Poems from Idle Moments

6.21.2004

The Farmer

none, including the rain
can weather the pain
of daily downpours

even the drops break
their bond, and hug the
ground in their fall

what more I.

In a Restaurant, Dining on Business Matters

In between sauvignon whispers
You and I do not rememeber,
read motives, or forward days,
regret, or dream, or suspect a kiss;

We re-enact a persistent covenant:

Every dish is an illicit wanting.

In a Restaurant, The Day After

Trace this weekend longing
to aged grapefruit on your spine...
there is no record here for our silent smiles

it was all fun in communion

but was it in Florence that I have forgotten
you and I had names.

At Home, After the Fight

Pry this chest with your chef knives and
sharply wound me with your surmising eyes
I tire of the shout
and the ever-present angst-manifest
on the table: Why must you hail it in bold
in the living room
for all to see?
It was done.

Must I see it on breakfast
upfront with fat bulging pancakes
and be damned to remember this fault?
Reminds of your cooking and him.
And me and her and all that followed.
I could not go on and on for weeks
on regular days
but not when it is about you, you know;
I never thought love comes
in unexpected packages you see,
where even in rancid butter
and distasteful plates and spoons
sorry whispers are found in sweet sauce.
Lived and chopped in bitter barks
But swallowed in a mouthful and
commended as magnificent pasta.

Let it ring and echo and wail
in my ear everyday; that you had
your fault as I did mine.
But won't we still eat and dine
and in this vegas table tonight?

Ballroom Bedroom Boredom

(finally found you finely founded:
your foundations never truly rooted
on truth and trust
finally found your ego
tripping on mine

how easy you twist your tongue)

last night was a thousand years
of discoveries and civilization,
suddenly in a half-step
you showcased your accomplishments
through the ages.

how well you dance!
in was industrial revolution
over live music.
i can see bulky railroad engineers
sweating it out on top of a grand piano.
how easily can a victorian lady sway
to a sudden beat?
or maybe i am just my
melodramtic surreal self.

but you!?

last night was a thousand years
of thinking and rethinking,
how easy you twist your feet like
your tongue's cherry handles plays.

finally found you finely bred
magnificent victorian foundations
shattered by a slip.
your dance was great
but not when you called me
a different name.

Same Girl, After the Storm

Proem? Feeling, Fleeting, Pun,
On, Monday I am down
Humpy-Hump, Blam, me, Bang!
You, Zing, Zang, Do, Damn!

keyboard bleeds on-screen ink:
Thumps Veiny-Bloodwork Vague Poem
I talk to myself and Wham!:

I love you little
I love you alot
I love you when it matters
I love you when it does not

I love you not
little by little
alot matters
when love does not
love
oh i still
(I supposed I was ranting
but maybe I'm not,
my poetry is more than this
when it matters not,
but now when it matters,
it is not alot

If you have read this far you
know what i feel i'm just
typing away imagining things
[i'm smiling at myself by this point]
cheapening my art with some fancy act
and let use some common verbs
that I thought I will never
regard as worth anything but conversant)

(( so hail to them words that are so common

How many downright mushy poems do I have about you
that uses common words?
I supposed just this one. ))

Humpy-Hump, Blam, me, Bang,
You, Zing, Zhang, Do, Damn!
However incoherent and ugly and verb-cheap,
and asdfakiowerqjkl whatever
this work will still make sense
because I love you still.
[the last few words are the hardest to write]
i love you still.