Poem of the Week
A Private Meeting At The Beach
* ah! i laughed so hard when i found this poem... i wrote this in 1998 when i moved to texas and went to galveston beach. enjoy *
A Private Meeting At The Beach
You appeared from nowhere like a sandpiper.
Your shadow crossing the sun's path to my closed eyes
Like a cold brick.
You would soon ask why I come to the beach alone.
And I would reply.
It is safe to say that if you sit long enough
On the beach with your toes
Like ostrich heads in the sand,
You will feel the very pulse of the Earth,
That strange vibe the globe gives off
Where the water meets
A shifting land,
And the sand is all of those
Battered and devastated beings
Once perched somewhere in an underwater garden.
They've given up for you to lie on,
To feel that beating,
That underground thunder
That makes the blood flow and
The tides turn.
Any ancient astronomer
Would tell you that
Mirandas on the moon are oceans and
Their murky depths reach right up to
The planet's edge,
The push and pull of the astral waters
Caused by the gravity of the Earth and
It's own lunar center...
But they are not seas,
Just moondust-
No waves of motion
Nor tides
Until some outerspace debris smacks it and
Sends a tsunami of dirt across the landscape
To form another empty socket.
And to think that half of the rhythm is simply
The moon's pull on the water-
All that spinning and tugging and whirring
And pulsing...
Just to feel it here-
Just me and my toes buried into that magic cauldron...
And you were gone, as quick as an eel
When I replied,
"Just to be alone."
- Sunday, June 26, 2005 I Was A Judy Doll
* woooooaaaah... i wrote this back in 1994 and was obviously a very angry young man. i found this buried deep in an old drive in my old computer. i think this was meant for 'indiana the island' but didn't make it in the book. enjoy - yikes! *
I was a Judy doll for your anger.
You, no, all of you
Would thrash me until my arms popped
And stuffing bulged,
My face shown floor marks,
My hair thinned,
And my legs twisted like a cat's.
I stood in hallways surrounded by metal holding tanks,
Surrounded by the rah-rah's and the go-team's
And a mascot that looked so foolish with that sword
And that kilt.
You all said I wore the dress.
I would dress for myself,
The black was my heart,
Purple for inner-royalty,
Crystal for my mind
And blues for each of your sorry lives.
Pump my gas.
Give me a full goddamn tank.
Wash my windshield and check my oil.
How badly you wanted inside of me.
Your fist never punched through my skin,
Your poking fingers couldn't reach my orifices,
So now you may check my dip-stick.
Go ahead,
Wipe it off and stick it in.
Push it in deeply until it's stuck there for good.
How I watch your belly grow.
How I watch girls' and boys' bellies grow.
Some a folly
Some a beer jug.
Some a crab hole of small town misery.
I stood in a gymnasium with every face in my head.
I know all of you like the fifty states.
I know your borders.
I know which of you are surrounded by other states,
Which have water ways, which have watery-edges
And which have deep valleys with secrets.
I still stand in that gymnasium.
And you thought high school was so important.
High school was some oasis or festival,
Or flogging.
High school was merely a pit stop for you.
Did you see that the other three tires would blow out soon?
Did you notice that I checked the air in my tires every day?
I checked the tread, the water, the oil.
Why did I have to fill your tanks all through high school?
Every name you called me moved the gage closer to full.
Yet every calendar day silently moved it closer to empty.
I knew my true fuel gage.
I knew I was only running on fumes.
Now it is your turn to fill my tank.
When I visit home and you smile and wave,
You are thinking that times have past
And that bygones are bygones.
It is not so.
I am smiling, knowing that you are miserable
In your wretched home.
Your dogs more important than your daughter
Your beer more important than your spouse,
Your bills outweighing your life.
This is my revenge.
When I think of a Judy doll now,
I see her in a toy trunk,
The top unopened for years,
The arms strangely reattaching,
The eyes not so wide,
Legs and hair in straight lines.
And smudges disappearing like spring snow.
When I think of you, no, all of you now,
I smile.
You still live next to that high school,
Surrounded by cornfields,
Sleeping on opposite sides of the bed,
Fat and lonely
And a strange smell of gasoline in the room.
- Sunday, June 05, 2005 poem of the week archives