I leave the lair
dark and desolute
damp and musty
and wander in the sunshine
for awhile yet
before the rest
before the darkness
I leave the lair
and wander among the breating ones
still for awhile
Blackheart comes for me
he will find me indeed
as always beside the waters
of the
creek
***
the wild poetman of acadia
poetry for breakfast
cannot hear other lies
size twelve work boots
striding, striding
blackening pages
mosquito blood inscriptions
forest, flames and gases
tasting wild with ease
scoping, scoping, scoping
scanning forest leaves
secret mosses swathing
a primal breakfast core.
***
Happiness
I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me, what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I was trying to fool with them.
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines River
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.
Funeral
somber, muted, hushed
soft sobbing the music
hellos and sadness
family to the left
bikers to the right
children screaming silently
crushed by the shere weight of the crime
a man who left too early
signing a name
leaving a mark
i was here
you weren’t
well
they’re not taking me fuckin alive
i go kicking and screaming
clawing at life
inhaling beauty
grasping armfuls of love
clasping it to my breast
howling in agony
for any opportunity missed
material, burned and scorched
by my breath
my words dangling from clouds
riding the thermals on hawk wings
no tombstone –
memories
remarks
deeds done
laughter passed
love given
arms not somberly folded
but spread wide as the smile not erased
for every moment stolen
mark These words on my life
she lived
she lived
till the last goddamned second
she infinitely lives.
Suicide
if you had to go
i understand
you hurt, i heal
questions eat my heart
coffins hold no soul
moon slivered in a cold summer sky
stars shimmer and have you now
peacefulness your song
i, empty sky
were you trying to live someone elses life
dream others’ dreams
eat too much of the good life
all around you propaganda
filling your ears with pus and gore
family, obligations
these were blessings
not a sign to die
someone has to eat the shit
and spit out flowers
stop the stones from the glass houses
why me.
You never crossed the emotional line
We were such good friends
You called
I answered the phone
You told me on Christ’s birthday
You were leaving
I closed my ears and couldn’t hear you
You never called again
I have an answering machine
Clean, clinical, messages
You’re never there.
***
YOUNG SEA
THE sea is never still.
It pounds on the shore
Restless as a young heart,
Hunting.
The sea speaks
And only the stormy hearts
Know what it says:
It is the face
of a rough mother speaking.
The sea is young.
One storm cleans all the hoar
And loosens the age of it.
I hear it laughing, reckless.
They love the sea,
Men who ride on it
And know they will die
Under the salt of it
Let only the young come,
Says the sea.
Let them kiss my face
And hear me.
I am the last word
And I tell
Where storms and stars come from.
Chasing the Dream
by Marilyn McIntyre
time floating downstream
in an ancient bottle
plugged with different futures
I dash excitedly
up and down the bank
like a well trained Lassie
barking excitedly
and then wade in to stop time
the eddy pried it away
running on rapidly
burbling with life
and plunging round the bend
i wonder what the
message might have been
don’t chase me down
I’m here, I’m gone
and life is but a dream.
***