Poetry Manuscript (all of it)
here is my entire poetry manuscript, what i've been working on all semester. it will be submitted to one (maybe two) chapbook contests as part of the "final exam" for the class. Chapbooks are just small books of poetry usually with some kind of theme holding the pieces together. My theme was Tarot cards (as i got a lovely set for Christmas). The spacing is going to be different than the word doc. version, not that it matters to you (if anyone ever actually reads this...
Sleeper
From above, footsteps settle me to stasis
make a metronome of my dirt cocoon
coax my heart to beat.
They bustle while beneath
their feet I metamorphose.
I grow and dream, push flowers
through cracks in the cement.
I sing to sleeping cicadas
dance with earthworms,
count the ants like
shiny black sheep.
The dreams I dream
tangle in the grass roots
and feed the growing greenery.
Some day I will emerge
scramble up from the soil
shake the dirt from my skin
and walk in warm daylight,
but for now, my cool haven
is just enough.
----------------
IX Swords
Pale-face, sunken-eyed fear
you are caged, half-mad, so close
to the world beyond the nine bars
sword sharp, and just wide enough
to pass through intact, if only
they were farther apart.
Inside are gnawing demons that feed on sleep,
wailing insecurities, spindle-legged regret
beasts of burdens. Hunch-back self-hatred,
and all manner of gross imaginary defects.
You can, you will
you must push through.
Bleed the worry, doubt, pain.
Dare the massive monsters
to give chase, to slice themselves
clean through, where you will
escape by the skin on your back.
A thousand tiny cuts will shed
the damaged coat, and you
will be whole again
and singing like the steel.
--------------------------
Pandemic
To contain joy
such as mine
would be unethical.
It is an infection
waiting to be shared.
It is passed person to person
through proximity
even across the room
no one is safe
from the Effervescent Contagion.
It presents as overall warmth
in the chest
and will spread to the limbs.
It will consume from marrow to skin
until it seeps through
and the host is rendered incandescent.
Incapable of anything beyond radiating the butterfly virus
mutation that diffuses into you
the firebird juggernaut superman postal carrier unstoppable
sterling feeling for which there is no inoculation.
------------------------------
A Damsel Walks into a Bar
The Knight thin as his cue
is the first to see her,
summon her with a tilt of his head.
First to ignore her in favor
of the dark wood table
with the green felt top.
First to greet her, ruffle her hair
call her a name, and dismiss her
in favor of the pair of something
curvier and blonder at a nearby table.
The Sweet-faced Knight is overjoyed.
Boyish Knight who prefers
to leave his heavy armor home
can spend the embrace
burning a hole through his chest.
With no sword he makes
the world’s edges soft
and all rosy again.
Not so far from bullish and bearish
the pair of knights in shiniest armor
sit and discuss alignments
and how they will get around
those damn lawful-goody-two-shoes.
The one with the lamb-like
curls and sheepish smile
takes familiarity into account
and slides down so she can sit.
The second, a formidable fellow,
has perfected pretending
that he does not notice
he’s always the one
buying rounds, picking up
the tab. It’s a benefit
his ribcage vault holds
much more than enough.
The final Knight is aware she’s there
he just has not looked
up from his notebook.
There are so many details
to worry about before he can
be satisfied. It might be all night
before he looks up and smiles,
if he smiles. Beautiful boy.
It’s hard to say whether
he’ll light this bar on fire
and burn her up with it
or leave her shivering cold.
--------------------------
Heads or Tails
I.
They have been alive for thousands of years,
will be for thousands more.
Where we go, they are waiting
wrapped around our thoughts at night.
East to west, they raid our pockets,
coat our shields, circle our necks,
dry our forests to the bone,
burn us in effigy, and give us reason
to keep our blades sharp and our families
inside on shadowless afternoons.
II.
Daybreak to nightfall,
benevolent with boulder melting charm,
man sends me ahead to guard his women,
dream upon his piles of gold.
I light their village in winter
to keep cruel creeping chill
from their little thatch huts.
In the dry season I’ll clear
crops from the fields.
I am so helpful, they reward
me with mutton, beef and goose.
Dragon they call me.
Dragon is just a petty word
for the one who has it all.
-------------------------
Dark mother
Skull-faced mother
Claw foot mother
Will sink the boat
Deny her womb slime entrance
Gold-tipped mother
Bloated mother
Fang-toothed mother
The air
Thick air
Black water
Gritty shore
Dark mother
Hooded mother
Restless mother
Watching out at sea
Thick air
Broken boat
Spindle-clawed mother
Cruel-mother
Pregnant mother
Death mother
Death mother
Life mother
Life mother life motherlifemotherlife
---------------------------
The Hanged Man
Effortless,
lackadaisical,
I am not man
I am machine
upended philosopher
wisest fool.
The branch above is sturdy,
ground below firm,
my friend the rope holds fast.
I am (as they do not say)
heels over head for you
for I could not have
done it without you.
A man in my position
could not hang himself
in this position
without drawing
attention to himself.
Was that sentence circular?
Forgive me please,
I struggle to comprehend
anything aside from
the thrill of blood through my ears
and the sick giddy feeling
that comes at the end of a rope.
--------------------------------
Entry of the Gladiators (that familiar circus theme)
Brass band welcome for the sawdust crowd
barking mad ringmaster with a gap tooth grin.
Step right up folks, step right in,
there is not another show like it
not anywhere at all.
Red and white filtered world.
Elegant, decadent, until you’re between tents.
Dirt floor alleyways
less than gleeful tenants who
scowl from milk crate stoops
Don’t get lost kid, not back there.
Siamese twins perpetually fight for
the gypsy who
only has eyes for
the strongman who
can only see the beast he’s paid to bait
night after night, his skin nearly as scarred as
the knife-thrower’s girl who
was caught with
the sword swallower who
has heartburn that keeps him up at night.
She (the girl) has stitches on stitches
from the blade throwing devil
with a temper like a child.
The mermaid will drown
the lizard man if
he tries to climb in her tank one more time.
He gets so hot in the sun, he cannot help
But try and cool down.
Roughneck acrobats, sun-tan-dry
will talk to anyone who
will listen to gossip about
Moon-pale contortionists
and how their trailer is bigger.
They can fit in suitcases
why do they get the double wide?
-----------------------------
Scansion
Poetry, glossy in my hand
words arranged, shapes
give meaning to symbols
together they are books,
I can neither predict
nor reveal
I can only interpret
show you pattern and picture
you make them mean,
a bird is a bird, but is it yours?
Time, once again
time is relative.
It is not in my control.
You are not in my control.
I need you to believe in me.
I am no Sybil, I just have a trustworthy face
I will not feed the sheep.
I will not pick the pocket of the simple.
No gift but metaphor,
No blessing but meaning.
No talent but words.
----------------------------
Pandemic
To contain joy
such as mine
would be unethical.
It is an infection
waiting to be shared.
It is passed person to person
through proximity
even across the room
no one is safe
from the Effervescent Contagion.
It presents as overall warmth
in the chest
and will spread to the limbs.
It will consume from marrow to skin
until it seeps through
and the host is rendered incandescent.
Incapable of anything beyond radiating the butterfly virus
mutation that diffuses into you
the firebird juggernaut superman postal carrier unstoppable
sterling feeling for which there is no inoculation.
---------------------------------
Spoiled
He sits collecting dust while dismissed playthings litter the room. Ones he promised himself he’d play with.
Hockey sticks, an upright piano, sleepily regard one another in viscous half-light.
Unsorted coin collections fill souvenir cups and spill haphazardly across tabletops. Another escape failed.
He is handsome, like his chess set was. Hand carved pieces weathering faster than his face.
He is still young, which is more than he can say for the heirloom violin, it’s case now it’s sarcophagus.
Boredom sticks in his lungs, coats his throat, fencing foils and oil pastels gave up on avoiding the half-mounted animals hung above windows making accidental taxidermy curtains.
The opened-once magic kit keeps company with back-broken books ostracized to the un-sanded bookshelf.
A shape that may have been a puppy (he can’t remember) is tucked in on itself near the leg of his chair.
If only there was something to do.
But he cannot see through partial crossword puzzles papering the floor of his two-story birdhouse. Air around him moves in a sigh, the only sound in weeks, and the chair beneath him wonders how long it will take the master to rust.
----------------------
Whitewater Angel
Hello stranger,
I can feel
your sadness.
Come to me
with heavy soul,
and saline rivers
beginning
from your heart
I will wade
to meet you.
Do not fear
the water
for it will
wash you clean.
You can sit
to dry
on the banks
where the sun
will nurse
a smile
from a face
once foul.
I will go back
to the river
where it flows
the quickest
to catch
the passing
bodies before
they reach
the sea.
----------------------
Bones Tempt a Lady
Bones tempt a Lady in the old moonlight
I am so cold lady
lay with me a while.
Let me feel where your flesh lives.
sing me stories of hearts and lungs.
Pretty lady, sweet lady,
covered-in-skin lady
dirt to my casket.
My grave is wide my heart was deep
you will fit so well inside.
Lady says to Bones in the cold morning gray.
Old bones, cold bones,
I’ll lay with you a while.
Feel my heartbeat, feel my breath
you will never leave me, not even for death.
Pale bones, lonely bones
keep other men away,
no one wants a lady who smells like a grave.
---------------------------------
Insanity
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over
expecting different results.
Insanity is asking questions of inanimate objects.
Cards, potted plants, knives, scarves, band-aids, cards.
When will?
Insanity
What will?
Is doing
If I…then will?
The same thing
Faces on the cards
will tell you no more than the faces in real life.
You can see whatever you want to see,
insanity is believing it’s true.
But he?
Over and over
She said?
expecting
They did what?
Different results.
Words lie
Faces lie
Touches lie
People lie.
Ask away.
Sleeper
From above, footsteps settle me to stasis
make a metronome of my dirt cocoon
coax my heart to beat.
They bustle while beneath
their feet I metamorphose.
I grow and dream, push flowers
through cracks in the cement.
I sing to sleeping cicadas
dance with earthworms,
count the ants like
shiny black sheep.
The dreams I dream
tangle in the grass roots
and feed the growing greenery.
Some day I will emerge
scramble up from the soil
shake the dirt from my skin
and walk in warm daylight,
but for now, my cool haven
is just enough.
----------------
IX Swords
Pale-face, sunken-eyed fear
you are caged, half-mad, so close
to the world beyond the nine bars
sword sharp, and just wide enough
to pass through intact, if only
they were farther apart.
Inside are gnawing demons that feed on sleep,
wailing insecurities, spindle-legged regret
beasts of burdens. Hunch-back self-hatred,
and all manner of gross imaginary defects.
You can, you will
you must push through.
Bleed the worry, doubt, pain.
Dare the massive monsters
to give chase, to slice themselves
clean through, where you will
escape by the skin on your back.
A thousand tiny cuts will shed
the damaged coat, and you
will be whole again
and singing like the steel.
--------------------------
Pandemic
To contain joy
such as mine
would be unethical.
It is an infection
waiting to be shared.
It is passed person to person
through proximity
even across the room
no one is safe
from the Effervescent Contagion.
It presents as overall warmth
in the chest
and will spread to the limbs.
It will consume from marrow to skin
until it seeps through
and the host is rendered incandescent.
Incapable of anything beyond radiating the butterfly virus
mutation that diffuses into you
the firebird juggernaut superman postal carrier unstoppable
sterling feeling for which there is no inoculation.
------------------------------
A Damsel Walks into a Bar
The Knight thin as his cue
is the first to see her,
summon her with a tilt of his head.
First to ignore her in favor
of the dark wood table
with the green felt top.
First to greet her, ruffle her hair
call her a name, and dismiss her
in favor of the pair of something
curvier and blonder at a nearby table.
The Sweet-faced Knight is overjoyed.
Boyish Knight who prefers
to leave his heavy armor home
can spend the embrace
burning a hole through his chest.
With no sword he makes
the world’s edges soft
and all rosy again.
Not so far from bullish and bearish
the pair of knights in shiniest armor
sit and discuss alignments
and how they will get around
those damn lawful-goody-two-shoes.
The one with the lamb-like
curls and sheepish smile
takes familiarity into account
and slides down so she can sit.
The second, a formidable fellow,
has perfected pretending
that he does not notice
he’s always the one
buying rounds, picking up
the tab. It’s a benefit
his ribcage vault holds
much more than enough.
The final Knight is aware she’s there
he just has not looked
up from his notebook.
There are so many details
to worry about before he can
be satisfied. It might be all night
before he looks up and smiles,
if he smiles. Beautiful boy.
It’s hard to say whether
he’ll light this bar on fire
and burn her up with it
or leave her shivering cold.
--------------------------
Heads or Tails
I.
They have been alive for thousands of years,
will be for thousands more.
Where we go, they are waiting
wrapped around our thoughts at night.
East to west, they raid our pockets,
coat our shields, circle our necks,
dry our forests to the bone,
burn us in effigy, and give us reason
to keep our blades sharp and our families
inside on shadowless afternoons.
II.
Daybreak to nightfall,
benevolent with boulder melting charm,
man sends me ahead to guard his women,
dream upon his piles of gold.
I light their village in winter
to keep cruel creeping chill
from their little thatch huts.
In the dry season I’ll clear
crops from the fields.
I am so helpful, they reward
me with mutton, beef and goose.
Dragon they call me.
Dragon is just a petty word
for the one who has it all.
-------------------------
Dark mother
Skull-faced mother
Claw foot mother
Will sink the boat
Deny her womb slime entrance
Gold-tipped mother
Bloated mother
Fang-toothed mother
The air
Thick air
Black water
Gritty shore
Dark mother
Hooded mother
Restless mother
Watching out at sea
Thick air
Broken boat
Spindle-clawed mother
Cruel-mother
Pregnant mother
Death mother
Death mother
Life mother
Life mother life motherlifemotherlife
---------------------------
The Hanged Man
Effortless,
lackadaisical,
I am not man
I am machine
upended philosopher
wisest fool.
The branch above is sturdy,
ground below firm,
my friend the rope holds fast.
I am (as they do not say)
heels over head for you
for I could not have
done it without you.
A man in my position
could not hang himself
in this position
without drawing
attention to himself.
Was that sentence circular?
Forgive me please,
I struggle to comprehend
anything aside from
the thrill of blood through my ears
and the sick giddy feeling
that comes at the end of a rope.
--------------------------------
Entry of the Gladiators (that familiar circus theme)
Brass band welcome for the sawdust crowd
barking mad ringmaster with a gap tooth grin.
Step right up folks, step right in,
there is not another show like it
not anywhere at all.
Red and white filtered world.
Elegant, decadent, until you’re between tents.
Dirt floor alleyways
less than gleeful tenants who
scowl from milk crate stoops
Don’t get lost kid, not back there.
Siamese twins perpetually fight for
the gypsy who
only has eyes for
the strongman who
can only see the beast he’s paid to bait
night after night, his skin nearly as scarred as
the knife-thrower’s girl who
was caught with
the sword swallower who
has heartburn that keeps him up at night.
She (the girl) has stitches on stitches
from the blade throwing devil
with a temper like a child.
The mermaid will drown
the lizard man if
he tries to climb in her tank one more time.
He gets so hot in the sun, he cannot help
But try and cool down.
Roughneck acrobats, sun-tan-dry
will talk to anyone who
will listen to gossip about
Moon-pale contortionists
and how their trailer is bigger.
They can fit in suitcases
why do they get the double wide?
-----------------------------
Scansion
Poetry, glossy in my hand
words arranged, shapes
give meaning to symbols
together they are books,
I can neither predict
nor reveal
I can only interpret
show you pattern and picture
you make them mean,
a bird is a bird, but is it yours?
Time, once again
time is relative.
It is not in my control.
You are not in my control.
I need you to believe in me.
I am no Sybil, I just have a trustworthy face
I will not feed the sheep.
I will not pick the pocket of the simple.
No gift but metaphor,
No blessing but meaning.
No talent but words.
----------------------------
Pandemic
To contain joy
such as mine
would be unethical.
It is an infection
waiting to be shared.
It is passed person to person
through proximity
even across the room
no one is safe
from the Effervescent Contagion.
It presents as overall warmth
in the chest
and will spread to the limbs.
It will consume from marrow to skin
until it seeps through
and the host is rendered incandescent.
Incapable of anything beyond radiating the butterfly virus
mutation that diffuses into you
the firebird juggernaut superman postal carrier unstoppable
sterling feeling for which there is no inoculation.
---------------------------------
Spoiled
He sits collecting dust while dismissed playthings litter the room. Ones he promised himself he’d play with.
Hockey sticks, an upright piano, sleepily regard one another in viscous half-light.
Unsorted coin collections fill souvenir cups and spill haphazardly across tabletops. Another escape failed.
He is handsome, like his chess set was. Hand carved pieces weathering faster than his face.
He is still young, which is more than he can say for the heirloom violin, it’s case now it’s sarcophagus.
Boredom sticks in his lungs, coats his throat, fencing foils and oil pastels gave up on avoiding the half-mounted animals hung above windows making accidental taxidermy curtains.
The opened-once magic kit keeps company with back-broken books ostracized to the un-sanded bookshelf.
A shape that may have been a puppy (he can’t remember) is tucked in on itself near the leg of his chair.
If only there was something to do.
But he cannot see through partial crossword puzzles papering the floor of his two-story birdhouse. Air around him moves in a sigh, the only sound in weeks, and the chair beneath him wonders how long it will take the master to rust.
----------------------
Whitewater Angel
Hello stranger,
I can feel
your sadness.
Come to me
with heavy soul,
and saline rivers
beginning
from your heart
I will wade
to meet you.
Do not fear
the water
for it will
wash you clean.
You can sit
to dry
on the banks
where the sun
will nurse
a smile
from a face
once foul.
I will go back
to the river
where it flows
the quickest
to catch
the passing
bodies before
they reach
the sea.
----------------------
Bones Tempt a Lady
Bones tempt a Lady in the old moonlight
I am so cold lady
lay with me a while.
Let me feel where your flesh lives.
sing me stories of hearts and lungs.
Pretty lady, sweet lady,
covered-in-skin lady
dirt to my casket.
My grave is wide my heart was deep
you will fit so well inside.
Lady says to Bones in the cold morning gray.
Old bones, cold bones,
I’ll lay with you a while.
Feel my heartbeat, feel my breath
you will never leave me, not even for death.
Pale bones, lonely bones
keep other men away,
no one wants a lady who smells like a grave.
---------------------------------
Insanity
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over
expecting different results.
Insanity is asking questions of inanimate objects.
Cards, potted plants, knives, scarves, band-aids, cards.
When will?
Insanity
What will?
Is doing
If I…then will?
The same thing
Faces on the cards
will tell you no more than the faces in real life.
You can see whatever you want to see,
insanity is believing it’s true.
But he?
Over and over
She said?
expecting
They did what?
Different results.
Words lie
Faces lie
Touches lie
People lie.
Ask away.