Discernible Sound
Listen! This is a call to bear arms for the sake of a new revolution.
This is a call to bear layers of burdens until hearts are laid bare!
This is a call to hand over overused metaphors to executioners, --
A penny for a thought till there’s plenty of change to spare.
This is a call for a change of movement, a change of rhythm,
A call to turn turntables over and use them as drums for the beat…
A call for the heartbeat to cover the everyday skyline with ripples,
And to rip out the clouds that continue to cling to our feet.
I’ve searched for my love…
I've searched for my love in the most unlikely of places,
translated ancient manuscripts from Hebrew and Latin,
studied the hieroglyphs in the pyramids’ basements,
meditated for months on the mountaintop, in a cabin,
achieved enlightenment, but found it all irrelevant,
wandered the streets of Boston, naked and penniless,
picked up prostitutes on the corner outside of my tenement,
made love to all of them, but it was false and strenuous…
gave money to charity, broke bread with lepers and thieves,
drowned my sorrow nightly in bars and taverns,
beheld the spectrum, observing the changing leaves,
groped my way through the ruins of Rome and Athens,
converted to all religions, and renounced them violently,
smoked weed and cigarettes, and became rather restless,
She appeared out of nowhere, and asked me quietly,
“I’ve been waiting for you, will you join me for breakfast?”
For weeks, I haven’t had moment of repose…
For weeks, I haven’t had a moment of repose,
My life is crashing waves and blaring thunder.
Your life is delicately woven prose
And you’re afraid to let it take you under.
For once, you words have failed to convince.
For once, your reasons are as fallible as mine.
I’d like to give myself to you, but since
You won’t accept me, I will give you time.
Forgive me for the careless use of words.
Forgive me for the recklessness of movement
And if I played your song in different chords,
Forgive me for the melody I’ve ruined.
Love Song
I recited my poetry on the bank of a river.
The weeping willow heard me and began to sway.
I repeated my verses for the green caterpillar.
She turned into a butterfly and fluttered away.
I followed it slowly into the evening skyline.
The skyline turned pink and began to blush.
The gusting wind bit its lip and grew silent.
The world was submersed by a sudden hush.
I paused for a second to hear my own breathing,
And I was at peace and relaxed here, among
The willow, the butterfly, the wind and the evening,
But you were asleep, so I ended my song...
I gave you my heart…
I gave you my heart;
you took away my innocence...
I asked for something in return
and you responded,
"enough."
It was my voice
that tagged the walls of the pyramids
searching for the passageway
to the eternity
of your love.
If my words mean nothing to you,
disregard this,
but somewhere in Africa,
where the land is fruitless
and dry,
the tribesmen will recite my poetry
to their goddess,
and the clouds will rumble
with a thunderous cry...
December Morning
Black, gray and white, like a daily paper,
carelessly crumpled, and thrown to the street,
the sky was reflected in the cold, puddled pavement.
People stepped on the clouds with negligent feet.
Today, the morning seemed strangely enigmatic.
Snowflakes were scattered on bushes and benches.
Like some lunatic lover, passionate and fanatic,
the wind kissed the downcast faces of strangers.
Drunk
She flung my jacket on the bunk bed,
And as though shocked,
She said, “You aren’t even drunk yet,
Come take a shot!”
She pulled two glasses right away
Out of the cupboard,
And filled them both about half-way
With Southern Comfort.
The two of us sought love and warmth
In mid-October,
I swore to her “From this day forth,
I won’t be sober.”
Each night since then I’m drinking her
Sweet voice and laughter.
I’m drunk with love and I defer
The morning after.
For all the lonely hearts out there,
With sullen faces,
Go out and drink, there’s love to spare.
Get fucking wasted!
From mouth to mouth drink her breath,
No need for chasers!
Then, order more, there is plenty left,
Just ask the waitress.
Go drink her eyes, her hands, her scent,
The color of her lipstick.
Life is so gorgeous when you get
A little tipsy...
At a Local Dunkin Donuts
At a local Dunkin Donuts, (at 2 am,
the only place still open in this town),
enjoying a toasted bagel with eggs, ham,
and cheese, you suddenly feel bound
to college life, and you can hardly grasp
that in a year, you’ll graduate, and worried,
you walk up to the counter and ask
the kind lady for another cup of coffee.
You always feel dejected during winter.
Not finding the words, you only draw
a question mark upon the foggy window,
and walk outside under the falling snow…
Silence
As I light your cigarette, I watch how your hands shake
along with the lighter flame hidden between their brackets.
I can’t image you elsewhere but this winter landscape,
with your burgundy scarf and the brown leather jacket.
There’ll be only us two if we show just a little patience.
Close your eyes to the world, escape its everyday nuisance.
Sharing a pillow and everything that is gained in translation,
we’ll find a shelter in a forgotten corner of Massachusetts.
Turn off the lights and plastic stars will become fluorescent.
They are glowing for us, illuminating the ceiling’s surface.
Turn the clock to the wall and disregard time’s presence,
Sleep through the alarm and pretend it doesn’t concern us.
You entered my life out of nowhere. I awoke one morning
with my arm wrapped around you and I kissed your eyelids.
To say that I love you would be saying too much too early.
Let’s just leave it at that, dear, and enjoy the silence.
Journal Entry
Poets starve on street corners with outstretched hands.
God, have mercy! I despise the sight of the page
where metaphors are recycled like aluminum cans
for a nickel a piece, but hardly make enough change
for me to buy beer (and I used to consider my verses
priceless). While you invest your time into money, blind
to beauty, only trying to stuff your wallets and purses,
the muses are laboring and you pay
them no mind.
My soul is swollen with unanswered prayers,
my words fall lifeless like a soldier’s flatline,
I wake up every morning to the eternal grayness
that spreads like incense smoke over the skyline.
My closest friends are scattered throughout the centuries.
We write to each other to remain in touch.
No, these aren’t poems here, - these are journal entries,
timeless and beautiful, treat them as such…
O what a useless waste…
O what a useless waste of flesh I am! --
A man with no ambition. What is worse
I laugh at it and do not give a damn,--
I have no conscience, pity or remorse.
I loathe these words – sophists’ inventions
That do not mean a thing. This time
I have accepted that there’s no redemption
For those like me, and furthermore, no crime.
From this day forth, I praise my selfishness!
From this day forth, my will is my command!
I’m made of dirt and I despise embellishments,
Watch as the roses whither in my hand!
I am that homeless with the toothless grin
That seems to stand out in the morning havoc.
I lead a life of excess bliss and sin,
And what is more, I am extremely happy.
The world is on the verge of its demise.
The war to end all wars is now in progress.
I see it all inside your tired eyes.
You play your roles as though predestined actors.
Each step is by the book. How I adore
The shuffle of your feet, the rush-hour traffic!
I am the only man alive, and what is more,
This very day, I am extremely happy.
Good and Bad
Good and Bad --
Embedded in God.
In God we trust.
In bed we lust
For getting bad
And getting good
Forbidden fruit,
Forgetting God
For good
And bad,
Forgive us, God.
Verses For Her
Prologue
All of my life,
I’ve transgressed against You!
Do what You will to me, -- starve me and curse me, --
but just this once, listen to me
without scorn or censure, --
this very day, an atheist prays for mercy!
Listen,
Goodness,
if You have the least bit of decency,
have pity on my soul, -- it is tired and dismal, --
send the Holy Spirit to earth to visit me,
I need all the help I could get on this one.
Teach me
to verbalize the agony of my love lucidly,
write the words on my tongue as though on parchment.
Let her hear me out,
but know, if she refuses me,
tonight,
I’ll see You for the final judgment!
***
You sit here, baffled,
eyes -- ripe with tragedy,
not letting a word slip in-between deep sighs.
I can feel my body slowly losing gravity,
being pulled only to your troubled eyes.
You shrink like a criminal before the judge.
I hover above you, menacing,
phantom-like.
Ignoring my threats, you’re still refusing to budge.
Tell me you love me, pantomime!
You seem to be dissecting my words pensively.
Fine. Take your time. It is all in your hands.
(Give me a clue. Say anything. Answer me!)
Not a word in response.
Somber silence descends.
No? Enough of this!
I can’t endure this friendship!
Him or me?
We’ve long reached that point!
Pick one of us now and end this head-trip,
If you’d like, you can flip a coin!
No?
Fine!
Go to him! Let him call you, “honey.”
I’ll be waiting at the corner every time you part.
No matter how you try, you cannot outrun me,
Burdened by the weight of my heavy heart!
You’ll stay up with him, drinking Hennessey,
reminiscing, in an amorous rendezvous,
suddenly, the sun will rise, soaked in jealousy,
like the bloodied red eye of a bull.
As you’re kissing him, I’ll brush you slightly
with an autumn zephyr and disappear.
In the moment of passion, I’ll be right beside you
whispering poetry into your ear.
I won’t give you a moment of silence.
I will sit on your doorsteps, begging for alms.
Don’t you know that there’s no asylum
other than the refuge of my opened arms?
You’ll go to confession – I’ll pose as the priest.
I’ll trespass in the temple of God, if I have to.
I won’t let you go!
Out of pity, at least,
stay here for now, -- you can fall for me after!
Please, don’t leave me! --
this is ridiculous! --
If you’re ashamed of me, dear, listen,
I will love you quietly and remain inconspicuous,
like an immigrant without a visa.
I will pickpocket kisses from you
on the busy subway
and leave you flabbergasted, like a great magician
with a sleight of hand can leave the public
believing in miracles with superstition.
Or if you wish, I can love you zealously, palpably,
play our love on the trumpet
on 42nd and Broadway,
turn your tears into gold through the magic of alchemy
and that will be merely the beginning of foreplay.
You don’t trust me?
With my poet’s salary,
You doubt that I could support your wants?
Do you see all these stars?
From my balcony,
I command them like castles, bishops and pawns.
With a sky for a ceiling and a cloud for a bed,
I’ll keep you in my arms where the time moves slower.
I’ll chase down your dreams with a butterfly net.
Tell me, what does he offer?!
Through my words, you’ll acquire such riches and fame,
wealthy kings will fight over your crumbs.
Kissing their wives, men will silence your name
and treasure it under their tongues.
Trust me! My verses will fill the temples,
I’ll teach the world to renounce false idols.
Tell me you love me
and the earth will tremble
from the heavy footsteps of our disciples!
Tell me you love me and, rest assured,
I will praise our love with such certainty
that we’ll break though the door of the vestibule
and together, we’ll enter eternity.
Summertime
Summertime and women hang their clothes
from the fire-escapes of red-brick buildings.
I have learned to love this city’s prose
staring at them from the street and shielding
zealous eyes from blinding rays, as I
walked to school and took in all the splendor.
Wearied, aged, and powerful, and tender, --
those were merely angels in the sky.
Insomnia
It’s not that our relationship needs to be fixed
or that living without you has become unbearable,
it’s more the uncertainty of the future mixed
r /> with the certainty that I love you terribly, --
it’s the cigarette we shared in Central Park,
and the fountain we embraced by in Lincoln Center,
it’s the poetry I read for you echoing in the dark,
and the frame of your body, long and slender,
it’s the thought that we can’t pin time to the floor,
it’s the cars outside and the sudden shrill of
their breaks that keep me up, wishing you were
next to me, with my arm underneath your pillow.
VM
Life is brutal.
Love is brittle.
Lily, love me!
Just a little…
New England
Only here in New England can you experience
four seasons in a week, hardly leaving your room.
In this small town, a man can become delirious
on a clear night and howl at a half-a-moon.
At the local coffee shop, you can encounter
homeless Harvard graduates, reeking of cheap booze
and recognize Lady Madonna behind the counter
whose concealing makeup covers her nightly bruise.
Here, in the city of clocks, everything is routine,
the postman is never late with your morning paper,
you have no identity, only your shadow’s seen
dragging itself across the oblivious pavement.
It is here that the best years of your life are spent
carelessly, with no concern for your lungs and liver,
still ignoring the fact that your future’s at hand,
skinny dipping with stars in the nearby river.
The best place for writing poetry…
The best place for writing poetry is on the bus
especially when leaving a loved one, especially
if you know you’ll go back there eventually,
in a week, in a month, or a year, but you must
know you’ll see her, otherwise, you won’t be able
to write with a clear head, -- assurance is key,
and unless you know that she’ll read it, it’ll be
merely a monologue and why waste the paper?
Begin the poem with separation, start it simply
with her eyes, her appearance, and slowly, continue
writing, selflessly giving it everything in you
out of selfishness, out of need for her sympathy.
This campus is attractive in the spring…
This campus is attractive in the spring. Though
Here I’ve learned that looks can be deceiving,
I now surrender to the beauty of the evening
And fall in love, without a second thought.
Forgive me all I’ve finished, or begun
And never finished, for my songs and verses,
For stubbornness, and honesty, and curtness, --
Forgive me all I’ve done or haven’t done…
Just think! A month and life begins anew:
(Four walls, a window, and a dog named “Marcus.”)
I call your name and smile in the darkness, -