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I SAW HER TALKING TO ANOTHER
I saw her talking to another Who was only a friend. That’s when I knew our love would end. If she gets that much delight In conversing with a friend, Passion which leaps in the night Seems small and...
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POETRY IS WHAT MY POETRY IS SEEKING
Poetry is what my poetry is seeking, Not the throbbing of love that takes it all away, Not difficult ideas difficult to say, Not the clever being clever for an hour, Not even the red dress, nor the...
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ATTRACTION IS NEVER ATTRACTIVE: A DISCUSSION OF LOVE
The great dilemma love faces: Attractiveness is admired more than anything—yet attraction is condemned. The leer, or stare, is never attractive to anyone, no matter how attractive the person giving...
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SCARRIET GOES TO ROMANIA
Sometimes it pays to be a poet. Your friendly editor, Thomas (Brady) Graves, is thrilled to announce his invitation to a Romanian literary conference as Scarriet seeks to enlarge its international...
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ASA CRED
I can’t see over my language, I can’t see over my speech, I can’t see over what I’m saying, Poetry is out of reach. Let me love you, poetry, Let me love you, word, Let me love you, can you Believe...
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YOU CANNOT TELL WHOSE BREATH IS IN THE OBOE
You cannot tell whose breath is in the oboe Or whose hand is on the lyre, You don’t know which smile wrote the music, Music escaping the fire, Murmuring from flower to flower, Now, in this musical...
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I HAD A CONVERSATION WITH YOUR FACE
I had a conversation with your face—in my mind— It is the face, not the conversation, that is kind. Conversation can laugh, but it has to use tears. I would rather talk with your face. All the years...
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ROMANIAN DREAM: SCARRIET EDITOR READS
Here’s some poems read by the fellow in the upper right hand corner:
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ROMANIA JUNE 11 2016 A POEM
The rain after the reading Cooled the air, and wouldn’t stop. It invaded us with its sound. The heart had to hear the rain drop. The heart had to hear the poem In the reading that we gave, But...
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POETRY IS THE BEST EXCUSE
Poetry is the best excuse Not to be serious about anything, Not to be anything. When poetry asks, It importunes nothing, it doesn’t care If you come, or if you come and don’t dance. When you arrive,...
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WHEN YOU REALIZED POETRY WAS CREEPY
When you realized poetry was creepy, You were punched in the face by a lie. You realized what makes you love Is that which makes you die. The poem—for you—will be read by friends, And some of them are...
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LOVE IS HORRIBLE WHEN IT ENDS
Love has no way of knowing what it is, Because it is so many things: Lips, songs, the words to songs, And the soul that listens when it sings. Go—desperate lover, lost, thinking over The endless...
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LET ME BE HONEST AND TRUE
Let me be honest and true. I am alone, and still madly in love with you. No one can define poetry, But I think it is love and honesty, And from that, follows a truth, which can be said— —The truest...
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MY REASONS
My reasons for hating you are in tatters. All that mattered, no longer matters; Love has taught a lesson well, Reason can reason you into hell. Return is the only reason for seasons; Love has worth...
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I PUSH MYSELF TO THE LONELY EXTREME
I push myself to the lonely extreme, Where you—and you—and you—are a dream, Where every councilor and flying cousin are known By my poetry alone. Where every drink and dream contains a pill Of my...
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IT’S FUNNY: TRAGICALLY, THERE ISN’T MUCH TO SAY
Stupidity is measured in only two ways: Not doing enough. Doing too much. Since all literature is concerned with dramatic human activity, and all dramatic human activity (as opposed to engineering,...
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NEVER THIS
Looking deludes you, and those emotions, too. Women’s magazines present faces In a way that acknowledges those faces Free of blemishes are vital images, So that, for society, the illusionary is true....
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THE CREEP FACTOR
Good comes out of evil and evil comes out of good. The American people are faced with the following—we see it coming and cannot avoid it: Either Donald Trump or Bill Clinton will live in the White...
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HIT SONG
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP...
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WHEN SHE AND I SAT
When she and I sat in the park, More silent than talking, Famished past dinner time, Sacrifices to forbidden love Companion to the kisses In the breezy dark, We loved and had love. When others...
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