Monthly Archives: April 2016

Magical

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today the wind came out to greet you
like it was saying a final goodbye
i went on a walk and i found you
for i tried and i tried and i tried.

from a distance you stood there poetic
and i watched as my heart slowed and spinned
you were standing quite still in the solitude
while i watched you, alone in the wind.

when you ran up to greet me you sparkled
like a fairy all gilded in sunlight,
your hair flew around you like fairy wings
and your balmy pink smile was as bright.

then you stood there and softly spoke poetry
an elegy made of a sigh
you delivered a sermon of pearls to me
and what humble a servant was i.

as your lips held each whispered word tightly
in caresses i never could prize
your recited words said “i’m in love with you”
then i stared, falling into your eyes:

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

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Instructions, Post-Mortem

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if there can be an antidote to lovesickeness
it is the three days spent splayed out on ones bed
tinkering with he lights in the room
and praying silently for death.

if you don’t spend long in there,
the time still seems to expand beyond all capacity
and you are left flooded in a
surplus of ageless minutes.

(one does not take three times as long to wake up in the morning.
one takes four.)
the hours taste like coffee.

at dinner it’s the same meal every day
lamb chops and something else you can’t taste
(in fact, you can’t taste any of it.)

in the light of day,
stock market men inquire about the rates of exchange
and the butchers barter over the sale of veal,
but you can’t put a price on anything.

the gardens behind ones house are like solitude
but they only mock it.
it is a mock solitude,
one not to be confused with the kind
spent gazing thru a soft sunlit window,
the eyes lost in an expression
we have no words for.

one may sit in the chair,
becoming absorbed in ones own thoughts
(but this leads to delirium.)

if one should desire to be cheerful,
putting on a smile can usually do the trick
in its ironical conceit
and is a marvelous deception
for those not aware of their outward expression.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

It’s the 1990’s and No One Really Cares who You Are

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overheard at a party:

(“do you incite
jealousy,
or keep it all in your pants?”)

(“we are dealing with a woman here”)
it takes one to know one that i’m the best
and i can kiss.

you know, thanks to the mobile phone,
my girlfriend over there hears me from a thousand miles away
even if i’m on the tube.

i took sara along with me  (“can you see her in the corner over there?”)
if you get close enough to her she’ll tell you she’s a
pyromaniac with a taste for danger (“haha!”)
only last week she admits that it’s purely
chemical.

it’s true;
last week i caught her
on the verge of a mental breakdown;
she faltered in the street wearing her
nightgown and she
finally walked back to the hotel and said
no one would really care if she
fell down.

then i yelled at her for about twenty minutes about
how idiotic she was being but
if she’d’ gone
i’d’ve said she was a wonderful woman.
(“she’s a real piece of ass”)

funny you mention it–
she takes hours and hours getting dressed for me
(“we all want the same things, eh?”)
but when she finally gets to the party she
stands to face the wall
and hopes for somebody else to turn up
(“or won’t–it’s still your call”).

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

A Passover Poem

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there we sift into the cup
moses turned it into wine
he found
a shift in the chemical dust and swapping our
sea-like tendencies to meet the sun
and we made ourselves bread too quicky,
too quickly.
this summer i am looking forward to see-ing the
horizon
and the endless stream of honey running
thru it.

my cup is red like blood and
yours is white like white blood cells
can i have some of yours
to heal the wounds
i inflicted on those men
back in egypt?

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

I Humbly Asked, but She’d Already Gone

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will you read out my story?
i aksed, as my hands noticed she would
rub her thumb against another girls hands in
comfort, and id bristle.

will you read out my story?
i asked, but she shrugged and said
maybe some other time,
but i could see she had no time,
what with the movie contracts and the
cars and cabs and the
smoking up neon-colored lights.

will you read out my story?
i asked, but she’d gone off to college
reading about gender politics and the history of
film and all she had ever read about my life
never existed.

tender,
clear eyes,
clear-eyed and wan,
and all the girls who spoke in poetry
scarsely changing hands;
i cannot enter an embrace with her soft voice
or nest with her garden of poems,
or remember the way her limbs fell like gossamer fans.
(will you?)

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry


Benefactors 

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(a found poem from Micheal Frayn’s play by the same title)

run down the road
in the sunlight
where the railway arches.

twilight is a garden.

you were barefoot on the street,
you were not a road for coffins.

I am an empty sky.

love used to fly
and overflow.
(some people kiss on in the bus.)

you’re all cold and dark.

the day light is facing the gardens.
the world is magical.

the emptiness came down like a pack of cards,
screaming with hunger.
Daisy eyes gaze at you.
(I always wanted you.)

in the real train station,
you wanted
sex.

we just sit and laugh, wide-eyed
(I’m sorry. I don’t know how laugh).

that woman is electricity.

cry and take a deep breath.

(I’m frightened of love)
I hold love letters.
that woman: you’ll see her.
(I’d touch you.)

you’re a beast.
(Daisy’s in love.)
I look at you,
you with the round eyes.
you are daylight.

I was in the woods.

(funny to see you on a walk
in silence
in the rain.)

I laugh about falling in love
in the rain.

he looked at you and forgot
love is just
a simple equation.

we laughed and couldn’t stop.
then she just left
and I don’t know why.

suddenly she opened the door and he was alive in his eyes.
the blood rose to her cheeks
and I can laugh again.
I should marry her
(oh yes I like you).
I see you cry in trees of green, walking in the night, still laughing.
I’m going to start a bonfire and break the dark
the appetite is monumental
and they move round each other
could you stop sprouting up in the garden,
standing in the rain?

You must be starving…I know you’re worrying about me.

I have been waiting for you.

things of changed.

get out of here.

you don’t know how to love.

HE left.
SHE left.

he held out a flower, wanting to be loved.
it was too late.

but it’s a beautiful day
and it’s summer,
I was happy!

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry 

I Don’t Eat as Much Food as I used to

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i sat i realized i was being stubborn i was making myself cry
and i had many people to talk to and hold on to but i tried
not to be intrusive, like a spy

so i breathe easier today because i know what i want
and i breathe easier because there are no tears or fuss
and i behave mechanistically.

i am well oiled gears and i know what
i must consume to function:
there is food and water and fat and thin
but also the human skin on skin the contact intangible,
a nutrient i didn’t find on the cereal box.

i want to laugh today so i wander over to the saloon
my friends and their friend who i was too stupid to ignore
who sleeps in the afternoon.

the H20, aluminum, salt, brass nickel and tin,
i digest them and he tests them and tries them on his skin,
and i smile to face the faceless day and know where to begin.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry