Poetry Visualized

I Think I Died Tonight

A reading of an original poem by myself: I think I died tonight But how I just can’t say Was it of a broken heart or something quite clichéd? Was it a case of murder? Or was I just afraid How does not much matter Cause dead I do now lay

Is This All

After the joyful madness comes a sorrowful sanity:

Is this all?
Dead pursuits, dead joy, dead things -
Are these the fruits of so great a passion?
Lawless man, unbounded in thought,
Unrestrained in imagination, and unfettered by the law of God.
You rejected the ugly truth for a beautiful lie.
Now the reek of the pollution you loved fills your nostrils,
And the ugliness of what seemed beautiful sickens your heart.
You curl up on a corrupt bed,
Wishing to be a child again, craving the reassurance
Of a parent, who speaks the simplest words
Laden with the plainest truth that quietens the storm.

i dont fix a word

poetry/dance video in memory of a friend who was murdered. he was buried beside my son who had died in car accident the year before. these words are still very hard to write three years later. what could i possibly do but turn to art.

2 LEGS OR 3 ITS ALL ABOUT ME

Each night in dreams

I face a knight or snake.

I seek a maiden, fair

or hermit, kind.

I fly or fall or flee

before I wake.

It's said each is

an aspect of my mind.

My boss is not my shadow,

not my dad.

To see him so

is just a mental fraud.

I've seen myself

within the grocery lad.

Like me,

they're foolish,

fallible and flawed.

I thought I loved you.

Yours for me seemed real.

But was it more about

my loving you?

I grieve,

but is it still your loss I feel

or is my grieving

all about me too?

“How can I know another?"

I complain.

“The Devil's Pitchfork's

twisting in my brain."

TRASH OR TREASURE

A string of buttons

(but for what?),

a cord, a pen

(no point)

a jig-saw puzzle piece,

(impossible to chuck,

inane to hoard.

Toss when I die.

I'll not cease till I cease)

A bottle stopper,

watchband

(ostrich hide),

eleven eyelets

(none for seven hooks)

Should I have dumped this box

the year you died

while sorting out

our closets, drawers and books?

That snotty clerk,

the secret place I kissed,

our favorite meal,

(Tell who now? How and why?)

shared spite,

shared worries,

all the things I've missed.

(a look from you, I laughed,

one word, you sighed.)

Lost lock,

when will you know again this key?

(What does one do

with half a memory?)

WAITING FOR THE FAT LADY TO SING

I feel so awkward,

agitated, trapped,

but I feel that way

even when alone.

I checked my watch

while everybody clapped.

Why aren't you here?

I hate it on my own.

What's all this ruckus?

I can't comprehend what's funny,

tragic, planned coincidence.

It just goes on and on.

When will it end?

Repeating louder

doesn't make more sense.

But human nature

tweaks the line of life.

In every trial, marriage,

death, and birth

we seek a graceful arc

to give us worth,

as if were living tales

of joy or strife.

They're lies.

All lies.

It’s years since you've been gone.

I don't know how

I keep on keeping on.

TIES

I fix the Windsor knot

just like my dad.

You said "Oh, no!

The style is now the half."

Debated often

I would not get mad

I hid my meek defiance

with a laugh.

I found the perfect tie

for you today.

Your colors,

flashy, playful but not bold.

I set it down

but couldn't walk away.

So strong the urge

I bought it just to hold.

It's shop until you drop

then shop some more,

but now by proxy

as it were, on cue.

The last tie I picked out

you did adore.

Like dad

I won't see it again or you.

Enough of fantasy,

denial and lies,

I know the truth is

dead men tie no ties.

I Miss You Like Your Almost Home

Sounds of love lost that you might identify with. Do not be afraid. Go ahead and listen.

Video Coming Soon

SNAP OUT OF IT

Depression,

grief,

the sinking pit of "Why?"

Fate's wheel turned down.

As I remember

when misfortune struck,

defeat or worse

how I betrayed myself,

I chant "If only...then."

Elation,

daydreams,

freaky happenstance,

perhaps good luck.

Just so

it seems my lot is better.

Spending nights

as in a trance

I blurt out "What if..."

as I dream and plot.

I circle round my brain

as if this “how”

this time "Escape!

Behold a different way.”

But "here and now."

This IS my "here" my "now."

To stop these thoughts,

(although I fear you'll say

"I've got some nerve."

We get what we deserve.")

I pause, repeat,

"This simply does not serve."

REASON 17 OF 28

You tutored me.

Can still recite by rote

the who and whom begats.

On details drilled I mastered cues

to quote the anecdote

and when to laugh or sigh

'mid tales distilled

of rogues revealed,

a fateful curse fulfilled.

Can catalogue the foods

you love and hate,

the stars, the styles.

In dos and don'ts

I'm skilled in guessing

just the trait

that you'll berate or praise.

And I've complied without debate.

The times I bit my tongue

you can't believe,

while on your final judgment

I'd await.

God damn you!

Where'd I fail you?

You can't leave me.

Can it come to this?

What will I do?

What good'll be my PhD. in you?