Instructions for Giving

March 24, 2021 jdoublepgiving, poem, poetry, writingLeave a comment

This is how
You give up:

Throw your hands
To the sky
Say god why
Oh god why

This is how
You give up:

Cry when you
Are alone
When you are
Out with friends
With your dog
At the park

On the phone
In your bed
In the dark

This is how
You give up:

You do not

Give in

There is a difference
Between those prepositions

Perhaps you forgot
That up indicates a position
That is higher than
_____That is higher than
__________That is higher than
The one
in which
you find
yourself
in this
bare, ripe
moment

This is how
You give up:

Just give up
Give way up__________________________________Commit

#Winning

February 13, 2021February 13, 2021 jdoubleppoem, poetry, violence, writingLeave a comment

My penis was eaten by an old catfish

After my brother tore me down

My sister/wife put me back me together

From all the parts that she had found

She had to take a golden phallus

And strap it to my groin

Then we made love all night long

Got her pregnant with a baby boy

And that little boy, well he growed up

To do his daddy proud

He found his murderin’ uncle hiding away

And the circle of violence spun round

The circle of violence spins round and round

With no beginning, with no end

I learned the hard way the circle never slows down

Violence always wins

Listen to me while you’re breathing hard

I said violence always wins

Oh, listen to me while you’re seeing stars

Violence always wins

It ain’t hard to see the cosmic truth

Peace and love are real fine virtues

But they don’t hold a candle to the old 1, 2

Because violence, steady violence,

Violence, always violence,

Always wins

New Routines

February 10, 2021 jdoubleppoem, poetry, prose poem, routine, writingLeave a comment

Monday/Tuesday: Nap by the fire. Sleep under a thin sheet. Drink two cups of coffee. Listen to songs from youth. Serve lunch for anyone that wants to eat. Make breakfast before anyone else wakes up. Wash the dishes while NPR plays. Take the trash to the curb. Work from the laptop in different rooms for a change of scenery. Practice the guitar. Walk on the treadmill. Try to write something with impact. Look out the window for 10 minutes. Stare at the phone hoping for something new.

Wednesday: Stare at the fire. Nap by a thin sheet. Sleep under two cups of coffee. Drink songs from youth. Listen to lunch, for anyone that wants to. Serve breakfast before anyone else wakes up. Make the dishes. Wash the trash. Take from the laptop. Work the guitar. Practice the treadmill. Walk something with impact. Try to write out the window for 10 minutes. Look at the phone hoping for something new.

Later: Stare at the thin sheet. Nap by two cups of coffee. Sleep under songs from youth. Drink lunch. Listen to waking up. Serve the dishes. Make the trash. Wash the laptop. Take the guitar. Work the treadmill. Practice something with impact. Walk out the window. Try to write something new. Look at the phone fire.

Later Still: Make for the treadmill. Of different minutes, thin. Else new? The lunch, the nap? Up scenery to under 10. Write, drink, while anyone plays. Make my hoping at the window dishes. Try for phone sheet. Wash for to wakes. Wants guitar. A walk by something before trash. Take cups on out, in. Change rooms. By the curb. Listen, anyone, the two work for a breakfast from NPR. The look of Sleep: stare to that coffee in the fire. Practice youth songs with something. Impact: Eat the laptop.

Letterbox 10/2/88 (after They Might Be Giants)

February 5, 2021 jdoublepdonnie darko, frank, poem, poetry, Roberta sparrow, song, they might be giants, writingLeave a comment

She’ll never know what she’ll find
When she opens up her letter box tomorrow
‘Cause a big bunny tells me everything I want to know
Except about Grandma Death, Roberta Sparrow
And I’ll never never know
All the things I never never never want to know
Even though I’m Donnie Darko

Since I can see the effervescent chest tubes showing paths though time
I can know the future but still forgot I was gonna shoot my spirit guide
Smack dead in the middle of his eye
I should’ve have talked with you about The Philosophy of Time, shouldn’t I?
Would’ve that worked out fine?

Living Receiver is my new job it’s crazy so there’s no time for sorrow
In my hoodie find a vortex in the sky to die smiling yesterday’s tomorrow

Donnie Darko turns 20 this year…and They Might Be Giants is timeless.

Nothing says I love you

January 13, 2021 jdoublepfarting, poem, song, writing1 Comment

It was a moonless night
Not a star in the sky
No one around
But you...and I

On the back porch
Bathed in candlelight
Neighbors fast asleep
Dreams in their eyes

Our bellies full
From all that cabbage stew
Than a'rumblin' began
From that devil’s brew

Oh ...

I used to wonder what it'd take to prove this truth
I used to wonder how to make a mark
But now I know now how simple that it really is

Nothing says I love you 
like farting 
in the dark

Haiku for an Enlightened New Year

December 31, 2020December 31, 2020 jdoublephaiku, meditation, poem, poetry, urinary bliss, writing3 Comments

I meditated

So hard I peed in my pants

Warm, wet, samadhi

On the pleasures of being lied to

December 1, 2020 jdoublepdeath cult, poem, poetry, something is wrong, writing5 Comments

dreams of cinemas and churches and
where the people once were – empty
now we fill the spaces between spaces
countless coughs in crammed corridors
attentions misdirected by magic words
earth salted, unsowable
incongruous truths, convenience be damned
give me liberty or give us death
silver screens absent of light motions, horror worship

a patriot once whispered
upon her deathbed
to anyone listening,
still trying to understand
the things patriots say,
“you must know that
the child of freedom
is responsibility.
you must know that
freedom is a razor.”

Walking Through the Woods Whistling, Wondering

November 30, 2020 jdoublepdeath poem, poem, poetry, writingLeave a comment

Under cover of failed flesh
Slowly creeps the march of Death.
Recalling how life fair flows,
Slows not the fall of Shadow…

34 Words for Snow

November 27, 2020 jdoublepburied alived, poem, poetry, snow, writingLeave a comment

Snowfall at night, music.
Comes the bone house to rest.
Now, the pale house will dream
Of the world it knew best.

Doubts, through life must we bear
As strong men come or go.
Snowfall, broken-hearted,
Buries blustering foes.

Cures for Pain

November 25, 2020 jdoublepearthlike, poem, poetry, writingLeave a comment

Once numb. Limbs frozen, crying to remember heat,
Lashed by the weight of night-plagued flesh.

Choking, room empty of divine, immortal breaths.
Heavy sighs returned while shivering unto death.

Hear now mother’s quivering voice after panged birth.

Watch her lead the children through each forest wild
And tell stories of every bird to fly under every sun.

Devious Bloggery

light of my life, fire of my loins

Menu

poem

Instructions for Giving

#Winning

New Routines

Letterbox 10/2/88 (after They Might Be Giants)

Nothing says I love you

Haiku for an Enlightened New Year

On the pleasures of being lied to

Walking Through the Woods Whistling, Wondering

34 Words for Snow

Cures for Pain