My Poetry


Most recent at the top.

humming (2006)

humming to the soulfuck of synapses firing create the me beyond body lies love like a rug not a cheat past god's dobermans glare as stamens from the bud light no smoking it wearies past a countertop of stigmatas posing for mobiles don't tip scales and fangs

At Heart (2005)

The sky of woman shied black
back from the sea of rye
and cries and milk and silk.
Man's sword slept for the bowtie
and awoke in fairer fingers.
Now she hates to be he
and he to be she.

High School Alumni Retrospective (2005)

Rusty, dusty, squeaking, creaking,
before they built anew.
Rotting carpet, invading bees
was the CCS I knew.

Along with many an underpaid slave driver.
"Fine, smite me with textbooks; I'm a survivor."
Now I know: a dozen lasers, aimed as one;
they cut me into the image of the Son.

But I tossed by tassel, threw open wide gates,
and buried my mind in the world's wet womb.
Recut myself in full-gory faux-glory,
watered self-lauding pursuits into bloom.

German expressionist film from the 20's.
Dali's surrealist works from the 30's.
Aleotoric avant-garde post-jazz minimalism.
A hipster rock-snob with Pitchforkian chauvinism.

Computer hacking, cracking, phreaking,
leaking, sneaking, peaking.
Bitter frost in a damp pit.
Bitter and lost in my own shit.


I can split infinitives but not a boolean function.
Don't ask me 'bout parliament or writs of injunction.
How deep is the sea and how hot is the sun?
How many pounds in a metric ton?

Fraction and function, species and compound
Lost on the trail and left unfound.
But what turned my cheek back to heaven's might
Were the CCS soul-seeds of God's fearsome delight.

Laughing friends, crying friends,
Friends who let me fall, then picked me up.
Wild's compassion, Krueger's service,
Love from Newton, Newton, and Newton.
Bergman's acceptance, Reisdorf's encouragement,
Kitty's wisdom, 'koski's devotion, Pearce's joy

was the CCS I knew.

Haiku (2005)

A pretty petal
Asleep in the softest breeze
Kisses sweet my palm

Abstract / Prefers / Pictures (2005)

Soul stone
To chums.

Gut moths
Flap fast
When last.

Bad grapes.

Flipped frowns
Cold hell.

A love

Winter Walk (2005)

God smote this land,
Choked its throbbing heart
And cleansing blood,
Stripped its bony dancers
Of earthy rainbows,
Buried sweet blooms
In a bright bleached blanket,
Where I press my podstamps.

The skyfire burns cold.
The flyers fled down.
The crawlers bed down.
The cold seeps my skin,
Sleeps my soul.

Thwack! A snowball.
Her glossy smile melts me.
I thwack back.
Together we bring the angels.

I, Locust (2005)

I, Locust,
Black hole belly,
Swarm summer jelly.

Alchemy Shmelchemy (2005)

Alchemy Shmelchemy, so writers
hollow each mountain
of common ore,
polish its few nuggets,
polish more.
Stupid fat mountain.

To Dust To Better (2005)

Purge! you snark and lie not
upon your blackened bed.
Silence! scornworthy tempest
of your browlifted air unsaid.
Cleave! no more lovers' links
with fisted stare and seeds of dread.
Bury! thyself and bud afresh
with thrashing thorns well shed.

Writing. (2005)

Fuck. Writing. Hard.
Tired. Empty. Moron.
Must. Can't. Will. Don't.
Start. Stop. Stuck. Fuck.

Love Letter (2005)

A letter, my love, of our passion’s end
ever outpacing our critics’ reviews.
Arrows they have pessimistically penned
pierce imprints left by our fast running shoes.

Their thoughts in confounded pretzels ensnare
for they do not draw each breath from your sighs.
They have never lost themselves in your hair,
nor danced to the melody of your eyes.

Look at me! I’m rhyming! I’m rhyming!
Writing beautiful nonsense for you,
my dismembered thoughts in strict timing,
you always serve as my blushing muse.

‘melody of your eyes’ – what rotten cheese!
‘lost in your hair’ – what clichéd muck!
But I’ll form these coprolites when you please
For as long as they get me fucked.

Poem For My Mother's Birthday (2004)

Long ago I had left the nest
Now I have to find my own worms
I do now what I think is best
Living only on my own terms

Poor mother bird back at home
Sees her children fly away
Taking off to wander and roam
No more ear for what moms say

Yet still baby bird encounters
a mother's wisdom manifest
in complication that deters
ignoring mother's best

So he returns to serve this dish:
'You know, mother, you're the bomb!'
And at least once a year to wish
a 'Happy Birthday!' to his mom

With Cocksure Smile (2000)

With cocksure smile and soulful gaze
Hoping to cast her in a daze
All dressed up in my Sunday best
Spouting aptly jest after jest

For with such words I did aspire
To ignite in her such a fire
That burns brighter when I draw near
And coo so softly in her ear

Her giggling and playful winking
Led me justly to be thinking
I had mounted my white steed
And completed a fearless deed

Precedent goaded the return
Of Extempore Extraordinaire
But alas, the jury was novel
I was forced to beg and grovel

Tears, kneeling, and kissing her hand
Did not clear the line in the sand
And she departed from the shore
Leaving me to miss her evermore

When divine wisdom I incurred
My omniscient Father answered
“Though I crafted her sightly kind,
Even I can’t trace a woman's mind.”

Nightmare (2000)

A flash of lightning, a haunted face
They snore, a creak just behind the door
Seeping, creeping with a silent pace
A sudden strike and they snore no more

The world, it seems, with monsters teeming
Baneful, cursed and filled wholly with rage
Laying grounds for excessive screaming
Playing each night on my cerebral stage

Falling, dying, calling, and crying
Always active, tossing and turning
Losing breath but never just sighing
With hellish fever ever burning

It worsens as I maintain the dream
Blades slash down and bullets fly toward me
Demons and devils assail and scream
And I awake

Subtlety (1999)

I grow ever more impatient with subtlety.
Why should you use a whisper to help others to see,
When a stamp and a shout will work effectively.

Some people are too meek to jump into the fray.
Most never have a thing that’s worthwhile to say:
their thought is too dull to be a point, anyway.

It is a sad kind of life that is so resigned
to never confront at risk of not being kind,
so much that compassion becomes an iron bind.

Please, do not be so nice that you cannot be true,
or else you’ll find yourself beneath your friend’s shoe.
And if you don’t speak up, I’ll walk over you, too!

not sure if you welcome criticism... but... i liked nightmare alot... sadly there isn't one line i like in the rest of them... you really should give up rhyming, your no good at it.

Certainly I welcome criticism! I'd prefer it to be more specific (and thus, constructive) than what you've offered, though. I am glad you liked Nightmare. Strangely, it's probably my least favorite of these poems, except for the last line.

I can childishly entertain myself with end rhymes forever, and I've only recently tried free verse at all! It's quite freeing, and I like finding other ways to incorporate music into my poetry (assonance, alliteration, mid-line rhymes, etc.)

It's too bad you don't like any of my other poems. If you don't mind, I'll share some of the moments I like:

"A letter, my love, of our passion's end / ever outpacing our critics reviews." At first, it seems the poem tells us that this will concern the breakup of a relationship. The next line reveals that it is actually about the opposite - a neverending relationship (those close to the speaker - the critics - say things like 'I give it six months,' but the speaker and his girl keep outlasting such predictions).

"But I'll form these coprolites when I please / for as long as they get me fucked." This turns the 'corny love poem' (the first half of Love Letter) on its head. I'm saying it's all worthless crap, and I'm only writing it to get laid. Not only that, but I call the corny love poem part a 'coprolite,' which is fossilized feces. So, not only is that kind of poem crap, but it's been crap for a long time. Writers have been writing crappy love poems for a long time to get laid. That I could communicate all that, in one word - coprolies - was a wonderful discovery for me and plays perfectly to the compression of language essential to poetry.

"Fuck. Writing. Hard." - In this poem, each word is meant to be a complete thought. So, this is basically "Fuck, writing is hard." But, because of the way the lines are arranged, you can read it as the imperative, 'Fuck writing hard,' which also contributes to the theme of the poem.

And, I like the invented words and dense mix of abstractions and images in 'To Dust To Better.' I also like the title, which could mean "Moving from life to dust to better myself" or "I move from life to dust to something better than before." Better could be a verb or a noun, there.

Out of curiosity, what are some of your favorite poems?

oh i don't know what my favorite poems are... i basically only know whether or not i like a poem, thats why i couldn't really be more specific... i'm not an expert, i really know nothing about poetry... but the one thing i could tell you is I personally didn't like the rhyming, they just don't seem to flow well, but i again i don't know what i'm talking about... nightmare i really liked the imagery, which i think is lacking a bit from the others... along with the fact that i think nightmare flows a little better, if any of that makes any sense.

Ah yes, I would agree with you that I still tend to write with more ideas than images in my poetry, which is something I need to improve.

write a hiaku or a rap song????????

There, I tried a haiku, thanks!

I was asked to write a half-page high school alumni retrospective for my former school's newsletter. I wrote them a poem. "CCS" is the name of the school: Cambridge Christian School. I attended an old, rotting building but they've since moved to a new one. Naturally, the names at the end are the names of my teachers. This poem won't mean much to people unfamiliar with my school and its people, but I figured I'd include it here for the sake of completeness. And because I haven't written a poem for a while. I stole "world's wet womb" from 'Young Liars' by TV on the Radio.

P.S. Since it's a Christian school, and the word "shit" would garner many parental complaints, the school administrator edited the "shit" line for the newsletter.

I'm quite happy with At Heart, so I'll explain it. The poem concerns the unfortunate gender-role ambiguity of the 20th and 21st centuries.

The sky of woman shied black
back from the sea of rye
and cries and milk and silk.
Man's sword slept for the bowtie
and awoke in fairer fingers.
Now she hates to be he
and he to be she.

In the 20th century, "The sky of woman" (her bliss, joy, essense, fulfillment, heart) "shied black" (became dissatisfied with her assumed responsibilities in the upcoming list)
/ "back from the sea of rye" (dismissing her role as primary food preparer; rye refers to bread)
/ "and cries and milk" (dismissing her role as primary child-rearer) "and silk" (and her role as primary housekeeper, for example mending clothes)
/ "Man's sword slept for the bowtie" (chastised for being violent, brutish, and crass, man's wild, conquering, ambitious nature was set aside or squelched to make way for lots of 'really nice guys' who were little more than gentlemen)
/ "and awoke in fairer fingers" (with the feminist movement, women claimed and conquered great ground in the workplace, politics, sports, etc.)
/ "Now she hates to be he / and he to be she" (men are not happy as gentlemen, they want to express their wild, untamable nature. Women aren't happy working full-time and, inevitably, still having to do housework and child-rearing anyway)

Sexist, too assuming, and too generalized, but I thought it was a neat thought/image, concisely expressed. Yay.

I really liked what i read. I'm not an expert (whatever that is), but I write poetry myself, and I found your wordplays stimulating. I usually write in free verse, as I can't seem to find any rhymes - never. :-))
Anyway, keep it up!

I really like "Writing.", it's very amusing and clever.

Excellent work here. "Winter Walk" is probably my favorite, most likely because "God smote this land, Choked its throbbing heart" is just an amazingly powerful opening line.

Thanks! Have you written any poetry?

Kudos for publishing your work and accepting criticism openly!

Wow, I thought explosions this big only happened in movies.

I should mention that I stole the phrase "world's wet womb" for High School Alumni Retrospective from TV on the Radio's "Young Liars." Here's the relevant section of lyrics, near as I can make them out:

Well, it's cold and it's quiet, and cobblestone cold in here
Fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again
Lonely is all we are
Lovely so far, but my heart's still a marble in an empty jelly jar
Someday suppose that my curious nervousness stills into prescience, clairvoyant consciousness
I will be calmer than cream, making maps out of your dreams
But will psychic ability kill the nativity or simply diminish that flinch?
ooooh Young liars
ooooh Young liars
I said, thank you for taking my hands
and burying them deep in the world's wet womb
Where no one can heed their commands
Where no one can heed their commands
except young liars
young liars

Wow. I really liked nearly all of them, particularly At Heart & Writing. Do you read a lot of poetry as well as writing it?

Thanks. I don't read or write much poetry. But every now and then I get in the mood, and I start scribbling.

Why do we kidnap and confine people who kidnap and confine people to show them that it's wrong to kidnap and confine people?