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Posts tagged “desire poems

A Song for Baby

While I work on the edits for “a place you cant come back from” I thought I’d give you another Bowling Alley poem.  In my opinion this one, “First Date” and “Sullen, but not quite repentant” are the quintessential “radio hits.”  They represent, more than anything else I was writing at the time, the attitude and demeanor I held during this time period. It’s risque but somehow dry, with that ever present youthful anger.  Enjoy…

 

 

A Song For Baby

Your Pedantic search for truth

through unsuspecting lives,

leaves girls wondering

faith and cosmopolitan sexuality;

leaves men pondering God,

in tumultuous copulation.

The vulturous squalor

of your predatory eyes,

the death you feel in age;

the uncouth joy you find in

Desire.

I see the innocence,

the pure unkempt

Youthfulness

in your smile.

The only vestige of

the life you desire.

You perspire and

extrapolate the need and desire of

men and boys.

The purpose your life has

derived.

With grasping limbs

and intertwining extremities

the pulse of distinctive,

and purely diabolic,

hearts pound in unison.

The power and force of

your vapid conjointedness

juxtaposes reality.

You ask for Faith

You ask for Belief

You ask for Hope

Why don’t you realize

these are pronouncements

only for the Holy?

What you really crave

what you really hunger for

is Desire.

That lust in a young man’s eye

The postulation behind the

Powerful.

That un-touched

That un-satiated

That un-natural

Desire!

The type which doesn’t exist!

What you love is lust,

but what lust could love?

When is a lecher good?

When is lasciviousness absolute?

With your talk of luxurious tapetries

and proportions of men…

Wallet or otherwise.

The vivaciousness of women

competent  or otherwise,

of your overwhelming

denigrating Power.

Your false Hubris

Do you know?

How weak?

Disheveled?

Degraded?

How useless it is?

Your

Desire?


She was Perfumed with Cigarettes and Beer

These are both from the Bowling Alley period.  I find when reading back through them there is an underpinning of angst, fear, loneliness and anger, but there is an underpinning of hope strewn throughout, weaved into a tangled skein of confusion.  There were a few “desire” poems from that period and I submit one for your approval.

 

She was Perfumed with Cigarettes and Beer

She stomped her feet

in defiance.

A gesture only known to youth.

To encapsulate beauty

with he word “cute”

Would be presumptuous;

superfluous really.

A life of desire

only known through gestures

of copulation for redemption.

Speaking of love

in the throes of ecstasy.

The drug of choice.

A modicum of desire

is all that’s required.

Alcohol, the catalyst

of wanton cruelties,

ruling consciousness,

the pain of friendship

and the flurry of seduction.

The moniker “cheater”

so deferential as to

abandon hope.

A life separated from a

promise of dreams

a promise of touch

a promise of love.

So valued as to capitulate

the necessity of abandonment.

Where is home?

Where is love?

So abstract a concept,

only to be requited by the foolish.

Unrequited,

the only vestige for the depressed.

She downs the wine with

one singular swallow.

Devaluing the past

with a hope of the future.

A desperate cry of my name.

To bring resolution to pain.

To bring absolute restitution

to choices so wrongly executed.

But how to absolve?

How does one abandon

that driving force to mend others?

How does one ignore hope?

ignore love?

ignore life?

to adhere to pretensions held by priests?

Who am I to absolve

the pain of others when

I cant evolve through

the pain I derive?

Love contracts hope

but desire trumps all.

Matters of the heart are forgotten

for individual moments

of ecstasy.

So she stands and pounds her feet

with the beat of my heart

and I smile

hug

console

then abandon her to problems

as I embrace my own.


The Melancholy Malaise of Last Nights Memories

I’m bringing you a poem this week, since the podcast will follow along the lines with the book and I preempted the podcast by posting Carol-Ann and the Nothing Man first.  So enjoy listening with Carol-Ann this week and enjoy the poem.

This was the second poem I wrote during my “Bowling Alley” period.  It’s simple enough, my friends went through a bowling phase, of which I’m not much a fan so my imagination ran wild while.  In between rolls, I looked around at others through the beer haze of the alley.  I saw old men gathering, I saw teenagers trying to steal drinks, I saw homeless looking for a place to stay, and women, old and young trying to seduce others.  These images and personalities clashed in my mind and brought forth some of the most brash (If not outright ranty) poetry and prose I’ve ever done.  Hope you like it!

The Melancholy Malaise of Last nights Memories

Your pedantic search for truth

through unsuspecting lives,

leaves girls wondering

faith and cosmopolitan sexuality.

Leaves men pondering God

in tumultuous copulation.

The vulturous squalor

of your predatory eyes.

The death you feel in

age;

the uncouth joy you find in

desire.

I see the innocence,

the pure unkempt

youthfulness

in your smile.

The only vestige of

the life you desire.

You perspire and

extrapolate the need and desire of

men and boys.

The purpose your life has

derived.

With grasping limbs

and intertwining extremities,

the pulse of distinctive

and purely diabolic

hearts pound in unison.

The power and force of

your vapid conjointedness

juxtaposing reality.

You ask for faith.

You ask for belief.

You ask for hope.

Why dont you realize

these are pronouncements

only for the holy?

What you really crave,

what you really hunger

is desire.

That lust in a young man’s eye.

The postulation behind the

powerful.

That un-touched,

that un-satiated

that un-natural

Desire.

The type that doesn’t exist!

What you love is lust,

but what lust could love?

When is a letch good?

When is lasciviousness absolute?

With your talk of luxurious tapestries

and proportions of men,

wallet…or otherwise.

The vivaciousness of women

competent…or otherwise,

complimenting your overwhelming

denigrating power.

Your false Hubris.

Do you know?

How weak?

Disheveled?

Degrading?

How useless it is?

your

Desire?