CoffeeNoBody

indulge drink dance smoke and cafe walk afterwards

among these smells,
where dances are but shadows of emotions
where every beat and bent is a hidden lustful gaze
nothing godly and moral remains:
everyone is on the lookout
i forget that you are you, and that
everyone else around has a name
they are all but skin
under the wave cover of pulsating lights
and rippling throbs of addictive booms,
screams and steps --- its all drowning,
this friday night ritual that is us.

but we carry them through knowing
how artificial smiles they are, how very
practical names and lifestories we have become,
how disposable partners we have all been,
how is it that our coffee is never the same?
never the kick that was after the blast

no body passionate enough to hug the tongue
nor any aroma to touch the palate.

when you want your haiku to be cool but otherwise got it trashed because you are f*#ing limited by 5-7-5...and you think you can...

Go abuse the web!
Think we are but great poets,
but our work is crap.

a/n: I myself am a hypocrite.

Blanket Honesty

Blanket honesty in Darkness
and remind me how we rolled
and rolled and rhymed each
other's sigh and whisper
and oohs and love.

Such is like your fingertips
walking though my nape plateau

Must the shadows outside this
cloth as we see it at play
scare the bejesus
from being exclaimed
in praise for love?

I grew fond of this teepee
netting our bareness underneath
its fold; it was how we kept
them outsiders from seeing our
gods and rituals and how we remember
and remember and trance out to rememberance
and wake in them in smiles as to figures
and movements in every contour is seen
plastered in a tunnel wall;

Blanket honesty in Darkness
and let us walk through it hand in hand
and find light at the end
embrace me like you do and
let us then afterwards,

and sin and again.

fling (a haiku)

in so short a nap
after coffee and croissant
i forgot your name

In Such Little Ways As These

It's in little ways
Such as these
That I am reminded
Of us:

Of how known bodies
Known arms
And known dreams
Have been fashioned
From our cradling arms

Delighted
In such little ways
As looking through the mirror
Beyond the window
Beyond walls
And with eyes
Horizon-bound

I am reminded of us.

The flowers
The brook water
That old whishing well in Florence
Your letters
It is not they

It's just you and those petty means
Of speaking but not talking
Of touching but not touching

No long goodbyes to cherish
Just that emotional philosophy.

Lore

you charm me into this believable lore:

your eyes for instance, in their glance
teach me of casting traditions
of how to freeze,
of how to enchain,
of how incinerate and
to banish a memory of a past lover

your hands, when they play on mine
in their usual ripitty-tap
flaunt age-old dances and ordinance
of exotic sensations
that are my great salve.
suddenly in those moments
I no longer hurt,
nor burn within,
nor a trace of any scar
on me can be seen

more so
your smile, even at its infancy
when it is just about to bud,
flower my realm
in amnesia scents.
suddenly i murmur
no other name but yours.

romantics will say they would
never want to wake up
in such a dream when
profound and arcane knowledge
is granted them -
more spells to cast, more
and more incantations
to learn how to weave,
you see

but i yearn more -
yearn more than glances
and bemoanings, and sighs,
and smiles, and cries...
yearn more than all
that your teachings
of how to be a man

will i trade this dream
to risk
waking up and finding you
gone?

how is it that
I would love to believe
all this to be magic,
when it is you and your petite means
only that manifest these?
no kisses, nor any
confessed adoration

I would love to hypnotise
you much like you do to me
in my sleep, but
there are no real kisses
there, nor any embrace
only just another memory to hold

i would love to believe in your lore
but i would want more to believe
in love.

Too Many Windows

There are too many windows in our room
It chills me beyond words,
That these windows are each worth
Every voice,
Every angered voice
That was yesterday's.

These windows are transcendent.
Speaking of scenes of neighboring
Fights not unlike ours.
They caution your tongue
And mine, and it was kept at that.

It is thus when curtains
Were brought down that the ironic
Babel ensued like
No one was beyond our walls.

There are too many windows here.
Far more than there are walls now.
Every window speaks a different story
Of you and me

And it chills me
That tomorrow when the curtains are
Brought down,
Every remaining
Wall will be gone.

do not take me to be me

do not take me to be me
i am many more than me

i have my deranged self
past crimes
and webbed
recollections

do not take me to be me
i do not love
i only hurt

i only remember my
runaway Lara
i shout and hit
and plaster
my walls with ghosts
of her smiles
i don't know whisperings
and their sweet sorts
i get tired easily talking
about love
i do not believe
any flowering
bud
i only bruise

do not take me to be me
you might not like
what you see
do not take me to be me

you might just
make me more
complicated

Nat King Cole

a/note: this poem is separated by commas to show a series of thoughts,
and ends with a comma as well to keep it hanging...
hopefully it is a good device. feedback please

How frequent it is that my room rhythm is Silence,
the guitar is out of tune, all but noise and screeches of strings,
Funny that at the very least I get
drowsy and sleep,

I try to play, form this hand to tap
whatever note, pick whichever string,
at times in unison, varying harshness,
varying strengths, other times inventing,

At other times in this craziness
I willfully let loose the strings,
pull it off-scale,
loosen it
till it seems to overflow out of itself,
I embrace these tunes, let ring, let cry,
let them whistle and while away,
let them slide so smooth,

but more often they scream and shout,

I still endeavor to play,
I try to play your favorite Nat King Cole
in various keys,
putting all the majors in lonesome minors,
it don't fit,
but that's enough,
enough for me,
sometimes it's drop D,
at times drop A,

nat king cole,
performed by Korn
in waltz,

Drag the silence into noise
"When I fall in love",
…RAHRGGH,

Sometimes I amuse myself,
Play that pentatonic minor in A
without no lyrics,
but I still fill the room
with seeming applause,
concerto, blues, center stage,
you on front row seat, pretending,
expecting your kiss in
every wave of
my fingers on the fretboard

when it rains,
ah well, no bother,
at night, more so,

it's well, you see, because you never
bother to learn more,
you don't know,
don't know how to capo
you got bored,
haven't i told you
C, D, E, A, G
won't do you good, and

been frequest that my rooms
hymn is a silent guitar,
boisterous with all the fingerings and boasful scales
but no songs or lyrics,

I play alone,yes
with none but my guitar
to admire me, at the very least I get
drowsy and sleep
but it's no longer funny,

so this is how it is inside the mind of a madman

so this is how it is
inside the mind
of a madman:

one sees no other
colors but a lover's skin
hear no other word
but a name that rings
on and on
no other recluse
but an old embrace

one tries and tries to to hold a lover
create from mist past scenes of the love
and it's making

one tries and tries to understand
why it ended
one tries and tries
to resolve the pain
maybe paint
a new love
fabricate a memory
and try and try

or maybe not try at all

see it all end
but not let it go
complain about the pain
but love it the next day
write poetry in bad taste
complain about cliché

or maybe not try no more
or love her still

I love you on Fridays only

a/n: this is experimental. it is supposed to hang...i think. feedback?

i could not be home
on other nights
when career's
famed clasps
tighten
on me.

i tire.
i dream.

and watch tv.
but it is not true
that I love you
on Fridays only.

23

recipe for an online journal entry

your purpose here
is to entertain yourself
and hope your sharing act
is appreciated

1.
you can start by typing anything:
what nonsense typing
diary day this morning is
you can talk about how you
wanted to kill yourself
or somebody else
or whine about
how things are done,
(read: typical teen angst
or cite rule number one:
"don't fall in love")

2.
you may want to recount
one funny japanese moment
and forward to
rambling randomly with nothing
but laughs and swearwords that
you can never say in front of Momma
(read: typical teen high
or you can cite rule 2:
there are no rules
when you are a teen)

3. This step can be tricky...
be nostalgic about your
third grade endeavor
which now you'll say to be ridiculous
cause you needed seven years
to recuperate from the pain
maybe humor yourself in realization
(read: typical teen epiphany
add: you may want to be
philosophical about this and quote
lines from books you recently discovered
or you can cite rule 3 which says when
you're in trouble always
refer to rule number one)

4. some spice...
add a random thought:
make it really out-of-the-blue
or very cryptic that not even you
will remember why you thought
about it. make-up words
or showcase your html talent
or lack of it
(read: typical teen pride
or ignore this rule.
something like...
is it just the same face i'll see?
happy, perky, sad, surprise, afraid,
all the same tired faces for all these.
Saturdays are meant to be fun
and I love her still
add today's date for posterity's
sake which is automated in some sites
anyways then don't forget the smiley
if you are really happy that
your site is getting
good hits :-)
don't forget the closing
parenthesis when needed)

5.
Forget about it.

6.
yeah, forget about it.

7.
Login back and read it all
when you're no longer a teenager
and whisper to yourself
"do not fall in love"

8.
Eat your heart out.