Independence

Autonomous

I’ll call it love

because this one

stayed ’til morning.

She must not have

had a place to sleep;

need and loneliness

often end up

drunk and naked

in the same bed.

When they finally leave

I always try to tell myself

that I am a lucky man;

no woman to nag me

and spend my money.

Independence

is what the lonely

tattoo on the back of their necks

to make it seem like a choice.

I don’t really remember

what it is like to be part of a “we”

that lasts longer

than the inevitable hangover.

I suppose some truths

are much less

self-evident

than others.

SMG

CombatWords!: Combatwords for July 1, 2011: Independence: "Combatwords for July 1, 2011: Independence If I was rich, I'd be stalked by the hungry suits, craving my signature. I would ride the taxi—..."

The Long Nights

The Long Nights

The nights I wake up

like a drowning man

the moment he breaks

through the surface finally

able to draw a breath.

The weight of disappointment,

memories of passion traded

for safety, heavy enough

to stop my heart. I lie awake

and try to recall what it felt like

when I was hungry and naked;

living in the wild.

The nights I am alone,

tormented by ghosts in the dark;

by the women that loved me

until I turned and ravaged them

in the glow of full moonlight.

Nights when the whiskey

won’t whitewash my sins

and help me forget their faces.

Like the wail of a distant siren,

their cries echo and taunt me

in the emptiness before dawn.

SMG

Impulse Control

Impulse Control

We met under a neon sign

at the Coyote Moon;

a rundown bar across

the street from the Ramada.

She asked me for a cigarette

and smiled as I fumbled to light it.

She carried her years well

but her eyes looked a little sad

behind the smokey blue glow.

“Are you married” she asked

and I had to think hard about

if it even mattered anymore.

“Some days more than others”

I replied. She nodded and looked away.

Our Camels burned down

and the conversation stalled,

so we moved back inside for a drink.

She drank Smirnoff straight,

and swallowed like it was pride.

I noticed the wetness on her lips

and wondered how it would mix

with my scotch as we walked out
to share my last cigarette.

“I don’t like to sleep alone”

was followed by a well-dressed

exhale of smoke. “Who does?”
I shrugged, then I kissed her

on the cheek before going back

inside to close out my tab.

SMG

Tides

Tides

We traced the shoreline
with deliberate footsteps
in the failing light.

A pointed conversation,
each solemn word lost
in the crash of the waves;

(The ebb of love
is usually measured
and unperceived;

a gradual retreat
with no regard
for the coming moon.)

and the rhythmic water
eroded all evidence
of what was, as we passed.

SMG

Practical Philosophy

Practical Philosophy

She takes Prozac with Petrone,
because it makes her feel good,
like falling for bad boys
and shoplifting pantyhose
at the A&P.

Sometimes I will lift a twenty
from the collection plate
when I am a few dollars short;
God helps those
that help themselves.

We only say we are in love
because there is no term
to describe two people
too scared to let go.

She told me that it’s only a lie
if you don’t believe it
and then asked me
if her ass looked big.

We may never find the answer
in Schopenhauer or Socrates
but that girl across the bar
looks like she could teach me
a thing or two

 

SMG

A Different Tune

A Different Tune

I
   fell
          in
               love
with Jazz
intoxicating rhythm
without
rhyme or reason
                                        random
patterns
                  and
dangerous curves
I've always loved music
but Jaz
was the first music
that loved me back
her eyes
captivate
and penetrate
she plays
                    in my mind
and plays
                    with my emotions
caresses my ears
dances on my lips
and
        fucks me
                          like a Bangkok whore
she rips the heart
from my chest
and
        squeezes it
                             to her own
                                                 peculiar beat


SMG

Buon Compleanno

Buon Compleanno

It rained on All Saints’ Day
and I think it was your birthday
some nine time zones to the west.

Missing you feels different
in Italian; more tragic I guess.
Persi amore, o rammarico.

You told me you’d wait for me
but we both knew it was a lie;
a self-preservation you allowed me.

I wonder when it all will end;
the girls, the boys and the lies
told to faceless lovers in the dark.

For now the Eternal City calls me
and I imagine you are still asleep,
some nine time zones to the west.

SMG

I watched the sun come up from the departures lounge at Schiphol

I watched the sun come up
from the departures lounge at Schiphol

Beer tastes different at sunrise;
maybe it's the bitterness
something like regret.

I left you crying in California
and you said you understood
as I walked through the gate.
I suppose the avalanche of clichés
finally buried your resolve.
But we both know
it wasn’t me or you; it was us.
Me in my cuckold horns
and you in your orphan rags,
both of us reading from a script
that was ill conceived and poorly written.
You held me like I was your father
the night he walked out the door
and I fucked you as if my ex
was watching from the next room.

It is 6:20 AM and I still have
some distance to travel.
I imagine you have cried yourself to sleep by now
and I am here, attempting to write a poem
about the absurdity of Humpty
trying to fix a broken tin soldier.

SMG

Roadside Assistance

You were a top down
drive up the coast
and I hugged each curve
like it was my first and last;
your luxury so foreign
to my economic hands
and domestic heart.

The time skipped past
with dotted line persistence
and dark glasses concealed
my doubts and your tears

When the road turned
inland I let go the wheel
and we began to drift
into the oncoming traffic.
I never thought about
checking the mileage
until we ran out of gas
and I left you stranded
on the side of the road.

Scenes from a Hotel Room

Scenes from a Hotel Room

Summer rain spatters

the window, the sizzle interrupted

only by the distant flash and report

of the storm. New York is sad today;

heavy and dank. The lights

of Broadway are jealous

of the lightening’s brilliance

their marquee blaze seems weak

and desperate in comparison.

Today is the third of my visit

and I know that the city

no longer loves me. This return

feels like an awkward encounter

with an ex-lover, proper and cordial

with and undertone of regret.

I’m sorry it turned out like it did

but what did you expect? When

a beggar falls for a whore

one of them is bound to get hurt.

SMG

Picture Prompt Challenge (featuring Jacob Lucas)



No Curtain Call

Sometimes

when the curtain falls

it never rises again.

No phoenix up
from the ashes
of failure

or Jesus
resurrected

on the third day.

Sometimes

the lights

go out forever

and the stage

is never set again.

The final act

of you and me

was some time ago

and there is no encore

in the works.

The theater of us

has become

an abandoned stage

and the audience

has long since

left, in search
of a new tragedy.

SMG

This was written in a fog of 12 year old scotch and the loneliness of another hotel room. In  response to the One Shoot Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge



Sirius

Sirius

As strange attractors

we danced together

in the southern sky,

like a stellar parallax;
singular or differentiated

dependent on point of view.

Across the summer night

radial velocity increased
as we approached critical mass;
the unavoidable orbital decay
of love on the event horizon.

From this elliptical apex

I can see how your luminosity

has eclipsed me, your gravity

overwhelms; pulls me in.
Even as my weakened mass
is drawn once again

to your side.

“What is seen as the brightest star in the night sky is in truth two bodies moving together; a bright main star termed Sirius A, and her companion, a faint white dwarf”.

SMG

What's Left Behind

What's Left Behind

I read the note,
though it was not
addressed to me.
I saw it laying
on the ground
amidst the rotted
timber and rusty
nails of a structure
no longer standing.
I’m not sure how
it came to be there
but the words
spoke to me from
the yellowed paper.

I sat for a while
with the iron
and wood debris
as I thought about
what it said:

“When I woke up this morning I couldn’t remember why I was here so I think it’s time to go. I know I loved you once but the wind has changed direction and I need to follow it. I wish you all the best but I understand if you can’t return the favor”

I dropped the note
back to the ground
and left it with
the bent reminders
of what had stood
in this place.

When the afternoon sun
began to pull a few beads

of sweat from my brow
I continued on my way.
There was a nice breeze blowing
and I longed to follow it.

SMG 

Posted for the One Stop Poetry Picture Challenge

Fractal Memories

Fractal Memories

The Burden of Time
distorts memories;
blonde pilsner days
and coffee nights
of years gone by
foul and turn cold
when left unattended.

The shimmer and glint
of sunlight on water ripples,
dulls as it rolls away
in thoughtless waves.

The faces of loves
left and lost splinter
into slivers of regret
and flout recall; a puzzle
never again complete
for too many pieces
are now lost or broken.

SMG

Koko the Gorilla

Koko the Gorilla

“Darn darn floor bad bite; trouble trouble”

Is it a sign of things to come,
or has the time come for me to sign?

I stopped grunting long enough
to hear the door close.

What was it you said to me
on your way out?

You spoke to me in English,
French and Spanish at least that’s what
it looked like when I read your lips.

I was mute for far too long
and you only ever learned one sign.

I guess I’ll just have to ride
out this little quake alone
and hope my vocabulary
improves over time.

SMG

(For more info on Koko go here)