Poetry: January 1, 2009

BOY WERE I MISTAKEN
WHAT I THOUGHT WERE PEARLS
BENEATH THE TIDE
TURNED OUT TO HAVE BEEN
BROKEN BOTTLES WAITING 
FOR THE BLOOD STORED
IN MY ANKLES.


MAN, DID YOU SEE
THAT SHOT GO PAST?
THE ASHES SAVED MY ASS
AND MEMORY BLAZED 
ITS SENTIMENT PAST, THOSE 
ROUGH SACK PILLOWS WHERE
THE PIRATES BLAST, THEIR
CANNONS AT MY SOLAR MAST
BUT HEY, THEY MISSED AGAIN!
AND AS EVER I REMAIN TWO
STEPS AHEAD OF DEATH
A HALF STEP AHEAD OF SIN.


AND SHOULD PRISCILLA
IN HER SILVER DRESS
FAIL TO IMPRESS THE MERCY MEN
WHO WITH GUNS DRAWN, EYES BLAZING
PULL UP IN THE STATION, HUFFING
INFLATION, IN THEIR BEGGING
HAND, A BOWL OF STEAM. THIS SCORE 
IS HER LAST, WILL BE FOR SOME TIME
IN THE MEANWHILE,A MORBID SMILE
ROBS SMOKE FROM THE SCARLET
APRHODISIAC, SHE SWALLOWED TO
WIN HER COATTAILS BACK, SHE’D BEND 
OVER BACKWARDS, IF REVERSE WERE
HER SPEED, SHE’D TUMBLE HARD 
FORWARD IF PANIC WERE HER CREED
BUT ALAS, SHE LEAPS WITH HER FAITH
TOWARDS HER TRUEST DESIRE, HER
DEEPEST NEED. This will insure her survival, 
Then she’ll forget this and renew her revival!


And should her dragons fall from too many stories high
And lose fresh blood in the roiling, churning tides
She’ll still remember the ribbons she commanded
And used like lassos to corral her beasts and who
After a while would plan feats, of danger, of laughter
And parallel feasts. Even should those dragons die whose
Fire once awakened her meadows, will she still in the 
mutant ghost worlds fly and gather the fresh milk of her shadows.


Those last few ‘poems’, are the OXYGEN POEMS.


IN SLOW MOTION I AM THINKING THIS
THOUGH IN DOUBLE TIME MY EYES
ARE BLINKING THIS, IS THAT A SHOE
I SEE? IS THIS FOOL TOSSING OXFORDS
AT ME? I LISTENED TO MY FATHER 
FOR THIS? LUCKILY THE ‘ALLIE’
MISSED, OR I’D BE EVEN MORE 
PISSED, O SHIVA IS THAT A SECOND
SHOE (DUCK, THAT’S WHAT I DO),
MAN, WHAT IF I’D GOT HIT? ITS
OK, I APPEARED ‘NONPLUSSED’
(BUT THAT’S THE LAST SECRET
SERVICEMAN I TRUST).


AND WERE I LESS VERBOSE WITH MY VERNACULAR
MY PRETENSIONS WOULD BE LESS SPECTACULAR
AND THE ROW, ROW, ROW YOUR BOAT OF MY DREAMS
WOULD CAPSIZE AND FLOW, TOWARDS WHAT BEACH HEAD
I DON’T NOW, THOUGH, AS LONG AS HAD I VOWELS, SYNTAX
AND SOME ‘FLOAT’, THEN MY ASSISTANT COULD SWIM, AND
ON THE SANDS, SCRATCH OUT WHAT I WROTE. MEANWHILE,
LIKE DRIFTWOOD, QUOTATION MARKS SLIP PAST, TAUNTING ME
WITH LINES THAT WILL NEVER LEAVE MY LIPS (AND BE HEARD)
I WRITE THESE LINES BETWEEN SIPS OF TEA WHICH FIRST FORM
IN THE MIND, THEN DRIPS, AND MAYBE A LITTLE LIKE PIG FAT, 
CONGEALS, BUT I AIM MY ARTICLES HIGH, AND LIKE PATCHWORK,
OF WHAT I CAN REVEAL, END MY RHYMES LIKE THAT.


SO, INSTEAD OF SINGING
HE BEGAN TO SIGH
HE DIDN’T KNOW WHY
SOMETIMES A TIDY SUM
IS SOWN, BETWEEN THE
LIGHTNESS OF BEING
AND ITS WEIGHT
ON THE BONES, AND
SOMETIMES, IT’S JUST
TIME TO GO. THE LIGHT
AT THE END OF EACH
SHOW SAYS,’EXIT’ 
(THOUGH IT ALSO MEANS,
‘LET’S LEAVE BEFORE
HE GETS IT’)!


AND AFTER THE DEBATE FALLS, I SLUMP
STAMPS HARD UPON THE BROW OF DREAMER
THE OVER ACTIVE STING, THE FLAMING NEEDLE
THE CARICATURE OF A SHELTERED SMILE
THE HAGGARD RUSTED SCAFFOLDS THAT
UNDERGIRD YOUR NIGHTLY ESCAPES AND BEAR
YOUR SIGNATURE LIKE ISOTOPES, SO RESTLESSLY,
IN SYNCOPATION, I FADE (DOWN ON THE ROPES),
AND DRAIN MYSELF IN LEMONADE,
MIXED WITH ANYTHING HARDER THAN DUST. THIS 
I TRUST ENDS OUR ACQUAINTANCE, SURVEILLANCE,
MAINTENANCE, AND RUSE FILLED POSTURINGS
WHICH BEND MY DRAPES, WITH NOUGHT BUT
THE ETCHINGS AND TRACINGS OF VENGEFUL FIGURINES
I HAVE TO STEAM CLEAN THEM A LOT, (WITH THE ATTITUDE 
I AM FOSTERING). YOU SHOULD SEE IT COME OUT OF MY EARS,
SOMETIMES IT DRAWS STARES, AND SOMETIMES I RECORD
IT ON TAPES.


WARM TO THE HEARTH THAT IS TO THE HEART
AS LILY’S TO THEIR OWN SWEET FIELDS
AND LESSED ARE THE CHIMES THAT RING TO ACCLAIM
THE BEAUTY OF OUR LAUGHTER, IF MORE MONEY
IS ALL WE ARE AFTER, THEN MORE SWELL, MORE TOIL
MORE SWEAT, WHEN THESE ARE THOSE DAYS THAT
EMBRACE WHAT WAS ONCE HOSTILE AND CHASED BY
BY MANHATTENS AND LYNCHED BY MOBS, FRESH
FROM THE TYRANNY OF THEIR FORMER JOBS,
AND SO THE ‘SHOELESS’ CAME TO POWER,
TAKING OVER FROM THE ‘CLUELESS’, WHILE
I’M HANGING OUT IN ‘FLIP FLOPS’, KICKING
RUINS WITH MY TOENAILS.


Since the curvature of earth
Was made to fit your smile
We think we will rest with
You and our poems here awhile
At least long enough to gather 
Some strength, relax our legs
Regain some length, and shake
The camel toes from my mind
That often shape it like jello
Though it melt with a quivering 
Jolt, upon the next one says, ‘Hello’.


…and the refrigerator door opens to reveal:
JELLO!
AND I’M ALWAYS QUITE 
MELLOW, THOUGH THE 
MILK HIDES MY SHAKE
AND THE ANTS USE ME
AS A PILLOW, EVEN
AS A TRAMPOLINE, I
TREMBLE WHEN I’M RED
I WOBBLE A BIT MORE
WHEN I’M GREEN!
SIGHT UNSEEN I 
TURN TO MOLD, SO
Take the spoon to me 
Before I get too old!


AND THE ‘SIZE QUEEN’
ANNOUNCED, (O so 
Bold and) QUITE PLEASED 
WITH HIS GIRTH, “THIS MAN
IS MORE MEASURED THAN 
PERHAPS HE IS WORTH!”
SO, CONFUSED HIS STAMINA
GOES LIMP, FROM RIGID 
AND CERTAIN, TO ANNOYED
AND UNKEMPT, HIS FACE GOES
RED LIKE THE BEAT OF HIS
RAGE, THIS RAMPANT MOUTH 
WHO COULD NOT HIDE HER
SUBSTANCE FROM HER AGE
AND WHO IN ANY CASE, WOULD
NEVER NOW KNOW HIS SOUTH
NOR ANY PARTS OF ITS ROOTS
THOUGH SHE MAY GET YET,
THE PINCH OF HIS BOOTS, a 
Glazed expression, the skeleton
Of a passing chance, and so hides
Rage beneath the blushing stem
Of romance. Less bitter, less 
Sweet, more like trick or treat.


MYOPIA,
REINTRODUCE TO ME
CORNUCOPIA,
TAKE THE CORNS OUT FROM THE BASKET
AND DON’T SHOUT AT THE GRAPES, LET
THE RAISINS PASS IT, WHATEVER MESSAGE
YOU WISH TO CONVEY, TO A HARVEST, STRETCHED
OUT, LIKE THE FEAST OF L.A. ORANGES TOO, DRIFT
PAST HER TO ASK IT, IF A TICKET GETS PUNCHED
DOES IT END UP IN A CASKET, BUT REALLY, WHY
ARE PLUMS SO CONTENT WITH THEMSELVES ?
I SWEPT THE BARN FLOORS OF UTOPIA AND IT
HAS RUINED MY NORMAL APPETITES, AND NOW,
ALL THAT BITES, HAVE LAWYERS PERSUING 
MORE RIGHTS, MORE PAPER FILLER, LESS
OVERSIGHT. THESE DOGS SPILLED OUT
FROM THE POPPY SEEDS, AND ONLY THE 
SUNFLOWERS SEEMED TO KNOW, THAT 
WHEN UPROOTED FROM FIELDS OF BATTLE, 
THE BARK IN THE BLOSSOMS COME 
FORTHWITH TO NETTLES, TRAINED TO
GIVE DREAMS THE BARRIERS OF METALS, trained
To intimidate men to shame
TRAINED TO SHAKE STEAM INTO DEATH RATTLES.
PHARMACOPEIA,
REVEAL THY AIMS!


SENSATION DASHES TO ITS OWN ALLEGIANCE!
And quantum leaps are measured by depth and not by distance
And estimates predict that words will fall from being to expensive
To use, and the poor grow wealthy with what the rich abuse, so extensive
Are the marks left dancing on the stuttering duchess’ gingham, those
Petals of dried roses on her Shiva lingam, that stay in memoria of her
Vanished, burdened crinoline, are otherwise cellulite on the clock
Held hostage to the demands left inside her dreams. What of frustration 
Cannot be written off as churl and rage, is more or less reduced by an 
Edit to the page, gearing up the alphabet which agrees most with our pen
Upgrading the highlights, subduing our critics by ten. Once EUPHORIA
Confided in my unruly innocence , to drop kick commonsense, when faced
With dilemma or threat, momentum is the price victory begats, when especially
Begats is begettin’ good!


I FELL OFF THE END OF THE WORLD
WHILE IT WERE GETTING DARK
BUT FOUND BETTER PARKING
CIRCLING THE GLOBE, FOUND
FRAGRANT NIPPLES TO PILLOW
MY LOBES, AFTER ALL, IT WERE EARS
THAT FELL FIRST TO HEAR YOUR 
FRACTURED ROSARY, AND CHOKED
DRY TEARS. SO I SCRAMBLED back, 
though not before investing in lands
In Hackensack.
With dubious intent I signed it,
And now this is where I find it!

 


COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA 
MILANO 1st JANUARY 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED 

www.SanandaMaitreya.com



I’d like to wish you a HAPPY NEW YEAR ;-) 2009 will rock!