Track no. 1

Sprinter
god that’s fast
is that a track?
or a sand swept up through
my back?
Fast splash
or your
eyes blue water
covering the floor
the track is
muddy and I can’t
run anymore and
suddenly I
can’t function because my
vision is obstructed by
your eyes
which is the sky
which is the air outside.

I have been coronated
into the breathing earth
by some mother-goddess
dripping in myrrh
and yet
the sand dunes
and forest greens
don’t quite see
that blue
I’m aching to spew
all over the
afternoon.

sipping sunday
through the pink straw
I stole
I feel a bit older
and stupid because
the sky is there
just mocking me,
might send me somewhere
it can’t afford to
fly to
and suddenly
it was all a rehashed parody
and I’m wet on the gym floor
and I’m shaking
and I’m asking you
why,
WHY,
WHY

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

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Small Town Musicians who Have Never Seen NY Play a Rhapsody in Blue

i.

the brash sound
of barraging horns
enter a city
which they have never seen,
but only thought about
in a dream.

Nobody ever
speaks about
that hamlet on the edge,
where,
sun baking,
we stand naked,
running like children, over a bridge
whose lake
no longer flows in a steady stream
but lies a stagnant body
as if,
holding up a glass vile
one could see the sun’s reflection through it’s
clear distorted flesh.

Still,
they play music
about the city
they have never seen,
a g o r a p h o b i c,
the l a n d s c a p e r o o m y;
All you need’s a ‘scraper on the skyline
to play a whole new tune
on the rooftops of your own
metropolis
land.

‘Cause,
if nobody bothered to save up the cash
next year or or last year
or the year before that
you can just
empty your pockets to the
dry riverbed
and hope it carries you upstream.

An exercise
in thought:
Think of yourself
as a bus on the way
or a fire escape
housing a homeless cat
or an open sinkhole in the street
and the endless plumbing below….
now, open your eyes:
you’re still in the same place,
aren’t you?

ii.

Penny Perfect, like a biscuit?
the brash sound
No says Penny Pie I’ve got three here
of barraging horns
here Penny Perfect wanna walk some?
enter a city they have never seen,
but only thought about in a dream
no says Penny Pie lemme stay here please
nobody ever speaks about that hamlet on the edge
Penny Perfect that’s fine sweet angel, and
where, sun baking, we stand naked,
Penny

Penny

Penny

Penny

Perfect.
running like children over a bridge
Gingham Gorgeous take a photo
whose lake no longer runs
Gingham Gwenny I’m no looker
in a steady stream
Gingham Gorgeous care to gambole
but lies a stagnant body, as if
no says Gingham Gwenny I feel tired
as if, holding up a glass vile
Gingham Gorgeous what of money? I’m broke and
one could see the sun’s reflection Through it’s clear distorted flesh
Gingham

Gingham

Gingham

Gingham

Gorgeous.

 

iii.

the brash sounds
of barraging horns, now dampened by sounds of rainfall
enter a city
which they have never seen,
but only thought about
in a dream,

while white-washed walls wet and wither in the water .

Nobody, nobody ever speaks about
that hamlet on the edge,
where,
rain pouring,
we stand naked, open armed and empty,
running like children, over a bridge
whose lake overflows in sound.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

 

I can’t remember the words…well, now it’s just a jumble

you can talk to me as if I was your mother blasting around the room with a big hose saying
you can get out of here but I’m still your mother and you still have to listen to me no matter what. When you look at the stars and realize that no one going to hurt you and your problem isn’t there and the leaves are not gray, they’re green
and green houses are painted orange actually
and you want to go on the edge of the mountain
Yummy look at those gummy worms I want to eat each everyone of them now I’m going to pick them up and act like I am five
you want to be 86 why do you want to be five? I want to be five because I have Always wanted to be five and now look at me I’m five and I can eat more than you do because you don’t have teeth you have gums.

light finder, come to the water,
make me your man
and play the tin can
and drum the pan pan
and sing the unsang
and ring all that’s rang
and I’l be the yin to your yang:
just don’t do all that godforsaken mumble
or the odd unprecedented jumble
don’t expect all the light
we expect you to humble

Contemplation

the breath from your blue eyes

Was more thrilling than i thought.

you strum a guitar.

i knew you knew this

But want to end our silence-

a strange breathing fawn.

I knew that love

was not a moments glancing

or brief holding dream.

I knew it was not

a grand palace to steal from

where illusions gleam

and this was not a

starry passageway to warmth

with honey burning.

so I felt relieved

for knowing the difference, but

I still wish for truth.

still

it’s nice to return

to memory that’s lasted

three minutes in time

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry