The Scream – Poetry and Journaling

My “The Scream” journal. I love buying journals and using them for fragments of poetry or prayer, using them as planners, diaries, and even photo albums.

The spine is beautiful.

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Midwest

Fuzzy snowmen smell like turpentine.

Why all this wistful wind,

this heavy quiet,

these creative snowmen dancing in slow motion

to no music?

Not inaudible music,

or even illegible sound,

but nothing at all-

Machines with no factory.

This snow  covers a ghost city.

The children scattered and died.

Yes, I am freezing.

Would you like to dance?

December 28

Three feet behind Christmas

December 28 is trailing.

She needs a haircut desperately.

Her younger brother lives in New York.

Feted,

on the social circuit.

 

Dec 28 is sallow,

reminds her neighbors of a really long line.

I got her a job licking stamps at the unemployment agency.

No one sends her envelopes out.

Yet in her spare time she wins poker tournaments.

Her face hasn’t betrayed her in years.

Taming Lust

Bind me with rain,

Give me soothing comfort as

fraud from the driver between my legs

makes me hot and unclean

during sleep.

What strange guests await in the sea before the house,

gaudy on their local ships?

Give me good help and put me down

in the park.

Let me produce vines to depend on the place.

There is no sense of operation.

And the strangers come.

Their teeth have been refined.

Their hands are swift.

Church

Church of memoir

of discovery

of chants.

Cloistered in my name are ten lives

I did not live

in favor of a sublime 11th.

What is better than best?

What can joy can be discarded for ecstasy?

The taste of salt lines my mouth

when I look back.

 

 

translated to Xhosa, Afrikaans, and back

Church of Love

 

I find joy

while I lay cloistered in my ten lives.

Auroras swirl beyond my reach.

They will not live.

There is a reason I am so inordinately fond of 11.

What is better than a lot?

 

Why have I ignored peace?

 

It tasted of salt in my mouth.

Power lines guiding me back home.

 

 

Church of Love

Separate the gaiety from the joy.

Lonely in my ten lives,

they live,

it is as though they live without me.

How do I dispose of gaiety?

Of me?