Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Love Poem You Shouldn't Write for Valentines.

Listen,
I am not saying
that you are

not great,

I mean
you are.
You tell me
you love me,

show me,

you work hard
at your job
come home
and cook.

I am
just saying'
that sometimes
I need
a little more-

for Christ's sake

turn a trick
or something.
Screw the
neighbor

then tell me

it didn't
mean a thing.
Shoot at me
when I
come home drunk
or at least
throw
my coffee cup

full

of boiling joe
at my face
while I ignore
you mornings,
caught up
in poems by

Raymond Carver.

I don't want
to hurt you
but I am a poet

and Holy Crap

I kind of have
a reputation.

I can't be
writing love poems
all the time.


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Kriptonite.

 Kriptonite

I am not Super,
the earths yellow
sun
makes my head
pound
some mornings.

As a boy I
would use
clothespins to
fasten Moms
bath towels
around my
neck.

Close as I
ever got.

Still those
eyes,
like Kriptonite,
make me
weak

steal my ability
to speak

then

make me repeat
myself; ramble.

Caught in the
tractor beam
of her smile

I cannot
pull away.

I am fearful

that Scotty
will
snatch me
from her
in a swirl
of color and
light,

before I tire of
her world.

I never tire
of her world,

or those
Kriptonite eyes.

I am not
Superman,
still
in her presence

I would leap
buildings;

at least make
a bounding try.

Monday, January 7, 2013

I Told Her I Loved Her

I Told Her I Loved  Her

For all
of my days-
in every
kind of
storm,
I will remember
the night I
said it
out loud.

Riding a
rocket of
a few more
than I should
Diamond Bear
beers from the
the cooler
and a cheerful
crowd for
my lines,

we stood on
a downtown
sidewalk
littered with
cigarette butts
and past hope
dreams.

She held me
in those
fucking
rain forest-
green eyes.

Rapt.

I do,
I do.
I really do
love you...

I don't
want you,

well I do

but I don't
expect
anything.

Hell, the
damn thing
works better
if you don't...

I just want
to write you
ten thousand
love poems.

She smiled
and that
was good
enough
for me.


Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Smoke Rings in the Dark

Lightening hopscotches
across a morose sky
and smoke rings
crash like the surf
against the ceiling
above my bed,

my only company.

I think of the day
and the wicked angels

smile,

and carefree way
that she carries
herself,

the subtle curve
of her form.

I smile at the thought
of her,
laugh aloud at
the things she has
said.

I am jealous of
her boon companions:
Disappointment, Sadness.

Happy though that
they are common friends.

A storm blows in
and I crush out a smoke,
and lightening strikes again.