Poetry: Attraction

This poem is from my Honor's Thesis Project, which is a Creative Nonfiction Narrative about gays and the Holocaust.  Within the text of my thesis I am trying something new--for me anyway-- working in poetry into the main body of the text to help develop the main character who wants to be nothing more than a writer. 

This particular poem comes from a chapter in the "book" where the main character, Christoph  meets a young man that he finds attractive... hope you enjoy

                        Are you like me,

                        Therefore the hours gleam 

                        If I were to say to you

                        You are a dwelling where strawberries

                        Sweep through your name  

                        As if budding shrubs remind me  

                        Of some spring of water so cool, so clear

                        Twilight rain embraces your leaves

                        Which are stirred by a dainty wind  

                        It is where you transpire in verdant moonlight  

                        You are the lily, the aster, the white trillium

                        Even the viburnum, by all merits mine

                        The frosty star in the pasture sky,

                        The snowstorm still arriving

                        From its earthward voyage, here there is  

                        No snow but I dreamt the snow was you,

                        You come to be my night

                        You take on the dimensions of sleep,

                        The silhouette of sleep becomes you

                        In those dreams you fall from the sky

                        With numerous blossoms

                        Poetries spill from your mouth

                        In waves, your lips taste like the sea,

                        But the seas have flown away

                        Because of loving you, home is nowhere

                        Therefore you are my shelter

                        The song of any Eden we can mention

Auschwitz (poetry)

     This poem was just written a few weeks back and will be included in my Honor's Thesis which is Creative Nonfiction and hopefully when finished in December will be published.  

My we never forget

 

Europe's outcasts viciously sleep

Begging God for their souls

What a horrendous thing - to wake the following day

Realizing freedom is now transported away

Into ghettos they walk in a communal custody

They lied

In the coldness, Auschwitz’s mouth is opening wide.

Is there a God in Heaven

If so show us your great authority!

Why must we plunge into abyss

Of a concentration camp

To be rendered our souls

By Auschwitz’s great might

They are interred - day and night.

Oh, Auschwitz, Auschwitz, Your devastation is so wide -

The unknowing drove in, ignorant of what's inside.

Run ...Run for your very lives!

You've been brought to The Executioner- and few survive.

It is easy to swallow these us whole -

Effectively you murder body and soul

Directly from the trains - rushed through your doors...

As Ghettos are cleared, you’re straining for more.

Auschwitz you seem hidden away

As your soil turns red with blood

Is there anyone to stop you

Something must be done

Or there will remain not one.

Auschwitz chimneys bursting with the wafting burn

Human remains gusting in the air are churned

Swirling dead who inhabit thoughts of remembrance

Abandoned in our vacant painful trance

Dug pits hidden beyond the eyes of God

Auschwitz endures only if no one sees

Covered over by Them,

So that no one would envision this place

To hide what was done –

What of us remains is barely a trace.

The demonic Nazis smile,

Trying to attract and hypnotize.

It is not so hard to mislead the trusting masses

Could God really be giving these us up to die?

Guiltless weeping eyes having to say “Good bye"

We think it's ended

 "...it is resolved, it is over”

We want to believe they screamed their last cries

Listen carefully, and you will hear the vibration,

Of Auschwitz’s faint heartbeat, beneath the soil

In our weakness we call

The criminals ‘Them” and “They”

Are our souls so distinctive and fearless

That we'd have arose and stood in the way?

"Theater Is For Sissies"--- Self written Poetry

This was for a Stage Play Class I am taking.  We were asked a series of question about the theater  and then asked to write something form those questions we were asked---Hope you enjoy it



"Theater Is For Sissies"

Flawless November nights, the city of Chicago
Embraces lovingly our lead Anderson Cooper
Solid,hard...oak floors his Louboutin's  shall tread
Lavender and oatmeal with raisins wafting
Welcome his fearlessness, him scented with Chanel Number Five
As Eva Peron; forget ole what's her name
Patti Lapone isn't anyone
Thongs of adoring fans clamor to hear our boy
Sing "Don't Cry For Me Argentina"
As they sip cappuccino in red velvet seats
The Queen, no not Anderson; but Elizabeth
Has her box seat at our Royal Albert Hall
Anderson's BMW maybe jealous of her Rolls Royce
But he has his darling Coco, an Ivory Shi Tzu
Oscar Wilde would be besides "herself"
As love has dared to speak its name
Boystown sellouts; standing ovations roar
Hoping Anderson will play
Ms. Gypsy Rose Lee next
Because my dear it takes a sissy
To really conquer the Theater

Sistah 2 Sistah--my poetry

This powerful piece I wrote for an African American Women's Literature Class and in some ways was my respone to reading "For Colored GirlsWho Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf" by Ntozake Shange.  I hope I captured the spirit of her work, as that was my goal and while I am not Afircan American or a woman I felt this topic needed addressed in a powerful poetry piece.  With all of that said I hope you enjoy.


"Sistah 2 Sistah"

crazy ass bitch ya must

b outcha mothafuckin’ mind

where my god damn shoes at

ya juz his damn wife

wit ur mocha colored thighs

& coffee colored eyes

jus’ his dreadlock girl

cain’t do dis 2 often sistah

cuz he didn’t use a condom

may b a kiss 4 u his baby mama

i don’t need anotha mouf 2 feed

here in da projects

4 real it’s jus’ sex, yo’ nuttin’ mo’

she thinks or do she know

he jus’ wanna fuck ya

fo’ da 80 dollars he has on him

but dat nigga georgio don’t stop talkin’

how he seen ur man on christopher street

pickin’ up mens who never set dey foot in no ghetto befo’

he don’t need no damn atm

when dere michaels, trevors and stephens

dat luv a gangsta thug cravin’ der male pussy

a white melon backside

he done done it million times ‘fore girl i knows

fo’ real girl my word is bond

let him speak dat voice 2 me

swearin’ he ain’t no faggot

i sees em all up wid da gump on the prowl

dey dat bitch and he’s dey homothug

i done heard they go raw dog

but dat ain’t no bitch dats a man

so take your low down down-low

lying ass & leave my house & hood

i don’t  wanna c ur face u lying prick

cuz i’mma fuck ya up homeboy

tryin’ 2 act all black wigger

cuz dis here sistah don’t need

ya sorry ass or ya

hiv

For Valentine's Day; "The Crooked Road"

 

 

“The Crooked Road”

Of deep unspoken longings dare I say

To but gaze upon you across the distance

Of masculine marble like manly flesh

Oh to taste his sweet savory dew like kisses

Of the pale violet sun light on Christopher Street in New York City

To hold is hand in mine

The private musical of us in my mind

The smell of ruggedness as sweet perfume

Of what could be the quiet joy of brotherhood

Let him just once kiss me on Halstead Street in New York City

With the touch of his lips

My own warrior rebel

That our desire should be shared could

Lead to our wholeness once out of Eden’s gate

Fairytales do come true on Castro Street in San Francisco

Guide my heart out of my desert of loneliness

Once I’ve tasted his sweet savory kisses

Some say rebellion began

Hearts filled with the camp of Christmas

Can what we share be but higher law

Would the fruit of this be sweet to taste

The pinnacle of spirit on Fire Island

To be but more than friends dare I say

To desire the crooked road

To our iniquities den in Hell’s Kitchen in the New York City ghetto

Passion flung out of eternal fires

My soft beautiful vaporous being

Bitter bitchy queens at the door mocking

That this feeling is mine and I am his

With no doubt or uncertainty at all

This is self written and my special Valentine to all of you my readers