Chasing Time
Feb 09 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Chasing Time
It was a dark
And moonless night
I was chasing time
Through the forest
And he was very fast,
But even time
Must catch its breath.
So at last
I caught up to him.
“What’s the hurry?” I said,
“And how come you only
Run in one direction?”
Then time
Stood very still,
And I thought I glimpsed
Parallel times
Racing against
The time before my eyes,
And I knew that either fast or slow
There was another time
That I would never
See or know.
It was a dark
And moonless night
I was chasing time
Through the forest
And he was very fast,
But even time
Must catch its breath.
So at last
I caught up to him.
“What’s the hurry?” I said,
“And how come you only
Run in one direction?”
Then time
Stood very still,
And I thought I glimpsed
Parallel times
Racing against
The time before my eyes,
And I knew that either fast or slow
There was another time
That I would never
See or know.
Mt. Vesuvius
Feb 09 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Mt. Vesuvius
That whore I met in Naples
Gave me a gift
That would stay with me forever,
A gift that goes on giving,.
She seemed eager,
In the rented room
With her faint moustache,
Her skin the flavor
Of garlic and perfume.
But that was long ago.
I wonder what became of her,
She promised me experiences
I would not forget.
But my memories of her are vague.
Her face is lost amid a thousand faces,
And so I scratch my head in vain,
And other places.
That whore I met in Naples
Gave me a gift
That would stay with me forever,
A gift that goes on giving,.
She seemed eager,
In the rented room
With her faint moustache,
Her skin the flavor
Of garlic and perfume.
But that was long ago.
I wonder what became of her,
She promised me experiences
I would not forget.
But my memories of her are vague.
Her face is lost amid a thousand faces,
And so I scratch my head in vain,
And other places.
Window Glass at Macy’s
Feb 09 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Window Glass at Macy’s
Someone smashed in
A plate glass window at Macy’s.
The manikins are speechless
And can not move,
Like birds in love,
Unaware of an open door,
Freedom beckons,
Yet its whispers are ignored.
Men remove the shards,
The way lies open,
But the manikins are frozen,
Too wrapped up
In clothes and shoes
To notice freedom calling.
It’s cold without windows.
The manikins pull borrowed clothes
Tight around their thin, indifferent frames.
The wind might blow them over.
Better to ignore the glass,
Better to stay warm forever,
Watch a parade,
Let freedom pass.
Someone smashed in
A plate glass window at Macy’s.
The manikins are speechless
And can not move,
Like birds in love,
Unaware of an open door,
Freedom beckons,
Yet its whispers are ignored.
Men remove the shards,
The way lies open,
But the manikins are frozen,
Too wrapped up
In clothes and shoes
To notice freedom calling.
It’s cold without windows.
The manikins pull borrowed clothes
Tight around their thin, indifferent frames.
The wind might blow them over.
Better to ignore the glass,
Better to stay warm forever,
Watch a parade,
Let freedom pass.
Changing Room
Feb 09 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Changing Room
In the changing room
Men strip down to their skins
Or so they think
For they have stripped down
To their very souls,
To a nakedness
Of uncommon visibility.
In the changing room
The Emperors try to act
As if their clothes
Were still on display,
And all their flab
And the white hair combed
Over their cocks
Are those of a younger man.
But on all fours,
No one is much impressed
With appearances,
Where assholes cannot pretend
They are not.
In the changing room
We see things as they are
And will not be persuaded otherwise.
For wisdom is seldom found
In the crotch of an argument
In the changing room
Men strip down to their skins
Or so they think
For they have stripped down
To their very souls,
To a nakedness
Of uncommon visibility.
In the changing room
The Emperors try to act
As if their clothes
Were still on display,
And all their flab
And the white hair combed
Over their cocks
Are those of a younger man.
But on all fours,
No one is much impressed
With appearances,
Where assholes cannot pretend
They are not.
In the changing room
We see things as they are
And will not be persuaded otherwise.
For wisdom is seldom found
In the crotch of an argument
Surviving
Feb 09 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Surviving
I think that I would like to be
The very last Christmas tree of all,
To have my lights turned off
And packed away.
Or maybe the tall fir in a clearcut
That remains,
To spread hopeful seeds on barren slopes.
Or maybe the final stone
Swept off an ocean haystack
By the storm seized wave,
When all the rest
Have been washed away,
When other things
Are gone, and all that survives
Is terrifying clarity,
You can see a long, lonely way,
If that still means anything to you.
I think that I would like to be
The very last Christmas tree of all,
To have my lights turned off
And packed away.
Or maybe the tall fir in a clearcut
That remains,
To spread hopeful seeds on barren slopes.
Or maybe the final stone
Swept off an ocean haystack
By the storm seized wave,
When all the rest
Have been washed away,
When other things
Are gone, and all that survives
Is terrifying clarity,
You can see a long, lonely way,
If that still means anything to you.