by Sharon Bellush
Introduction by Richard Bellush
I enjoy
writing prose (whether it's enjoyable to read or not), but my sister
Sharon was the poet of the family. All but one of the 100 poems in this
collection were written between 1965 and 1970. This was high tide of the 1960s
and of Sharon’s teenage years.
The poems are a window into both. On the rare occasions when high literacy
meets adolescence, the results can be remarkable.
Skilled
19-year-olds always have made the most inspired songwriters and poets – not the best by most measures, but the most inspired. It is not clear
why. Perhaps it is simply because they are not jaded, as much as they
themselves often like to pretend otherwise. They do not yet greet the ultimately tragic
cycle of birth, love, and death with a weary shrug. The world with its
pleasure, pain, joy, and sorrow is fresh. It is fertile soil for poetry.
Sharon always was in sync with the times. She
was a fine hippie in the Summer of Love, she discoed in the 70s, and she could
out-yuppie Michael J. Fox in the Reagan years. There is much to be said for
being in step, or at least so it seems to those of us whose footfalls are never
quite right.
The one chronological outlier in this collection is the last
poem (Too Young to Retire). It was written in 1988 or thereabouts. I included it at the end just to illustrate the way it differs in world-weariness from the verses of youth.
Sharon grew up in suburban NJ. She attended Boston University 1968-1972. After living for ten years
in Los Angeles, she returned to
Mendham in the 1980s. She worked variously in public relations, local
journalism, and real estate. She married twice. Sharon died in 1995 from non-Hodgkins.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Leafleting
On the
high noon sidewalk
I am
brushed by fringe coats
I am
anemic with anecdotes
My thumb
works overtime
It is a
liberated thumb, I assure
You with
a liberated smirk
I am
participating, I am
Democracy
on tap, I am a
Squeaky
cog in your wheel
I meant
to keep my acquiescent yes unnoticed
Blinding
the day with laughter
Hiding at
night behind unbrushed hair
Tousled
by nomadic sojourns
Wrapped
and warmed by primeval quilts
I rest
easier than my independence
I am
More
vulnerable than indignant
Come to
me you will leave unscathed
I will
bleed in order to give
And
bravely declare my
Morning
freedom
My blue
jeans are faded
I am
emancipated
- - - - -
- - - - - -
Time
magazine
Portrayed
her wrinkled face
Her lusty
eyes of yesteryear
Yes,
Yes, it
was she who painted
Her
toe-nails blood-red
And
dragged a leopard by the leash
She rots
alone in crumpled castle
Horrified
at Revolution
My anger
confines itself
To
streets
Safely
checkered in red and green lights
O we’ll
strut through the fields in crimson draperies
And have
affairs with lumberjacks
Darting
through the trees
Volkswagen
trees
I saunter
into the kitchen and drug your goblet
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Courted
by toad trills and rare diseased flies
You swing
stately in your hammock.
Safe in
the deadly peace
Of
unconquered southern jungle
You have
healed the wounds of your Zen guitars,
Your
Freudian literature forgotten.
The
jungle lacked a philosophy
And you
took the jungle
Growing
lean
And gray
and grizzled on
Bananas
and war paint ground
In earth
pots scratching heedlessly wherever
Because
there are no eyes here only fangs
And it
was your phallic right
And I
young and lank-haired
Of a
blurred National Geographic centerfold
I came
with the blood and the claws
And
mellowed with you still young
And
indistinguishable from the earth,
The
grain, the huts, and the
Brown
ageless children
Running
rampant beneath your hammock
And I
still young,
My form
stretched and mellowed through you
I flash
my yellow nut-stained teeth
In
tremulous coquetry
Offering
my morning’s work
Of jungle
entrail cookery
Mingled
with my fecund sweat.
You remove
your straw hat to eat
You
reveal your transcendency, you
Are but a
man.
I am soft
and slavish, I am
Pure
existence, I am god
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
The cold
summer night
Held us
dark
And lit
only by fireflies
We chased
them
Tumbling
Through
the wet grass
And
stuffed them in jars
With
leaves
And
tin-foil breathing holes
Like
royalty, with
Neon
treasure, we set
The jars
on bureaus and left the room dark
To admire
the splendor
In the
morning
The jars
had dimmed
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
A FAIRY
TALE OF FERVENCY
Carrying
a sack
Of
squirmy, crawling
Things, I
waddled
With
belabor down a
Crowded
thoroughfare; he met me there
And shook
me in delight.
“Take
care,” I would have
Warned.
“I have a package
For the
river,” but it was
Too late
– the bag took flight
From
sweating palms
And
landed on the walk;
“Arrgh” I
sobbed and
Threw
myself upon the
Ground to
rescue what
I
carried—
My
sensibilities to be exact, --
I had
tucked them away
Like a
kitten litter
And would
have drowned them all
But now
the worst
Has come
to pass;
My basest
and most
Slimy of
affections
Wriggled
all over the street
Before
him. “Aargh” he
Returned,
thoroughly shocked.
“What
horrid creatures. Surely
They
don’t belong to you?” And
Even as
he spoke, they
Slithered
Toward
his feet
And
crawled into
His
pockets, cuffs
And up
his perfect crease,
They
would not cease, I
Knew; my
disposition
Is of the
most stubborn
Kind.
“My god!”
I cried.
“All is
lost and my
Forgetful
soul is tangled
In your
life forever.”
And I
stood there in
Despair
while he began
To alarm
and itch
(By now
They had burrowed
Into his
skin)
“Stop
them! Stop them!” he
Screamed
like one possessed
And
writhed about
In the
most unfathomed
Way. “I
would, if
I knew
how,” I told him,
“But this
never happened before.
I’ve
always,” I explained with pride
“Kept my
desires under control.”
And
knowing naught
What else
to do, I sat
Myself
down to wait.
It was
not so long
Before he
was consumed
Unto the
bone;
Several
passersby
Thought
this a curious thing,
But only
one was aroused
To pause –
a sidewalk
Philosopher,
he was quite
Old and
very red. “Ah,”
He sighed
upon hearing my tale,
“I have
seen cases like it –
There is
nothing to do but
Wait
until your
Emotions
have feasted their fill.”
So we sat
together, waiting
Late into
the day – and finally
My
subconscious did emerge.
Oh, but
there was such
A growl,
such a spitting
Such as
man has never heard!
“What
will happen now?” I
Asked in
fear. “A battle
Will
ensue,” the little man
Replied,
“between the Love
And
Greed.” The wriggly
Creatures,
huge in size,
Did
indeed take sides and
Soon the
sidewalk ran
With
blood as blue as kind
And green
as hate; I could
Not watch
this Battle of
Myself
and hid my face. “Tell
Me when
it’s over,” I said,
For I
suddenly heard not
A noise
but a funny chomp.
“It is over,”
he said, and
I turned
to see him
Gobbling
up the remains.
“Stop!
Stop! They’re mine!”
I cried,
but it was too late.
He
surried away and I
Stood
there alone,
With an
old kitten bag
And a
heap of love bones.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
CITY
WOMAN SONG
Boppin
thru the city
It’s sure
a pretty night
Got my
best dress on
And I
feel all right
Got me
some nickels
Got me
some dimes
Gonna get
my head together
Gonna
look real fine
Lookin
for a footloose man
To put me
at my ease
Those
down’n’outs and married men
Keep
plucking at my sleeve
Want a
happy lover
With the
sunshine in his soul
Can’t
bother with no cloudy men
They
bring me down so low
Wanna
dance with city men
With
lustlights in their eyes
Wanna
play with mountain men
And tease
them all with lies
Wanna be
a city woman
Wanna be
a country child
Wanna
settle down
And I
wanna stay wild
Truckin
down the city streets
It’s sure
a pretty night
Got my
high heels on
And I
feel all right
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Throwing
mud, steaming sun, and
Nothing
to feed my mind;
There is
time for large questions of purpose
And doing
But I’d
rather escape
Into more
familiar personalities.
I have
resigned myself
To
prefabricated moralities for a season
Have you
no mind of your own?
No.
I have a
superego which super-rationalizes
Adapting
values to my impulses
That way
I can call a breakdown in principles
An
evolution in principles.
And who
would judge me,
Whether I
have deteriorated or
Matured,
whatever that means –
I’m only
a kid
And
curious
All
moralities seem logical to me
If the
advocator is red and earnest
About it
But to
get off the subject
“&”
he screamed “%” as I stabbed him with my
Butcher
knife with red and white stripes
On the
handle
“#,
&#$,” were his dying words and I
stood
there and squished my toes in the blood.
The
problem with stabbing him would be
That he
wouldn’t live to be sorry
About
what he did to me, so perhaps slow
Paralysis,
or some horrible deforming
Crippling
would be better –
My pride
will be the end of me.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
In the
corner my radio
Plays
static-y and beautiful
As a
tribal drum
I like
the look of it, sitting there,
I wait
for the
Sensuous
piano parts
Between
all the rest of the jazz, I listen and smoke
And cough
I think
of the stoned mindless
Warmth of
last night
I am
still unable to think
Constructively
There’s
nothing worse than
The
Sunday night after
The
Saturday night
Full of
meaningless impulse
I lay
drained of my capability to feel.
This
numbness will last for
Awhile
I’ll
slide out of it easily
As long
as I don’t see him much
I won’t
feel used then
I will
have accomplished
Another
casual relationship
I can
bury it in me for
Future
reference
Retreat
into
My giggly
virgin mask
And in
unguarded moments
Wonder
why
It all
matters so much.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Hitting
naught
But
inch-deep, laughter
Sloshing
through my
Brain
I am
having an experience
??
I wasn’t
pre-
pared
very
well for
this.
I hope
you realize.
Friend.
Not
knowing
About the
fireworks
I want
Reassurance,
spoiling
And love
from afar.
YOU
Shatter
my carefully
Strung
Tight-rope
ego
You laugh
At my
naiveté – so.
I am
young. It is
A fairly
common ailment.
A
minority of one
You will
be
In the
midst
Of
universal Reverence
Then you
will be sorry
In the
meantime
I will
learn some day.
I WILL
grow up
Some day.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Communal
love
Meaningless
giggle
I drift
through the days with a Jello head
I sink
into trees and bottle caps
And
diffuse into music
I love
until I can’t speak, I
Can’t say
good morning, I can’t argue
I am
gluey lost in understanding
And
slither through the day untouched
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Tangled
In a
Web
Of brows
and
Furry
lashes
I am
Drawn
into
Your eyes
They are
Like
quicksand
Deep
And
amber-dark
Two
jungle pools
Of swampy
Savage
Poison
life
That
glitter
Hurtle,
slither
Sink
Their
fangs into
My brain.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Pulsating
hours
Of
daylight melt
Into
blueness
And I
soften
With the
shadows
A musky
lakehouse
Smell of
deep
Engulfing
Cushions
Fill the
chairs
And
muffles
Sounds of
laughter
From
another time;
Wind-weary
and stiff
With sun
and sand
I lie
couched
In the
warmness
Of a
log-walled den
You are
hard and
Soft and
strong
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
ON THE
WATERFRONT
Marlon
Brando movie
I sit and
mentally
Caress
his beautiful eyes
In
multicolored daydreams
The room
is fraught with tension
It is
high school film
Festival
night
Filled
with schoolmates
Come to
watch the longshoreman
Battle and
In front
of me there is
A certain
intriguing eye, not
Handsome
but
Effective
enough to blur
The
perspective between
The movie
screen and eye (I?)
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Don’t
tell anyone
But I
crave violence
I have a
trust
In the
sharp definition
Of hate
and anger
That is
lacking in any other
Sensation
Hate is
absolute
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
10:30
sitting on a couch
In my
living room, stereo
Records
loud enough
To
non-fool everyone into
Thinking
we are here to listen
And
guzzle Coke and giggle
And
perhaps communicate –
Already
wondering how long
A decent
interval must pass before
One
proceeds to become passionate,
I strain
to hear my mother’s nervous laugh –
Aha, it
is far away –
My date
just sprawls there
Strumming
the air with his football
Fingers
in time to Rolling Stones
“Ah,” he
sighs, “I can’t stand it,”
And
writhes in some private frenzy;
I frown
in frustration and watch my
Toe pump
up and sown, and down
And out
and the bass is throbbing,
A clock
is ticking, his eyes
Roll
ecstatically, revealing
The
bloodshot whites –
(His ears
kind of stick out, also,
Actually)
–
Eleven o’
three
He grabs
me and the world breaks down.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
The day
is dank in mood as well as weather
And my
mind rains sadness, we are in
A crowd
of familiar faces, faces I have
No
reactions to – I huddle in the wind and in
The
dejection that overcomes me we I speak to
You and
you answer brother-like and yet strange –
We are so
blandly, politely, indifferent –
We hide
behind banalities, smile painfully wide
And I am
searching your expression for some
Unutterable
sense of recognition, for I sense
You are
as depressed as I –
Your eyes
are kind and obscure and you
Inquire
about me with the air of a friend
Who will
always be “interested” and always
Inscrutable
and I want to scream at you and
Make you
somehow violent; I prefer hate,
Hostility,
to this empty sense of lost
Tenderness,
reliving all the nights of
Meaningless
months in a glance or a stupid
Remark
about the rain – my god you tear me
A hundred
ways.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Moderation
He
whispered in my ear
Is
meadows and wholesome;
Is breeze
and blueness;
Sift in
tall grasses, safe from
Storms,
he urged, and come
With me;
And I
would go, but
Live too
restless in uncommon
Softness;
I long for
Violence;
for all or nothing;
This
tenderness is intolerable.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Late
afternoon
Mellow-rich
sun, soft breeze with
A
sorrowful chill;
Happiness
is somehow
Sad.
I think
of you
And
nothing matters –
I think
of you
And
dissolve beyond
The
commonness of words.
Tall
grass
Runs
through my
Fingers,
Your
image through
My mind;
Soon you
will be gone;
Soon
perhaps
You will
not occur to me.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Insensitive
to insensitivity
I wander
vulnerable
Among the
taller people, believing
They have
needs like mine –
I have no
memory, I have
Infinite
capacity to feel, I
Cannot
bury myself and become hardened
I heal
over and over
Self-destructive
flings and delusions
That I
can let myself be used without
Being
hurt
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Fog and
rain
On slushy
snow
School-buses
And 8:00
AM
Me
In the
morning
Round-shouldered
From
books and
Wearing
my
Security
uniform
Of
short-hemmed mascara;
Bundles
of self-
Congratulating
adolescence
Glandular
turmoil
Shooting
me towards
Opposite
poles
At the
glance of another gland.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Outskirts
of a town well-guarded
By
matronly suburban streets
The charcoal,
dusty tar, the houses
Box-white,
edges softened
In a
flutter of curtains
And
willow-tree shadows
Which
demand a respectability
Of
persons, noises and sundry smells
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I have
An
abominable awareness
Of the
soles of my feet. They
Are
sand-stung, unused
To pebbly
lake bottoms, pine needle
Beds –
My feet
sting and my breath
Draws
deeply, nostrils
Flared to
absorb
The air
that forces
Coolness
into well-heated lungs –
The
twilight turns the
Sun from
bright to
Smoldering
metallic rose and
Seething
wavelets draw the
Fury down
To the
level of docks, and lake and sand –
And me –
I stick a
toe into the pinkness
And it
numbs –
The
ruggedness of all I feel
Intrigues
me; I am a match
For the
brittle dusk
The
campsite is calm, the wind
Is dying,
a burnt-wood smell
Drifts
into the sun – I watch
It sink,
impaled for a time
On a
mountaintop –
Waves of
purple, vermilion
And green
shoot up
To the
clouds
In a
symphony of
Lonely
light –
I turn to
replenish the fire.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Learning
to smoke cigarettes
Hidden in
the girls room
Deep in
the rec room cellar
Surrounded
by smoke
Not
knowing how to inhale
Not
knowing to keep
My eyes
from running
Coughing
and burping and
Breathing
spasmodically
The thing
sits there burning
What the
hell are you doing
Here
Down in
the garage looking in
The car
mirror
Don’t everything look cool
It’s
really funny, I should
Have gone
through this
Years ago
My
rebellion has failed
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
DINNER
WITH AN ELIGIBLE WASP
Sitting
sophisticated
In a lace-curtain
summer eating elegant chicken
Taking Salem menthol
Tweed walks
Through
the stables
He talks
through his side-teeth
With
high-class disdain
I long
myself
To become
knowing and
Worldly
I am
beautifully bitchy
There is
nothing to do
Very
little to say
The sun
is setting and
The
clouds darken and scatter in the
Patterns
of my mind
My
self-denial needles me
I would
like with all my
Insides
to shock him horribly
I would
like to roll
Down a
hill in the grass.
Indian
wrestle
Make his
side-parted sandy hair
(Inevitably
side-parted, perfect and neat)
Hall down
in thatches over his
Face
Sitting
ladylike I seethe
With
resentment
For God’s
sake what does
Ladylike
Have to
do with being
A woman?
His
drawling sidelong glance
Is asking
Would I
like to start back
I smile
with the dominant
Coldness
of the cool he projects
I feel
awkward, very awkward
And
dislike myself
For
deferring to this person
Who
chooses to ignore
The
warmth and the frivolity
And the
earthiness
That I
offer him
Feeling
alien and inadequate
I follow
with misgivings toward the house.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Cheers
and the winter city
Students
flirting
Vulnerable
I am
disheveled
And warm
and secure
I have
just left him
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Literate
Liberals
Sucking
the essence of youth
Emptily
espouse the liberation of the masses
Undeniably
Bloodlines
bloody
With
quality
Prep-school
philanthropists
Child of
peasantry
What do
you envy
Blood
pedigree brilliancy
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Amidst
the manly chatter
Of a room
not mine
I wait
for you
My mind
in your arms
My mind
in your arms
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Under the bridge a man pacing
Above in the window a girl dreaming
Through the streetlights to the river
Oh give me a signal
I will give myself in secrecy
Students on the grass
And tall sad David stepping through them
Beating himself into his own eternity
Welcome the gray city day
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Powerless
And comprehending
We
Are the only ones
Human enough
To make snowmen
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Eyes on a mobile
Paper eyes watching me
As I sleep
There are silhouetted heads
Peeking in my windows
Martians under my bed
Ghosts in my closet
Apparitions who walk the
Streets at night
I believe in Maurice Woodruff
Despite David Susskind
I could speak to the other side
But I won’t try, in case it works
And I really have to believe it
The moon is in Gemini
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
FM radio
Tantalizingly
Fade out and in
With forbidden rhymes and reasons
Stone man jockeys
Four letter words of love
And call letters
Signaling their tribe
Waiting attitudes
To bedrooms and beaches
Uniting the protest
Revolution for its invigorating quality
Running free and boundless
Sensual in angriness
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
My dog runs after
The sticks I throw him
Huge,
Black-striped, and muscled,
He has a mournful face.
Alone in the sun
I daydream of loves
And lavish my loving overflow
On my dog, hugging him
He asks for nothing but sticks and loving
And does not complain
When locked up for the night.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
School in the sunshine
Abstract and not serious
My real education
Is out on the grass
Sprawling, rapping. Watching
And being watched
So many blue-jeaned hips
So much bowing hair
Passing quick smiles.
Humanity cannot be lost
If such spontaneous
Smiles are possible –
Dirty bared feet
Part of the answer
Bare elbows, bare neck napes
And bare dusty legs
The more naked the body
The more naked the soul.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
We were talking about Victorian Dickens
In my ultraprogressive seminar group
Some budding and prolific
Literatum choking over his pipe
Impressed me when he said that those
Who search for love won’t find it
Loving is a way of life. It was
A paraphrase of Dylan Thomas
Related smoothly
To Ibsen and Rousseau
Pipe-smokers
You can’t entrap me now
A boutique of a mind studded
With colorful turns of thought,
Antique and social imagery
Men for fireplace discussions
Of books and the afterlife
For passionate intellectualism
I won’t try to possess you
Momentarily enthralled I am
Fostering upon my detached admiration
Irrational desires
My undisciplined emotional tirades
Would horrify you
What would you do with my demands
Upon your mind, your soul, your body?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Spinning fantasies
From a touch
I make your touches
Commonplace
I want you
I want you not to matter
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I whiled away
That rainy day
In reverie and thought
Though well I knew
That idleness
Is hard and dearly bought
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
LOVE
forever
TIME
forever
US
forever
HAPPINESS
now
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
CINDERELLA
LIKED IT HOT
Scorched
Giggles wrinkled
The
teacups, and
Forced a
raving vegetable
To
upwards stare
Upon a
golden urn;
Where I,
a heap of
The
finest ash,
Prepared
for the
Attack!
And lethal
Me-chars
flew aligned,
For I had
known hot
Hair upon
my neck:
And
randomly shot cinders
Into ravaged
coal-burned eyes
Oh yeah
I had no
logs to put into my
Own
“A-shes,
ashes
We
All
Fall
Down”
Warm,
warm, furnace-baby…
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Warmness
Stabbed
obliquely
Through
my body
I am
impaled
Of that
shaft of heat
With hot
fork-fingers
I have
No wish
to escape
But hang
limply
Lightly
Above the
mother ground
There is
no time
But only
embers
Of a
smoldering
Now-sense
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
GENIUS??
LIMITED
Though
outwardly faultless
This
choice Chunk of Brain,
His
nature’s not human
I cannot refrain
From
wondering how one
So
exceedingly quick
To grasp
printed text
Can be
utterly thick
In
matters not governed
By reason
or rule;
He is
blind to the meaning
The
dullest fool
Would see
in a swift
But
significant glance
Or the
half-playful banter
Exchanged
at a dance
For when
the distance between us
I tried
to erase
His
intelligence quotient
Slapped
me in the face
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
ANTILOVE
I had the
world
In my
grip
And the
sun was real
And the
earth was solid
And arms
and lips were warm
And
strong
But time
Was a
drifting soul
For I
looked at you
And your
face was blurred
And my
arms held nothingness
After all
I floated
away
Above the
sun
And
watched you, a
Speck on
a speck of an earth
And you
screamed, I hope you’re
Happy now
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Sadness
on Sunday
Is a
common occurrence
In my
mind.
Arising
late, I find my world cut short
By
primness and I
Hide.
Why?
All my
sins of the
Week loom
blacker;
(Sweet
kisses
Deserved
and never
Received)
I stamp
my foot at You!
And busy
work
And meatloaf
smells
TV
football
Creeps
under my door
To attack
me
Unmercifully.
No
People!
I wallow
in such
Melodrama
My face
is grimy
My hair
in tangles
For
Sunday I wear
My
ancient Jeans.
O lovely
sloth!
O world
somewhere!
I burst
tomorrow
In full
array:
O grundy
Sunday!
Unending
Unbearable
Gray
longing
Quenching
(A wiggly
tooth
Is sore
as Sunday)
Day for
Nothing
Day of
strange
Unfamiliar
Myselfness…
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
THE IT
How far I
went
Before I
found
That road
had led me
Round and
round
Till I
had passed
The spot
marked Go
A
thousand times
I
collected though
I had a
scalp
A
shrunken head
Into its
gutless
Eyes I
fed
All that
I found
Along the
way
Until
that one
Ironic
day
When all
was gone
There
were no more
It
laughed at me
Rolled on
the floor
With mirth
and screeched
“I had
you there!
All year
you fed
My silent
stare
And ran
in circles
Now you
see
That what
you did
To
strengthen me
Has left
you nothing
In its
stead
And all
in vain
For I am
dead
ALREADY!”
and with
This
parting shot
It turned
to go
“Gee,
thanks a lot”
I
quipped, but then
Called
out “But wait!
Don’t
leave me in
This
sorry state”
And
quickly I
Unscrewed
my head
And
joined him on
The
floor; I said
“My life
has been
Much too
sedate
Come show
me how
You operate
We shook
on that
And said
no more
Our two
heads rolled
Out
through the door.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
There is
a web
Of
loneliness
Of
restlessness
That
weaves through
My life
That I
cannot reach
Or run
away from.
In
crowded streets
In
brightly lit rooms
I will
feel it most.
I will
feel that this
Is not
what I had
Expected
from life;
I am not
the person
I had
expected to be;
Yet I
don’t know
What it
is that I
Search
for.
I am not
unhappy;
I am not
repressed.
But
somewhere there
Is
something missing,
Some
meaning I
Cannot
find within
Myself,
But that
I long for
Intensely.
I need
Some
reason, some purpose
To live
for.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I
remember
The
winter past
A
sharp-edged night
So cold
The
confusion of
Lights
From tall
town
Buildings
My hand
in yours
We ran
Through
the streets
And the
green
To keep
warm
And held
tightly
To each
other
Shivering
The wind
blew hard
I buried
my face
In the
tweed roughness
Of your
overcoat
Beyond
your shoulder
A
shadow-red world
Of
nighttime people
Spun
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
It is
Warm in my
Mind, in
the air
You are
with me
And I
know what I feel;
I am
longing for a world
Where
rules
Encompass
all emotion;
Life is
sea-green in your eyes
I’m not
afraid
Of the
reality deep
In their
liquid warmness;
Treat me
not
With
love,
(For love
is still
Too
strange a word)
But
gently
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I wonder
what happened
To the
other side of the fence
When
hypnotized by intenseness
I took
that running jump
Perhaps
it was never there
In the
first place
People do
see illusions sometimes
When
they’re hungry
But I do
feel rather silly
Lying
here on my back
With all
those scraggly crows
Laughing
and looking down at me
I should
have known
A man
must be strange
To have
built all his
Fences in
circles
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Happiness
to me
Comes not
through solitude
Though
all my
Wizards
caution
That this
is
The
purest way
To
survive.
Isolation!
They sing
Will
leave you
Free to
feel, to think –
To think
of what?
I cannot
lock
My mind
away,
Nor
flinch at
Every
threat of pain;
A small
investment,
Damaged pride;
The
dividend
Is life…
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
My
sun-world
Of
daydreams
And
stolen kisses
Teasingly
scurries away from under
The
reality cloud
Where you
are;
Half-afraid
Of your
strength
And
perception
You are
A
tangibility
My mind
cannot
Weave through
With
singsong
Nonchalance;
With
courage gathered
I could
perhaps
Look
levelly
Into your
eyes
But it is
such an effort –
(You know
me
Too well
and watch
My
attempts at maturity
With
patient amusement)
I am too
young
To know
total involvement
To give
up the dreams
I have
yet to live –
Wait for
me.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
PRAGUE
Survival
becomes
All
important;
There is
no material
Value
Nothing
is owned
That
cannot be taken away;
Gray
walls and streets
Chickens
in the yard
And
ubiquitous eggs
To be taken
and sold
For the
Brotherhood.
In such a
life
Of want,
one craves
The
mystic;
A strong
impregnable
Building
that houses a God;
A
softener to life
Combined
with homemade
Wines
The bread
And
coffee taste
Like
dust;
And life
becomes
All-meaningful
–
Perhaps
Desperation
breeds
More love
Than
affluence.
A letter
from
The Free
is magic;
An
American
Dollar
and icon –
I cannot
feel like
They –
Paternal
liberty
Is after
all
Dehumanizing.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
BOREDOM
WRITES BAD VERSES
I really
don’t have anything
To write
about at all
But here
I am stranded
In a
boring study hall
I’ve
fifteen minutes left to kill
And all
my homework’s done
There’s
really nothing much to do
But sit
which isn’t fun
For the
harassed English teacher
Who’s
assigned to this study room
Will for
the softest whisper
Send a
student to her doom
And down
the hall is a classroom
Where a
certain person sits
That’s
really where I’d rather be
(I think
I’ve lost my wits)
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
THIS IS A
MESSAGE
Intended
to guide
Posterity
on its long and
Bloody
path, something
Unique in
history;
Perhaps
you see, they will bring
Busloads
of people to look
At my
room and baby shoes
After I’m
dead;
They will
build romances
From high
school rings
Left in
my drawers,
Tragedies
from moldy
Corsages
Pressed
in my anthology books.
I will be
mysterious
Shrouded
in mystery –
When
asked of me, my
Lovers,
now grown suavely
Wrinkled,
will smile sadly
And sigh
“I knew her when.”
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I cannot
believe I
Face the
reprehensible act
Of
arising each morning –
The clock
early hours
Are
painful and cold
And the
sleep strains my
Eyes
I think
of all the tasks
I must
perform
Before I
can again return
To
oblivion,
Of
synthetic quilts
And
existence bores me –
I think
of all my
Battered
emotions one must take
Before
the day will end –
Ha! Sleep
serves the world.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
The
Racing Rat that eggs me on
Will not
be daunted, not be gone
No peace
or refuge can I find
His teeth
are lodged deep in my mind
And chew
upon my fear
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Where are
the lean
And
hungry minds
That
clamored to know all?
They
could not find
The
strength to climb
Above the High Church wall
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Lousy
verse
Nothing
worse
That’s
why
This
verse is terse
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I despise
Your eyes
They
frown
In brown
And hint
In glints
Of golden
Emboldened
Fever
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Recluse
et al
I may
become
A
lifetime wasted
But no
harm done
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
THE IT
How far I
went
Before I
found
That road
had led me
Round and
round
Till I
had passed
The spot
marked Go
A
thousand times
I
collected though
I had a
scalp
A
shrunken head
Into its
gutless
Eyes I
fed
All that
I found
Along the
way
Until
that one
Ironic
day
When all
was gone
There
were no more
It
laughed at me
Rolled on
the floor
With
mirth and screeched
“I had
you there!
All year
you fed
My silent
stare
And ran
in circles
Now you
see
That what
you did
To
strengthen me
Has left
you nothing
In its
stead
And all
in vain
For I am
dead
ALREADY!”
and with
This
parting shot
It turned
to go
“Gee,
thanks a lot”
I
quipped, but then
Called
out “But wait!
Don’t
leave me in
This
sorry state”
And
quickly I
Unscrewed
my head
And
joined him on
The
floor; I said
“My life
has been
Much too
sedate
Come show
me how
You operate
We shook
on that
And said
no more
Our two
heads rolled
Out
through the door.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
There is
a web
Of
loneliness
Of
restlessness
That
weaves through
My life
That I
cannot reach
Or run
away from.
In
crowded streets
In
brightly lit rooms
I will
feel it most.
I will
feel that this
Is not
what I had
Expected
from life;
I am not
the person
I had
expected to be;
Yet I
don’t know
What it
is that I
Search
for.
I am not
unhappy;
I am not
repressed.
But
somewhere there
Is
something missing,
Some
meaning I
Cannot
find within
Myself,
But that
I long for
Intensely.
I need
Some
reason, some purpose
To live
for.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I
remember
The
winter past
A
sharp-edged night
So cold
The
confusion of
Lights
From tall
town
Buildings
My hand in
yours
We ran
Through
the streets
And the
green
To keep
warm
And held
tightly
To each
other
Shivering
The wind
blew hard
I buried
my face
In the
tweed roughness
Of your
overcoat
Beyond
your shoulder
A
shadow-red world
Of
nighttime people
Spun
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
It is
Warm in
my
Mind, in
the air
You are
with me
And I
know what I feel;
I am
longing for a world
Where
rules
Encompass
all emotion;
Life is
sea-green in your eyes
I’m not
afraid
Of the
reality deep
In their
liquid warmness;
Treat me
not
With
love,
(For love
is still
Too
strange a word)
But
gently
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I wonder
what happened
To the
other side of the fence
When
hypnotized by intenseness
I took
that running jump
Perhaps
it was never there
In the
first place
People do
see illusions sometimes
When
they’re hungry
But I do
feel rather silly
Lying
here on my back
With all
those scraggly crows
Laughing
and looking down at me
I should
have known
A man
must be strange
To have
built all his
Fences in
circles
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Happiness
to me
Comes not
through solitude
Though
all my
Wizards
caution
That this
is
The
purest way
To
survive.
Isolation!
They sing
Will
leave you
Free to
feel, to think –
To think
of what?
I cannot
lock
My mind
away,
Nor
flinch at
Every
threat of pain;
A small
investment,
Damaged
pride;
The
dividend
Is life…
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
My
sun-world
Of
daydreams
And
stolen kisses
Teasingly
scurries away from under
The
reality cloud
Where you
are;
Half-afraid
Of your
strength
And
perception
You are
A tangibility
My mind
cannot
Weave
through
With
singsong
Nonchalance;
With
courage gathered
I could
perhaps
Look
levelly
Into your
eyes
But it is
such an effort –
(You know
me
Too well
and watch
My
attempts at maturity
With
patient amusement)
I am too
young
To know
total involvement
To give
up the dreams
I have
yet to live –
Wait for
me.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I cannot make you
Understand
My impulse to break free
And tear away all sacred things;
Still shrouded
By some Orthodox Chiffon
My laughter shocks you;
You cause me then
To shock myself
For my merriment stems from
Naiveté;
I have never dreamed
Such propriety
Of ritual
That you have been
Brought up in.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
There was a time
When I was bold
With struts and dark eyes flashing
But then I grew
My eyes turned blue
And I was much less dashing
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Marijuana, acid, speed
Ravi Shankar, Freon, weed
If I die before I waken
I will have too many Sominex taken
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Emily Dickensen
Incessant hack
You wrote to the world
Then turned your back
You played with Death
But lacked the time
To live, and drowned
In endless rhyme
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The songs of love
Have all been sung
I cannot write
Another one
All the words
I wish to say
Have all been said
Another way
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
THE LECTURER
To listen fifty minutes
To a low persistent drone
That neither changes topic
Nor digresses from its tone
Is torture to the nth degree
I cannot take much more
My eyes are fixed upon him
But my mind strains for the door
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I remember pondering
The strangeness of my
Contact with him
I wanted him to kiss me
And in holding his hand I
Felt strange vibrations in
My Middle Toe
It was an odd thing to be aware of
While wanting his mouth
And his shoulders and the
Hair falling down across his forehead
The sadness was
That it was impossible to return
He is not mine to take any
Longer
But for that one moment
That state of things
Didn’t matter much
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
To go about the business
Of capturing a moment --
Of the millions of minutes
I plunge through
Not many are worth saving –
Very few of the men I
Know have dreams in their eyes
And I, out of habit suppress mine –
My only aspect of life
Love affection sex
I throw my mind away on men
There are passions as equally
Important – are there –
Flesh in the flesh
Inhibits me emotionally
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
“Have you ever had a truly
Meaningful relationship,” my
Date was asking me
Oh yes, I replied and
Thought of Bruce.
Ha!
“This summer,” I said
“I had the educational
Relationship of my life.”
I remembered
Rainy nights and
A blue frat seat shirt
“But what was he like?”
“I don’t know, he was – “I am
At a loss for words. I can’t
Remember, except for the
Flavor of the relationship
Blue skies, blue eyes –
Everything was blue that summer
“He was a product of my
imagination I think.” And
I changed the subject
I went home and looked
At his picture for a long time
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Stucco houses on the
Roadside faded to
Easter egg blotchiness
Wooden houses were solidly
Rotten-looking
Lived-in and flesh-like
Hunks of old cars
Dumped carelessly, they
Were bought used anyway
And the South is a myriad
Of Coca-Cola signs and
Pecans
I would like to fly
From my clean-brand-newness
And well-educated mind, my
Shock absorbent automobile
Walk in and feel the strangeness
Of familiar dirt and
Disregard –
Touch human emotions
Unfettered by grammar
Or ambition
Live in dust-baked
Perpetual sunlight, hard
And all pervasive
And deliciously imperfect.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
RHYMED REMORSE
Had I conducted myself
With more care,
I might not have lost
A friendship so rare,
Nor dragged myself down
To the depths of despair
(Though none but my own
Silliness brought me there)
But such is the way
Of the world, cruel or fair,
We make ourselves
All the burdens we bear.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I waited
so long
Before
finding
Strength
and knowledge,
A
perception of the world
Keener
than my own
Oh, I had
so much to learn;
A
lifetime of pent-up
Emotion
to give
That I
couldn’t see
These
rock beliefs
Admitted
greater weakness
Than the
uncertainty
Of my own
younger soul
For rock
under stress
Cannot
bend
But must
break
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
LATE
APRIL
It is
nearing toward evening,
Almost
eight o’clock, yet
There is
still enough light
To write
by,
While
silent shadows melt
From dim
corners of
My room,
To blend
with the last rays
Of
sunset, still bright;
And
tonight I am alone
And
longing,
In need
of not love
(I never
asked for that in the
First
place) but a common
Bond with
the whole of life;
For I am
young, and restless,
Yet
happy;
I
identify with
This
hour, this night,
The
latent wind that stirs
Among the
peace of
Pastel
dusk – a wind
As
strained and impatient
As I to
be freed and gone;
For each,
the wind and I, is
An
untamed nature; and each is
Confined
and bound by the
Limits of
time.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
In tired
revolt
My mind
releases
The
demons
Locked
In the
pit of my throat
Sage
In a
vault
Of
sweat-proof depression
And free
They
giggle
And swarm
Through
my body
Licking
my
Mind and
driving
Me
Toward
madness
My mind
Is under
control
Of an
ARCH*ARSONIST
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
The bitch
in me
Can rise
to the challenge
Of the
brittle city.
Pride
fluffed,
I trail
lustiness and
Reckless
laughter in my wake.
I wallow
in my impregnability
The river
frozen beneath
My window
Early in
the morning
The calm
wind and streets
Are my
weakness.
I would
skate away on
The
sun-glanced river
To a
mountain place
And let
loose my softness.
Soon.
Before I
harden with use.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Three
eggs fry and the sink fills with dishes and pans
Swagger
eyed, you
Muse into
the soap drips,
Whistle
Proverbs
through your cigarette
“John and
Yoko don’t have a bad life.”
A lip
curled,
An
eyebrow raised in query,
You play
at Renaissance.
I sit at
your table
I finger
your plastic doilies.
Decadent,
I violate your coffee cups
I debauch
your Renaissance.
Playing
the sun by ear,
My
creation is my duplicity.
(You
betray yourself, to
Grind out
slowly
Your
cigarettes at twilight.
A night
of you is easy won.)
I may
smile, I have
My female
secrets.
No one
asks of them.
It is my
Freedom I assert before you.
(So
redefined
With easy
mind
I sleep beneath
a heavy arm
Thrown
carelessly across my neck)
And you
with your projects
Your
hordes of lost giggling women
Your
strength may steer the night
And quake
beneath a canny eye
See my
eyes, beacons
Extinguished
in the brittle morning.
See us
We are sphinxy
With our
seamy snares
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Cambridge
Dissipation
Encountered
through gin and tonic
Blurring
through
My baby
pink system
How young
you are my dear
Purrs
The
personification of lust
Across
the table
Paunchy
as Ben Franklin
With Harvard
trained lids
Half-closed
Skin
flushed with Scotch and
Self-satisfaction
Swelled
cynical lips over
Irregular
teeth
Talk
about your orgies on the Cape
Your
secretaries from Zak’s
I like
you intellectually,
I
explained through
My
bubble-gum smile
I can’t
control my chemistry,
I
giggled.
Oh christ
get your mind off
Your
cunt, he said.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Bopping
down the street beside you
I am
speechless but respond to
Innate
rhythms
My
cynicism plays chords of giggles
Lightly,
restrained, strumming the surface,
Playing
with you and my own predictability
Damn you,
I was through with rationalizations
I was
launched on waves of wantonness
And now
my vanity is piqued
Because
you refuse to dissect me.
Idiot,
I am
capable
Of
devouring you.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
FREUDIAN
SLIPS FROM
LEARY
SUBCONSCIOUSNESS
SUBLIMATES
MCLUHANESQUE
CONDITIONING.
THOREAU
IN VAIN
OOZED
THROUGH THE MUD.
DR. SPOCK
NEVER
SPOKE OF
THAT.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I’m
looking into the
Twilight
Through
little-paned criss-crossed
Windows.
Little
squares of life show through
Cut
And
Quartered
STAMP OUT
PASSION STAMP OUT PASSION STAMP OUT PASSION
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Stunted
lioness,
Sooty
with smog,
Skulk
beneath the melted leaves
A
perversity of nature’s dreams haunted autumn nights
The world
forgets
And turns
to the cock-roached walls
Despising
The
community of contribution
The
well-fed machine of anonymity
Dawn, and
the sun
Backs the
urban ground, sends yellow smoke to
The earth
to poison the faithless children.
Lioness
Sneaks in
the gutters by night
Her
salvation her female claw
Parades
herself with pride and innocence
In the
night that blinds those who would see
We are
all incapable of meaning
Screaming
relevance
We
nurture in sweet searching sacred ghostmen
Unreal
without their constant touch
Stunted
mating, there is no more mating
Not
groaning over sweating bodies
We
struggle over words
That
betray in the morning
No way
for the lioness to transcend herself
No
purpose for her fierceness
Her
beauty falls flat in the eyes of gutted souls who
Seek only
rhythms, who know only rhythms
And only
sell words with the lioness blood
Who envy
the sensuous ripple of muscles
That
breaks in waves of shimmering coat
That is,
that is, and has no home to be in
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Crazy crabby
corner ladies
People
think we’re kind of shocky
We never
act like we’re supposed to
But we’re
so squeezy and fun to be close to
We don’t
need much
Just love
and goodies
World-wide
adulation
Pretty
dresses and such
Happy
birthday and hope you get all the above
Especially
love
And show
‘em all
That
moonbeams are brighter than sunshine
Anytime
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Lizards
in the berry patch
In the
castle you reside with your sweatshirts
The sun
fires up
Our
dormant suburban instincts
The cold catering
only
To our
Coolness
of intellect and our
Grizzly
furs
Motorcycles
convertibles
Chewing
gum ice cream cones
Transistors
that spit music
Dependent
on the profits of pimple cream
It
somehow seems to
Suit the
gritty asphalt, the prickly grass
Grossly
physical humanity
We are
Boy-men
in t-shirts and
Low slung
jeans
Walk
hands in
Pockets
thumbs down All-American
Red-blooded
posture, we as girls
Stripping
winter-white legs swing
Poses and
flash
Bosom
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Morning
attacked us
Through the
windows
Averted
eyes accomplished nothing
A man
breathed deeply
Of his
Wall Street Journal
Rouge on
the cheeks
Of gray
flaking ladies
Blazed
In
bottled fever
I handed
over my broken glasses
With the
delicacy I would
Grant to
a corpse
“Ah one
of life’s minor tragedies”
They said
But there
was nothing they could do
The city
sows me. But my
Anger is
adoctrinaire
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Porpoises
dying on sun-bleached sand
Burning
in the sun
Lying in
gleaming, shuddering rows
I know
they are innocent
They sigh
they have nothing to say
I am
spent I have no more to give
Together
we lie in red sunset
Peacefully
shriveling
Egos
draining from or pores
In tears
of sweat
The tide
will cover us by twilight
The cool
sea will lend us strength
We will
feed on protozoa
And
silently cohabit
My chosen
porpoise and I
Tail
stirring the surf to foam
Rising to
the stinging air
And
spouting
Profanities
and mingled regrets
Toward
the shore immutable
Empty and
achy and sated
I will
drift with night currents
Pulled by
the moon to the earth’s edge
Plunging
endlessly into space
Revolving
in the moony blackness
Weaving
through the porpoise corpses
And
living fire stars
Eternally
tasting of salt
My lips
Will be
smiling tidbits for the gods
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
The news this
morning
Is
bland-washed rhetoric
I hurl my
mind against
Politics
with flippancy
It is
such a safe identity
Such a
definable passion
We have
all become preachers
Our words
propaganda
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Goddess
of the river
The
waterfall roars with your laughter
Bright
eyes flash with sunbeams
The waves
of your flesh are a somba rhythm. I am your bastard child
Alien
explorer from lost jungle homelands
Blue eyed
boomerang
Pagan
Snow White born to
Voodooize
women’s liberation
Bewitch
every hamburger in America
Virgin
whore mother
My blood
pounds magic tales
My heart
My mind
produces prehistoric movies
I hear
the thunder of creation in passion
Watching
the evening news and applying
Million
Dollar Red nail polish
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I walked
in
The other
day with mold
Hanging
from my eyebrows
And the
back of my knees –
Green and
blue and purple-speckled mold
I felt as
if I had come of age –
I
certainly felt different
Not
guilty or anything, very
Elated
and relieved
I told my
friends
“Look,
I’ve mildewed”
I thought
they’d be happy for me –
Funny,
most didn’t believe me
Even
though I was green to the
Ankle by
this time
Or they
misconstrued the
Meaning
and thought I’d
Contracted
a social disease
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
HOW I, IN
THE MIDST OF AN ORGY, EMERGED FROM
MY COCOON
AND BECAME AT LAST A SOCIAL MOTH:
CONSEQUENTLY
A BURDEN AND A TRIAL TO A SAGE.
Venturing
from my tower one summer, in a binge
Of
curiosity (for I truly loved the earth) I
Bumped
into a sage; he stood conversing
On the
green and I accosted him
Heartily.
“Sage! Sage!” I cried
But he
glanced coolly from his heights; for
I was
very young and had not learned
The ways
of the wise. Sauntering at last
He came,
and took me by the hand, he
He wished
to talk to me; “Of course,” I said
And smiled
but he darkened somewhat.
“You
know,” he said “you’ve now come
of an
age; a time when you must promise not
to make a
move without consulting me.”
“Naturally,”
I pouted, “children
Must not
play with matches; and
Curiosity
killed the cat. What other
Pertinent
facts must I know?”
“That’s
all for now,” he said, “you may
Continue
your cavorting; I will come
For you
at the crack of dawn.”
And so he
did:
The
gathering indeed was unfamiliar;
And
trailing my instructor through a crowd
Of
strange but arresting beings
I mulled
my orders over in my mind;
I was to
observe, but could not touch,
An axiom
I could not see, but was
Content
for follow for the present. For
There was
much to observe! An
Entire
party of sages, so perceptive
Of life
that they did not notice it at all,
A
nonchalance which thrilled me;
And I was
presented to them,
I saw
that I in turn generated interest.
Presently
my sage excused himself, for
He had
Important Matters to pursue;
“Take
care,” he warned his peers, “she
“Does not
know our ways,” and he disappeared.
Shy at
first to join in the revel
I
attempted to talk with those on the fringe;
And found
them wise, was as
My sage,
but with a difference –
My sage
talked down to me as would a
Teacher,
molding my potential;
Here I
was treated as an equal and soon
I could
communicate and gambol with
The best
of them. Knowledgeable, these
People
were, yet of common roots! For
Hours and
hours I reveled with them,
Though
occasionally things occurred
Which I
did not understand; and I
Was glad
to be free of my sage,
For here
I was regarded with
An
interest and intensity of glance
I had not
known before.
My sage
eventually did return, but
At a most
inopportune moment;
For I was
about to learn something
Of life
from one of a most
Interesting
philosophy. He had asked
Me if I
had found answers to
My life.
“At times,” I sighed, “but
They are
so transient, if only I
Could be
amidst such wisdom
That is
here.” “Ah, but you are
Wrong,”
he said, “such wisdom
Is not
found within a collective crowd
But with
one of one’s caliber.”
“That is
what my sage told me,”
I smiled,
“but you see I have
Not
acquired it yet.” “I suggest,”
He
whispered, “that you sample
Another
brand of wisdom.” And just
As I
would perhaps have complied,
My sage
appeared with a virtual pounce.
“Come,” he
said in blackest tones
and
dragged me off. “What, are you angry?”
I asked,
surprised. “You brought me
Here to
learn of life;
And now
you will not let me.”
“You do
not understand, or know what
You are
doing,” he said, you will
Only
waste yourself,
And I shall
be to blame; I think
I have
brought you here prematurely.”
And
brooding on this he stared at
The sun;
I in the meantime stared at
Him, and
ruffled at his words;
For with
my new experience, I
Saw him
in a different light; and
Thought
myself his equal, independent
Of his
deigning advice. “Well,”
I Began
for lack of better, “You
Needn’t
burden yourself with me
More; for
I have learned there
Are many
who would teach me of the
World,”
and would have flounced away,
But
strangely seemed to be nailed
To the spot;
for there was something
In his
weary eyes I had not seen before.
“You
stupid girl,” he said and he shook me.
“You see
only exteriors, and cannot see
The
turbulence beneath the surface.
Painstakingly
I did cultivate your mind
And now
you would destroy it
All, for
momentary pleasures.” And
Tightening
his grip he looked
Down
wrathfully in my face.
Seeing
him thus agitated, I
Tried my
best to be penitent;
But only
succeeded in giggling.
“Why, if
this be baseness,” I laughed,
“I must
say it is pleasant;
And do
not see why you struggle so
To keep
me from it.” “god in hell!”
He cried,
“I’ve created a monster;
For all
my careful teachings merely
Cloaked a
hedonist!” and wringing
His hands
he paced up and down,
Avoiding
my blatant and hungry glance.
“Perhaps,”
I mused, “it is abstinence
In itself
which has changed me; for you
Could not
bring me to mental
Cognizance
and still keep me innocent.”
“Ah,” he
despaired, “is this the price
Of
short-sightedness? To b pursued
By my own
creation?” “Yes,”
I said,
“for what I shall
Learn now
is far beyond
Your
realm of expertise;
But I am
determined to have you as well –
The
pattern cannot be changed.”
At this
he raised an eyebrow and shifted
His
glance from the revel back to me.
“If it
has taken but the
Conquest
of a minor sage
To fill
your head with illusions,”
He said,
“I have failed
To
eradicate your bourgeoisie.
You have
self destructive habits – and
Having
victored over me it is only a
Matter of
time until you, too, must fall.
GO,” he
ordered in sudden roughness,
“And see
how long you will last
By
yourself.” In mind I wavered, but
Stood
very still and watched
The
expanse of sunrisen sky. “I
Need no
one; I am a free being,” I
Whispered,
and turned on my heel.
The crowd
before me was awesome and
Strange –
my limbs felt shrunken and oddly
Weak –
his laughter
Loomed
loud
And
claimed the world.
I ran
from him; he was matchless.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
Wanting
art
And
deco-dence
I’m
sitting here in this
Hole of
an apartment room
Waiting
for my hair to grow
My phone
to ring
And for
the whole goddamn world
To regain
its composure.
Call me,
call me, call me
I amuse
myself
By my
romantic depths
I should
have grabbed
What I
wanted
Before it
got buried in all these
Social
duties and identities
And
finding oneself
Liberated,
shit.
My soul
trickles from me
Like
processed bread crumbs.
_ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
What is
it I’ve written in this notebook, all
This
half-finished stuff about reality and
Sex and
all, but I’m bored with writing, I’ve
Squeezed
every last bit of experience out of me
Onto
paper bags and letterheads and
Earnest
conversations
With
people I’m the
Least bit
interested in having a conversation with.
Communication
is only reached through a
Mock
put-down fight or sometimes by accidental
Mutual
crisis, that’s the trouble with people
On my
frequency, their egos are too brittle
To risk
overpowering –
If there
is one thing I cannot take is for
Anyone to
see through to my ultimate
Naiveté
and mushiness, I can only show this
To
someone more stupid, which is something
Of a
paradox –
Someday I
will have to make a supreme sacrifice
And
admit, yeah wow, you’re great and superior
And mold
my mind, which is kind of admitting a
Dispensable
ego, and isn’t that being a human
Leech? I
need to go up to some cloud and ask
For a tablet
with my identity on it, and
I’ll hang
it in my room and every morning I can
Stand
there and say yeah you exist, look,
And walk
away confident. Maybe a star map will
Do. Hang
it right there, Sharon Bellush, Cancerous
Moon
Child. I’ve got to stop hanging on minds
Even less
secure than my own, that’s for sure.
** ** **
**
The one anachronous poem from the ‘80s, the Boomers’
thirtysomething years:
TOO YOUNG
TO RETIRE
(1988)
I’m just
lying around thinking.
There’s
no one I want to call.
Sometimes
I just go out cruising
but I
don’t see a thing I like at all.
I’ve just
got no motivation,
no way to
break my fall.
I get so
bored with the losers
but man
those winners are worse!
I don’t
want no disco action
with a
gigolo eyeing my purse.
No, now I
just want a dark moon rider
without
any conversation first.
I don’t
like anyone to drive me
like I
was a souped up car.
Don’t
want anyone to shake me
like a
mixer in a cocktail bar.
I want to
find a lone ranger
from
Atlantis or a two-toned star.
I want an
extraterrestrial
with a
black leather software machine.
A true
desolation row angel
sporting
a laser gun, you know what I mean?
I want to
turn it on to intense
like the
kick of an espresso bean.
You know
when I break loose
I leave
all the jockeys behind.
I own the
speed that I need
but
there’s no one I can find.
I’d
rather run Kamikaze
than slow
down to a low-grade grind.
Anytime I
get tied down
it’s
never as good as I’d thought.
Now all
the Don Juans are faded.
They
can’t deliver on the lines I bought.
He looks
too young to be jaded
but I
know for certain he’s been caught.
I guess
the thing that I look for
is the
hell and back look in his eyes
the black
light aura
from the
face that asks no reasons why.
I’ve
gotten confused explanations
that make
me crazy when I try.
Tonight
I’m staring at the ceiling.
There’s
no one I want to call.
So I go
out driving in my car
but
there’s nothing going down at all.
The
roadhouse isn’t appealing
and
there’s no one at the shopping mall.
