Poetry Corner
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LogGrad98
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Anything can be "poetic", as it's completely subjective.
COPS - by Jim Carroll, 1969
I notice that cops
are often tense
Often awkward people
in getting off buses
cops don’t wait
for the green light to indicate the door is open
leaving them pounding on it
and disturbing my nod
cops lack imagination.
who that carries a gun so close to his thigh
possesses imagination?
how can cops
with their awkwardness
and feeble imagination
even begin to think of themselves as good sex partners?
you would laugh
at a cop in bed.
cops are paranoid
they jitter as they walk
they don’t breathe air easily
realizing my basic
freedom
I breathe the air quite easily
as I walk to places where I see less cops.
Some people seem
to like cops
I, for one, do not dig these mother ****ers.
I notice that cops
are often tense
Often awkward people
in getting off buses
cops don’t wait
for the green light to indicate the door is open
leaving them pounding on it
and disturbing my nod
cops lack imagination.
who that carries a gun so close to his thigh
possesses imagination?
how can cops
with their awkwardness
and feeble imagination
even begin to think of themselves as good sex partners?
you would laugh
at a cop in bed.
cops are paranoid
they jitter as they walk
they don’t breathe air easily
realizing my basic
freedom
I breathe the air quite easily
as I walk to places where I see less cops.
Some people seem
to like cops
I, for one, do not dig these mother ****ers.
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Everywhere I go is beauty
trees illuminated
street lights glowing in the darkness
I want to run up to strangers and kiss them
but there is too much noise
men kill each other
I'm sick and tired of seeing sad faces
stop that bastard machine
everyone is God and Holy
a spike is ripping at my throat
I smell a fragrance of a rose
everywhere I go is beauty
- Jack Micheline
trees illuminated
street lights glowing in the darkness
I want to run up to strangers and kiss them
but there is too much noise
men kill each other
I'm sick and tired of seeing sad faces
stop that bastard machine
everyone is God and Holy
a spike is ripping at my throat
I smell a fragrance of a rose
everywhere I go is beauty
- Jack Micheline
You walk your heart savagely
Along the beach, like a pet
abused by the trivia of passion
and the blistered claws of a sun
caged in its zenith, losing
ambition day by day. At your heel
It turned sand bleached white
Like an albino toad, a sick
pumping agate. Dogs follow
Cautiously for what you have.
It curls in the quick fog
Off the lagoon, dragging
a curtain of salt sting.
It insists to you.
It risks any exposure
In time, finally resting
As my feet take the waves, it braces
Its tubes to my wrist like a watch,
Its pulse lighting digits of severed blood,
smaller than a landlord's practiced tears.
- Jim Carroll, My Pale Skin
Along the beach, like a pet
abused by the trivia of passion
and the blistered claws of a sun
caged in its zenith, losing
ambition day by day. At your heel
It turned sand bleached white
Like an albino toad, a sick
pumping agate. Dogs follow
Cautiously for what you have.
It curls in the quick fog
Off the lagoon, dragging
a curtain of salt sting.
It insists to you.
It risks any exposure
In time, finally resting
As my feet take the waves, it braces
Its tubes to my wrist like a watch,
Its pulse lighting digits of severed blood,
smaller than a landlord's practiced tears.
- Jim Carroll, My Pale Skin