24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Rain I hear. Behind soft music.
Tinkling, the bells in front of the storm.
Methought I glimpsed heaven.
Once, when I were small…
But seeing my future?
I gave it up all.
Crying, methinks the source of rain
(your eyes)
The music. The softness. The glimmer.
Methought I glimpsed heaven.
Once. When I were small…
When seeing my past?
I gave it up all.
Sobbing sorrow wreaks havoc on hearts
A child is missing, having vanished in the air
Parents lie awake at night, guilt eating at them
Efforts once made are now tossed aside
Hope has been tossed away to the wind
There once was a man named Chester,
Who had a parrot called Lester.
They went for a ride to Dover
and ended up getting pulled over.
The officer walked up right away
And asked Chester what he had to say,
As Chester opened his mouth to speak,
Lester replied, “Fuck you, Pardon me!”
The officer was nice and asked him twice,
Lester responsed “Fuck what? EXCUSE Me!”
Chester tried in vain to explain, but
The officer was quite put out,
I’m taking you in, he said with no grin and
Don’t you know that damn bird said, again
“Fucking Thank you!” with a sneer and poo.
The judge asked, what should I do with you?
Is there something wrong with your head?
“Well, How the fuck are you?” Lester said.
as they took them a way, he told the court,
“Have a Fucking nice day.” And shat on the door.
Sitting in the cell, side by side, Chester looked over
What you say now you’ve got us in trouble?
Lester shook his head and puffed his chest,
And squawked, “Welcome home. Chester”
Tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep.
Lester
Lue
August 14, 2016
What can glow if you do not? The lungs are mostly water
and easily drowned. In the desert I breathe thin air and cough
sand in my sleep. I have more cousins bit by bats than scorpions.
Our balance is unsteady inside walls and we lean on the cave
for safety. The shot for rabies is thick as milk in the muscle.
The scorpions are mostly seen, except my brother stung
while talking to a girl and lifting a dish rag. He said he was going
to wash. His arm numb for weeks. The body vibrates its own
frequency. I hear skin purr when it’s happy. How do I
prepare for the monster? How do I know when it’s come?
La Casita Corbeil
“Welcome Home” bakes cinnamon apples
“Thank you” washes and dries the dishes
“Excuse me” sands the porch railing
“Have a nice day” plants flowers along the stone path
“Pardon me” buffs the wood with lemon oil
“How are you?” polishes the silver
“It’s my pleasure” pours another glass of Chardonnay
“Enjoy your stay” hangs an abstract Distefano on the parlour wall
“Good morning” prepares a breakfast with mimosas, teas, and homemade blueberry muffins
“Until next time” arranges a basket of wine and cheese
A lake sits beside a trailed forest
A Jeep comes roaring through
Landing on a stump, a tire goes flat
Panic ensues as a struggle occurs
A fight that finally frees the spare
The moon highly risen above the world
Before the Jeep roars to life again
Los Angelinos are the most spatially distracted population in the continental US.
You think this as the museum crowd walks into you.
“It is time for stormy weather.”
Everyone intones, June gloom,
and you wander Melrose for a decent jacket
to survive the remaining junket weekend.
The Blue Line’s brand new; you jaunt from one
tourist hunt to another, but are still confounded
to have a simple request for how to reach a particular street
delegated to a complete stranger, who, of course, doesn’t know.
And, don’t ask a taxi driver.
The one you have is worthless.
Is it coincidence that all the tourist attractions
smell like public urinals?
If Kansas City is a remote expectorant,
Los Angeles is a fever dream with no relief
but departing plane lights.
All your favorite LA movies:
an ex you try to dial
on a sleepless night.
I should be writing a poem
but all I can think about is you
and the way your lips taste
the sound of your voice
that echoes in the deepest corners of my soul
and I am craving you
every single fiber of your body
meshing with
every single fiber of my body
It is hard to concentrate when you have Adonis on the brain
“Welcome home honey,”
A mothers open arms spreading cigarette allergens around,
I hold my breath and bitter resentment,
Enter her embrace,
the essence of her, covered by a vice that alleviates part of her suffering,
who am I to judge?
Survivor of violence people left unnoticed,
I didn’t go through that,
I just witnessed it,
Excuse me,
judgmental bystanders labeling my family as broken,
broken in what sense?
broken- you grew up in poverty,
broken- I didn’t think you would be so successful,
broken- your mom does live in a trailer,
correction- I grew with hunger,
correction- I didn’t see you as worthy of my investment so I didn’t take the time to help you out,
correction- my mom owns that trailer
Thank you very much for your ill concluded observations,
She may spend her paycheck on rent and cigarettes,
but she answers my phone calls every single time,
I wish I could say the same,
“Mother, How are you?”
a question often asked with underlying guilt on my behalf,
the knowledge of her well being, so clearly visible,
“I am doing well, but let’s hear about you?”
She hides her needs,
the hierarchy of knowledge has created distance between us,
education does not mean a lack of suffering,
my worth is not more than yours,
she shows me the room full of my awards again,
pride fills her eyes,
I have a nice day with my mother.