A Hate Poem (inspired by "Ten Things I Hate About You"

I hate ! I hate! I hate!
What doth I hate? Well, let's see...

I hate the way you care for me
I hate the way you're nice
I hate how you're always there for me
Without ever thinking twice.

I hate your princely manners
I hate your oozing charm
I hate the way you're gentle
And never mean me harm.

I hate the way you dress
I hate your sexy hair
I hate your personality
And how you're always fair.

I hate your sense of humour
I hate that you're never mean
I hate the way you tease me
Yet treat me like a queen.

I hate how the way you hold me
I hate how hard you work
To really get to know me
And all my little quirks.

I hate when you insist to walk me home
I hate the joy you bring
I hate the way you talk to me
Like I'm your everything.

I hate you with a passion
I hate you through and through
But as for how my heart feels...?
Maybe the opposite
Of hate
Will do.

Walking to the Coffeehouse Before Class

We were awake
before the steeple woke
with cannon-bursts of bells,
shaking pigeons from its tower like
the last vestiges of sleep.

And cloud-fat pigeons wend the sky;
bob, sweep, dip, and sigh.
This morning, like so many mornings---
you and I stretch our wings
beneath the first turquoise reaches of sun.

Our love is small and sure---
an egg cradled within
the nest of our two hands.

The pigeons sigh and swing,
lower, lower
towards the silent street.
This morning like so many mornings,

half-remembered
snatches of
birdsong; lovers' talk.

This morning, like so many mornings
gone

leaving not a feather.

Something Sweet

In something downed
There is something sweet
In the way love sings
In the way we meet
With shaking hands
And willing feet
We march on
To our own heartbeat
It falls in rhythm
But it fails in rhyme
Love like this
Should not be confined
Wherever I go
I want you there too
And if you don't want it
Then I'll follow YOU
Through the sand on the bottom
Of every green sea
We'll walk hand in hand
And whatever will be
We'll face together
And remember we're free
For though they may hate us
And scorn and condemn
The love we have between us
Will leave no hatred for them
I'll see to it
That you reach your dreams
I'll work every day
To make sure your pastures are green
Never regret
That the world may ignore you
For all that it's worth
I'm rooting for you.

Life without tv

The movers took my television set
The repo man...my car
The bank foreclosed upon my house
And left me broke by far.

The neighbors don't care that I'm homeless now
My friends all laugh and jeer
That's what you get
When you place a bet
Upon the

"light-house"

the body of time is a star-map,
guiding our ship, swollen
with vast decks of cannons,
___like a cup or a palm brimming
___with the too-sweet dreams of men;

dreams that hover over the hulls
like mist— lusty lullabies
___of land-locked women, all
______breasts and bodices.
___and maybe the commodore
______dreams in diagrams? or
______sometimes of the choleric pearl
______sweatings of his
youngest son?

______or, once, a glass
______house filled with light?

and once i dreamt that time
branched backwards
and forwards in too many
tunnels and wormholes, a thousand or more.

_______________last night i dreamed a map
____________on the commodore’s palm,
_________and of following him to the cusp
______of the earth and plunging
___down the star-deep
cavern of time,

where i met star-fishes and
conversed with nebulas,
pulsing like primordial
jellyfish in a frozen sea.

"pyre, prayer"

today, harvesting flames
from the great dragon tree—
roots tangling and leeching,
withered like a tumor of
the bed-locked, dying earth.

i offer my prayer, blowing
petals on the ground and watching them
skirt and spiral like vipers
or paper kites amongst
the ash.

the ruby dragon sleeps
at the center of the world, busy
knowing and knowing.

now and then, volcanoes
sprout from the ocean.
now and then, the earth
stretches and moans and grows
wide.

i love the pumice smell
of dragon’s breath,
born and born and born.
blue, red,
green, brown,
sway, subside, succeed—

dragon fire birthing
the phoenix earth.

"poemworm"

i’ve learned
the wisdom of the silkworm,
known the soft
cradle of the dirt.

i’ve listened
to the flicker of the great
tree-heart,

i’ve thought tree thoughts,
many-rooted and gossamer.

i have spun silver
silk all night and day;
i have netted the sun,
like an ancient fish, flashing
goldenrod here and there
in the brine,
fish-mouth
surprised and gasping.

Going to Nick's...naked

Every night,
After my work was done,
I would shower
Letting the water
Rain down on my head
Drag through straggly strands of hair
And wash over my back
Letting it rinse away
The dirt and grime of the day’s work
Then I would take a walk
Downtown to Nick’s Tavern
Find an empty booth
And sit there for hours writing.
Just writing.
Writing until my fingers hurt
And my wrist ached
And my heart bled
And my mind was so full
Of jumbled-up words
That ran together so much
That I couldn’t even think straight anymore.
And the only thing that could ever heal me…
Didn’t want me.
What was one supposed to do
When that happened?

I always left Nick’s early too.
Around eight or so,
Making sure they never saw me there.
I never wanted my friends to see me like that.
I had been avoiding them.
Seeing them
In their happy pairings
And lovely couples
In their easy friendship
And light banter
Was more than I can bear
And more than I can admit to bearing
So I always left early
Taking my heartache
And silent musings
My naked emotions
With me
(And like me)
Away into the night
And lost unto the world.

Heartfelt

You hold my heart
And my heart is a rose
Inside it hides things
It's too afraid to show.

It can be a pleasure to have
Or a thorn in the side
Something so small
With mystery inside.

Rich in beauty
But planted with secrets
Dripping in symbolism
Though it's hard to see it.

It's wanted by few
Despite being rare
It lives with seclusion
But blossoms with care.

But it blooms in your presence
Both its sun and its rain
It withers when you're away
Its life force is drained.

You make my heart tender
And paint it with blush
It's yours for the taking
To accept or to crush.

With one single touch
You render it anew
I know it's not much
But I offer it to you.

"autumn fire" tanka sequence

yellow moon fever—
children clap, fireflies go dark.
summer snapped shut.
the sun plummets, leaves catch fire.
falling! the crack of the noose.

autumn smells like tea—
spices and billowing leaves.
trees perish in fire,
halloween masks of bone-mouths
drinking the ash of summer.

noon—fire in the fields;
a checkered picnic blanket
____cartwheels, abandoned.
i blow smoke out the window,
____my lover rides the train home.

About siblings

Ask and you shall receive
(Boy, was I deceived)
A pain in the butt at best
But a gift nonetheless.

Author's Note: Possibly one of the shortest poems I've ever written. But to the point, no doubt.

"dragon bone poetry"

figurine small, tiny
dancer legs, spin, spin, spin,
a gravity well gathering—
light, pooling where achingly
small palms draw the water-threads,

silver with moon.
quicksilver

strings on a violin,
the tap, tap, tap of chemical
rain on the windowpane,
a sliver of dawn, the tap, tap, tap
of my fingers, acrobatic and
fluid, drumming the typewriter.

words like golden needles,
each stitch of ink, delicate
bones of a dragon, oracle
bones in an ancient sea, buried in silt
and silver shards of fish scales, the quiet
well of the dust-blue water beyond

the fingers of the moon.

oh, the skeletal form, the
wish, wish sounds of wings
brushing the night, each hooked
and clever bone, keen ivory in the jade
sea of constellations, oh golden
dragon billowing on the eastern wind,
oh song of my heart, violin words
dancing on the paper like

moon on water.

"field, bloom"

I appologize for the delay. I've been feeling quite ill the last couple of days-- actually, I'm not too much better today, but I really need to catch up-- so, yeah, I abandoned my poor poetry. I'm trying to get back on schedule as quickly as possible, so forgive me if my next poems come out like nonsensical existential ramblings like this one. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

-----------

“field, bloom”

amidst the fields
of clover and
honey, the bees.

my nectar, my
breath, soothing sounds
and a balm on this
heat, the drag, the face in
the splintered core
of summer, the hot,
restless core.

coo, owl.
am i?

field, field, field,
there is a field
below. and all the thrushes
paint their songs
on the wind,
and all the flowers
bloom and willow on my
skin, and the magma
blooms and bellows from

within. am i?
here, or wherever,
the dark succeeds the day.
here, or wherever,
my lover’s face of clay.

bloom, bloom, bloom,
gamma bursts of fireflies
in the field below.
soon, soon, soon,
the dark succeeds the day.

am i?

To My Muse, My Nymph, My Orgy

While others write songs
About chasing pavements
And the mercy of love
I writhe and write
As I wait for you

“It’s hard to hope for something that may never happen.
But it’s even harder to give it up
Especially when it’s everything you’ve ever hoped for.”

Here’s what I wait for…

The crescendo of your hips
The vines of flowers in your hair
There is a poetry to your words
That lends an ethereal magic to the air
You are
The perfect woman
The perfect muse
Perfect in all your imperfections
Whining in soft tones
And intertwining in high whistles
Where did all the music go?
Why wouldst it retreat like so?
If not for you, there would be no notes
Nothing left in the bars of your bones
And the staff of your eminent figure
The treble of your voice
And the bass of your murmur
The context of your eyes
And the lines of your skin
Will it ought not be mine?
Just to touch
If only for an eternity.
The thread of your smile
And the squares of colors
I see in your fabric
Hangs loosely on your skin
And grips tightly to my aching heart
Never let me go
O Nymph of the Grey Waters
For how will I ever see again
When my light is taken away from me?

For all the world I trade it not
To hear the linger of your thoughts
Left alone in the bask sunshade
Let my night become your day
I would traverse the seas
In time and bare feet
Just to be near (yet blown away!)
From the sultry temptress of your sighs
Days gone by and nights within
Without the taste of fervent tries
To touch the sky
With your fingers wrapped
Around my trembling wrist
What punishment could be worse than this…
Feel of your unending bliss?

My muse, my nymph, my fervor galore
Please say it one more time, I implore
If it weren’t these galaxies that separate the time and place
I would gladly stumble and fall
Into your boundless grace

Let it linger, no, let it go
There can be nothing happier
Than this, my woe.

Feelings

Your heart is a golden moment
Your smile is entrancing.
What I wouldn't give to own it
And set it alight and dancing.

You’re exhilarating, liberating,
Complicating, exacerbating,
Who knows how long I've been waiting
For this, for this
A taste of bliss?

Feelings of sadness, feelings of woe
I kiss them good-bye, out the window they go
That’s how I feel with one glimpse of you
My day becomes better, my skies turn blue.

One glimpse, one glance
That’s all I need
I laugh, I dance
You feed my greed.

You are my sunshine
My warmth, my help
But best of all,
You make me want
To love myself.

You are my umbrella
To drink in the rain
I don't want anyone else
Ever again.

"The Romantic"

This is a bit of a departure in style for me. I just wanted to do something humourous, and try to start using rhyme again. Tell me what you think!

I’m a bibliophile, versatile, rage and bile,
sweet love, I’d make you a
pedophile, so wait a while ‘cause
I could make it good, good, good

mmmyeah,
didn’t know I could feel this,
tongue kiss, hold your
tongue miss—like this, its hit or miss
but, but, but
I’ve always wanted this, this

Cradle your head like, oh,
burning hands never let go, oh,
you didn’t know, oh,
but I like men like, sweet nectar, like,
or Napoleon men, small, angry men,
or boys in glasses, chubby hands
and chubby asses, Neville Longbottom
boys, oi, boys.

and i do believe, do believe,
i have enough love for you all.

It’s not like I’m a whore or—
no, no—it’s something more
like, like, like

drinking in art, drowning your hair,
an angle of light, pearly light like
a necklace of sweat, a sweater of hands
a stitching of fingers, sweet swaying love,
or the poetry of a glance, soft lingering mornings,
the bells of your voice, love for the world,
the bowl of your neck, the peach of your breasts,
buds of fists unfurling into flowers, basking me,
the architecture of words that arch and sing
against the sky, glorious, glorious, cavernous
love that makes my heart swell and sound
swing round, round. round face, blue eyes, pale
lace dresses, curling tresses, hot messes,
yes, yes, yes, yeses, my baby.

and i do believe,
do do believe,
i have enough love for you all.

All you boys, and all you girls,
manly men with bayonets and gin,
deep voiced men with Mr. Darcy grins, or
hippy girls with sixties sensibilities,
psychedelic sex, herpes simplex,
psychotherapy with her ex, its complex.

i have so much love, so, so much love,
so much love for you all.

my sunny babe sprawled in bed,
sweet baby still has bedhead,
you’re a pothead, giving head,
somehow, someday you’ll be
dead. brown-skinned darling rest your head,
and i’ll give this absinthe soaked lullaby
to you, my poet muse. ill-used, abused,
pouting and bruised. babe, i’ve got this,
i’ve got you.

I’ve got crushes on teachers, public speakers,
girls in white sneakers, the boys on the bleachers,
we can, dream, dream, dream and count the clouds.
How can I choose? With eclectic tastes, it seems a waste.
I’ll be your waitress, you mistress, your dominatrix.
like mortar and bricks, we stick, we mix. These tricks
are not for kids. Ha, ha, ha.

I’m not a whore, I swear.

Wow, my first pantoum is really morbid

Drugs, procedures, and operations never allowed us to leap this high.
Barbed lightning discharged an undercurrent to the earth-worn sky
There is nothing left to alleviate the strangled cries of the smoking flesh.
Or amphetamine would have shot us to the rush of yesteryear.

Barbed lightning discharged an undercurrent to the earth-worn sky
We lied in rain puddles, holding brittle hands encased in thick gloves
Or amphetamine would have shot us to the rush of yesteryear
And all the justices of the world could never make it right again.

We lied in rain puddles, holding brittle hands encased in thick gloves
Mother Nature was paying the toll of the shifting tones of our self-pollution
And all the justices of the world could never make it right again.
Our bodies were dying, the urban seas dried up like wrinkly prunes.

Mother Nature was paying the toll of the shifting tones of our self-pollution
There is nothing left to alleviate the strangled cries of the smoking flesh
Our bodies were dying, the urban seas dried up like wrinkly prunes.
Drugs, procedures, and operations never allowed us to leap this high.

"lonely moon"

I'm sorry for the delay on this piece-- I had it written in my notebook yesterday, but I was too lazy to type it up. Today I did that, and also played around with the formatting. I'm very interested in using the structure of the poem to further the theme, and I wanted to play around with that idea. The main theme of this poem is the lonliness and emptiness, so I tried putting extra spaces between words to create that tense, stretched feeling, and to emphasize certain words. This is an experiment for me, so please tell me if you feel it worked or not. Enjoy!

-----

“lonely moon”

___the wolves perch along the ___bare
bark of the land, sheer
teeth that glint like forest fire
among ___the soldiers of pines flanking
the mountain.

___stand by me, and
our skin hardens into
peaks and valleys, our cells
all beating and panting, every
hair and crevice standing and
shouting for life.

___and the ___atmosphere ___is dust
and campfires, your tongue lights with
crackling embers of the naked
sun, the stark ___gulp of the night,
swallowing

sight. one last glimpse,
you— ___your hair limping around
___your eyes, chubby hands tucked
___in your pockets, the blossom of your small
___mouth stained with blackberry juices and
___whispers that fall heavy and ___stillborn
___into the dry, pine air.

the sky ___cries between
___trees— long and wan, echoing
___with the silent ___crackling aurora
___and dry moans of wolves, rimming
___the chalice of the blue and boiling
___valley ___with burning mountains, lit with
___molten dusk. ___campfires

sprout among the great roots
of the mountain, roaring
with songs and laughter, the curling,
sticky warmth of family, delicious
suffocation of flannel and flesh.

___but out here space is ___rent and
open, humming ___with depth and width.

___stars flood the inches ___between ___us,
universes twirl and ___fall and
sigh ___into burning dust, you sigh
into me, cold ___breath cascading like
an avalanche in the aching

___dark.
wolves yelp and shout
us,

the lonely ___moon.

"water waking, fire"

we could drown
so soothingly in the lazy waves
of sun; the heavy scent of lilac
that drugs, my senses subside so softly.
these stones that drag my eyelids
until i am dreaming
to silky, sordid music; the
beat, beat
of breath sounds that are
a gentle rap on my door.

wake up, lazy
bones.

but it’s warm under the covers—
the cover of branches interlacing over
the bowing boughs of our bodies.
i’ll draw you in, all your colors
like splintered stars, sweet babe.
the lace of our arched fingers bending
like grass, braiding the icy strings of sun
into a circlet of firefrost studded
with the pearly beads of our
sea-sweat, sweet.

Freakishly long poem

Perfect

You weren’t perfect
And I had another

But let me tell you
Let you listen

He wasn’t it.
He wasn’t there.
Sitting next to me,
His eyes elsewhere.

His dress was clean-cut
And his jaw powerful and strong
He looked like he belonged in a boy band
And indeed it was his dream.

While you with your stained teeth
And mismatched clothes…
You weren’t perfect
With your shining skin
And unruly hair

But…I couldn’t get you off my mind
The same way you couldn’t take yours
Off me.

You sat across from me
With your pleading eyes
Begging me to look at you
With silent prayers
And muted cries.

Little did you know
I never looked away from you
Watched you from the corner of my eye
And I only knew
You were watching me
When your favorite song came on
And you didn’t move
Didn’t budge
Didn’t tear your eyes from me.

Your hand reached across the table
Palm down
But stretched toward me
Quiet and pleading
But THERE.
While my “the one”
Looked off into the distance
Stared off towards the stage
Wanting to be there
Rather than with me.

So he goes.
So I let him.
“Go,” I say, gesturing to his mistress.
Go away
But I don’t say that out loud.
So he leaves
Gets up and goes
Strolls towards the stage
And grabs the microphone
With more want in his eyes
Than he ever had for me.

And the next moment
I am next to you
Hand outstretched
Staring into your stunned eyes
“Want to dance?” I say
Anxious to be with you
During your favorite song.

You sit, you stare
You don’t move
Too afraid maybe?
But I won’t have it
I pull you up
And drag you close to me.

As we dance back and forth
To your favorite song
And the next one
And the next
Neither wanting to let go.

By the time
My boy comes back
I’m sitting next to you instead
Laughing
Like I never did with him.

So I stand up
And he glances from me
To you
And back to me.

And with an embarrassed grin
But a firm look
He understands
The look in my eyes
The words on my lips
You have your love
And I have mine.
He’s not happy
But he knows I’m right.
So with a final nod
And a short goodbye
He turns back to the stage
Because even he knows
That we can never make each other happy
Like his stage can do for him
And like you can do for me.

So years later
As we lie in bed
Husband and wife
I look at my lover, my life.
And you look back at me
With your stained teeth
And mismatched pajamas
Your unruly hair
Falling into your shining eyes
And your skin
Glowing with pride

And the only thing
Running through my mind
Was how did I ever
Once believe
That you weren’t perfect
For me?