I was talking with Erin recently and she mentioned that I have not posted any new poems lately. This is because I am working on a long poem called "The drowning man" which I hope to publish. I have been saving all the "good stuff" for this. However, I know that there are a few people who check this site regularly, so I thought I'd give you something to tide you over.
I have raided my journal to type up a bunch of poems and stuff that have never seen the light of day, some forgotten, some I am still scratching my head over. I have divided these into three catagories:
Drafts: Earlier versions of poems on this site. I have only chosen drafts which are significantly different than the "final" versions.
Fragments: little poetic thoughts left alone, not enough to be a poem
Unfinished poems: Abandoned drafts which will most likely never be finished.
In most cases everything appears just how it was written down with no additional edits or punctuation added. Because of my poor penmanship I found some words illegible. These are marked "[illegible]".
So here you go... this is for Erin.
__________________________________________
requiem for beloved pt. 1 (second draft)
Something is wrong
testify to me
With eyes faced forward and weep
Something is incomplete
If I love you and
you don't love me.
What is this place
but bricks or stones
with windows that block the sun
something is incomplete
within you; it is me.
untitled fragment
my heart is trochaic
comes on strong,
sadly fades away.
untitled fragment #2
like a broken sonnet
your words are
hallmark poetry
A dialogue between Eliot & Williams (unfinished parody)
Let us go then, you and I,
while the stars are set out like lightbulbs in the sky
to the coffee shop with its wicked brew!
It's so much fun, "and good eats too!"
Let us go then and pay our visit
discuss poetry and find out "what is it?"
In the shop the yuppies come and go,
drinking grande espressos
The brew is brown so brown indeed,
it drips and drips and drips
So son; I said what is it about?
Your lines have no meter so I doubt
that what you write is poetry, and you
are a doctor, yet you need some more school.
In the shop the yuppies come and go,
drinking grande espressos
"Well I
say; you
criticize what you
don't under
stand.
I think so
much more
depends upon
simplicity for
you see that I wanted to write a poem,
but you [illegible] to think
hard.
...
my poems are so good and rhyme so fluently
I think his use of simple words is delinquency.
early draft of "a prayer"
Hey Job,
How ya doin'? whatcha sayin'?
where did you go when I laid the foundations of the united nations
in the television station?
where were you when the airplanes were the graves in the sky
for 9 to 5 business ties and temptress children in their
eye?
where were you when I tell 'em where to stick it when
the loveless eat shit when the young 'uns have a fit?
where were you when they preached their self-righteous bullshit
on the side of the road, and they told them fucking faggots where to go
where were you
when the president expired when the unions got retired when
the universe was wired on methamphetamine coughdrops in the
eye of the cyclops shining battling the fog in the eye of
the mob?
where were you when the sky crashed down and the men looked
up with a frown?
where were you when my law fell flat when they [two illegible words]
of the units and my life is [illegible]?
where were you
when the towers fell down onto the NYC ground
and the children were nowhere to be found?
where were you when I made the hurricane
and ate the
where were you when I sent the tsunami and ate
the entirety of...
Jasmine (unfinished poem)
on the day my parents drove me to school
Jasmine gleamed
her eyes and grabbed
my hand
with her little child fingers - matching mine -
running and
spinning
me 'round the room;
while the little architects made
mansions
in the sand.
untitled fragment #3
The first fit for a king
the second for praises sing
the third fit for a grave
untitled fragment #4
The wicked generation asks for a sign
And this is the sign you'll see:
The son of man upon a tree
untitled unfinished poem
you have written in permanent lines
_____________on my flesh
your influence & words
______on my mind
your coldness & heat
____on my soul
so you are a memory
_______and a curse
that blesses my life
with the fondness of one day
overcoming the pain of hundreds
weird unfinished poem
__They with
_______mascara eyes
bathe in your blue
underneath your
____skin
__ah, fuck!
mother,
__into your uterus I lift my spirit
_______so you can conceive me again
_______so you can consume me again
in your_______still as yet
_____unscarred
body, undefiled by my appearance
escaping beneath folds of skin
________________I am not a teacher
_______________________I am a dead heart
__Are you a sin to me?
__Am I defiled in your womb
__earth is dead land my home
that I am fettered to
____forgive me
original concept of "no silent night"
No silent night in here, not
just a long howl of defeat
no humble restoration
no manger for the Christ
no peace no peace no peace no
no peace within the tattered
frame, no joy or rest within
the heart, - rest in just a false
muse that brings you to your knees
no rest no rest no rest no
no art to let the shadows
in, no love to bring us peace
because peace is just a
cease fire unrea without love
no love no love no love no
hide your name on my front door
hide my face in your shoulder
untitled unfinished poem
___________over the water floating
__I imagined myself dead
my dad said I should be working
_____________"It's all uphill from here"
____he never knew how to lead me
____I wished I was in India
It was only a daydream so I bought a ticket
________to Chicago where they scratched
three numbers on their foreheads in a sort of
____foolish_____idealism
unfinished fragment #5
wait:onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightdays
_____________sing the old song lhude! lhude! lhude!
Moses is dead son, take up your arms
earliest draft of he(braic)syllabic
Sing an old song
___sharpened & chiseled words like daggers
___Sing an old song,
__________Lhude,
_____not forgotten.
Your eyes are a ballroom,
__________________sing!
wide and trampled
_____not forgotten.
blank edges on papyrus strips
_________you are not an old man
untitled unfinished poem
we are constructing voices
we are construing grammatical
we are culture less
we broke plurality
we are discussion
I am adversarial
You are alterity
are we seduction
or ravishing?
431 (this was a joke for my Old English class)
"Anthing can be a modern poem!
I can just use words we mention!"
Save
___as__r
tf____Chicago__manual
of style.
Dick powder;
Conan___--___oniongirl.
TEMPEST!
Space
__________war of the
__________worlds.
in dreams (unfinished)
Poetry is best
with no words,
only shapes and colours--
an endless palate of construction.
You are a circle
with no colour.
I am red
with no shape.
the devil & machine guns (unfinished)
____________________as far as I can tell
_____the devil likes machine guns,
________cause he's pointing one at your back.
__________But don't you worry none,
__________cause Christ got one on his.
Cave (This will be revised for my book)
I used to stand under streetlights at night and watch
my shadow grow. I was small but could
be so big, my head a mountain for the ants to scale,
my body a gladiator
______________but still a child
___Now I crawl into the cave and watch the shadows
dance in the flames, because it is so much safer.
____________and in the cave you dance
______to flicker and fade
_______________and I watch
___________still,
___________________forever
_____________and waiting.
