Poetry from 2012 (Part 1)

04/10/13

Here are eight poems I wrote from January - June 2012. The themes here range from sexuality, desire and self-evaluation to homosexuality in society, individuality, hopelessness and desperation.

Blood

I pull the Devil

Out of the mouth

Into my lover

His vessels pound

The sin of love

Keeps judgment at bay

I seek out the flesh

Leave love astray

Blood

Blood

Enter my body 


With blood

You open your mouth

A sinking stone

Devour me

Tear meat from bone

The only way inside

A path of blood

Your skin and muscle


Wring out my love

Blood

Blood

Enter my body 


With blood

Cog-Work

Down in the cog-work of my mind,

where static nerves cannot unwind,

every part is in its place

of anti-movement, anti-pace.

When I start to move around,

immobilities unbound.

Common joints all follow suit,

although my mind is stuck en route.

I climb up; up to the thought tread,

I ascend myself to my deathbed.

If I could summon any pain,

I would ignite my every flame.

Though I’d only smoulder out,

I’d try to wet my lips again...

Allow my body to unclog,

as I unwind my every cog.

Allow my body to unclog,

as I unwind my every cog.

Full Moon

I get hungry ‘round the full moon

His faded face in my high noon

All the grey becomes vivid

On the surface of my skin

My virgin eyes turn livid

And each moment turns to sin

It would bring me joy

If I could get up there

Push him headfirst into the mattress

Move him forward into the darkness

Into the world of open mouth

Into the world of the full moon

My life quivers ‘round the full moon

Sleep is destined to strike him soon


Electricity in my skin

Let me sink my teeth in

I’ll dig my way to china

Bring my mouth to the center

I’ll flood him and the body

Silver moonlight when I enter

I get hungry ‘round the full moon

I get hungry ‘round the full moon

Gay Life

If I love you through my eyes,

to me, what’ll be given?

When I ask you to answer,

will my heart really listen?


I’m sick and tired of going

where the flesh is all showy.

The night brings the dead eyes;

the dead stars in the skylines.


I keep cyan in left pocket;

dark blue alongside it.

I’ve got to live upright

if I want to fit in right.

I got contemporary code.

Sometimes, I’m raring to go.

But, the years approach me,

and I write home alone.

If an arrow struck my skin,

would poison soak in deep?


Those queer scenes surrounding;

can I just fall asleep?

If I loved you through my eyes,

would you look at them flicker?

Thousands of lovers,

each one getting sicker.

Gift From God

It is a gift from God

To love a man

It is a gift from God

To live by hand



It is my gift to man

To love them raw

The heart I was given

Always gives more

The verses deny me

The fathers despise me

I live here to love

One heart is enough





The Biblical anchor

Drops to my core


It oppresses love

And closes the door


My gift from God

I now understand

The perverse love

Of man and man

The Habit

His hands haven’t touched,

though he knows the sin.

The price of his love


and all filth therein.

When the weather turns,

the black comes undone.

He begs for the ending;

for thunder to come.

The folds of the earth

open to his brim.

Conducting strings,

the symphony in him.

Lightning storm,

bring him warmth.

Bring him to life.

The soil still lingers,


on the tips of his fingers.

His bow plucks the threads,


every hair on his head

standing erect.

Lightning storm,

bringing warmth,

bringing life.

Lightning storm,

burning earth,

burn him alive.


Lightning storm,

burning earth,

burn him to life.

Transience Persists

I have an eye for gazing

when the distance is true.

When open, it will watch you.

It, forever, will see.

I have a hand for stroking

when desire has dropped anchor.

When open, it may soothe you.

It will release your strain.

I have a mouth for loving

when lust has conquered me.

When open, it can love you.

It will swallow you whole.

I have a mouth for speaking

when the mind requires proof.

When open, it can say all

It will say all you need.

I have a hand for holding

when passion has burned out.

When open, it may hold you.

It will synchronize us.

I have an eye for crying

when transience persists.

When open, it will course.

It cries until love.

Two Boys

To the two boys in the field;

rest your hands inches apart,

let love loosen your muscles

and fight away your nerves.

Now, grip each other closely.

reach out and feel the flesh.

Societal pressures...

Let them slip into the earth.

Turn your back to the breed.

Your love is rarer still.

To hold each other closely

is to live unguardedly.

And that is a rare beauty.