"The Final Rose"
Today is Friday
the vents in the windows
let out a little air
gaping wound
as veiled eyes watch
the drama of the exploited and the wicked
somewhere caught in the fringe
between now, forever, and never
the dance, painfully slow
eyes shift nervously about the room
someone steps up and recites
a slurred masterpiece
of a long overdue diatribe
she speaks slowly to her stalker
in dulcet tones and batted eyes
she gets up carefully, the red silk
of her dress glittering
in the subdued light
she gestures knowingly
and leaves without a word
content in the fact
that, no matter what happens, the man
the same man she yearned for
all those years ago
will never find the will
to ever let her go
a single rose tinged
with bittersweet tears
on his frayed, taunt death mask.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Friday, April 10, 2009
Poem: "Towards The Rear Wheels Of The Motorcade"
"Towards The Rear Wheels Of The Motorcade"
today is Tuesday and the farmer's market is full
of activity, bustling with the buyers and sellers
children screaming and men scratching their heads
the forecast calls for partly cloudy skies
with a 35% chance of scattered showers
the undertaker has run out of mahogany coffins
Starbucks Frappucino's have been reported to cause
infertility in women on the verge of Tourette's
$7.50 for used tampons at all participating
Mom and Pop bank robberies
metallic dildos have replaced rubber ones
as the weapon of choice
56% of men report an increase
in the consumption of salty snacks
once they reach the age of 45
the alarm clock is known to stimulate
road rage in slugs and rodents
three servings of caffeine an hour slows the brain's ability
to prevent pointless outbursts from overpaid game show vixens
somewhere in the world, three clicks
will signal the end of boys bands in spandex
taking over the airwaves
in light of this most recent infraction.
(Note: This was originally written on February 24, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
today is Tuesday and the farmer's market is full
of activity, bustling with the buyers and sellers
children screaming and men scratching their heads
the forecast calls for partly cloudy skies
with a 35% chance of scattered showers
the undertaker has run out of mahogany coffins
Starbucks Frappucino's have been reported to cause
infertility in women on the verge of Tourette's
$7.50 for used tampons at all participating
Mom and Pop bank robberies
metallic dildos have replaced rubber ones
as the weapon of choice
56% of men report an increase
in the consumption of salty snacks
once they reach the age of 45
the alarm clock is known to stimulate
road rage in slugs and rodents
three servings of caffeine an hour slows the brain's ability
to prevent pointless outbursts from overpaid game show vixens
somewhere in the world, three clicks
will signal the end of boys bands in spandex
taking over the airwaves
in light of this most recent infraction.
(Note: This was originally written on February 24, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Poem: "Last Nerve"
"Last Nerve"
she called again
for the twentieth time
as the last nerve in my brain snaps
I let out a scream that no one ever hears
if I wanted to be fucked up
that's why I keep my cock close by
can't stand the cat fights no more
you can't make it past the phone line
you don't have to be here
I never asked you to come by to begin with
maybe you don't have anyone better to do
but next time you feel the need to cling
get yourself a damn blanket
I won't be around much longer
to put up with your shit
that's right, I'm evil
but at least I know what I am
"I know how you get around men."
bitch, if you really did know how I get
you would know better
and not spread your legs
for every asshole you meet
and you think I'm the easy one, huh?
we'll see about that.
(Note: This was originally written on March 26, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
she called again
for the twentieth time
as the last nerve in my brain snaps
I let out a scream that no one ever hears
if I wanted to be fucked up
that's why I keep my cock close by
can't stand the cat fights no more
you can't make it past the phone line
you don't have to be here
I never asked you to come by to begin with
maybe you don't have anyone better to do
but next time you feel the need to cling
get yourself a damn blanket
I won't be around much longer
to put up with your shit
that's right, I'm evil
but at least I know what I am
"I know how you get around men."
bitch, if you really did know how I get
you would know better
and not spread your legs
for every asshole you meet
and you think I'm the easy one, huh?
we'll see about that.
(Note: This was originally written on March 26, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Poem: "A Light Of Their Own"
"A Light of Their Own"
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
Elvis at the doorstep of the innocent
beatings of barefoot children
as they scream for mothers long dead
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
the engine of the car blew
while the way to work on the funeral
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
two women, twin sisters
were found just outside
the steps of their home
naked and raped
a pile of bloody clothes
next to their dying bodies
under the odd beauty of moonlit night
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
the bridges and been burned and countless ghosts
let loose on an unsuspecting populace
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
the sins of the lustful
under the valiant guise
of the watchmen
who forever go nameless
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies.
(Note: This was originally written on February 29, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, By Raymund Diaz Delizo
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
Elvis at the doorstep of the innocent
beatings of barefoot children
as they scream for mothers long dead
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
the engine of the car blew
while the way to work on the funeral
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
two women, twin sisters
were found just outside
the steps of their home
naked and raped
a pile of bloody clothes
next to their dying bodies
under the odd beauty of moonlit night
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
the bridges and been burned and countless ghosts
let loose on an unsuspecting populace
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies
the sins of the lustful
under the valiant guise
of the watchmen
who forever go nameless
I have grown tired of chewing
from the fat of your lies.
(Note: This was originally written on February 29, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, By Raymund Diaz Delizo
Poem: "The Cracks Of Enormous Propensity"
"The Cracks Of Enormous Propensity"
force feed through the gills of deception
as the skies part, the sea lays waste
to the forever kingdom
of the forgotten rulers
the misfits will have their say tonight
wisdom teeth show a propensity towards
idiotic displays of iconic bathroom behavior
as the bushmen await their next victim
the practical joke has reached new heights
lest the common folk forget the supplier
of their sugar-laced hallucinations
the trucks roll by
the scent of bear claws, twists and coffee linger
sitting by the roadside
up the cracks
looking at the children
as they stare back
in glowing consternation.
(Note: This was originally written April 4, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
force feed through the gills of deception
as the skies part, the sea lays waste
to the forever kingdom
of the forgotten rulers
the misfits will have their say tonight
wisdom teeth show a propensity towards
idiotic displays of iconic bathroom behavior
as the bushmen await their next victim
the practical joke has reached new heights
lest the common folk forget the supplier
of their sugar-laced hallucinations
the trucks roll by
the scent of bear claws, twists and coffee linger
sitting by the roadside
up the cracks
looking at the children
as they stare back
in glowing consternation.
(Note: This was originally written April 4, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Poem: "Sleeping With The Dregs"
"Sleeping With The Dregs"
the man in the shitkicker hat stares
up at the moon
dangling a cigarette in his fat, callused fingers
contemplating whatever it is a man of his hefty stature would
his old lady left him
when the rent was due
and took his grandfather's old rifle
without an explanation
"probably pawned it, the bitch," he thought
as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag
his wildly, unkempt hair blowing in the wind
inside, he missed her deeply
but his manly pride meant too much
the countless hours on the road
in and out of strange motels
fucking women with soft faces
and names like Yvette, Cassie and Lou Ann
eating in diners and driving a beat up '67 Cadillac
he had his shot at being someone once
but he gave all that up when he chose
to sleep with the dregs
(don't forget your blanket, Butch).
(Note: This was originally written April 27, 2004 for my old blog; edited April 10, 2009.)
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
the man in the shitkicker hat stares
up at the moon
dangling a cigarette in his fat, callused fingers
contemplating whatever it is a man of his hefty stature would
his old lady left him
when the rent was due
and took his grandfather's old rifle
without an explanation
"probably pawned it, the bitch," he thought
as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag
his wildly, unkempt hair blowing in the wind
inside, he missed her deeply
but his manly pride meant too much
the countless hours on the road
in and out of strange motels
fucking women with soft faces
and names like Yvette, Cassie and Lou Ann
eating in diners and driving a beat up '67 Cadillac
he had his shot at being someone once
but he gave all that up when he chose
to sleep with the dregs
(don't forget your blanket, Butch).
(Note: This was originally written April 27, 2004 for my old blog; edited April 10, 2009.)
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Poem: "A Dress Left On The Hanger"
"A Dress Left On The Hanger"
the man, the man, the man
left town in a tirade
about rotten tomatoes at the local mart
staring at the cashier lady with dog breath
and sagging breasts
she was a thrice divorced mother of three
in her mid-forties
drunk on Chinese takeout and cigarettes
she used to haul cargo across state lines
the house now empty
old Elvis plays on the turntable hi-fi
as night waits to infiltrate the sky
and change its face from light to dark
shadows loom in silence
too much msg in one's diet promotes lethargy
the dress is left on a hanger
dripping wet and seething with unkempt anticipation.
(Note: This was originally written May 27, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
the man, the man, the man
left town in a tirade
about rotten tomatoes at the local mart
staring at the cashier lady with dog breath
and sagging breasts
she was a thrice divorced mother of three
in her mid-forties
drunk on Chinese takeout and cigarettes
she used to haul cargo across state lines
the house now empty
old Elvis plays on the turntable hi-fi
as night waits to infiltrate the sky
and change its face from light to dark
shadows loom in silence
too much msg in one's diet promotes lethargy
the dress is left on a hanger
dripping wet and seething with unkempt anticipation.
(Note: This was originally written May 27, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Poem: "Letter left unsent to this morning's advice column"
"Letter left unsent to this morning's advice column"
dear _______,
in the event of my impending unraveling, there is nothing left for me to give you. all I have are the words I have written over all these years. I have not left a single feeling, phrase or moment untouched. (as a matter of fact, remember the time we ran off in my Winnebago and ate BBQ all summer?) in these last moments I have left, I think of all the nice things that were left unsaid. I'm sure if you check, Hallmark's already got the perfect card for what we both must be thinking now. the moon was out last night, and it was beautiful. silent, silvery light glowing in perfect defiance against the subtle sky, not a raindrop or cloud in sight. I think a few birds were about, chattering and wooing. all the while, the lone sound of a million wings flapping. you were wrong about me, you know. I didn't turn out to be a bitter old coot like James or Thomas or even Hank. but what you did get right was the fact that I'm gonna miss you. and that's saying somethin' there 'cuz you know I don't miss nobody. if you ever are standing outside at night on the porch your father built, in the old house where our children grew up, reach out with your hands. I still might be blowing a kiss your way. maybe, if I'm lucky, you'll be there to catch it. enough of this horseshit, I'm off to the bar to get drunk and scratch my ass all night.
your blubbering, loving idiot bastard,
Robert
(Note: This was originally written June 2, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
dear _______,
in the event of my impending unraveling, there is nothing left for me to give you. all I have are the words I have written over all these years. I have not left a single feeling, phrase or moment untouched. (as a matter of fact, remember the time we ran off in my Winnebago and ate BBQ all summer?) in these last moments I have left, I think of all the nice things that were left unsaid. I'm sure if you check, Hallmark's already got the perfect card for what we both must be thinking now. the moon was out last night, and it was beautiful. silent, silvery light glowing in perfect defiance against the subtle sky, not a raindrop or cloud in sight. I think a few birds were about, chattering and wooing. all the while, the lone sound of a million wings flapping. you were wrong about me, you know. I didn't turn out to be a bitter old coot like James or Thomas or even Hank. but what you did get right was the fact that I'm gonna miss you. and that's saying somethin' there 'cuz you know I don't miss nobody. if you ever are standing outside at night on the porch your father built, in the old house where our children grew up, reach out with your hands. I still might be blowing a kiss your way. maybe, if I'm lucky, you'll be there to catch it. enough of this horseshit, I'm off to the bar to get drunk and scratch my ass all night.
your blubbering, loving idiot bastard,
Robert
(Note: This was originally written June 2, 2004 for my old blog.)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Idle Thoughts
Looking back on the extent of my evolution as a writer, I'd say I have put down hundreds of pages of poetry and prose in 13 years of writing seriously. Most of those have been lost and I unfortunately can't reproduce them anymore, but I do still remember them. The first real one I remember was called "Flood" and was very raw and dark and emotive. I was into a lot of E.A. Poe, Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas at the time. Since then, in 13 years of hit and miss, I went from being a borrower to a kind of writer with his own voice. I admit I still go back to what got me excited to write in the first place, but I have a feeling that as I have changed as a human being, so too has my writing been forced to mature and evolve. Whether it's good or not, I'll let whoever reads it decide. I'm not qualified to make an objective analysis of my work because what I write is so a part of me so I don't feel quite up to the task of judging its poetic or artistic merits. Hopefully people will come away enjoying what I have done, but as long as they look at it honestly and come up with their own opinions of it, whether good or bad, if it is done honestly then that is all I could hope for.
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
(Note: This was originally posted on my old blog on June 3, 2004)
Copyright: 2004, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
(Note: This was originally posted on my old blog on June 3, 2004)
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