What the hell was I thinking
to a Hell, I keep asking myself
what on Earth
I’m doing here and come up
with the same
and different answers– Heaven
devours itself and then looks
for more to eat
because it is always expanding
Thirsty hungry restless alive…
Morning moves toward noon, a dim moon floats above the hill
It is a skull– In my head as in the eaves doves moan
Mondial irises bloom the color of shrouds
Under a cold sky the cedar trees shutter
The low groan the dog utters is from the chilly rain–
It has always been as the papers say, “Man found murdered
Near Saint Mary’s church” so much blood and pain, too little change.
Rayn Roberts 2017
After all, as you lie in my arms knowing all
needing nothing but what is, the earth rolling away from the sun
Thunder rolling in the distance
Can you hear the thunder of death, my dear?
Yes, I hear it and more, I hear a sound
Not everyone can hear, I feel an energy not everyone can feel — a Sound
Birth a note, Love a song, Death
Spinning days into silk, connecting man to men, men to women
Woman to every child, weaving nights out of the past –
The Dead speak to me
They are not dead; they are here
And with the silk of souls our future is woven, all that is
that is humanly good, out of birth this note, out of love this song
Little worm silken light little word OM
Japanese Garden Photo by Terry Busch
mountains are full of wildlife
on a high ridge
two roe deer greet me
a squirrel claims her pine with chatter
running over rocks
water calls me to a dove in light
snow and ice at the edge of a pond
the shadow of the heron
over moss-green water
these mountains are full of the dead.
Jinju, South Korea
Oh Lotto Ticket!
You make phone sex obsolete, your tongue
moves over the gutters of my body like a street cleaning truck.
Your love is like a red, red
Tube of toothpaste
You are better for my mouth than Scope
You are better than bubble gum blown
during an action packed movie
You’re more exiting than Twitter
More meaningful than Google
I get lost in Best Buys
Dreaming of your stupid afterglow grin.
When I think of what your fingers do for my Friday nights
A free Lamborghini… Bores me.
I am obsessed by what we do in bed more than what I do with my…
Visa at Nordstrom’s
You are to me
What potatoes are to potato salad, big dresses were to Mama Cass
Tie-dye to hippies
Plastic surgery to Tinsel Town…
You’re hotter than a Hollywood Comet, cooler than Kevin Spacey
You’re my “Living End”
My Marilyn Monroe Sleeping Pill
Janis Joplin Hypodermic, Buddy Holly Plane Ride
Jim Morrison Parisian Bath
Your my Billy Holiday Heroin-dusted Gardenia, my Birthday Wish
You pop out of a ten foot cake to give me free orgasms an hour
Then go for one more…
Oh Fuckkitten, Loveclone, Suckpuppy on your knees in the morning
The best thing about you without doubt is that
You… are… imaginary!
Note: This poem first appeared in Rattle 17 years ago! Wow, has it been that long? The version above is updated and revised to make it more current, but the thrust of the poem is the same: Anti Consumerism & Comedy. ~ Rayn Roberts.
He holds me so close we dream the same dream
But I cannot sleep while I remember
A dream of driving down a back road in the dark
Hoping for collision, a head-on in his arms.
That could be my freedom, no one really knows
Exactly when we go and I am recalling the look
Of wonder on his face when he knew I knew
The love of beauty, the beauty of love is stronger
Than his embrace– time wears me down to dust.
Love, keep me close, keep me here a little longer.
He wraps big cold arms around me with the blanket
And the sheets, we lie down to sleep again
Death and I, turning a blind corner on a back road.