new poetry from Some Guy
Just A Guy On The Website
How Things Should Be
Sound is absorbed
Into walls of a room,
Like birds in the deep blue sea,
Fish in the wide blue sky.
Vibrations diminish
To the point of the nothingness
Moving alongside
The current of evening
To a taxi ride home and undressing,
Taking off the day,
Exchanging the filth
And the stains of a push
In the city
For minute pieces
Of eternity,
One another,
And the way things should truly be.
----------------------
Sex in Heaven
Incorporeal communion-
Take the cup of honey-sweet sweat,
The bread of breasts and a single rib
And moans that rise to heaven.
They do not have to rise too high,
For heaven is surrounding us,
Above, below us and, of the course,
Dripping from within us.
We have the stars of Heaven,
We have the Cistene ceiling-
Pulsing through our opaque skulls,
Rising in our veins.
You and I are desperate,
So we must escape!
Hand in hand, heart to heart,
Brushing wings through silver hedges,
slipping through the holy groves,
Of these celestial gardens.
Taking each our turn
At pulling one another
Quick around the corners.
We hit the ground like first redemption!
Fall into a mess of feathers!
How we are entwined together,
How our kisses search each other,
How we are enthralled...
How we are enfolded!
How our bodies quake as one!
How it's all exploding
Like a million spilling diamonds!
How our quivering limbs go limp.
We lie in a deep and holy repose,
We hold each other close.
Then we rise, adjust our robes
Pull the fractured feathers
From our folded wings and
Yes-straighten up our halos,
All the more now given
To the glory of praise.
---------------------------
I'm Not OK
Whatever it was, i didn't mean to do it.
And I don't need you to tell me-
I know that I blew it.
The flying shoe across the room
Communicates so well.
Better than I do, hear tell.
Whatever I said, I didn't really mean it.
And I don't need you to tell me-
You know that i seen it.
Godzilla glare, sharp teeth stare
Super-heats the yard,
Flamethrowin' frozen Christmas card.
So come on home, baby,
The key's in the snowbank.
The mat's on fire.
The blanket is melting
By the telephone wire,
And the CD player is still broken.
The kitchen is a mess.
But I'm just not OK
Without you.
Not OK without you.
----------------------
How Things Should Be
Sound is absorbed
Into walls of a room,
Like birds in the deep blue sea,
Fish in the wide blue sky.
Vibrations diminish
To the point of the nothingness
Moving alongside
The current of evening
To a taxi ride home and undressing,
Taking off the day,
Exchanging the filth
And the stains of a push
In the city
For minute pieces
Of eternity,
One another,
And the way things should truly be.
----------------------
Sex in Heaven
Incorporeal communion-
Take the cup of honey-sweet sweat,
The bread of breasts and a single rib
And moans that rise to heaven.
They do not have to rise too high,
For heaven is surrounding us,
Above, below us and, of the course,
Dripping from within us.
We have the stars of Heaven,
We have the Cistene ceiling-
Pulsing through our opaque skulls,
Rising in our veins.
You and I are desperate,
So we must escape!
Hand in hand, heart to heart,
Brushing wings through silver hedges,
slipping through the holy groves,
Of these celestial gardens.
Taking each our turn
At pulling one another
Quick around the corners.
We hit the ground like first redemption!
Fall into a mess of feathers!
How we are entwined together,
How our kisses search each other,
How we are enthralled...
How we are enfolded!
How our bodies quake as one!
How it's all exploding
Like a million spilling diamonds!
How our quivering limbs go limp.
We lie in a deep and holy repose,
We hold each other close.
Then we rise, adjust our robes
Pull the fractured feathers
From our folded wings and
Yes-straighten up our halos,
All the more now given
To the glory of praise.
---------------------------
I'm Not OK
Whatever it was, i didn't mean to do it.
And I don't need you to tell me-
I know that I blew it.
The flying shoe across the room
Communicates so well.
Better than I do, hear tell.
Whatever I said, I didn't really mean it.
And I don't need you to tell me-
You know that i seen it.
Godzilla glare, sharp teeth stare
Super-heats the yard,
Flamethrowin' frozen Christmas card.
So come on home, baby,
The key's in the snowbank.
The mat's on fire.
The blanket is melting
By the telephone wire,
And the CD player is still broken.
The kitchen is a mess.
But I'm just not OK
Without you.
Not OK without you.
----------------------
posted by just a guy at 4:40 PM
3 Comments:
Umm...this makes it sound like I abuse you. To all reading this...it's made up...there is no throwing of things, except maybe baby toys in love and fun. Don't call the police on us, we're great, no one is hurt. ---wife
Apparently, my wife reads my blog from time to time and has taken issue with this specific poem and its contents. I've been encouraged (because 'threatened' is a word that should be reserved for very special circumstances) to add a comment from the author (that's me) regarding the tone and purpose of the poem, and that the situation is fictionalized and based on stories I've heard, not on actual events. Never has said spouse ever thrown an object at me in wrath or hate. She has, however, often lobbed infant toys towards my head in what she said was a 'joke' or just 'kidding around'. The fact that they hurt and sometimes draws blood is not the point, she says. So I'm supposed to say that the poem is only a regrattable facimile of someone else's relationship that I heard of from a friend of a friend. This is to preserve the image that our relationship is NOT one based on a series of domestic abuses and aerial episodes of shock and awe. There. I've said it.
OK, OK! So, all joking aside, I've been asked (again) by my wife to put down all assumptions of my readers that violence is involved in our relationship at any level other than what it takes to get the best of the other in a nice, friendly game of Settlers of Catan. That's the truth. All is well. Violence is the work of the Devil. That is all. Peace to all. Happy, happy, joy, joy, just kidding.
To quote Stuart Davis: "I mean it, I mean it, I'm kidding. Have a little anesthesia..."
Post a Comment
<< Home