Sometimes I try to identify
The vehicles passing beneath the windows
By the sound their tires make
Through the twin dips of the intersection.
Smooth ride or clanking trailer,
Singing brakes before the stoplight
Or acceleration hum to beat the amber.
Twenty seconds to guess at the conversation taking place
Inside the latest idling monster,
Before the green light sends them away.
A shred of laughter or singing
Leaking from an open window;
The thrum of bass or reggae guitars.
All lives passing on their way elsewhere
Unaware that I try to identify.
Posts Tagged ‘Green’
Sometimes I try to identify
Tags: Drunk, Green, Happy, Shit, Wind, Window
A slight stirring of wind
Holds this gauzy curtain away from the window,
Reminders of a springtime outside, all green
And flowers and wholesome shit.
Me, I just want to get drunk
Feel the empty agony of my loneliness,
Postponed by the full bottle;
Consummated by another empty can.
I can feel, yes, I can feel again
And it is maddening, yea, sorrowful;
I did live all those years numb to it,
Became numb to everything else as well.
Successful, responsible, hard-working;
Admirable, overachieving, but never enough.
All exterior virtues for exterior opinions.
Something I chose to do to have somewhere to go.
I thought I was happy,
But now I really don’t know.
Perhaps I cut off one arm to spite the other
Now frustrated I can’t cut that one off, too.
Tags: Closet, Frog, Froggacuda, Green, Laugh, Live, Love, Onion, Phoenix
I am thee Froggacuda
And oh so froggy be I
Defined by myself as myself
And marooned is my current cry.
Inside I’m still the same hollow
Green straw puppet carnival black hole
Of pool-soaked poetry pages
Missing something to be whole.
Cobwebbed closets rarely treaded
And rusty hinges, unsafe passage
Basement dwelling, life enshrining
Long decoding of this message.
Love and laugh; live your time
Unwrap an onion and be true
I burn the phoenix of my years
Consumed by seeing myself in you.
I used to own a 1973 olive green Monte Carlo. It served my family quite well until I really learned how to drive; it was Shelby Brown who convinced me to see how high I could launch it above the ground one lifeless night in San Diego. Shelby Brown has a penchant for getting me into trouble: my parents frowned on him for “borrowing” this same car without my permission from a party and returning it an hour later with a half-tank less gas and the excuse that he was jump-starting his car down the street. This night, though, I remember him looking over at me with a slightly surprised expression as the engine was roaring at 5500 rpms since the wheels were no longer in contact with the ground. As I lifted my foot from the gas pedal, and the engine noise died to a faraway murmur, Shelby had time to say “Gee Mike, we’re really high.”
The rooftops of cars were passing below the tires of that green Monte Carlo as we flew down Dickens Street.
My friends Chris McGee, Brett Hathaway, and Matt Graham were in the back seat staring at the San Diego Bay’s skyline through the windshield. Dickens Street is in a moderately well-to-do part of Point Loma, and the views from those houses were magnificent. The intersection that had enabled us to defy gravity for a few precious seconds was at the top of a hill that had a sudden gradient change from steep to steeper in the middle, and ended one short block down in a T intersection which crossed Dickens, not continued it. What made me acquiesce to Shelby’s request to power my poor seventeen year old Monte Carlo down this street at 43 miles per hour is, to this day, beyond me.
The five of us had thought to go to one of a few parties we knew of, but nothing was happening. The Monte Carlo was a very unique car; only Chevrolet in the early part of the 70’s would have been able to sell my father on that color, and it was one of the favorite rides to and from parties. Plus, the large bumpers and the couple of dents put in it by my parents on ill-placed light poles and tight parking spaces were adequate to cover up any small damage we would do to the bodywork while driving down alleys spinning trash cans with our momentum. Most of the purpose of taking the Monte Carlo was the diversions that we would find on the way to and from parties. Dickens Street bent the steel frame of my car, almost sent the five of us over a cliff into the roof of a Vons forty or fifty feet below, and was the most talked about event of the next three weeks among my friends. Nobody ever convinced me to do it again, though.
The top of the street had a huge dip and bump in it; it was this which propelled the car into the air in the first place. The unique design of the street, getting steeper halfway down, gave us even more hang time once we got there. The 1973 Monte Carlo was a heavy car, even for those days of the V-8 engine and the swivel bucket seats; when we came down, we landed partially on the front bumper. The impact of the automobile jarred the engine in its motor mounts, and it stalled. Heading towards a sturdy white fence with three reflective red diamonds on it that guards a large cliff is no time to lose your power brakes or your power steering. I hauled with all my might on that steering wheel, driving around a parked car on the wrong side of the street to its left, over a curb, some shrubs and a lawn, through three galvanized trash cans and back on to the street. As the car rolled down yet another hill, but at a lesser speed, I shakily put the car in neutral and started the engine. We drove on in silence, down and around to the parking lot of that Vons.
When we got to the supermarket, I stopped the car where we could all see the white fence. I opened my door and climbed out. I let the occupants of the back seat get out and walk around. Everyone had the look you have after getting off of the Viper rollercoaster at Magic Mountain or after seeing a movie like “Die Hard”. Shelby, though, was having trouble getting out of the passenger’s side. I walked around the car, checked to see that the door wasn’t locked and hauled on the handle really hard. It finally swung open with an awful squeal, and Shelby got out. Matt pointed to the roof of the car, where there was an almost unnoticeable crease in the paint: the car had compressed a little in the thin material of the roof. That meant that the frame had bent on my Monte Carlo – it was why the door on Shelby’s side didn’t fit quite as precisely as it was designed to fit anymore.
I drove everyone home after that; nothing could top that incident off, so we just talked about it as everyone was delivered in the remarkably durable green Monte Carlo. The next day I told my Dad that I had hit a dip a little too hard on Ebers Street, famous in Point Loma for its gaping, canyon sized dips. A few months later, the mechanic who was changing my tires for me pulled me aside and asked me what I did to my car. It was up on the lift, and he pointed out that the A-frame which holds the right side tire on the axle was bent and twisted just a bit. I swore him to secrecy and explained the “Dickens Street Leap” as we had dubbed it, and he looked at me as if I was crazy.
Maybe I was crazy back in high school, but Dad and I sold that Monte Carlo this time last year, and it was only after we had sold it that I admitted to him what I really did to it to make the door squeak so horribly. And I never admitted to him that Shelby Brown was in the passenger seat.
just so that I could
keep spouting poetry
to myself in the dark
of hidden poetry journals.
there came a chisel
unto the flesh of my heart
examine the date
and remember what it is
during these times:
the abject punishment
unlooked for damages
and a sick sense
of trust gone green
Tags: Ghost, Green, Mind, Mountains, Wood
and when I sit and think,
I write pure gibberish
about green touseled mountainsides
like dead Japanese poets
bearded and silent,
bending their great ghostly heads
to squint through the clouds
that form their thrones:
they watch my pen move,
my mind clicks across its railroad tracks
past the wooded mountains,
and rising to them momentarily
on the steam of a whistle.
I thought this building was so strong
but I don’t have enough furniture
to cozy up the rooms.
Soaring to the sky, perhaps;
a beautiful glass and steel structure
but these changes are not a home yet.
Now I’m desperately searching for
cheap end tables and green-glass bowls,
wrought iron chandeliers and wall sconces for candles,
oriental throw rugs and complete boardgames.
Tags: Blue, Coffee, Eye, Flowers, Grass, Green, Mushroom, Pus, Red, Scream, Song, Tide, Trees, Zero Boy
so we’re not seeing eye to eye
I think I’ll go splash around in the tide.
you are so beautiful when you’re upset,
it always comes to me as a surprise.
I’ll watch your face turn red and green
and I will listen to what you’re screaming
and when you’re done crying and bitching,
I’ll take you to get ice cream.
such simple things will let you smile.
such simple things will let you smile.
such simple things like poking your stomach
and when I dance and sing you songs.
when you get free coffee at Roma
sometimes you forget what’s wrong.
so quit your sour-face nonsense;
the sunshine rains down like leaves from the trees.
let’s go sit on the grass like mushrooms
and smell the flowers like bees.
these silly things just make you madder
when you’re in a crappy mood.
but all it takes is a little persuasion:
you can’t help but lose your blues.
with all those spring rains
the Painted Cave creekbed
is full of raw boulders being softened
by green children with
still, poised fingers like
I poke my head under huge stones
into spaces like lion’s jaws
to the screeching of irritated scrub jays.
Tags: Damn, Earth, Grass, Green, Grey, Love, Ocean, Sky, Woman
the most damnable thing
is that I’m wistful, how it could have been;
a cliff by the ocean, powdery earth
and a fistful of the tough grass
to keep me from falling
into a grey-green sky;
an ocean with waves and tarnished sparkles
to lap at the leaden bluffs
where I first remember dreaming
of being in love with a woman.
Tags: Green, Money, Red, San Diego, Wine
once at a stoplight in San Diego
one middle-aged bum in a dirty red flannel
asked me for some change ‘cause he had a couple children
I said that’s not the reason but I can guess the real one
he said he lost his job just a couple days ago
said he had no money and he didn’t have a place to go.
the light turned green but I asked him what’s the money for
he said port wine; I gave him a dollar sixty-four.
I want you to see green
the way that I see green
in all of its fluorescence and grandeur:
a lawn and a suit
and a rain-clean forest in Hawaii fed by moss-strung waterfalls,
frog skin and garden hoses and glow sticks,
the bindings of books with gold letters,
childrens’ animated watercolors;
the hue and cry of the lifelong green
of the ocean where kelp beds hang,
or of a new car,
or of an apple.
Tags: Book, Brown, Crayon, Gold, Green, Purple
you are my crayon
I always must
sharpen with you.
you make me feel
never mind what,
but I like you 4 your
specific shades -
don’t change your colors
for what you think I want.
let my skies B
eyes gold and green,
your skin B purple.
my coloring book
doesn’t always agree
with yours – but then
again, does yours always
agree with mine?
Tags: Blood, Frog, Green, Sand, Spider, Spirit, Stone, Stream, Trees, Water, Wind
the splayed hands of the roots
stop searching when I walk past,
but if I listen I hear them quiver
with life blood, holding boulders
when I climb down. unwrapping
and fanning the wind into life
are trees with green springtime leaves.
they swept me along like sand in an undertow.
I scramble and slip down through the branches
and jumbled rocks of the stream bed,
listening to the pianos of the water falling
into each other, over moss sewn stone.
beside a sheet of embroidered water
is a cavern of dripping stone:
Frog Haven, hidden behind
a bead-curtain of hanging roots
dipped in the creek,
pouring and pooling away.
we are the spirits who define this place.
here, the fall of clear water
is the curve of a spine;
here, the thrust of smoothed stone
is the swell of our muscles.
speaking with the voices of the different cascades,
with tongues of roots and leaves;
breathing out sunlight and forest dust to see by.
here, a trough has worn in the rock,
running happy with songs of mountain stones;
here, several strands of spider-thread,
or elf-hair, to be plucked by the hand of the wind.
Tags: Blood, Bones, Dreams, Echo, Eye, Fire, Flesh, Flowers, Forest, Frog, God, Green, Moon, Orange, Parents, Purple, Rain, Red, Rhyme, Rock, Sand, Sea, Stars, Stone, Water, Wind, Wings, Yellow
I can wish as hard as I want without trying.
Maybe it takes a nervous breakdown
To examine the croak of a frog.
A rich man tapes his hands to his sides
Drowning in treasures but refusing to decide
Which pearls he wants to wear for eyes.
To the grey lands to search for the sunken man,
Glowering in the shadow under a rock.
“Come in under the shadow of this red rock -
“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”
Of ash, of bone, of moon, of stone;
Cadaverous, skin a dizzying kaleidoscope of veins.
I screamed, hands clenched to my eyes, alone,
Falling apart under that brittle stone.
pretending to have misplaced my watch,
I asked a current friend for the time.
she looked at me curiously, sadly,
then asked why I no longer rhyme;
walked away as I demanded an answer
from myself; I never saw her again.
time to find another friend.
Sweating and dirty from working,
I keep forgetting to steal some of the diamonds
I’m mining for other people.
At home, I’ve got this dusty blowtorch
Right next to my aspiration to smelt the world.
Been a long time since I burned anything
On purpose. Last time it was my wings.
Pushing the dirt around on my face
With the same oily rag, I promise
Again to go on a picnic in a forest,
Then pause, shaking my head slowly
To get rid of an echo.
O black soil, heavy and rich, warm
With the fires of life, thick and moist
Under my nails, in my eyes and ears,
Filling my lungs with blood,
Burnishing my skull with her coppery breath,
Arms sunk to the shoulders in the forest earth;
Black earth goddess.
A poem incarnate: thee, poet.
Vision, mind, thought, dreams,
Thinking in every sense of a word.
And a blackbird.
I came forth with a handful of seashells
(to the froggy applause
of the people’s jaws
creaking in their mechanical sleep),
Following May, who’s going home
To dwell with her enigmatic stone.
Placing shells to wait on the sill
And for her to discover
Like a faucet-spray of dry flowers.
Walking on the sidewalk I’ve
Empty hands in my pockets,
Imagining how she’ll find them
Over and over.
Flying through the rain on a wind of strings,
He flew with the ease of a soul,
Tall and clear-eyed with violins in his hair.
I saw him from the shore
And waved him out to sea,
Rushing over the water’s open grave.
they poured their hearts
out into the bowl of my fingers,
flesh and water and soggy stitches,
Lost and drowned
in the ashes of childhood,
the sorry sons-of-bitches.
I breathed into my palms,
Taking each by their tenebrous hands,
And throwing them into the darkened heavens:
stars like two flung shoe-fulls of sand.
Spinning around and around underneath,
Watching them swim, these stars, good-bye;
Constellations of the smiling faces
of my parents,
One on each half of the sky.
I ran through the stacks of cars
After him that flew away by the seat of his pants.
I, too, cannot answer the question:
“What is the grass?”
I can no longer remember.
Standing under a leprous moon,
In a field of strobed weeds,
In a circle of garish flowers
Heads trembling in a sort of gleeful fear.
Looking at my arms, my hands,
The vegetation was purple, orange, yellow, green,
turned pale by the light of the stone in the sky
shown bone by the fire suffused in my eye.
The moon grinned, sunken in the dust of a scream.
Tags: Blue, Green, Orange, Purple, Red, Spider, Yellow
I gave my green to an apple.
I gave my yellow to a spider.
I gave my blue to a firework.
I gave my red to a blanket.
I gave my purple to a crayon.
I gave my orange to a streetlight.
Then I gave them all to you.
Tags: Ape, Closet, Dragon, Fly, Forest, Green, Light, Mom, Mushrooms, Purple, Rat, Rock, Sand, Shoes, Sleep, Sneeze, Stars, Tide
I, ape, eat mushrooms
in a forest of multicolored furniture
all from the room of a girl
the carpety grass is foaming upwards.
shoes play hide and seek when I
sneak around in the closet.
they shut it always behind them.
find them cavorting and wagging their tongues.
I live in the closet.
I read old travel books and sigh.
funny little bugs comb my hair for me.
the shoes galumph like tiny dragons.
my rat escaped.
I, ape, drink cappuccino
alone under the pillars of marbled ice cream,
whittling leaves to stick to their sides with thumbtacks.
I sit quietly under a quilt made
of Stars by Mom long long ago that is too small.
it’s fun to push around
on the tiled floors
on my butt, pretending to have no legs.
the leaves turn purple with the sunset paintset.
everything is quiet and
you can see your reflection in everything.
I, ape, peer through the closet door slats
but can only see the carpet that changes color.
sometimes I can’t fly my kite for the roof.
I move the stuffed animals
and make them nod and wave.
there was a lake, big and pretty and I was scared
to throw rocks into it.
there’s a story behind all these shelves.
I wish I had some pudding.
just to sit and eat pudding;
lick the back of the spoon
in this forest
I, ape, wear a green felt hat for no reason,
puzzled by the paintings in the empty museum.
I search all the video games for quarters.
dusting the lampshades is fun;
it makes me sneeze and then I dance in the mucous-mist.
I sing myself to sleep in the queer half-light
of the green stone moon
poking my head in holes in the ground.
I play a silly flute
on the sand left by the retreating tide,
sometimes dragging a stick for miles,
then falling asleep
on the carpet.
I, ape, remember all this,
dreamed before I was built of gristle
and hair, wound with a turnkey and set on the linoleum
my nest in the rocks was burnt
when I returned with some candy I’d found,
so I ate it in the wet soot.
I’ve smoke in my eyes.
I’ve loved you for so long;
now I can fly
and I leave all this hair and skin
and my shoes
from nothing to green
to water to serpents,
the moon-eyed piper played on.
his tune coiled around my ears,
writhing with the tides
of a thousand shallow seas.
the wail of his eerie pipes
are misleading tendrils of smoke
green curling, a wreath for his hair.
fog twisting from the mane
of the moon wraps blindfolds
sewn over the sockets of my eyes.
slithering under my old skin
move the piper’s summoned snakes;
below the ocean chant thousands more.
the moon-eyed piper plays on,
from serpents to water
to green to nothing.
I tried to imagine
You here with me
With brown-green eyes
And upturned lips
Around my waist
But I couldn’t
So I ate chocolate instead.
Tags: Blood, Blue, Eye, Father, Green, Light, Mother, Orange, Red, Yellow
I don’t care for white light any more.
call me vapid scumbag; call me gromore.
I have red and green and blue and yellow
lights; to read by, an orange fellow,
friendly to the eyes and each is good
to set a certain kind of mood.
red for temper, salt and blood
yellow to dapple, caress, and flood
blue is patience, like being underwater
green is crayon, like a mother or father.
Tags: Believe, Blue, Bones, Dinosaur, Dog, Dolphon, Dreams, Flowers, Green, Gum, Jello, Money, Orange, Star, Whipped Cream
I wish you a dinosaur and a penny
I wish you enchiladas and dolphins
I wish you love and chap stick
I wish you coconuts and grassy hills
I wish you an earring and pencil lead
I wish you whipped cream and blood
I wish you happiness and pen ink
I wish you a treehouse and Apple Jacks™
I wish you blue and green and orange
I wish you beer and Lemonheads™
I wish you dreams and brown leaves
I wish you words and squirt guns
I wish you chewing gum and piranhas
I wish you luck and three bird feathers
I wish you beef jerky and yo mama
I wish you would and brass
I wish you wings and belief
I wish you days and several candles
I wish you toenails and bobsleds
I wish you gold chains and thermostats
I wish you negligees and carpeting
I wish you a bag of marbles and bones
I wish you the stars and a flower
I wish you incense and Rolaids™
I wish you a Twix™ and a pipe wrench
I wish you courage and money
I wish you a huge slobbering puppy dog with a big tongue
I wish you Jello™ and time
I wish you wood grain and shivers
I wish you letters and Coca-Cola™
I wish you.
Tags: Blood, Blue, Eye, Green, Leaf, Mountain, Ocean, Pain, Sky, Star, Trees, Untitled, Yellow
I crawled and crawled and crawled through this
Dark mountain of wet bloody clay clawing by chunks
Of big puppy chow kibble breaking my nails
From the dirt wedging under them inflamed and
Painful falling clumsily at the side of the precipice
Barking lacerations down the cliffside thousands
Of feet to the tree leaf ocean below where I
Crashed through the pretty green carpet to
Pachinko my way limb to limb from limb
Down to land crawling my way under hot wet
Underbrush wiping my faces with their
Leathery-thorny branches twigs under my
Eyelids parched streatching burned by the
Twinkie-colored sand under the trees
Broiled by a starry yellow sun in a blue sky
Chopped up by the stringy branches of the jungle
Dissected sunlight lay strewn on the ground
Pulsing, heating the loam and roots to consciousness
As I crawled and crawled and crawled to be with you.
Tags: Blanket, D'nofrio, Dream, Green, Light, Michelob, Mind, Night, Pen, Pride, Sand, Scream, Sea, Smile, Stream
As I sit here by a stream
I contemplate halfway in a dream
Of things and places and sunless seas
Of gigantic beanstalks and philosophies.
From the profound statements of the D’nofrio
To the mellow flavor of a Michelob,
From decisions made by our head of state
To these lines on which I contemplate.
Subconscious turmoil brings up fantastic stuff
Predominant phrases like “hey, life’s rough”.
Wearing a smile and a stupid stare
I look for ideas of which I can share.
These poems contained within my mind
Are many in number, and some unkind.
Yes I’m sorry to those I’ve offended
Let those faults be well amended.
But it’s true that they were meant to provoke;
Hey, I’m wandering again – this poem’s a joke.
I’m sitting amongst a bunch of rocks
By a small brook whose babbling talks.
With a little creativity it seems to say
Just be patient, let come what may.
So I watch and think and revel in nature
While my mind is really on nomenclature.
Twirling away, I write in prose
Where I am now, nobody knows.
Wait! Focus! I recognize this land;
Billowing waves joust with stoic sand.
The mind pans up like a movie shot
Alas, a Steven Spielberg I am not.
Sky fades to stars as day fades to night
And the horizon is bathed in incandescent light.
Speeding past planets in the universe
I find images of people who have been cursed.
Wailing and screaming, yet making no sound
I’m really glad that I am not sticking around.
Suddenly I’m alone in my bright green chair
With the ink of this pen it’s color it does share.
My feet on my stool, my notebook in my lap
Someone has written on the cover: CRAP.
Yet I still believe, and although I have paused
I take up my pen and I correct my flaws.
It takes ingenuity to live in this place.
Some go insane; they can’t handle what they face.
Just take a look at me for a terrible instance
Sometimes I can’t handle my very own existence.
I can be too foolish to swallow my pride
And I have even considered the aspect of suicide.
Many days in my life I would have missed
If it wasn’t for my stabilizing catalysts.
I owe it all to my security blanket
And now that I have kindly thanked it
One more thing I suppose I should write
Before I bid you all good night:
It’s fun to ramble on into infinity
When you are surrounded with such serenity.
Slumped by the wall
Trampled by feet
Too dirty and too obscene
Sign around its neck
In big block letters:
LEPER OUTCAST UNCLEAN
In sixteen different languages.
Missing one wrist and
About half of its face
Splotches of purple and green
It silently speaks
Through rotten teeth
LEPER OUTCAST UNCLEAN
But no one hears him.
It has no feeling
In its arms or legs
As it watches them turn gangrene
With dull eyes it sees
An uncaring world
LEPER OUTCAST UNCLEAN
Its entire body putrefies
Right before his face
But his senses still are keen
It’s completely numb
And stone cold dead
LEPER OUTCAST UNCLEAN
The flies feast at noon.
[obviously influenced by Stephen R. Donaldson’s Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever]
Tags: Captain, Child, Dream, Green, Hero, Imagination, Lightning, Love, Maiden, Ocean, Sea, Ship, Sky, Tears, Water
A little kid sits in a corner with a dunce cap on his head
He’s being punished for something someone else has done and said.
A single tear runs down his cheek, yet he still shows no emotion
For his mind has carried him away to a deep blue boundless ocean.
A captain and his trusty ship, he sails with imagination
Outside the world is stark and harsh as compared with his creation.
By wondrous people in wondrous ports, he’s beckoned to the shore
But landing his ship realizes a goal, and his fantasy will be no more.
So he sails along, taunted by faces that he has never seen
Past vibrant cities, rural towns, and verdant hills of green.
Impassive at the prow, wind in his hair, and sea salt on his tongue
His is the story of a Seadreamer, a tale of a hero unsung.
Stoicly standing, resisting temptation present in every stream
The captain knows the fragile state of his precious dream.
Also in this world is a pretty maid who can never touch the sea.
A similar fate as the captain has vice versa curses she.
Gleaming water, teasing depths, voices within the surf.
But as the captain, the maid is strong, and strives to show her worth.
The Seadreamer sailed across the sea until it met the sky
And there on lonely island was the young maid, rather shy.
Yet Cupid’s arrows impaled them both and turned their hearts to love
Blind inspiration struck each one like lightning from above.
The captain turned his ship to shore and the maid ran down to meet him
In their haste they each forgot they’d end each others dreams.
But love overcomes all obstacles, for now and ever more
The maiden’s foot touched the ocean as the captain’s hit the shore.
Though their dreams were disrupted, it came to no great harm,
For the captain sitting in the corner awoke with the maiden in his arms.