Tag Archives: stream of consciousness

Stream of Consciousness #11


Stream of Consciousness #11

like this was the last straw already

(we leave for home on Thursday)

and those people who have never felt the sand dunes think that the river must be huge

they are so wrong, i have seen the bridges,

I have seen how they break. Your life is not as easy as I thought

and the suitors do not love you, but they conspire.

your father gloats with pride.

envy me!

he says

but doesn’t know his daughter’s plight.

like the stones that are on the beach, the sights would reach the northern hemisphere

imagine the northern lights


as the wind rocketed sand onto the mist filled sky.

what would you do about it, girl, my love has entered the house and he is not happy

we can all agree that you do not love me,

so I can go my separate ways.

I love the sound of stone in autumn, or just the sound of anything

like the name you gave me,


love wasn’t that easy for me with a name like Fedora

I was splattered with mustard on the first day of school,

they threw old musty hats in my face and I glared at them and shouted

the busy cowards didn’t know what they were missing,

what they had been missing out on, oh those stupid little cowards,

how could they ever understand?

that’s all behind me now.

I sit under the rain post and become naked

and run through ten valleys stripped of corn and stripped of forest

and I bask and bathe and I don’t care.

Fedora, Fedora, sing me a song, they all say

yes, this is the day,

and I know you see me as the queen of the land

the empress of all being:

I’d like to see you try this on a hot summer in July.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Photo Copyright 2013 by Golden Star Poetry


Stream of Consciousness #10


the armory-

god, it’s this banging

the trodden are down on their heads and are spinning

and their spindly arms are touching the spout of where the sun should be

they are clamoring up on their tip toes and shouting

like bunions on my feet are like the road smelling sweet

what a treat to hear and to eat meet and to feel beat

like it’s nothing to know no one and to feel the nothing I’ve known all along

what was the air like in December morning

in the winters and evening sun and summers you took me and kissed my flowering mouth

like a soft petal of rain in the ornery bushes?

that singing…

what is the name of my gods?

they are changing

what is the name of my god, for Pete’s sake?

you churn butter and you tore the street apart but you never listen to me when i speak,

I am just lifting my arms and my spindly legs and I am crawling out of the earth whispering like a madman

you don’t need to call me that

you can just call me mother or darling

or kiss me like you did when the world was new and we had nothing to do and I was only three (or was I two?)

and you saw the stars as they shone through

and we were too young to know why I wasn’t me and you weren’t you

we were just satisfied to be fully ourselves

but the knob on the door was mine always

and I knew that love was never just around the corner.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Consciousness #9


I don’t think my hands have ever typed so fast! the rhymes literally poured out at a rate I was not sure to keep up at. i was possessed. utterly possessed. And I have just finished reading Joan Baez’s first autobiography, I don’t know if that helps…


Stream of Consciousness #9

who was who was pooh was greatly appreciatledy do

like whispers in summer

you were my love

like bouncing balloons on a string

you were my everything

like balls on bells on a summer day

you were my grass to my hay

my laugh to my chuckle,

my seat to my buckle

my trough to my stream

my laugh to my scream

my tie to myshirt

to my button

to my skirt


you are were is my everything

like free lancing on the street

selling things so you can have food to eat

like strings on ropes and cords and strings

like my heart that constantly sings

whatever you do

you know you is my everything

like money in your pocket

like a chain of golden locket

like springs on balloons

and like the harvest moon

and like the trepidation s

or our silent meditations

and like the wind blowing at your feet and like having the stars to meet

like the wind blowing through the dust

like your mind saying, no , you must, you must

like this itch in my head that says you might prefer me instead

like this shallow of sorrow

that says there is no tomorrow

what’s the point of living,

I find myself saying

when everyone is already dead?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Consciousness #8


Stream of Consciousness #8

the ice eyes is melted

it leaves the scum of the earth at it’s feet.

do you want to skip breakfast or eat meat

I love this weather it is better to stay and keep than to go aloft and die in the winter lights

I stayed at home watching telly

you like eating ham and jelly’it is smelly

who’d evah thought that I was the one with the sore leg and the sore foot and the Achilles heel and the swollen ankle and the cough and the sore thought and post nasal drip

hey babe lets take a trip

to downtown where the air is clear

bird near sun bright capo

lightened in the darkness you will find me

stuck in a lost corridor

finding my way up these walls

you can see me drifting like nobody’s business

like me soaring above every line

and singing away my heart

you ate the brownies and a tart

like an apple without a stem Mrs. Jaffet and Mr. Sem


lucky they can get together on this sunny afternoon and not feel frightened by their certain doom.

like me, only wiser, and smaller without wit or any mental capacity

x x  x  x  x  x  x  x xx x x x x x  x x

I trudge onward, carrying a stick that I will pick to live a life of strange boredom.

your life is exiting, she said, she says quickly and then leaves.

i love you and this light is the strongest doll, isn’t it, aint it so darling aint that true aint it the truth my dearling dar. I wonder why thought your eyes are not the same as mine I wonder, then realize that that’s not what’s important, I mean, really, what was I thinking? It’s not my fault, I realize, it isn’t my fault at all. the lightening strikes before I talk, so as long as I keep on talking…

x x  x  x  x x x x x x  x   x x x x x  xx x x


he answered, the telephone rest was getting sweaty

he had not talked to her for months

and it was nerve-racking

“I’d like to have dinner with you shyanne”

he whispers, and then is silent.

on the end of the line she sniffs, then hangs up.

his mind goes back to the fist day of last summer.

It was nice then, he thought

it was for her good to get the fresh air and the night breeze and the swallow songs

but tonight I have only the humming of the water boiler and the squeak  of the oiled door hinges

it is  nice for to be just  alone.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

“Shouts and Murmurs” (“The new yorker”-esque piece) -hello my name is bob


 I don’t usually post stuff like this but It’s a bit of a joke. It’s a bit like a section in the magazine “The New Yorker” called “Shouts and murmurs”, which is always completely stupid and outrageous . I hope it makes you laugh.

It contrasts the way a teenager would write in a school  essay and how he would speak  in real life. 


Hello. My name is bob. I am a dandy and enjoy fishing for kosher fish. I do not resemble anyone and am very self conscious. My mother is old. She is a gypsy and does not have a job. sometimes she will read my palm for me, but her prophesy is always the same: ” you have a girl after you, but don’t worry because once she gets to know you she will be sad. why, Bobbie? we have already covered this topic, Bobbie . it is because your life and your personality will be always boring ,boring, boring. you will try to have fun but your life will still be boring.”. She IS right. There IS a girl after me. But her life is not boring. well, that’s not so bad.  and besides I hate her so why bother? She has never said to me that she is after me, she is a girl. But I ignore her now. now she leaves me alone. no she doesn’t. I suspected from the beginning. sorry, this is getting out of hand.  My name is bob, but I will write how I speak:


so, yeah, My name is bob, like I said. Some girl thinks that I’m a dandy (whatever the **** that is)

and I keep kosher…but When I get older I’m gonna eat bacon like there’s no tomorrow.

Actually, wait, no, i don’t know-pork is kinda fattening, right? cuz, like, I diet because I don’t wanna be fat….

I was talking to my friends and I ditched class for like the billionth time…George was so freaking scared…It was hilarious.

no really, you should have seen his face.

he was a flipping  razor shark without any persipitaing monuments!

yo, but really, that’s how I used to talk  to the girl,

but now actually i have to talk to her like a normal person if she does,

so she’s like “hi”

and I’l just say “hello, who are you, what school do you go to?”

and she’l be laughing or whatever but I’l just walk to my next class or I wont even care

anyways, there’s this really hot girl in her grade and i talk to her because she just, like,

doesn’t talk or whatever, I don’t’ know.

yeah, did you see her?

no, actually, I like Mia, she’s like my whole friggen  life.

I have to go, my mom’s calling me, she’s gonna get pissed If i don’t come,

no seriously, Seriously,

okay, bye.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Consciousness #7


Stream of Consciousness #7

likely she stood out

her silhouette  was my shadow

I lied in a company of two instead of five

I lived for one light fine and the voracious  beauty  which lied in my kin

i liked the manner in which she spoke

she was the woman of the Canadian wilderness

and second only to me,

I was the first in command

I held the rocks which by a sea she drove

and did not care what happened to me

long as I was free and held onto a part of myself that was undoubtedly me

and you kept it

you never let it go

you kept it in the palm of my hand

oh god who helps me

do you see me very foolish to want the same things for you  as I do for her?

x  x  x x  x  x  x  x x  x x x x  x x x x x

likely, she said, it was likely very likely. I will get back to you mister Morison  I love you mister Morrison give me that back mister Morrison mister Morrison call me Alexander misses,  alright call me Alexander .she says call me Aleka Alexander call me Aleka. I will call you says Alexander, I will call you by that name and that name only.

why does she muse about herself in another person’s shoes? she has nothing else to do, says her friend  it makes her cry, undoubtedly, it does. I love you mister Morrison do you want some coffee?

x x x  x x  x x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x

she listens to four classical stations

and her favorite tune

this one is his  theme song

it is derived from the word “Pig” in Latin

and it means the root of all evil lies within the soul of meat.

eat it now

or starve she says

why does his hair be perfectly combed

but he looks away and starts laughing

she laughs

she pulls the comb she pulls the trigger

she likes life, she likes it.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of consciousness #6


I suppose you could say the village grave poem and this one are loosely related to Romeo and Juliet  since that’s what we’re studying in English class right now…

Stream of consciousness #6 

at the foot of my door sits a wench

whose legs are bent

and doesn’t speak a word to me

even when I whisper hello to her.

she minds her own business, I think, or at lest I think that’s what I think

you left me, like a wilted flower,

did I look like the woman there?

disheveled hair?

or was I a bundle of wilts

lying like a mung-root, crying my eyes out

simple, pleading, desperation?

x  x  x  x  x   x x  x x  x x x x  x  x  x x

where the devil’s head are you? I plead, I scream and struggle to hold onto a mung-root that beetroot still stuck in the soil. Howling, touching the innermost fibers of the ground. I see the sky unfold, I think, or I think that’s what I think, It lies there, like a lilting summer facade, you touched it, it melts almost instantly. and it hurts. “WHY YOU DID THAT?” lying in pain, I howl, yelling, looking at her face, which is also scarred from a charred facade late years ago. I whimper to her, but I see only kind eyes, and an understanding smile: she is my mother I realize, she is my mother.

 x x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x  x

light as a feather you are, light as a feather.

you lift up only one finger, and come crashing down.

you swore on the seedling

that it would lift you up

and temporarily

you were a smart girl-

you did not kiss boys in the street

and neel at their feet

like kristabella whose eyes have tempted everyone and anyone

you keep your distance girl

you stay safe

you be the girl the girl that people say

“wasn’t that  who got stuck in a tractor wheel last summer last

I remember her poor lass she was my best pal”

and they take you away to the cemetery-

they all say it was death!

it wasn’t death, you say,

lifting your finger,

it was suicide.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Consciousness #5


like a a man with no legs, you trudge on the ground

you hound for your meat not like the other men who scoul at home cooked meals

and or couldn’t care less
who is it? answer the door NOW or else I will

get a tantrum and you will not like me

who knows maybe I will kiss you in your sleep or your black hair will be mine to keep

and you will stand up and like tarzan what they say you are not the same little boy I knew

not the same little boy

not the same little boy

x x x  x  x  x   x   x  x  x  x  x   x x x

cross the alter with you head bowed high bowed low do not let them or tell them what you know it is secret darling dear do not worry do not fear do not even shed a tear for you little lamb, the prizewinner of Egypt and the gold star fighter at the Olympics congratulates you with open arms and loves to praise you and give thanks to your body he says so athletic and strong and what not
but I grab you by the temples and slowly you bleed
Yael, they say, what has become of your maiden-hood, your life is a waste they said, now cut off my beard and leave it at that don’t stall around muttering and chewing on rawhide.

x  x  x  x  x   x  x  x  x  x  x

It was the same where I grew up,

the girl was the girl

and the boy was the boy

and the seder was the seder

and the matza was the pasta.

you liked to give me a summer laugh

like the oranges in the back.

You like to bake,

I say,

bake for me some other day,

not you , you too? you too?

he is in the way of things now you think you think you think because you do not drink.

Love, it is so frutile and futile

where can you get some fresh love that has no yet been

opened or obsessed with?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


Stream of consciousness #4


I just love these….

UPDATE-I have been nominated for the SHINE ON AWARD by scar*let nguni on scarletnguni.com!!!!!!!!! My blog nominations coming soon (it is very hard!) thank you so much!!!!!

Stream of Consciousness #4

love was carried around in a four sided box

not minding his perception of love

he took it away, enter in his own real heart. I liked his arm strokes, the brush strokes on an empty canvas, and what

was left of his armpits like a foul chicken coop i lay a nest

If this was heaven, I’d say

it’d stink

and boy

the land was overflowing with chicken farms

walnut was one, the one inside of California where you dug very very deep into a Forrest to find a

cement and stone garage

littered with vines and trees. you’d stop to wonder, and then you would wonder why you were even there and realize you’d better be heading back.

xxxxxxxx xx x x x x x x x x x x x x

like a stone-henged mother, grandma lays on her back, sipping down ice tea like she could have just won the lottery or a million bucks just like it and other little things. I left her that summer, just becuase I felt like it. nothing special. like one time this man helped my mother my Grandad put a garage into the old stone fireplace and he nodded and lifted his head, not even stopping to notice when I held out a dollar bill that looked like a million others like it he just said i dont take paper money, your godamned money. but he didnt say that.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

why be christian? she asked

she didn’t ask it

it was more of a reprieve from her gory-er thoughts. they swirled around her in a daze

and she could not keep up with this maze

of inferiority

of a mismatched sock pair that she discarded

she prided being a Jew.

In her own skin she lifted back, it was her that shown through the skin

she had wonders in her mind she knew not what lied within.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of consciousness #3: Average teenager- in school drama, after school drama, after hours drama


I don’t think I will ever be involved in this sort of meaningless jabber that goes on with High school kids . It lowers your moral value, lowers your grades, and lowers your overall happiness! I just wast to say that teenage drama is utterly stupid. Thank you. Thank you.


Stream of Consciousness #3: Average teenager- in school drama, after school drama, after hours drama. 

in school drama


why did I light the first lamp

when his light burned out I screamed, your thoughts on paper, they scream back at me, and I am left,

with a cold ashen shadow

of what I have forgotten

you are leaving me rotten,

often, i am reminded, of your shirt which smells always like detergent

deterrent I am reminded

your thoughts as fuzzy and as warm I cuddle you

what good is that you say

I say it

we are all bargaining

on the source of our good wishes was it the farmer or the carpool or the fish in the pool it was so nice so warm so hapy

so much like you when all of us are relentless

like you we make a sacrifice to some unknown god, name it heaven, and paint it with plaster like our own divine deity.

like that will help, i say

you say

we are all bargaining like our sheep grazing somewhere,

only he who knows it can decipher

me reading notes to myself and when i read them I do not know what I have written

it is cat and mouse we play,

but the song’s so catchy, the song’s so matchy rhymy you get the  idea

I was stranded on these last three notes ,words you left me in this note and that I was forced to live with.

I did not strive to be myself I should have but I did not and i was swept away into an anomaly of sorts when bashed counterparts play in the assembly and they sing without

my telling

or knowing

or the understanding of one night without pie or my lemon warm fuzzy

your lemon pie you say

i say

we are all bargaining.

x  x x   x   x     x  x  x   x  x x x  x    x  xx x  x  x    x  x x

after school drama

come on, let us play you say, firstly that ball is soaked in mud EWWW i don’t want to touch it now your dirty hands on this  carpet on the grass slick and sleek like newly washed sea otters now not they give you kind signature smiles, she waves back  to the camera and expects to get some sort of response

she lifts up your finger and you do what she says, and you do what she says no matter what and she says the grass was hers and so the mud and the grass and the land all hers and yours and hers and yours and you smiled and she was gone and you sat there on the grass and the mud




x x x  x x x x  x x x  x   x  x x  x x x  x x x   x x  x x x

after hours drama

like one night

at holy shrine

one time there was a ruckus in the parking lot

and you

but you refused to move

to budge, even,

when i tipped you over you just fell

like a silent statue

you cried with me one time

and I relented having you as a friend

if the ” big boys don’t cry you cry

and if they shove you, you die

when the coffin is buried you breathe in a sigh

and get buried alive

and don’t care.

and lie


you were a companion, you know

 i say,

that time is here and gone

now gone

you spit at the ground and shove bottles in my hand and give out the largest little scream and yell until your face is blue and you don’t know what to do

stop trying to be yourself,  stop trying to be yourself for god’s sakes, stop it.

Copyright 2013 Golden star Poetry