"The Chasm"
dear ________,
If I've been a bastard to you lately, please
Try to forgive my stubborn inclinations
Mid life PMS has gotten the better
Of my manhood these days
Last night was just like I used to remember
Your skin, your hands, our bodies intertwined
Sharing one final time
Before my insides threaten to cave in
Tell B and S, that I haven't forgotten them
The cold sterility of linoleum and hospital beds
Has seeped into my unkempt bones
The fragrance of you lingers
In the shadows of my mind
All else fades in the twilight
The chasm that is your love
Has overtaken my life
With you standing over me
Dagger in hand
Never forget, dear
Let my blood run cold
Kiss me once
Before I surrender
To death's fervent embrace.
- IG
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Poem: "The Secret Of My Misery"
"The Secret Of My Misery"
- for GW and Bukowski.
Dear Mr. Chinaski,
I'm nearing the end of my first book
not expecting it to take this long
the whole creative process drawn out
with pregnant pauses and mental blocks
on the bed nearby lies a fairly worn copy
of one of your books of poetry
I still don't understand how you were
able to write a new one every year
maybe it was the booze
or the cats
or maybe Vivaldi with his fruity strings
was behind it all
2 a.m. and I'm in bed
while you plug away
on your computer
and my screen has a mind of her own
freezing on me
not budging
blinking faster than my eyes can react to it
six feet under
in some quiet space
I hear you laugh
as the underbelly of my undoing
seethes just beneath the breaking point
the cold air is still
the turbulent wind
that threatens my insides
is all I have left (*)
the pallor of my skin forever changed
I would have followed you down
into that beautifully awful place (*)
Fearfully taken,
Robert "Rambo" Chimney
Copyright: 2004 & 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
(Note: The original version of this poem was written January 2004 for my old blog; * - denotes that these parts were written April 18, 2009.)
- for GW and Bukowski.
Dear Mr. Chinaski,
I'm nearing the end of my first book
not expecting it to take this long
the whole creative process drawn out
with pregnant pauses and mental blocks
on the bed nearby lies a fairly worn copy
of one of your books of poetry
I still don't understand how you were
able to write a new one every year
maybe it was the booze
or the cats
or maybe Vivaldi with his fruity strings
was behind it all
2 a.m. and I'm in bed
while you plug away
on your computer
and my screen has a mind of her own
freezing on me
not budging
blinking faster than my eyes can react to it
six feet under
in some quiet space
I hear you laugh
as the underbelly of my undoing
seethes just beneath the breaking point
the cold air is still
the turbulent wind
that threatens my insides
is all I have left (*)
the pallor of my skin forever changed
I would have followed you down
into that beautifully awful place (*)
Fearfully taken,
Robert "Rambo" Chimney
Copyright: 2004 & 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
(Note: The original version of this poem was written January 2004 for my old blog; * - denotes that these parts were written April 18, 2009.)
Poem: "Last Call At 2 A.M."
"Last Call At 2 A.M."
She came in late
Thoughts lingered in her head
"I've never kissed lips so soft," she whispered
To no one in particular
Lucinda had left the back door open
With a note that smelled of wine and perfume
"Come see me sometime," it read
She imagined what it would be like
To lay in bed and feel vulnerable
Next to someone so much like her
Lucinda was so close
Her roommate felt a sudden tightness in her stomach
And felt a sweltering rush of butterflies
"If I could just hold her hand and look into her eyes," she said
As she stood there under moonlit sky
While raindrops soaked her to the bone
Waiting for one last call
The clock read 2 A.M.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
She came in late
Thoughts lingered in her head
"I've never kissed lips so soft," she whispered
To no one in particular
Lucinda had left the back door open
With a note that smelled of wine and perfume
"Come see me sometime," it read
She imagined what it would be like
To lay in bed and feel vulnerable
Next to someone so much like her
Lucinda was so close
Her roommate felt a sudden tightness in her stomach
And felt a sweltering rush of butterflies
"If I could just hold her hand and look into her eyes," she said
As she stood there under moonlit sky
While raindrops soaked her to the bone
Waiting for one last call
The clock read 2 A.M.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
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