Prison poetry (puerility?) - Don't Pass Me By
I sit here reading a lot of "stuff" (for lack of a better word) I wrote in jail in the 90's. For better or worse, here are a three examples of my "poetry" from 1997. Please don't laugh too hard. They may not be perfect, but I think they have their value....
* * *
deJa vu
Envelops my coRe
tEasing
tantalizing
My hibernating Youth
Seize
the apparAtus
Mind the storM
hOnor
the taNgy Sun
* * *
Don't pass me by
This showroom can be lonely
And I'm quite an instrument
Forty dove white keys
And twenty-five raven
All yearning for the touch
Your delicate fingers
A brute may come
And make me howl
But I know you'll be kind
I see your well groomed air
Eyes
Hands
And know you are the one
Together we
Make gorgeous music
So please don't pass me by
* * *
[upon the death of William S. Burroughs]
Willing to
Inch one's way
Loosely through
Ladles of
Inconspicuous
Alleys,
Meters run out as
Suburbia worries,
Believing the
Universe
Reaches an end,
Revolving like doors
Only out
Unless in,
Glory
Holed up in bare
Sallow soupy flesh
hmmmm...
am i not getting what might be spelled out in caps in the first one? even if i am, i quite enjoy it. it's melancholy but finds hope at the end of it.
piano man
revolving like doors, sliding doors. i feel like i need to listen to "waiting for the sun", which revolves back to the first poem.
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Jeremy Sammons, an old friend....
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whew. i was worried it was anagram, and you know i suck at those.
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