A giggle....a sigh....'You!' said the butterfly....
'....as pure as
A dream of zero.'
--Robert Penn Warren
Who is the Poet Dog? I am the Poet Dog and my birth was inopportune (love that line). I'm a new and separate breed of artist. In and out of love in the blink of an eye! Amazing stuff - amazingly amusing!!!
'I'll confront the stars tonight'
| This | Beautiful Waste | |||
| Me, You and Her | 'Hey, hey, hey' | Blond Butterfly | ADD Girl | You Gave Up |
| Spanish Velvet | Hurt |
'40 miles from the sun'
I am sick and tired of people accusing me of being a selfish b*tch. While hardcore b*tch I may be as well as a hypocrite about everything else, I take donating and community service more seriously than alot of other people do. So yeah, stop accusing others of bein selfish and step out of yerself fer a moment to help someone. With 30 seconds and a single click, you can make a difference....and it's absolutely free
| Take the Voyage Home | E-mail the Poet Dog |
There was no other name for it. It's like, 'All I have to offer is....this.' I wrote this about people....people I know who are going through tough situations that they can't control
a crystal-silver tear
falls perfectly to the floor
and shatters there
into a million prism shards
that crawl into
and die in the carpet
the boy sits with his pink face in his pink hands
he is saying to himself,
'Not now....please, not ever'
but faded Fate
never had time for the pleas of boys
she has always held her head high
and listened to her own arrogant lies
lies about the world
lies about the sun
lies about the sky and moon
she has always insisted on being the mysterious one
the one who never brushes her hair
but lets it fall in native tangles
cascading, down her Indian back
straight as whale bone marrow
the lack of sun tonight
the stars said something about never coming back
they said,
'We're never coming back'
the boy's face aches with tears
that he is withholding
not for any real reason
sitting here
with her in mind
making up
for long lost time
and ancient crimes of mercy
back when Mercy was a child
and took pity upon butterfly wings
crystal prism dragonfly wings
how the ants sparkled and twisted in the fire
how peppermint glowed between your teeth
when you chewed it at midnight
all gone now
except for the boy with the guitar and twisted Fate
how he used to rub lavender in her hair
and braid the long silk strands into bedtime stories
flowered with spring and kisses
and clear glasses of warm milk
that she never drank
which is probably why
her back was never as straight as whale dorsal fin
she was missing the red marrow
the red marrow in her bones and eyes
there are a million universes out there
each circling some distant star
the stars with eyes like diamonds
the stars that have abandoned us
the lavender blossoms have sprung forth and died
and the boy with pink hands strums his guitar
a perfumed music pours forth from the chords and rhythms
butterflies burst from cocoons with crooked wings
the stars say, 'Not today boy....not today....'
while Mercy sighs, 'But maybe tomorrow'
the boy falls perfectly and shatters like crystal
pink prisms are scattered onto the whale bone wall
and Fate throws back her head and laughing, she is saying,
'It's a dizzy world outside'
Song....
Beautiful eyes
beautiful skin
beautiful waste
of everything
Beautiful life
beautiful face
such a beautiful,
beautiful waste
A girl
nine feet tall
in soul and love
for everyone
but a moment in space
was a moment too late
for a girl
even so tall
cause the bigger they are
the harder they fall
and the more that you love
that more that you break
Beautiful eyes
beautiful skin
beautiful waste
of everything
Beautiful life
beautiful face
such a beautiful,
beautiful waste
Coughing up
old stepped-on egg shells
searching for life
when it’s all gone
a searching girl
nine feet tall
she won’t be the last
martyr to fall
but she’ll be the last
she’ll be the last
she’ll be the last
star to crawl
Beautiful eyes
beautiful skin
beautiful waste
of everything
Beautiful life
beautiful face
such a beautiful,
beautiful waste
So what do you get
when you have to admit
that there’s nothing in love
and nothing in life?
When believing in love
and believing in life
gets you nowhere
and gets you there fast?
When a girl
nine feet tall
is stoned for trying
to believe in God....
what do you get
when you forget
that there’s nothing
nothing at all
Beautiful eyes
beautiful skin
beautiful waste
of everything
Beautiful life
beautiful face
such a beautiful,
beautiful waste
Weird vibe. You know
whenever I hear this song
I always think about you
and all the things we meant to do
and all the kisses we never shared
(but I was a really bad kisser anyway)
and that's the thing about me
you know
I invite you to underestimate me
charm you with a girlish giggle
make you think,
'she's cute, but she's dumb'
and yes,
I am very cute
but you'll lose to me
in any game of intellectual wit
and the best part is
you won't expect it
and seeing unexpectedness
in people's faces
amuses me to no end
yes
of course I am laughing at you
I think you try too hard
I will always laugh at you
you stay the same forever
but I have changed
and I will never stop changing
I want to always be changing
you and your pretty blond hair
you are a pool of stagnant water
infested with rotting mosquito eggs
and squirming with maggots
fake lashes
mine naturally extend to there
true these eyes be nothing but brown
but oh, so beautiful are they
I have cut my hair
I have changed my hair color
and I laugh at you still
even if the hair cut is bad
because I'm not the same girl
in the yearbook photo from '98
but you are
same make-up
same hair
don't you get so bored of yourself?
you have a boyfriend
but I have had love
and whenever I hear this song
(it's a song that you'd never listen to)
I think about him
and I think about how my legs
how they were tangled with his
I wonder
have you gotten that far?
have you gotten as far as the rainbow?
have you seen the snow crystals in stars?
I didn't think so
you don't even know what they are
and all the boys like you
I don't mind
they can have your narrow body
straight and lacking curves
I have a woman's body
and men take interest in me
but I still giggle girlishly
and charm you with my ignorance
and whenever I hear this song
I think about you
ex-lover of mine
you will always be mine
you're probably making love to that blonde
but you don't know what you're talking about
when you whisper in between kisses
I'll just sit here with my headphones
listening to the kind of music you despise
because when you least expect it
I'll punch out your arrogant lights
blond boy sits
(I know he is not really blond)
he closes his eyes
and hugs the guitar
close and cherished
(how he loves that guitar)
he won't get a new one
the c-string is out of tune
he is alone as he hums
he is alone as he strums
the blinds drawn tight
the freeway just a street beyond
his home
his bed on the floor
his books in a pile
I sit
with my dark hair and skin
invisible to his eyes
I watch him
a lovely apparition
alone in my thoughts
watching him
watching his fingers consume the guitar
the music consume the air
how he is so unaware
that I am here in this moment
silent as a star
a black pearl in the dirt
camouflaged and concealed
a butterfly on the wall
and the blond boy
the who is not really blond
the one who loves music and guitars
(and classic rock stations)
he carries on
he sings his favorite songs
he sings his own songs
he thinks he has the chord to a Doors song
the freeway is a window pane away
the kitchen needs to be cleaned
things need to be written
issues addressed and forgotten
but in this moment he is the guitar
he is music and he is colors
butterfly on the wall
the butterfly is me
I don't care if he doesn't know
that I am there
for my affection is selfish and personal
something only I can ever know
the fake blond boy
he is mine
in ways he will never know
lips are mine
fingers are mine
lost kisses,
I recovered them all
but I am happy
I am a happy butterfly on the wall
seeking nothing but to watch him
seeking nothing but to know him
know him as the guitar
as the music he sings
as the music he loves
as the books that he reads
the wonderful things that he knows
the wonderful things that he sees
(I know what he sees)
the boy will not know me
to him I am unknown
but my heart is happy
I have orange dust on my wings
and the freeway's far away
and the radio is close by
and tuned to Led Zeppelin
unicorn horn antennae to the sky
movies and magic
woven into his sleep and eyes
golden
(not real gold, but close)
distant
feelers not fingers
a nose for nectar
the mixed scent of his hair
fingers are callused with time and music
chords and scores of years
nobody knows my secret pleasure
I weave a silk cocoon around it
he puts on a cotton shirt
he drinks water
he puts the guitar down for a moment
he thinks about the freeway
he thinks about papers and ink and things
he sees the butterfly on the wall
and he shoos her away
Stupid break-up song *Gags herself with a spoon*
you never seemed to hear me
when I called to you gently
you turned your head to look away
you turned your head to look away
you gave up on me
you gave up on the chance
you gave up on everything
you gave up on me
you never seemed to know me
when I looked to you gently
you opened up your mouth to say
you opened up your mouth to say
'Good-bye'
and for whatever reasons
you gave up on me
you gave up on the chance
you gave up on everything
you gave up on me
what else did you need?
what can't you see?
where's your heart going to be
when one day it's going to matter?
you'll understand then
you will understand then
what a fool you were when
you gave up on me
you gave up on the chance
you gave up on everything
you gave up on me
you never seemed to see me
when I touched you gently
you stepped aside to fall away
you stepped aside to fall away
you gave up on me
you gave up on the chance
you gave up on everything
you gave up on me
and I hope that when you think of me
you think of all the things you lost
I hope that when you think of me
I hope it cuts you to pieces
cause
you gave up on me
you gave up on the chance
you gave up on everything
you gave up on me
but I'm giving up on you
I've destroyed the chance
I've torn up everything
your cause is lost
your cause is lost
your cause is lost
your cause is lost
your cause is lost
cause you gave up on me
Some pretty werds and images....and there's a theme....sorta
Hey, hey, hey
it looks like the stars are gonna die tonight
take up a seat, pull in tight
cause we’re gonna watch them fall, fall, fall
cosmicclimaticsupernovaphobicfantastic
and drive around in our cars
with our eyes closed in the dark
….it doesn’t get any darker than the inside of your eyes
or the inside of your refrigerator-light mind
I propose a toast
of cream puffs and mulled orange cider
to the eternity of façade religion
to the eternity of our sun
may it burn forever when the hydrogen’s all gone
and I wanna watch you dance naked for me
this may be the last time
I get to be with you
I’ll set your heart on fire
and let it go like fragranced incense sticks
and burn for an hour, an hour and a half, 3 hours, 5, 10 or maybe 100000000 and a quarter
burn like cinnamon against my tongue
cause they drew up my draft card yesterday
the government says we’re gonna march into the sun
and won’t that be something? to march into the sun?
I’ll write you often
but I don’t think I’m coming back
so here’s a kiss of peppermint
a romantic DVD and some soft candlelight
we’ll sit out on the lawn
and watch the stars fall
it’ll be the last time they eclipse until the year 4005
and by then, even you’ll be dead
so let’s pull a cover of some 1950’s song
to remember each other by
when I’m marching into the sun
coming through fuzzyandclued on the
sonarecliptictelevisionradioset
a cd, a record, an 8-track, a cassette, a phonograph, a mini-disk, a diskette
it doesn’t mater, they’re all round by now
buried 6 feet underground with all the other rock stars
remember how they used to sound?
when the world was flat?
yeah, that was a long, long time ago
and remember the summer of 1977?….
and remember all the stuff that we thought would….but didn’t matter?
remember when I had long hair?
and you were goth?
you were beautiful then and you’re still beautiful now
and I’ll remember that the most
when I’m marching into the sun
don’t give up, darling
cause you know, we’re still young
we’re still withered butterfly and ballroom ball gowns young
and with arched, breeched, arced and encircling darkness coming
words are beginning to mean nothing now
so just wrap your legs around me
and toss your inhibitions to the wind
let me know you love me
tell me you’ll love me forever
for as long as the sun is round
as the stars are all falling down
cause tomorrow I’m taking a shuttle to the Mars space station
and in a week I’ll be marching into the sun
so kiss me now, kiss me forever, kiss me and swear to the moon
that you will always love me
cause what good is there in doing anything
when everything’s been undone?
and where is good when there’s just darkness?
and where are you when I can’t see?
I’m leaving tomorrow, baby, so don’t leave me now
make a rock movie about our teenage ideals
our hypocriticalanyliticalnonsenseical ideals
load it up with a punk metal soundtrack and kill the dialogue
cause words are useless now, as useless as your fingernails
I can’t open the beer cans, I can’t load my gun
kiss me, hold me, let me die here
cause I’m dying for sure tomorrow
spin it, rave it, take some hardcore drugs
rape my head and marry my soul
the devil wants a pure soul, so he sure don’t want mine
and the stars are falling down
hey, hey, hey
they’re crying as they’re coming
look at that
we’re gonna watch our world collapse tonight
More weird vibe. I do not really have ADD....although sometimes I certainly act like it ;)
'I never thought my mouth could feel so foreign'
he said that
you'll know yer doin it right
when you feel warm
well, I feel cold
so I'll put another sweater on
and I think the Japanese have a proverb
that says the earth formed like oil
in a puddle of stale rain water
I wanna go to the Malibu beach
and be naked in the sea
by moonlight
never ferget just how important
the stars are to me
look at my ethnic cinnamon skin
and my falsely raven and scattered curls
you are fair-skinned
pink
when you spend too long in the sun
with soft brown
Jesus-curls
down to your collarbone
and on the inside I am purple
and inside you are the color of dry fields replenished by the spring rains - vibrant, ardent green
my darling,
why do you worry?
it's not as bad as you think it is
and you really don't know who you are
I heard they aborted you midterm
you got only halfway there
flaking plaster of Paris
beneath your black fignernails
I want to chase butterflies
pack a picnic
and giggle in the sunshine
but wait,
your light skin is only halfway there
and yer more susceptible to skin cancer
than I
and sweaters aren't of much use
when it's snowing in the summer time
she tossed the raven curls as she turned her head
and blinked, the long thick lashes fluttered
she wears a purple skirt of Spanish velvet
Spanish velvet Girl
eyes are dark, nails are long and rounded
her feet are bared and pointed like a dancer's
her skin glows Spanish gold and bronze
to match her Spanish cinnamon-brown eyes
she says to me
Spanish velvet Girl says one night,
'I'm not afraid of dying'
and I believe her
because I know she doesn't lie
she's afraid of the things that she can't see
she says they're scurrying across the kitchen floor
'Can't you hear their nails on the floor?
Can't you hear the scratching against the tile floors?'
and I take her in and kiss her forehead
brush aside the coal-black curls and say
'Spanish velvet Girl, there's nothing there'
she always turns to look behind her when she's walking
she says that some apparition is following
she's afraid of the things that she can't see
the things she makes up in her head
I say to her calmly
'Spanish velvet Girl, there's nothing there'
and she looks up to me
her hands drawn close to her chest
her cinnamon-brown eyes wide and wet
with frightened tears
and softly she assures me,
'I'm not afraid of dying'
she wears a skirt of purple Spanish velvet
and on the nights when the sea is quiet
she says to me,
'Let's go dancing'
and what she means by this
is taking my hand and drawing me down
to some moon-flushed shore
along the Spanish coast
I say to her that I can't dance
she says,
'That's alright, Spanish Fly,
I can dance alone'
and she dances, very alone
upon her pointed dancer's toes
she hums the sad guitar solo
of some 1950s Spanish song
Spanish velvet Girl
she is always dancing alone
to the music she hears only in her head
I watch her and in those moments
I dare not approach her
because she says the ghosts come out
and the ghosts don't like to be disturbed
and sometimes she gets too close to the water
and she soaks her purple Spanish velvet skirt
with salt water
sometimes she gets too close to the water
she wades in too far for me to hear her
singing the sad old Spanish songs
and once a rip tide pulled her under
I didn't notice until I didn't see her shadow
and despite the threatening apparitions
I rose up and went in after her
I pulled her from the water
she choked on the sea water as she lay on the sand
her curls were darker still with water
her Spanish velvet skirt was black and clung to her body
she blinked tears and salt water from her lashes
she flung herself into my arms, crying
and I took her in and kissed her forehead
brushed aside the coal-black curls and said,
'Spanish velvet Girl, it's okay'
and she raised her cinnamon-brown eyes to mine
wide and wet with fright and terror
and she said,
'I saw the things that I can hear in the kitchen
I saw the ghosts that follow me when I walk
I saw them, Spanish Fly,
I saw them, American Boy,
they got inside of me
when I swallowed all that sea water
Can't you hear them?'
and I wrapped her tight in my long dark coat
and gently I said to her,
'Spanish velvet Girl, there's nothing there'
I didn't take her dancing anymore
she turns to look behind her more than she did before
she cries to me in the night
she says that the nightmares are getting worse
I hold her trembling body close to me
she curls her pointed porcelain feet under her body
she says to me, almost crazy,
'Spanish Fly, American Boy, take me dancing'
and I say calmly to her,
'Not today, not right now
Maybe tomorrow, Spanish velvet Girl'
but sometimes she rises from my side at night
and she goes out into the Spanish city streets
the streets as old as Conquistadores
and she's wearing her purple Spanish velvet skirt
and she dances beneath the orange street lights
and hums some old Spanish 1950s song
the ones with the long sad guitar solos
the old men in white starched linen suits
the old men with wrinkles that are the stains of tears
the old men who sing in deep Spanish voices about tormented love
I soon wake up after her
and see her in the street below the narrow apartment window
her skin glowing golden bronze and orange in the night
and I run down to her
and I shake her shoulders and I say to her
'No more dancing
I told you no more dancing'
and she trembles and she cries
and she says,
'Please forgive me, Spanish Fly'
and I do
I always do
I say,
'I'm not angry
I'm only worried'
and she looks up at me
with wide and wet cinnamon-brown eyes
and she says softly,
'I'm not afraid of dying'
and one day she asks me to braid her hair and wash her skirt
I weave lavender-scented ribbons into her black Spanish curls
I wash her purple Spanish velvet skirt in water with orange skins
so she smells like a citrus flower
and for a while
the ghosts go away
and nothing scurries in the kitchen
and she doesn't let me know
that she isn't afraid of dying
she doesn't ask to go dancing
she stops asking for cocoa powder in her warmed breakfast milk
she comes home and sleeps through the Siesta
and she leaves me alone in the kitchen
where I put flowers in the porcelain vases
and cut Spanish oranges for her to eat when she wakes
she wakes and blinks the dream-dust from her lashes
she eats the oranges soaked in sweet Spanish wine
she says to me,
'American Boy, when are you going to cut your hair?'
I say calmly to her,
'I don't know, Spanish velvet Girl,
I don't know'
and then she came down with a fever
and she became like a frail apparition
drifting solemnly through the house
singing in a faded voice
the forgotten words of some 1950s Spanish song
even if she wanted to
she couldn't dance on her pointed feet
instead she wakes up hot and cold with perspiration
in the middle of the long Spanish nights
and I can hear her shuffling in the kitchen
looking for a Spanish orange to peel
looking for a knife
one night she dropped a porcelain bowl
and it shattered on the tile
I woke and rose up to her
and I held her as she cried
I took her in and kissed her forehead
brushed aside the coal-black curls and said,
'Spanish velvet Girl, everything's alright'
and her tired cinnamon-brown eyes lift slowly to mine
they are dim and drenched with salt water
and she says weakly to me,
'Spanish Fly,
American Boy,
I think I might be dying'
I tried to take her dancing
I took her to the moon-flushed shores at night
I tried to wake the apparitions
I tried to hear the things that used to scurry in the kitchen
but all I found were shards of porcelain on the tile floor
I found the old, old records
with the sad old 1950s Spanish songs
I bought a white linen suit
and starched it with lavender and orange skins
but nothing helped
I had to leave her
she slept through all the Siestas
she couldn't wake to eat the oranges
the Spanish oranges soaked in sweet Spanish wine
I went to the moon-flushed coast alone
and wondered about the ghosts
the things she said got into her
the night she almost drowned
I had to leave her
the Spanish velvet Girl
there were no more raven curls to braid
no more lavender-scented ropes or orange peels
her Spanish gold and bronze skin faded to sickly silver
I couldn't stay with her anymore
I couldn't take her in and kiss her forehead
brush aside the coal-black curls
and say,
'Spanish velvet Girl, there's nothing there'
and alone in my bed at night
sometimes I hear her saying
'American Boy, when are you going to cut your hair?'
and when the nights are long and cold I wonder
is she dancing?
is she dancing under the orange street light?
has she met the old men who sing the sad Spanish tunes?
does she still turn her head when she's walking?
does she hear the things scurrying in the kitchen?
has she ever seen them?
is she dancing?
and sometimes I wish I could hear her say,
'Spanish Fly,
American Boy,
I'm not afraid of dying'
When I first wrote this poem, I thought it was supid. On second thought....
Do you see where you hurt me?
Do you see it?
The place where your drunk arrow
plunged into my heart
and lodged itself there,
wedged itself right in between
the red and purple chambers of my heart;
a wound that festers and scabs
grows gnarled and scars.
Can’t you smell it?
The stink of flesh rotting
from the inside out,
sallow skin on dried bones,
a limp soul, neither dead nor alive,
but breathing softly
inhaling hope and exhaling poison,
clinging like the skin that clings
to the hollowed bones.
Can’t you taste it?
Wine-sweet kisses on your lips
fermented into something bitter,
sucking the moisture of youth
from those once flushed lips,
sin clawing at the innocence
at the back of your throat.
Do you see where you hurt me?
And do you see,
rather,
can
you see,
faith in my eyes?
A readiness
to forgive you,
prepared to cry
at your mercy.
You’re sacred to me;
holy, blessed, divine.
If I could pry
those tears from you
those pearls of love
those crystals of tenderness,
my elation would know
no boundaries.
Until then
Do you see where you hurt me?
you got me right between
‘love’ and ‘you.’
© 2001 The Poet Dog
All rights reserved here and abroad.