poem poetry – Page 7 – poems 2 die for

NAMED

Lovecraft
Strangelove

have to got to
love the
love
embodied
in your thinking

enshrined
in your very names

ROULETTE

Do not confuse
redemption
and
civilization

so easy
to transpose

and though
evil be banal

there is nothing
to preclude
an elegance
to murder

brining out the
choice caviar

and a polished chrome
pistol
for Russian roulette.

DISTANCE

distance between our
first and
last civilizations

just a blink of an eye
who knows how many
thousands
and thousands
of years

such difference between their
long lost world
and ours so
clearly in decline
on its way out
we lacking the magic
of their wisdom, smarts
and
pure technology

PRAYER

I pray this poem
does not degenerate
before you reach
the final stanza

thanks to physical decay
or cultural decline

the power of poet
and poetry slipping together

ironically,
the only true synchrony
in this
disjunction of a
life

FIELD

find me in the quantum
vacuum
for if you do not, if
you fail to
then I will find you

will watch as you count your
store of hours, minutes, days
getting spent

blowing kiss after kiss
to blur, to spoil,
cloud that mentality
of linear trajectory

and when the light comes
wave after wave like
warm sea washing over you

know that it is I
who once was something
different entirely

know that it is I
realize it is
me

soft surge of
energies can
cannot be

SOMETHING

something there
is that wants to
get in through my doors
get in
through my windows

drag me before a mirror
make a blood bath of
my resignation
iron
on iron
sharpening
massacre my comfort zone

lead me out through
the jagged glass
into dark pastures
where the Earth has
opened up
is truly volcanic
and my house, once so
safe and secure, boarded
and guarded
is now a thing that
can scarcely be regarded more
than a gutted shell

GALLERY

stumbled, bumbled
into the gallery

snooped around and then
it was I saw you thick
with the rest of your coterie

thought it was an artifact
or small item of sculpture
that you were fascinated by
that
had seduced you

but then I realized
classic metaphor —
was a genie
stoppered in an
ornate bottle no
cheap container for wine,
no not at all

so you were all acting so
superior, so artistically
enlightened
that I grabbed and
smashed the bottle

let that genie free
for they do suffer, do
tend to fall foul
of imprisonmenf
these magical
poets, artists, writers who
cannot help but
display
as altogether different
quasi spiritual and
supernatural beings

and thus
my special wish
and emerging friendship

as we
made our way together
out of the building

laughing at
the poetic justice

how wonderful it is
when it
just so happens

as they battle with the thought
of eternal confinement

at least
they have so much
time (if not
space) for
self-exploration

and a ready, captive audience,
for all that beautiful narcissism
compelled
to share