PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I went to one of them New Year’s Day poetry marathons at St. Mark’s Church in the Lower East Side.  It was pretty cool albeit rather long.  12 hours of poetry is a lot to deal with in a single sitting.

Of course, you could slip out to the courtyard to smoke a bowl during the breaks.  There were also refreshments sold in the Parish Hall and they sold beer.  It’s also not that hard to sneak in a bottle of beer purchased from a deli.

They had a big pot of homemade chili selling at $3.00 a bowl.  I was stunned when I realized I was standing next to Jim Carroll at the refreshment table.  I had a copy of Living at the Movies which I timidly asked him to sign.  We talked briefly.  He drank 3 cups of coffee in about 20 minutes and was acting rather skittish.  He never seemed like the type to need stimulants.  He seems hyper enough without it.

He also made a major pitch for me to purchase a bowl of chili.  It didn’t look all that appetizing and I opted against it.  I figured I would stick to beer and my food outside somewhere else.  When a guy that drinks 3 cups of coffee in 20 minutes tries to sell me a bowl of chili, I get a little suspicious.  He wasn't getting a bowl for himself but seemed obsessed with getting me to buy a bowl.  

Of course, I didn’t fare much better with the gyro I got at a place across the street.  I should have made the extra effort to find a Bill’s Gyro.  Maybe next time, I’ll learn to put aside my paranoia and skepticism.  After all, strange or not, Jim Carroll was still a brother poet.  Maybe I should have trusted him all along.

Watching you

By Jfarrell

I love how you wrinkle your nose like that,

When something gets your attention;

Yes, you, look up from your keyboard.

:-)

Yep, right there, you see me?

Silly question, you can’t see me…

The small blue light…

Just look up…

Just beside your webcam…

Yay :-) you found me,

Hi

Don’t panic (I see how your chest rises and falls with fear);

I’m not the creepy greasy-haired guy, who lives opposite;

(He’s quite a nice dude, by the way, helps old ladies across the road);

He can’t help it if he sees you… then his jaw drops and he just stares…

You are stunning…

But…

If you see me looking…

I’m not slack-jawed and mesmerised;

I look; I visualize…. in lurid, sweat and blood-soaked detail;

You can see the dark, calculating hunger in my eyes

That’s why I watch you from here

Through your webcam… your phone…

I am one of the million different faces who sit in the darkness…

Paid to watch you…

Recommended to watch you..

Excited by watching you…

All you do… in detail…

In digital technicolour.

Now listen to what I have to say

For the wicked hide in the shadows of this day

You know nothing of what is of me

You may know the color of my eyes

But not of what they are capable to see

Now here, I've warned this upon you

For not every smile is ever true

Everything is not set in stone

You may say there is an answer

When nothing is completely known

Close your eyes, please understand

That what you may rely on is a blood-thirsty hand

Unknown of what they truly are

Watch think before you turn and talk

Someone so close to you can be so far

So remember before you go on and say

"But why would anyone do this to me anyway?"

Human nature can be full of evil and greed

Unwatched, A monster born within the shadows, full only of self pleasure and need.

Up all night again, sick of yourself.

Short breaths plague the black captivity.

You wish it could be back to normal,

Or at least degrade to a lesser severity.

Previous occurrences have moon light blood,

Now all to feel is the soft red warmness.

Consciousness progresses further into night;

Ending in moonlight becomes end in darkness.

Thoughts infect, searing pain in my brain;

My tolerance but a memory now digressing.

I can't take any more, I'm going insane;

Madness dragging me down, always progressing.

Paranoia, an occurrence so often wanted gone,

Is raging in my mind like it never has before.

Thinking situations and conclusions so wrong,

I'm sick, done, not tolerating this anymore.

A handful of pills, a quick bullet to my brain,

Or maybe a therapist, to tell me I'm insane.

It's hard to go on when you're barely alive;

It's hard to live when you're never recognized.