20 Years of Poetry

For those of you who have seen me at a reading or a poetry slam or even just at the monthly Florence Poets Society Meetings, you probably noticed my big purple binder of poetry. Well, last weekend I retired that collection. Twenty or so years of poetry, 333 poems, and one chapbook later, I am starting fresh. Before I completely yield to the momentum of time, here are some poems from the retired book which just might make it into the next book of poems I compile.

Emotis Insensitus #333

I collect emotions
I capture them with words
I revel in the loud ones
I speak for those unheard

I make them safe with language
or harmless with a rhyme
I label them precisely -
display them over time

I understand what makes them tick
I sense when they are near
I sink into a camouflage
the moment they appear

but when I finally take them
the feeling is divine
to possess what someone feels
and basely call it mine


"Hey. Look at Me"

poems should threaten
personal boundaries
at cocktail parties
poems should use language
a little louder than everyone else
poems should be pierced
in weird places
and not be afraid
to talk about god to strangers
poems should wear colors that clash
or jewelry that catches
every sparkle of the sun

poems should tear
flesh during intimate moments
poems should pick
scabs until blood
cleanses the wounds again
poems should be rotted
through with maggots
or laced with various white powders
poems should be ribbed
for your pleasure


On the Death of a Homeless Man

"Where is God?"
the old man said
pulling Salvation blankets
over his head

the Temperature fell
on the huddled mass
unnoticed by those
who warily passed
through the park

Darkness took
his troubled mind
an empty soul
in a mortal rind

when the Spirit whispered,
"I am here"
there was no man
there was no fear
just a statistic
who disappeared


ltv