work
Prufrock33@aol.com
Wed, 03 Jun 1998 12:25:22 -0400 (EDT)
Here are a few of my works. I would SINCERELY appreciate any comments...e=
ven=0Athe negative ones. I would love soem criticism...or even what you D=
O like=0Aabout what I have written. I have been workling on poetry for th=
e last 5=0Ayears. I still feel very much like a beginner...but hope I pro=
ve somewhat=0Ainteresting...
=09=09=09=09=09=09=09=09=09Angie -- thanks!!
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1989
Skinny-legged boys
bombarded
me when I was twelve
(and flowering)
I had to lock my door
with double bolts
I had to hide behind
mothers and excuses.
Like twigs, their legs
were arm-size,
but could run like Hell
on the playground
in swarms
storming the front lines
of my laced bottom dress.
I'd be out of breath
hunted
by pimple-faced marriage proposals
and skinned-up
knock-knees.
that clang on jungle-jims
in the blazing heats
I wear skirts just to
drive =91em a little wild.
I was a harlequin
I may have been
a twelve year old
playground tramp
I always had my way
with the fourth grade men
and took all my friend's
pretend boyfriends.
I would run with the boy's hearts
and they would chase me
to get them back
but I never tripped over pants
or manliness-
and that is a fact.
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no title
Bad company is those men that walk downtown in torn shirts
with long hair and 2.00 in their pockets for a pack of cigarettes
They smoke Marlboro REDS. I couldn't handle ultra-lights.
Lock your car doors little girls and boys.
We don't like to see those men on the loose
and it is so damn late at night
as weak as we are
we couldn't possibly put up a fight
besides men like that carry guns
or knives
or ropes
or candlesticks
but Honey, even if they don't
they have fists.
Don't look them in the eye.
Don't let them think you know they are there
Men like that should be taken off the streets
and put in word-processing jobs with ties
and white ironed shirts
because that is what they really want, dear.
Everyone should have that chance, right?
I am ashamed to Care so much.
But Hell, I am an American
And it is our job.
to put up with these men and give them welfare
enough to buy new shirts (without holes)
and enough to make us feel good
when we shutter as we pass downtowns in every
metropolis and small burg in the world.
Help us cope with the let-down.
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no title
When things move for her
they move
She accepts no substitutes
draws her curtains closed
hides from the men and
tightens her clothes
Ruin a vacation by
being the one
to never show
She takes dreams and makes them
horror stories by campfires
and decides that decision
is best left, undone.
Life falls apart on weekdays
she works weekends
If time is constant
she brakes records
she measures ingredients
out in touches
and believes that heaven
is loneliness
Forgive her simple charm but
dark, cavernous galaxies find no more depth
then the span of her arms
and the reach of her breath
Eyes that leave streaks of
rose lipstick
on your lips
never having kissed
and she loved twice in one day
but only in the second hour.
and she hated sunlight
till it was near the witching hour.
Hands that are molding clay
taking forms of moving skin
and wakes to smiles
of her lovely sin.
Fires in her background,
still envelops her days
yet she locks the doors after lovers
and moves with organized sways.
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no title
Rambling
What word brings life to the dead and cold at heart?
The unwilling, the childish, youthful pranks.
Too old to be young and too young to understand what exists with
water
and its pals.
the little man in a ship on the way to a wetter land
on his way to a better land.
And a happy time that smiles at the sun sunshuns
and that is a true story told to me by a little bird
that rambled life like an old fisherman that caught himself
trying to succeed with the aborigines.
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**
Wine for Breakfast
Love is the sweetness of his appled lips
I have eaten my love on cold Mondays
with bowls of soup
not having dressed yet
but just waking to love with the sunset
My hair ain't combed
ain't been brushed
your smile is light and I am
flushed
I don't need no man in my life
but you ain't just no man.
Sunlight is a shade when you are near.
Time moves with the molasses of trees.
I break down when I hear you breath
and I hold my breaths when you are here.
Ain't looking for no love affair.
damn you and what you do to me.
He being my personal Valentino in Paris
not the taste of sunkist but of wine
A bitter chablieaux
A timid merlot
or perhaps, my love,
there is no wine at all.
I believe if I were to ask him to marry
He would become an account in Fresno
I, a professional something another
Living in
in living rooms with only
the furnitures of dust to wear.
Love being a timed race
with no starting gate
And time being adrift
I float with it
I didn't bet to lose but
i never bet on fate
and the air is a breath
not a breeze
Mornings come cold to me
and I have lost my appetite
for men that taste so sweet
for my pain is the tart.=0A