Poems from the Florence Poetry Festival

Well, the Florence Poetry Festival was wonderful. The day was beautiful. We had lots of poets there to help us celebrate. And everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. I even managed to sell a couple of my chapbooks (Love Illusions). So, all in all, a complete success. I consumed far too much in the way of sugary treats -- who can resist brownies, cake and chocolate chip cookies? (Apparently not me.)

For those who were unable to attend, here are the poems I read (in order). At some point I may record them so you can hear them with the proper tones and accents (like St. Andrews which is done in a Scottish accent in honor of my father).



Don’t Take This Personally
(must be read in standard poetic monotone)

I felt an urge – to write
a poem – one so raw –
that my words – would
reach out – to each and
every ear – and stimulate
the nerve endings – with
adjectives and
action verbs.

and so I wrote - -that
poem – and I’m reading
it out loud – in my
poetry-reading voice –
with monotony so bland –
the scintillating words --
must -- surely inflame –
the pleasure centers – of
your brains.

And when I’m done –
reading -- my exciting poem –
please clap – politely –
and maybe – throw me
money – ‘cause I’m a poet –
you can tell – from the
way I express myself – so well –
in places like this -- reading
poetry – in my poetry-reading voice.




Hey. Look.

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 the 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



Pink Banana

He asked me
whether I had ever
had a pink banana

and still distrustful
of all men's motives
I hid a blush
as I defiantly stated
"I wouldn't like it."

"They're really good,"
he continued
to my dismay
until he explained
that the strawberry ice cream
is what makes
the banana smoothie pink



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



Healing a Nation

what are the gains
for all our losses

human pawns
fall not just
to the Terrorists
who physically attack us

but to the Politicians
shipping other people's children
to fight an unsupported cause

and to the Protestors
shouting at soldiers
to give up their training
and strong-held beliefs
for a witty peace sign

how can we understand
the pain a soldier feels
in his missing legs
or her amputated arms

how can we know
the rejection they suffer
trying medicine after
medicine to cure ills
the government says
they don't even have

how can veterans
feel useful and needed
when used in photo ops
or in arguments against
a war they were ordered to fight

try as we might
to heal these wounds
we continue to inflict
them upon our sons and daughters
who do what they are told
because they still believe
we are worth it


A couple in keeping with the spirit of the season:

Vampire Lover

charm wafts off you
like a French perfume
or a stench entombed
for centuries

I come to you
expecting warmth

overcome instead by heat
melting reason and insight
I choose to invite you in

you smell my fear
my lust, my trust for you

you sink your teeth
into soft parts of me
until I become
undead like you


Trick or Treat

"BOO!" leapt out from committed lips --
Those lips that kissed and nibbled tender flesh -- and I,
not afraid to have them bruise my vulnerable neck,
was now pale. My heart beat pounded,
beat pounded,
beat pounded with uncertainty
of faster, faster, faster, faster, or -- stop.

Unprepared, my mind shot adrenaline through to tingling
fingers and toes. All moisture escaped my mouth
abandoning it as a juiceless adornment to a face
left motionless.

Suddenly, as if sensing inactivity in other parts,
my stomach started rumbling, churning with acid and
chemicals I'm sure I don't recall the names of.

And knees that once helped pleasure her in the stairway
now quavered with my legs' weak muscles.

Numbness crept over my body --
Unsure
of
fainting, I stumbled and had to sink
my trembling self
into the couch.

She poised herself over my slumped body.
"Did you hear me? I said 'I love you.'"


[untitled]

my heart is a window
with panes of painted black
this ignorance of emotion
saves me from attack
but if I open up a bit
just when the weather's fair
the pressure forces everything in
both sweet and foul air
and since this muscle still is weak
having been dormant for so long
I shut the window down again
and pretend that I am strong



Forlorn Haiku

Water flows uphill
The Sun spins around the Earth
You love me again



A Dirge for the Living

At the point of my death
don’t cover my head
Don’t calmly recite:
“I’m sorry, she’s dead.”
Don’t stand in the morgue
for a teary good-bye
Don’t color my face
with lip and cheek dye

When my time has come
don’t bury me deep
Don’t pray to the Lord
my soul to keep
Don’t limit your wardrobe
don’t wear the veil
Don’t accessorize your anguish
with a heart-wrenching wail

When this body is broken
the life slipped away
when words go unspoken
at the end of my day

Don’t order me cut flowers
like lilies in white
Don’t hold vigil for hours
in votive candlelight

Don’t mourn future memories
Don’t weep for this shell
Don’t belittle my life
with “at least she died well.”

Don’t ask God for answers
‘cause he doesn’t know
why -- if you believe in Heaven
you’re sad when I go.



On the Death of a Catholic Friend

"I'm not afraid," she said despite
the monitors beeping in the night

The Universe -- blasé -- waited
as mortality dissipated
from the sterile human room

Consciousness lingered stately, stoic
as if dying, somehow, were heroic

Silently, her eyes fell closed
from habit as though in repose

lights and echoes down the hall
but, no -- no angels gently called
her home


Response from a Catholic Friend on Her Death

"I'm not afraid," I said
despite the monitors
beeping in the night

God is present
by my side
waiting for me
to finally decide

Humanity lingers
stubborn, defensive
as if dying, somehow,
was offensive

Silently, I chose to go
to a Universe
I didn't know

Angels came with
my release, but friends
couldn't see
how I found peace


St. Andrews

Weekend afternoons
your fascination
with watching grass grow
known as televised golf
baffled me
I never paid attention
how could a teenager
sit still long enough
to understand your reasons
I saw old men
weird clothes
no action
and some hushed announcer
I never bothered to hear

Today, in my adult boredom
or maybe out of nostalgia
I stopped to watch
but instead I listened
to the Scottish announcers
chatting about nothing and the game
I felt the familiar accent
more than I registered the words
and it occurred to me then
that you were homesick

ltv