s not a mystery

(asdpfkasjfq orihghhrurnhsp;mnb nuirfjngorjdmsklchemdl) and we run over and over

(dsuebpadsjlsdkgntwusdfkswuadlsfjas eitwhwpwkfajh) the same tame words:

(sdfsdehpskfjeiskfmfjfjfjrpa oiwrjwpefkljsd asijwokidnfpoa fso) for i  always preferred the 

(aksdfhnasdfapsdfjpwknlsn apkgwna ufapwnjpashnldf op) thousand intricate rules

(asldkfjasdfueapdsfihaw dsfhaweorkf  ieheo adsjfoaw pwkfsn) of my own unusual grammar.

(asdreighhckghntfjrfjurepoen fdsorwjdfe peoewjurjfhjg dejcjcjcdeo) tell me,

(fsp;threouh rurhrri rolkn urhntrl lkdfjkd sdk) o unusually learned soul,

(sdfkjhsdfoauwr4ewgngkty hitkrkrkr foddo) wherever did you study?

Escaped

i delivered my love for you to someone else today
in the rain.
i grabbed hold of his sleeve and said “I like you very much”
and there were tears in my eyes
and it was my dying wish, i realized
to say it to your face.
as i anticipated,
he said we’d be better as friends.
but i didn’t even mean it when i said it
i needed to say it to someone
or i’d burst.
(shatter the glass window first)

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

The Samuels Family Leave for California at 11 AM on a Sunday Morning While the Sky Shone only in the Imagination of the Young

 A dust bowl poem I wrote for a school project, based off of The Grapes of Wrath

It was breakfast time and the porridge was piping hot.
At the table I dug my hands into my pockets an’ pulled out the dime I got from
Selling my old stuffed bear (his name is Franklin),
An’ I said hey Ma look what I got for my bear but she wasn’t listenin’,
She was pacin’ around the house lookin’ real worn an’ scairt an’ her face creased
An’ I could even smell the worry comin’ offa her face so I
Shut myself up an’ stared at the floorboards.

I don’t know what I’m gonna do but Sissy says we’re s’pose to pile up into that ole
Model T Pap usta drive us around in, goin’ around in crazy circles,
Kicking up the dust. Says we gonna go a million miles, like it’s a race,
Like it’s the derby, till we collapse.
I drew circles around in the dirt on the floor to pass the time,
With my toes dirty like White turnips straight out of the soil.
(I don wanna b’lieve her, but Ma says its true.)

It was breakfast time and my porridge was gettin’ cold, but I couldn’t eat none,
So I fed it to the dog, an’ Ma said I was bein’ plum crazy for
Givin’ away food like that to ‘im, said we’ve got millions of miles ‘head of us an’ You ain’t even wanna eat ‘fore ya go! Said it’s shameful, an’ ain’t you hungry?
But I couldn’t tell her that no matter how much the hunger gnawed away at my insides,
The thought of me leavin’ home made it all the worser.

So I put my hand on my mouth an’ I run out to the front steps an’ I
Puked on them, an’ Ma said Jezus Filbert an’ what we gon’ do ‘bout you?
An’ she put her hand to her forehead like she was ‘bout to faint an’ we
Got her back inside like we always done an’ fanned her face an’ give her some
Water till her cheeks weren’t so shiny an’ her eyes weren’t so glassy.

When she stood back up again she shooed us offa her an’ tol’ us to get goin’, so we
Piled up the things to put inta the car an’ I could nary hold onta the chairs
But I done it, I done it for Ma an’ she had a look in her eye like she could
Do anything she set her mind to,
An’ me Sissy and Vivian all walked out of the house an’ stepped into the sunlight.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Cold Bare Feet

there can’t be anyone else following you or me
the landscape turns on it’s back and says hello
mountains folding over like batter in the bowl
and rivers melting into rivers.

can you still run?
you kiss me and say yes
there are things to do, love
the world is far too small
but we can still run anyways.

it’s bright out,
but it’s far past midnight.
if you don’t see a thing
(it’s because you don’t have enough practice
seeing in the dark)
with your cat eyes (nine lives)
and they slip past your fingers
the times you got so close
and the moments you mourned over
dissolve; love,
anyone can smile with the wind
running and running and running
(and then it’s morning).

windswept models up on a catwalk
or you running around in the dirt,
honestly, love
it doesn’t make a difference.
god sees you the same,
i see you the same.

where did you go? i can’t see you much at all
have your legs spun round so fast they blurred?
are you a blur?
are we all disappearing?

the moon extends a cold blue hand to help
the grass in monsoon time sheds a green tear for our misfortune
but she doesn’t see how we are thriving!
oh, we can run for a week and still have ourselves to ourselves,
we can still breathe, still be.

in a trance,
your eyes look up at me,
black and filled with murky honey
your cold bare feet standing by the water pump
in the rain,
your solitary body poised like a statue,
the fabric of your dress soaked and stained
the eyes of you looked down, in girlish resignation,
a young child submitting to the skies, to the pain.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Sequence of Events

Things that happened: I was so caught up in you my heart beat fast on its own
Things that happened: I saw you put your hands on a woman’s back, barely alive
Things that happened: I dreamed you put your hands on my back, I cried
Things that happened: I threw you out of the room, you sick bastard
Things that happened: I remembered you were here to help, you said so yourself
Things that happened: I fell into a dream, slow and soft and mellow
Things that happened: I woke up from a dream, shaky in shock, ashamed
Things that happened: I could not remember the feeling anymore
Things that happened: I had to remember again. But it wasn’t the same as before.
Things that happened: I was high. I was on cloud nine. Drinking you in
Things that happened: I made peace with your not saint or sinner self. my own.
Things that happened: I forgot you.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Campus Walk Alone

I walk thru the corridors
(he has walked thru these corridors)
watch the faces thru the windowed doors
(he has walked thru these doors)
with his bag in hand,
and his hair like the sand
and his eye like the sea.

I walk thru the grounds
(he has walked thru these grounds)
and the people who chatter
(he has heard all the chatter)
with his bag in hand
and his hair like the sand
and his eye like the sea.

ah, to run deep and fast,
alone,
along the grass,
and the many-stepped paths,
and the halls.
I can remind you of a certain sweetness,
perhaps,
because you cannot know me at all.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry