Our biological clocks
Tick out of sync
But our hearts seek
To beat as one
Fast and faster
And then... slower
Falling asleep
Entwined
March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
In Honor of The 3rd Anniversary Armenian Poetry Project & it's Founder Lola Koundakjian
Armenians always hear the voices
Echoing from the past
The long gone past, the recent past
The voices of what once were
And live still in the hearts of readers
Of both west 'irs' or east 'oums'
Uz'old words only heard in church
Or even our new native tongues
We hear the echoes of the past
Reflected in the mirror you hold
Speaking the past into bits and bytes
Echoing across the internet globe
Podcast into the Armenian ears
Shushan in Tehran
In Boston, Melbourne, Paris
Garnig in Gumri
In Vienna, Sao Paulo too
We see the white cap of our mountain
Drink from the untainted springs
Laugh in villages that are... no more
March 19, 2009
Echoing from the past
The long gone past, the recent past
The voices of what once were
And live still in the hearts of readers
Of both west 'irs' or east 'oums'
Uz'old words only heard in church
Or even our new native tongues
We hear the echoes of the past
Reflected in the mirror you hold
Speaking the past into bits and bytes
Echoing across the internet globe
Podcast into the Armenian ears
Shushan in Tehran
In Boston, Melbourne, Paris
Garnig in Gumri
In Vienna, Sao Paulo too
We see the white cap of our mountain
Drink from the untainted springs
Laugh in villages that are... no more
March 19, 2009
pure cristal
i was texting you
on autopilot
dreaming through my fingers
caressing your face
through the keyboard
in a mystic almost
mythic reverie
that ended up as
this kind of almost
poor excuse for a poem
the first poem i wrote you
February 17, 2009
on autopilot
dreaming through my fingers
caressing your face
through the keyboard
in a mystic almost
mythic reverie
that ended up as
this kind of almost
poor excuse for a poem
the first poem i wrote you
February 17, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Book III
American Şukru
for John Vosbikian
On the many roads from Malatya,
To Konya, Harput, Adana,
Your music’s heard
In birds and brooks and breeze,
In rain and thunder
In the creek of trees
The growing wheat whispers your drone
And you,
With the breath of life,
Bleat and wail and mourn
To the eagle and the crane.
You cry sonic tears
That flow into rivers
That make things grow.
You derive
From wood and air
The true meaning of life
Spanning centuries and continents
A meaning that can only be
Heard and felt
Articulated not in words.
Every time you breathe
We die and live
We yearn and love
We lose our minds and
Find our souls.
April 24, 1991
Caracas
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Intuition
(A one third haiku)
You know
I know
You know
July 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Time
I steal time
In minutes,
Hours, seconds,
Days, months, years.
I steal it from me,
From you, my love.
I steal time for me
To wander off and dream.
I lie for time, my mistress,
Then cheat on her.
I scurry and scrounge
While she indifferently
Acclerates.
I steal time,
I steal yours.
I swill it,
Precious hours
Running down
My gluttonous cheeks.
July 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Writer’s Block
That I cannot write is your fault.
Your spirit clogs the pores of my soul.
My addiction, obsession,
Jams the synapses,
Dulls my sensitivity,
Evaporates vocabulary,
Blurs perceptions and
Lures my energy
To the butt of my spine.
I only want to live in your bed
With my hands groping under
Your Freudian slip.
April 24, 1991
Caracas
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Inspiration
I want to run off
And write songs for you
Hidden, cocooned,
Hibernating until
Monarch poems of
Orange and black burst
Forth and dance in
Your sun and die
Before the end of day.
1990
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Left Handed Women
Your boyish femininity
Left me dyslexic
Right in the vertigo
Of your libidinal palindrome.
1990
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Hesitation
I have walked Central Park twice,
Once with you and once alone.
With you,
You talked and showed me the park.
I mumbled and stuttered pleasantries
Over and around the words I really
Wanted to say.
Alone,
I followed our path and said
Everything, eloquently, to a
Phantom you.
Our first long
Lover’s kiss
At the base of
Cleopatra’s needle.
July 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Nourishment
I have digested you
I have heard your musk
And drank you with my eyes.
I have digested you
And infused you in every cell
Orienting my life in
The stream of you.
March 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Dreams
Your apparition
Synchs into my thoughts
And flutters harmonic
With my dream waves.
The collage of all
Kisses are focused,
In transparent writhe,
In detached coital arch,
Sined in genetic code,
Cosined by ancestors.
June 25, 1991
Brussels
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Grace
That ether blowing
Cool springs off the
Massive slopes
Of earth’s lopsided breasts,
That ether breeze
that prolongs my sleep
In fractal puffs
Cradling my soul
Enveloping the pain
Of long centuries.
April 1990
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Addiction to You
I should e-mail you every day but
That would become twice a day and
Then hourly until it would be better if
I just hung out with you all the time.
Such is an addict's lot,
Such is an addict's mesmer,
An addict's tragedy and what
No one but the addict knows
His
one
real
joy
April 17, 1998
—————— • ——————
Your Birthday Poem
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Since the you of you
Permeates the me of me
Creating the
Coital spider of us
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
I am too consumed
Scribbling with
My penal pen filled
With invisible ink
In the velvety vaginal
Book of you
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Since I get lost in the
Thought, dream, psychosis
In the reverie, image, reflection
Of loving you
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
For no poet can capture
That which has no bounds
No definition, no limits
In the core of the brain
Base of the spine
Ventricular aortic joy
Of loving you
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
As the words
Might spontaneously
Combust these pages
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Because brain functions
Cease at these
Emotional depths
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
As it would be a waste of time
Since no one else would
Ever, no how, know way
In Heaven or hell or
Other places, possibly
Conceive of this level of passion,
From the likes of us
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Because good poems
Demand the loss,
Absence, erosion,
Deterioration and general
Decay of love
August 14, 2001
Miami
—————— • ——————
Poems from my Caran D’ache
In touch with
The Tao of now
Raises the soul
From the tar pit
Of the mind allowing
Poems to flow
From the whole me
Immediate, permanent
There are no errors
There can be no revisions
Caran poems d’ached
Off in real time.
February 15, 2002
Mexico City
—————— • ——————
Sweet Breath
It was only chewing gum
Spearmint
That scented your breath
Anoukh
Intoxicating my soul
Hierbabuena
It was only chewing gum
Rahan
It was only spearmint
Naneh
It was only love
It was and will be
February 19, 2002
Mexico City
—————— • ——————
Our Isle
Our Isle
not of Solitude but
a bountiful place
where we live
off the food of Love
the wine of passion
the fruit of intensity
Our Isle
of anticipation and fulfillment
of yearning and contentment
Oscintilating
Like waves, over and over
Like the tide, deeper and profound
There is no map
We washed up on shore
Embraced, entwined
Primordial
Eternal
Timeless
on our isle.
February 14, 2002
—————— • ——————
Question
Must all poems
Be profound, revealing
The mysteries of life
The structure of the universe
The wisdom of the ages
Inspired by the
Breath of God and
The soul of life?
March 5, 2002
—————— • ——————
Must poems be clear, to all who read?
Should everyone who reads understand?
Or can they be just for my own need
To trace my life, just for me and
Not caring if anyone else ever reads them
The most egocentric writing of all
My memory book, documenting my crawl
Through this lifetime of trials and joy
Convincing myself I am still the same boy
January 26, 2004
—————— • ——————
exiled...
in a darien desolation,
a noroton nether land
the train rumbles
to some unknown
some ominous dawn
the train rumbles forth
in a flat descent
to some unknown
some ominous dark
foreboding town
the train trundles forth
alone, exiled
knowing naught
not knowing if
there is any return
to the green farm
the train rumbles forth
February 12, 2004
for John Vosbikian
On the many roads from Malatya,
To Konya, Harput, Adana,
Your music’s heard
In birds and brooks and breeze,
In rain and thunder
In the creek of trees
The growing wheat whispers your drone
And you,
With the breath of life,
Bleat and wail and mourn
To the eagle and the crane.
You cry sonic tears
That flow into rivers
That make things grow.
You derive
From wood and air
The true meaning of life
Spanning centuries and continents
A meaning that can only be
Heard and felt
Articulated not in words.
Every time you breathe
We die and live
We yearn and love
We lose our minds and
Find our souls.
April 24, 1991
Caracas
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Intuition
(A one third haiku)
You know
I know
You know
July 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Time
I steal time
In minutes,
Hours, seconds,
Days, months, years.
I steal it from me,
From you, my love.
I steal time for me
To wander off and dream.
I lie for time, my mistress,
Then cheat on her.
I scurry and scrounge
While she indifferently
Acclerates.
I steal time,
I steal yours.
I swill it,
Precious hours
Running down
My gluttonous cheeks.
July 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Writer’s Block
That I cannot write is your fault.
Your spirit clogs the pores of my soul.
My addiction, obsession,
Jams the synapses,
Dulls my sensitivity,
Evaporates vocabulary,
Blurs perceptions and
Lures my energy
To the butt of my spine.
I only want to live in your bed
With my hands groping under
Your Freudian slip.
April 24, 1991
Caracas
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Inspiration
I want to run off
And write songs for you
Hidden, cocooned,
Hibernating until
Monarch poems of
Orange and black burst
Forth and dance in
Your sun and die
Before the end of day.
1990
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Left Handed Women
Your boyish femininity
Left me dyslexic
Right in the vertigo
Of your libidinal palindrome.
1990
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Hesitation
I have walked Central Park twice,
Once with you and once alone.
With you,
You talked and showed me the park.
I mumbled and stuttered pleasantries
Over and around the words I really
Wanted to say.
Alone,
I followed our path and said
Everything, eloquently, to a
Phantom you.
Our first long
Lover’s kiss
At the base of
Cleopatra’s needle.
July 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Nourishment
I have digested you
I have heard your musk
And drank you with my eyes.
I have digested you
And infused you in every cell
Orienting my life in
The stream of you.
March 1991
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Dreams
Your apparition
Synchs into my thoughts
And flutters harmonic
With my dream waves.
The collage of all
Kisses are focused,
In transparent writhe,
In detached coital arch,
Sined in genetic code,
Cosined by ancestors.
June 25, 1991
Brussels
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Grace
That ether blowing
Cool springs off the
Massive slopes
Of earth’s lopsided breasts,
That ether breeze
that prolongs my sleep
In fractal puffs
Cradling my soul
Enveloping the pain
Of long centuries.
April 1990
—————— • ——————
The Gift of Addiction to You
I should e-mail you every day but
That would become twice a day and
Then hourly until it would be better if
I just hung out with you all the time.
Such is an addict's lot,
Such is an addict's mesmer,
An addict's tragedy and what
No one but the addict knows
His
one
real
joy
April 17, 1998
—————— • ——————
Your Birthday Poem
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Since the you of you
Permeates the me of me
Creating the
Coital spider of us
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
I am too consumed
Scribbling with
My penal pen filled
With invisible ink
In the velvety vaginal
Book of you
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Since I get lost in the
Thought, dream, psychosis
In the reverie, image, reflection
Of loving you
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
For no poet can capture
That which has no bounds
No definition, no limits
In the core of the brain
Base of the spine
Ventricular aortic joy
Of loving you
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
As the words
Might spontaneously
Combust these pages
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Because brain functions
Cease at these
Emotional depths
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
As it would be a waste of time
Since no one else would
Ever, no how, know way
In Heaven or hell or
Other places, possibly
Conceive of this level of passion,
From the likes of us
It is not possible
To write the poem of you,
Because good poems
Demand the loss,
Absence, erosion,
Deterioration and general
Decay of love
August 14, 2001
Miami
—————— • ——————
Poems from my Caran D’ache
In touch with
The Tao of now
Raises the soul
From the tar pit
Of the mind allowing
Poems to flow
From the whole me
Immediate, permanent
There are no errors
There can be no revisions
Caran poems d’ached
Off in real time.
February 15, 2002
Mexico City
—————— • ——————
Sweet Breath
It was only chewing gum
Spearmint
That scented your breath
Anoukh
Intoxicating my soul
Hierbabuena
It was only chewing gum
Rahan
It was only spearmint
Naneh
It was only love
It was and will be
February 19, 2002
Mexico City
—————— • ——————
Our Isle
Our Isle
not of Solitude but
a bountiful place
where we live
off the food of Love
the wine of passion
the fruit of intensity
Our Isle
of anticipation and fulfillment
of yearning and contentment
Oscintilating
Like waves, over and over
Like the tide, deeper and profound
There is no map
We washed up on shore
Embraced, entwined
Primordial
Eternal
Timeless
on our isle.
February 14, 2002
—————— • ——————
Question
Must all poems
Be profound, revealing
The mysteries of life
The structure of the universe
The wisdom of the ages
Inspired by the
Breath of God and
The soul of life?
March 5, 2002
—————— • ——————
Must poems be clear, to all who read?
Should everyone who reads understand?
Or can they be just for my own need
To trace my life, just for me and
Not caring if anyone else ever reads them
The most egocentric writing of all
My memory book, documenting my crawl
Through this lifetime of trials and joy
Convincing myself I am still the same boy
January 26, 2004
—————— • ——————
exiled...
in a darien desolation,
a noroton nether land
the train rumbles
to some unknown
some ominous dawn
the train rumbles forth
in a flat descent
to some unknown
some ominous dark
foreboding town
the train trundles forth
alone, exiled
knowing naught
not knowing if
there is any return
to the green farm
the train rumbles forth
February 12, 2004
Book II
Looking for Alice James
(but if we saw her sister
that would be cool)
The summer hung like
Misted raspberries
On the humid vine and
We went out tasting
The harvest of her spirit
The Claret of her mystique
The evolution of her being
She who changed us so
Gently in the moonight
Soon we shall bask in the
Memory of this pleasent search.
June 1983/April 1986
—————— • ——————
Airplane Gallorie
like a bird in a zoo
i adore the fashion molt
of the school girl violet
in her shy meld of blush
on a beach georgia tan
that bleached her sleeping
lip crown blond upon
an impish pout
while
mizz m-b-a
all sculpted malloy
with oxblood
cordovan attache
maroon designer
burgandy purse
crimson carry
on the go beams
with travel weary
forbes ability
July 1985
—————— • ——————
Charmonie
I.
You came to haunt me,
Make me pay, for the
Ugly way I played with
Purer hearts then mine.
You came not for revenge,
To gore my deserving soul,
But to kiss me back
To retrack your healing path.
II.
I have missed you,
All along, before
We ever met and
Shall ever miss
You more knowing
That you indeed
Exist in parallax.
Our fate is sealed
In your moral way
That allows not for
A change with time
And only accept as
Destiny that I would
Not have pained you
As did your younger he.
I care no more
For my lovers sad,
But for you, the one
I'll never have.
October 1985
—————— • ——————
jills
i.
you
the simian
dark with hair
and oils of
your rain
forest past
you
pure animal
dishevelled
waif queen
scream black
night panther
passions
ii
you
my first poem
rose poem
personified
genteel so
pure white
that would have
heated to red
you
almost
thought about
wanting to love
me
october 1985
—————— • ——————
Marie
She was the ripest
Thing I'd ever seen
With pierce blue
Steelest eyes that
Sparkled so you
Assumed her blind,
Superior to anything
But passion.
She was the ripest
Thing I'd ever seen
Bikinied emerging
From the pool, a dream
No commercial's ever been.
Her skin so taunt so
Smooth so plump so ripe
So tan and tight that
Water streaked and rolled,
It just beaded on her
Surface tension.
Such perfection could
Never last.
october 1985
—————— • ——————
cause
love child
golden nymph
translucent
milk vein
membrane
tenacious
love clinging
leeching kisses
and couplings
that drained
and sapped
incessantly
writhing
mucus beings
pink dark
warm ooze
slurping
ameiosis
november 1985
—————— • ——————
kriss
generic boygirl
grown teenage fresh
and clean scrubbed
youth woman
soft clear eyed
skin brown hair
of sand and
fulvous beige
lithe pleasent
blossom sylph
beatific sprite
of humanesse
too pure to
feel the pangs
of life and
love i know
you never felt
the pain of
your neck
snapping in the
metal crashing
on your quick
trip to godhead
november 1985
—————— • ——————
mydonna
six or seven lives
you've led and left:
a continuum of growth
and development to
this middle age
confection that
eyes crave.
though you would
be my writer's lover
in plaid winter maine
isolation of keyboard
clicks, fire cracks
and bear rug mouthy
smacks of fantasy,
that psychic fuel
that pulls me
through the day
november 1985
—————— • ——————
Pink Linen Winter Dream
With fair summer but a memory
And spirits bridled nice and tight,
Adrift this cold raging sea
Consumed in a windsnow blight.
Amid the slush and grime
Of this intemperate time
And the fiercest cold
That weakens the bold,
Amid the sleeting snow
And that incessant flow
Of whipping wind sones
That brittles the bones,
Enters our apparition of
Spring and love and flowers
The fertile warmth of life
renewed, the hope of all
mankind. The librarian
Of our flaxen souls tends
Us with purific care and
Frees us from solstistic bonds.
December 1985
—————— • ——————
Mack
I can only guess,
Your life today,
A late model shuttle
Of grocery carted
Unkempt children
Milk sweatshirted
Mustaches of your
Deer hunting beau.
We sensed your fate
In each tart kiss
Berried tongued
Tuesday afternoon.
January 1986
—————— • ——————
phright
You scared them all,
You brash and hard
Spirited Dietrich,
You carnivore.
They thought
You ate us all
And Hanselled us
In your Gretal
Witchy snare
They thought...
How wrong they thought,
Not knowing your
Adoptive fear and love
Of illegitimate passion
That made you grasp
And hold and made us
Hate to push you into
Your candy house oven
And run.
January 1986
—————— • ——————
Hoonvar Bergman
I went to bleed
Those Ullman tears,
To eat those
Wild Strawberries
To be depressed
Did you come
For encounter,
To meet a man
Of literary upperclass
`Twas only one night
And PG, your roomate,
Who knew where. Your
Freshman room of pink
And frilly scents of
Sandalwood in the air
Why I came and
How we got there,
Rolling clinging,
Mouth mated as if
I'd always missed you
And finally asleep
Embraced as a steamy
One that I've never
Seen since that night
I went to bleed
January 1986
—————— • ——————
lynny dearest
anglicatory grace
motherless genteel
basic decor of fifties
idyllic televised peace
scrubbed pale clean
frail plain presentation
with a much broader
scope and loving breadth
a quiet nymph‑calm sapphotic
with a passion depth
i never knew was there
february 1986
—————— • ——————
carole summer gails
in my early
first waking hours
swaddled newborn
circumsized world
I
cried in infant
harmony to you
whose lips i didn't
Feel
until in that
freshman heat of
exploring the
transformations
since last laying
side by side in
The
hospital bright
lanolized sterile
cribbed death dumb
unawareness of why
we never kissed
in passion drenched
darkness but in
daylight joy of
sun warmed
Earth
and july sky that
would never have
been so special had
we never had to
Move
away
February 1986
—————— • ——————
sketches of the byrd expedition
the olive skin burma‑shaved timbre
of our powerfull statured shy warrior
queen encasing a sweet soul trampled
tender mother burning at the stake
named for the moon luminescent goddess
of clear nights and summer cool wind
blown phantaseas defined in that climb
of your pure amber soft eyed stares
march 1986
—————— • ——————
one track mind haiku
tracks nailed
to loin bloody
thighs towards
the birth end
of the tunnel
march 1986
—————— • ——————
Anti‑Adonis and the Librarian
you'll never get that
gentle rape from me
whose tenement heart
burns hot engulfed
in your arsonist gait
oh
that i were a warrior
thundering the steppes
on noble steed sweeping
you up over my shoulder
screaming and kicking in
the misty breath morning
back to camp to ravage
so savage i hope i
weren't hurt
too bad
april 1986
—————— • ——————
april 24, 1986
play me that hard
riding music
partner
hard ridin' jams
play me that hard
driving music
baby
help me understand
i don't know
where i come from or
where i want to be
i never felt so lonely
honey
i just wanna be me
i got them genocide blues
momma
got them low down massacre blues
rapin' killin' maimin'
what's a poor boy to do
momma was so pretty
loved me like rock
the man he came in
and kilt her with his cock
my brother him so cool
the best in his school
they took his whole class
and made `em all suck gas
gives me them genocidal blues
baby
every april 24
i got those sick killin' blues
oh it just
tears my hear out
they did it for ol'allah
they did it for the bread
they took all the chillen'
and smashed in their head
they grab my little baby
raise her for they own
she don't know she armainian
she probly a turkish whore
i feel all genocidal blue
sweethang
down right holocaust blue
without you lawdy homelan'
i mays well up and die
—————— • ——————
virginia patti
alarific petals expand
contraltic tranquilities
carrying the echoed must
of ancient tufa stones in
the vocal wafting towards
the wheat field carpet
weaving vine ripened sheep
herding mountained past
the sinewous counterpoint
of kanun tendril pecks
reveals a love of life, you
and country that sparks
the reveral trance to flame
in your wide eyed attempt
to kiss the sky
april 1986
—————— • ——————
Ms. B
For all your inner
Beauty and fragile
Loving soul,
All I picture is
Your shuddertastic
Ovulicious tidal
Pleasure wincing at
Each different touch.
April 1986
—————— • ——————
devon
with a name like all england
and an american freckled face
fresh from the ohio farm in
my televised dreams of sunday
presbydinners and grandmaw's
rhubarb pie
and i could no
longer nap as my thoughts
would drift to my kinder-
garden love...you
may 1986
—————— • ——————
we all know one like her
sweet soul that pools
in greyfast eyes that
lures men serpentine
slithering for your
musky bitter taste
your structure primed
for childbirth so much
that you probably lick
them clean in lionest
but it's still the steel
you forge in loin furnace
red hot molten bloody
crest of aching burning
incredible itching fusions
that firebrands genetic
clots in bloodless brains
june 1986
—————— • ——————
the last hour
i.
you will be gone
and i remain alone
with foundation
eroded by your chocolate
mist and effervesce
continuing on
like the sole
survivor of your
nuclear war
aimlessly i wander
this barren planet
living in a bad
movie searching
for a plot
ii.
effluent in the
tongues of gods
a living carved
sculpture afrique
moved into my life
(they dared to call
her temporary)
evicting other visions
to the streets
as i give in
succumb to
matriarchal
servitude like
an old veldted
rain king
dancing for
a mate
june 1986
—————— • ——————
pure heart
doctors say
your heart ripples
irregular banter
threatening beats
though we
know it's a
clear running
mountain brook
that nurtures
all it love
washes over
spawning life
in its warm
bubbly flow
july 1986
—————— • ——————
there she goes just...
it was her
you were her
you were you
what why and
who were you
i was blitzed
and stumbled
dizzied and
twisted in the
gale of you
the cyclone
hurricane of you
the oz bound
house lifting
kansas apparition
twister of
my thoughts
and love lost
dreams served
back to me on
a dish of wind
of you
july 1986
—————— • ——————
the tortured artist ploy
my librarian to me
as beatrice to dante
as helga to wyeth
as kukla to ollie to fran
as bullwinkle to rocky
and natasha to boris
as markee to desade
and boys to ol'rock
and isolde to tristram
as i just met a girl named...
as perversion to errol
as you to the flynn of
your sweetest dreams
as me in my minds i
august 1986
—————— • ——————
generic white trash
in your ol'black faded
rock n'roll tee shirt
anemic pallored beige
colored hair unmade-up
po'white sleaze queen
emptian' my office trash
while sad lips advertise
world class mentholated
fellations for free
august 1986
—————— • ——————
A Dozen Long Stemmed Metaphors
from almost the moment
we met I've felt...
like one of us has cancer
like I have no right to sing
this song
like it's too early or too late
like you ought to be happier
but I'm not the guy
like I could be happier and
you're probably the girl
like why you are working for
a corporation instead of
modeling the finest fashions
to complement your beauty
which to me is
like nothing I have ever known
like something that addicted
every man you've ever met
like a clear skied golden sunned
autumn warm breeze knocking
the leaves off trees in giddy
swirls of harvest ripe fustration
like walking across our favorite
campus and dining in that
ivy league country inn
like it all took place in a movie
that I hoped would never end
like having the happiest of birthdays
which is what I wish for you
september 1986
—————— • ——————
forms
you were my
first awkward
quixotic charge
stopped by your
windmill majesty
perfect shadowed
cream sihlouettes
drenched in pure
august moonlight
what school girl
clothes did hide
you a real woman
and i a mere boy
october 1986
—————— • ——————
Visitation
to the poet's home
across harvard yard
anticipation meeting
with the daughter of
my grandfathers friend,
a pilgrimage to see
to learn, absorb the
aura of her way
to the poet's home
a tea august afternoon
of melon and madeleines
(bought just for me)
discussing words
and ironies of
working in our
new native tongue
to the poet's home
that ordered clutter
of books and words
in stacks and shelves
a stark and rich
canonical equilibrium
of perfect entropy
balance and awe
to the poet's home...
october 1986
—————— • ——————
rho-momma
percussive woman dance
and love percussive
woman dance that log
beat deep log beat and
dance my baby dance
sweet my lover dance
sweet percussive beat
that pleasure squirm
afro cascade beat
prim
so improper
became a proper
paradox of natural
rhythm logging
micro controlled
convulsions of
a style never
known to me
love that
woman percussive
fear that hot
woman dance so cool
to rub the belly
succumb to slightly
fecund matriarchal
synchopated servitude
all animal-woman
all woman-animal
define and redefine
make me feel
all scholar stupid
make me feel inadequate
make me feel a child
make me not feel at all
make me...
percussive woman dance
and love percussive
woman dance that log
beat deep log beat and
dance my baby dance
sweet my lover dance
sweet percussive beat
that pleasure squirm
and hold my triumvirate
in the nefertiti palm
of you hand
october 1986
—————— • ——————
she kilt me dead
all scott aloof
sculpted head on
neck long pedestal
that beacons ET
beauty eyes in
cock defiant glare
november 1986
—————— • ——————
she kilt me again
you dachau
punky doo
unshaven leg
attraction
that magnets
blood to posied
appendage
the lowest
spiral step
of soul
lost chaos
january 1987
—————— • ——————
Pepi
All swollen head
Rape queen strangled,
What promise of life
They lied to you.
Young willow fibre
Raped in two
Raped to the jagged
Edge where carnevors
Gorged on the marrow
Of your sweet terror.
M. Eby
What awful death
(hacked bloody)
Stalked you to
That horrored end
Where there is no hell
Vengeful enough
To house it.
Who could not learn
Any of the art you shared,
Moved to such hate?
Why was the drink
You offered not enough?
january 1987
—————— • ——————
a lament straight-up
with a chauvinist twist
a good lie
a half truth
no one knows
but you and i
a sad day
for a new truce
no one knows
but still we pay
a silent scream
for a good sleep
no one knows
our vivid dream
another time
a different place
no one knows
you could've been mine
january 1987
—————— • ——————
wrong word
if you be not languid
for you are not weak,
but i of shallow
thesauric mind who
did not delve to seek
that perfect pearly
adjective to grace
your abalone neck
if you be not languid
but move more in the
grace of soft laugh
light and auburn curled
bounce of a langur sirene
but seriously,
if you be languid,
you are languid as a lute
that rings so sweet
it moves a mind as
languid as mine to
alliterate homonymic life
february 1987
—————— • ——————
M. E. D.
so irish proper
non-stop hurling
of our spirits
in your breath
damp night when
i blew across
the warm moor
of your mind
the body
of your soul
as leviathan's
army lies fallow
in your ararat
valley plain
february 1987
—————— • ——————
April 24, 1987
Does it matter,
One point five two
Point six, the counting
The million thousand dead
Bleached Der-Zor skulls,
The thousand million four
Point three raped cleaved
Pelvic remains buried
In Tigris silt?
Does it matter,
That we the first
Twentieth century genocide?
Does that dim the brutality
Of the fifth or sixth
Genocide of the century
Genocide of the century?
The only number I know
Is that it was the
First genocide those
Armenians died in.
The first genocide my
Grandparents escaped or
Saw their parents killed in.
One genocide, two genocide
Three genocide, mass murder.
Four genocide, five genocide
Six genocide, gas chamber.
Meryl Streep in Seta's Choice
Never coming to any theater
Near any of you.
Why aren't we Jews?
They have no mere genocide.
They went out and copyright,
Patented, Wall Street to
Hollywood marketing their
Very own capitalized proper
Gory noun monicker, the mini-
Seriesed, Mengeled Holocaust.
We cannot forget
It cannot happen again
We will not allow it!!
At least, we're not Biafrans
(are there any left?)
Or Eithiopians dying of
Self inflicted ecologic wounds.
Bangladesh had a concert,
Van a heroes dinner each year
But alas, poor Keserig,
Who weeps for thee?
We got sub-paragraph three
In US Senate UN joint resolved
paperwork mired disinformation.
We got April 24 and madagh.
We got rallies and marches
And terrorists. We got
Speeches and oral histories.
We're owed something, we the
First Christian first genocided
Job of a Nation.
We couldn't have been more meek
but still we uninherited our earth.
We're owed something we may
Never be blessed with,
Megha Asdoudzo.
—————— • ——————
because or the rest is ambivalence
nine tenths of this law
is lack of possession or
progression towards anything
more then we have become
and we have become all
that you ever wanted and
not what i meant at all
though we are more
comfortable after all
it is a comfortable
true love affair
that lingers so sweetly
haunting so deeply
a gentle swim upstream
to spawn in a sun warmed
pond like dream of you
it is walking in your city
discussing our life apart
reflecting you into each
store window golden gate sight
walking hand in hand
talking laughing eating drinking
all things real lovers do
it is the sun washed
wind blown dew gone
morning meals we share
in my white walled
greek isle solitude
sipping tea and sharing
thoughts the way lovers
growing old together do
june 1987
—————— • ——————
Jimi
'scuse me while i kiss the sky
if i don't see you in this world
i'll catch you in the next...
and don't be late
Big power blues
Screech maple neck sad,
Writh and die in the
Stereo vertex in my head.
You grabbed electricity
And rode that mother watt,
Wrestling life from physics,
Sqeezing dreams from electrons.
Ride that raw power end,
Hold on for dear life and
Contain, just barely contain
The force that kills, 'till
You break its rugged back
And sail on under
The Rainbow Bridge.
Sail on...
August 1987
—————— • ——————
Skimming the Surface of Reality
Cruising the Hollywood
Boulevard of your id
Shopping for fellacious
reflief, bartering with
The wages of academic sin.
Roaring over the icey slopes
Of her hard belly body down
On bobsled luge rattle runs
Skidding towards disaster.
Hopping from ecstacy
To visual reverie
Gleaming glib gloats
In alliterative breezes
That loft panoramic kites
Of fish bird convolutes
While Escher emcees.
Imaginative Power
We were monks, high priests,
Visionaries, demi-gods
White robed in service
To the all powerful Khaldis.
You would sing of sorrowful lakes
In twilight wailing for our sad race
Forseeing horrors yet to be.
I laughed,
But you
Had travelled stars and
Sighed my mockery to dust
Died in a coughing fit
And disappeared to be
The sword of Annaheed
Forever unsheathed.
We soared, us cranes,
Our ancient land seeking
But an obvious truth
Crying to the princely fish
We moved all mystic innate
Incarnate mountain sages
Wondering if there were a god
How he could fuck us so bad.
Megha Asdoodzoh.
august 1987
—————— • ——————
mozell
you ain't no white wine but
you'se got one crisp taste
and a sweet bouquet that
primes the drooly palate
august 1987
—————— • ——————
The Lady of Hali
Those Byzantine tear drop
Almond black eyes set
Onyx moist in olive skin
That shyly emerged from
The lustcore steam bath of
My mind's libidridden I.
September 1987
—————— • ——————
Reading with...
Joan Gartland
the lilt and sway
mezmerizing tones
all anglic waspy
meld celtic welsh
gaelic brogish
white washed eddies
flood and cool the
magnified intensity
of my ethnic
focal point
Mitzi Alvin
like those that labored
long in desert hot slavery
polishing pyramids
you craft tight poems
gemlike waterproof
that double reeds
a frail wail in sun
soaked agony of
pharoh impositions
september 1987
—————— • ——————
Crusefixion
If I could paint your
face wide roundness
your chiseled nose
would socket eyes in
almost symmetry
lash crowned on skin
slightly downed
steel grey blue eyes
rivet my palms bloody
'cross the distance
between me and your ripe
pout bursting lips
october 1987
—————— • ——————
peignoir
the gloire de dijon unfolds
and flutters peignoir silk
that's damp from recent bath
and slightly parfum scented
as you comb and dream in a
candle lit moment of perfection
and dreaming of what...
a gentle paced country life
of gentry riding afternoons
in a perpetual autumn of
ever falling leaves and gold
light glistening off your hair
...just combed while in peignoir
waiting for your bed noir baby
november 1987
—————— • ——————
Masteller Sketches
I. Sculpture
you are so easy to look at,
the chiseled angularity of
cheek and jaw that shadow
and highlight a dreamy visage
alternating between
pain passion sorrow
tear joyous agony and
an endless eddy mosaic
of perceived adolescent
tautness: marked by an
economy of structure and
detail...
the finishing touches of
eye perfect brows and lashes,
the arrogant bassy pouting of
a down crowned mouth and nose
that melds all into a ruddy
girl boyish symmetry that
infects the unprepared.
II. Apfelwein
It bubbles tart and dry,
in quenching suppleness.
It washes crisp and clear
like a blizzard blush where
I could lose my soul in
that gold effervesce.
III. The PA-AZ Contrast
pure forest youth
young desert maid
spirit that flows and
floats elusively away
spring forest nymph
desert evening sprite
nature focused in your eyes
vibrating through your hands
ozone arking to jam my waves
a sweet drowning in your
amniotic ether net.
december 1987
—————— • ——————
Watercolors
Eine Kleine Iris
Aryan clarity shines in
your moist eyes and
the taste of apple wine
sweet and crisp...
The poetry in your
every move and
weary sighes made me
want to defect and
die withering on your vine.
Mary
No one loved you
for your passion but
took your gifts in
gluttonous fervor and
bent you to our edge
where you were still
too pliable to break.
In another time, God
could have chosen you
for either role
Christina Maria
I'll never forget
the black hair and eyes
that frost you perfect
petite in childlike wonder,
the innocence of
eternal first love...
a self cleansing love
I'll never forget
that I wouldn't know
what to do with you
february 1988
—————— • ——————
late model moonlighting
you are better than her
in young bacall rasp
that charms in whispers
forever leaning toward
unravelling entropy
you could've been her
in lilt of movement
styled via lens
intimate intensity
in soft focus
you could've been her
but for the vodka
that owns you...
march 1988
—————— • ——————
Kenae
I drift across a cultural sea
the breeze of your spirit
filling the sails of my soul
and dream convoluted satori
in the wind chimed peace
of your youthful laugh.
Haien Grandfather
I prayed to you
as i always do
but this time in
a place where it's OK.
April 24, 1988
Why on this day
I listen every year
not to the liturgy
nor the speeches?
I hear your soft
whisper whistle
that takes me right
to your Yeghikeh.
April 1988
Japan
—————— • ——————
you did lilacs already
and did them well
while every year
lines haunt and lift me
in the first lilac
scented breeze
though yet i feel it
every overburdened springfull
of crawl out of my skin
yearning mania that
demands lilacs last forever
which they never do
for it is paradise
come and gone
slam bam thank you
of the spirit
the age old
soul fast food
April 24, 1988
—————— • ——————
Pollution in Hayastan
I always thought, always dreamed,
Always knew that our lands
Would stay pure ever tucked in
Our crossroad corner obscurity.
Lands where only we could make
Things grow, the garden bloom.
Land that was fertilized by blood
Bone ash and labored sweat.
Now the magic is gone as
Lakes die, crippled cranes
Fly only a drunken dance
Unable to reach and remind us
Of anything but that the
earth dies for everyone.
The First Generation
They are almost gone
And with them go the
Memories no art can revive.
Gone the village life,
The dialects, the smells,
The songs that we just
Cannot sing the same way
That vibrated Armenian,
Pulsed Armenian defiant,
Groaned massacre visions
That no New Country could
Ever wipe away but slowly
Melts into the other side
Of the Earth...
Patriots
Old patriots glare from
Two dimensions on walls
In the Armenian halls
While children dance
To a much different beat
Where a mere Armenian
Marriage is viewed a
Fedayeen victory.
While in Hayastan
Blue eyed Silva marches
For a bit of land,
Testing the limits
Of promised freedoms.
Armenians pushing
To the very edge of
This thing: Perestroika.
We gaze on faded heroes
And rearrange them
Making room for you
The mother we soon forget
and praise in English.
The mother we wonder,
If we could follow
Out to that edge.
Karabakh Frustrations
I sit suburban
In my family room
Where there is the drone
Of some corporate
Helicopter shuttling...
But all I hear
Are the sounds of
Hinds* buzzing Erevan
To keep people
Off the streets,
Because they dared
To ask for land.
While Turks
By another name
Take up their
Favorite sport
Again killing
Armenians, though
I do not readAbout helicopters
Over Sumgait.
—————— • ——————
The Armani Excursion
i watched you
emote and gush,
acting for our race
acting poems
emoting the homology
of poems lamenting
transliteral
fixations not
cute little wordy
games but life
gushing I...
watched you
warm the room
no acting
and
knew that Turks
killed people like me
to possess women like you
a hot you didn't even
know you had
but I just watched you
watched you move
walk right through
and
out of my mind
I couldn't describe
what had
drained me so
but in thanking you
i knew
your hands!
your big warm
Armenian lovely
woman hands
no Yeats delicate pampered hands
no cummings little rain hands
but hands to hold
and warm the souls
of men that couldn't
defend their race
november 1988
—————— • ——————
The Earthquake
Armenian grief is a bottomless sea
A vast dark sea
- Hovaness Toumanian
I. History
What must we next endure,
The wrath of Turks or
The indifferent cruelty of nature?
Crawling out of killing fields
Or from the rubble of our own homes,
We must crawl and begin again.
We must rebuild, prosper
And await the next wave
Of that cold dark sea...
II. The World
Rubble on the news
Non-reinforced structures
In the stone piled agony of
Televised grief
Phone numbers, hot lines
Flashed to a world, a country
That wants to help
Money, medicine, food
Doctors and dogs
Blankets and clothes,
We are overwhelmed.
We are not alone.
There are no borders,
No politics of disaster,
They disappear but one...
III. turks
In Sumgait and Baku,
Frenzied crowds shout
Inshallah...
And kill more Armenians.
These are not people.
They have no god.
They have no souls.
IV. Ourselves
We have a God,
We have a God that tests us.
Forever, we have this God
Testing us until,
In the final breath,
The last Armenian confesses
To whatever sin for which
We are endlessly atoning
And reveals
What hidden agenda
What mysterious way
Is paved with so much
Armenian blood.
December 12, 1988
—————— • ——————
gift
for nvair kadian
when they found you
little bullrush
and took you for
their own
who could have known
that you would grow
and grace us so
singing better and
dancing our songs
in effulgent sway
the rare beauty
of one yellow rose
on this bush of red
december 1988
(but if we saw her sister
that would be cool)
The summer hung like
Misted raspberries
On the humid vine and
We went out tasting
The harvest of her spirit
The Claret of her mystique
The evolution of her being
She who changed us so
Gently in the moonight
Soon we shall bask in the
Memory of this pleasent search.
June 1983/April 1986
—————— • ——————
Airplane Gallorie
like a bird in a zoo
i adore the fashion molt
of the school girl violet
in her shy meld of blush
on a beach georgia tan
that bleached her sleeping
lip crown blond upon
an impish pout
while
mizz m-b-a
all sculpted malloy
with oxblood
cordovan attache
maroon designer
burgandy purse
crimson carry
on the go beams
with travel weary
forbes ability
July 1985
—————— • ——————
Charmonie
I.
You came to haunt me,
Make me pay, for the
Ugly way I played with
Purer hearts then mine.
You came not for revenge,
To gore my deserving soul,
But to kiss me back
To retrack your healing path.
II.
I have missed you,
All along, before
We ever met and
Shall ever miss
You more knowing
That you indeed
Exist in parallax.
Our fate is sealed
In your moral way
That allows not for
A change with time
And only accept as
Destiny that I would
Not have pained you
As did your younger he.
I care no more
For my lovers sad,
But for you, the one
I'll never have.
October 1985
—————— • ——————
jills
i.
you
the simian
dark with hair
and oils of
your rain
forest past
you
pure animal
dishevelled
waif queen
scream black
night panther
passions
ii
you
my first poem
rose poem
personified
genteel so
pure white
that would have
heated to red
you
almost
thought about
wanting to love
me
october 1985
—————— • ——————
Marie
She was the ripest
Thing I'd ever seen
With pierce blue
Steelest eyes that
Sparkled so you
Assumed her blind,
Superior to anything
But passion.
She was the ripest
Thing I'd ever seen
Bikinied emerging
From the pool, a dream
No commercial's ever been.
Her skin so taunt so
Smooth so plump so ripe
So tan and tight that
Water streaked and rolled,
It just beaded on her
Surface tension.
Such perfection could
Never last.
october 1985
—————— • ——————
cause
love child
golden nymph
translucent
milk vein
membrane
tenacious
love clinging
leeching kisses
and couplings
that drained
and sapped
incessantly
writhing
mucus beings
pink dark
warm ooze
slurping
ameiosis
november 1985
—————— • ——————
kriss
generic boygirl
grown teenage fresh
and clean scrubbed
youth woman
soft clear eyed
skin brown hair
of sand and
fulvous beige
lithe pleasent
blossom sylph
beatific sprite
of humanesse
too pure to
feel the pangs
of life and
love i know
you never felt
the pain of
your neck
snapping in the
metal crashing
on your quick
trip to godhead
november 1985
—————— • ——————
mydonna
six or seven lives
you've led and left:
a continuum of growth
and development to
this middle age
confection that
eyes crave.
though you would
be my writer's lover
in plaid winter maine
isolation of keyboard
clicks, fire cracks
and bear rug mouthy
smacks of fantasy,
that psychic fuel
that pulls me
through the day
november 1985
—————— • ——————
Pink Linen Winter Dream
With fair summer but a memory
And spirits bridled nice and tight,
Adrift this cold raging sea
Consumed in a windsnow blight.
Amid the slush and grime
Of this intemperate time
And the fiercest cold
That weakens the bold,
Amid the sleeting snow
And that incessant flow
Of whipping wind sones
That brittles the bones,
Enters our apparition of
Spring and love and flowers
The fertile warmth of life
renewed, the hope of all
mankind. The librarian
Of our flaxen souls tends
Us with purific care and
Frees us from solstistic bonds.
December 1985
—————— • ——————
Mack
I can only guess,
Your life today,
A late model shuttle
Of grocery carted
Unkempt children
Milk sweatshirted
Mustaches of your
Deer hunting beau.
We sensed your fate
In each tart kiss
Berried tongued
Tuesday afternoon.
January 1986
—————— • ——————
phright
You scared them all,
You brash and hard
Spirited Dietrich,
You carnivore.
They thought
You ate us all
And Hanselled us
In your Gretal
Witchy snare
They thought...
How wrong they thought,
Not knowing your
Adoptive fear and love
Of illegitimate passion
That made you grasp
And hold and made us
Hate to push you into
Your candy house oven
And run.
January 1986
—————— • ——————
Hoonvar Bergman
I went to bleed
Those Ullman tears,
To eat those
Wild Strawberries
To be depressed
Did you come
For encounter,
To meet a man
Of literary upperclass
`Twas only one night
And PG, your roomate,
Who knew where. Your
Freshman room of pink
And frilly scents of
Sandalwood in the air
Why I came and
How we got there,
Rolling clinging,
Mouth mated as if
I'd always missed you
And finally asleep
Embraced as a steamy
One that I've never
Seen since that night
I went to bleed
January 1986
—————— • ——————
lynny dearest
anglicatory grace
motherless genteel
basic decor of fifties
idyllic televised peace
scrubbed pale clean
frail plain presentation
with a much broader
scope and loving breadth
a quiet nymph‑calm sapphotic
with a passion depth
i never knew was there
february 1986
—————— • ——————
carole summer gails
in my early
first waking hours
swaddled newborn
circumsized world
I
cried in infant
harmony to you
whose lips i didn't
Feel
until in that
freshman heat of
exploring the
transformations
since last laying
side by side in
The
hospital bright
lanolized sterile
cribbed death dumb
unawareness of why
we never kissed
in passion drenched
darkness but in
daylight joy of
sun warmed
Earth
and july sky that
would never have
been so special had
we never had to
Move
away
February 1986
—————— • ——————
sketches of the byrd expedition
the olive skin burma‑shaved timbre
of our powerfull statured shy warrior
queen encasing a sweet soul trampled
tender mother burning at the stake
named for the moon luminescent goddess
of clear nights and summer cool wind
blown phantaseas defined in that climb
of your pure amber soft eyed stares
march 1986
—————— • ——————
one track mind haiku
tracks nailed
to loin bloody
thighs towards
the birth end
of the tunnel
march 1986
—————— • ——————
Anti‑Adonis and the Librarian
you'll never get that
gentle rape from me
whose tenement heart
burns hot engulfed
in your arsonist gait
oh
that i were a warrior
thundering the steppes
on noble steed sweeping
you up over my shoulder
screaming and kicking in
the misty breath morning
back to camp to ravage
so savage i hope i
weren't hurt
too bad
april 1986
—————— • ——————
april 24, 1986
play me that hard
riding music
partner
hard ridin' jams
play me that hard
driving music
baby
help me understand
i don't know
where i come from or
where i want to be
i never felt so lonely
honey
i just wanna be me
i got them genocide blues
momma
got them low down massacre blues
rapin' killin' maimin'
what's a poor boy to do
momma was so pretty
loved me like rock
the man he came in
and kilt her with his cock
my brother him so cool
the best in his school
they took his whole class
and made `em all suck gas
gives me them genocidal blues
baby
every april 24
i got those sick killin' blues
oh it just
tears my hear out
they did it for ol'allah
they did it for the bread
they took all the chillen'
and smashed in their head
they grab my little baby
raise her for they own
she don't know she armainian
she probly a turkish whore
i feel all genocidal blue
sweethang
down right holocaust blue
without you lawdy homelan'
i mays well up and die
—————— • ——————
virginia patti
alarific petals expand
contraltic tranquilities
carrying the echoed must
of ancient tufa stones in
the vocal wafting towards
the wheat field carpet
weaving vine ripened sheep
herding mountained past
the sinewous counterpoint
of kanun tendril pecks
reveals a love of life, you
and country that sparks
the reveral trance to flame
in your wide eyed attempt
to kiss the sky
april 1986
—————— • ——————
Ms. B
For all your inner
Beauty and fragile
Loving soul,
All I picture is
Your shuddertastic
Ovulicious tidal
Pleasure wincing at
Each different touch.
April 1986
—————— • ——————
devon
with a name like all england
and an american freckled face
fresh from the ohio farm in
my televised dreams of sunday
presbydinners and grandmaw's
rhubarb pie
and i could no
longer nap as my thoughts
would drift to my kinder-
garden love...you
may 1986
—————— • ——————
we all know one like her
sweet soul that pools
in greyfast eyes that
lures men serpentine
slithering for your
musky bitter taste
your structure primed
for childbirth so much
that you probably lick
them clean in lionest
but it's still the steel
you forge in loin furnace
red hot molten bloody
crest of aching burning
incredible itching fusions
that firebrands genetic
clots in bloodless brains
june 1986
—————— • ——————
the last hour
i.
you will be gone
and i remain alone
with foundation
eroded by your chocolate
mist and effervesce
continuing on
like the sole
survivor of your
nuclear war
aimlessly i wander
this barren planet
living in a bad
movie searching
for a plot
ii.
effluent in the
tongues of gods
a living carved
sculpture afrique
moved into my life
(they dared to call
her temporary)
evicting other visions
to the streets
as i give in
succumb to
matriarchal
servitude like
an old veldted
rain king
dancing for
a mate
june 1986
—————— • ——————
pure heart
doctors say
your heart ripples
irregular banter
threatening beats
though we
know it's a
clear running
mountain brook
that nurtures
all it love
washes over
spawning life
in its warm
bubbly flow
july 1986
—————— • ——————
there she goes just...
it was her
you were her
you were you
what why and
who were you
i was blitzed
and stumbled
dizzied and
twisted in the
gale of you
the cyclone
hurricane of you
the oz bound
house lifting
kansas apparition
twister of
my thoughts
and love lost
dreams served
back to me on
a dish of wind
of you
july 1986
—————— • ——————
the tortured artist ploy
my librarian to me
as beatrice to dante
as helga to wyeth
as kukla to ollie to fran
as bullwinkle to rocky
and natasha to boris
as markee to desade
and boys to ol'rock
and isolde to tristram
as i just met a girl named...
as perversion to errol
as you to the flynn of
your sweetest dreams
as me in my minds i
august 1986
—————— • ——————
generic white trash
in your ol'black faded
rock n'roll tee shirt
anemic pallored beige
colored hair unmade-up
po'white sleaze queen
emptian' my office trash
while sad lips advertise
world class mentholated
fellations for free
august 1986
—————— • ——————
A Dozen Long Stemmed Metaphors
from almost the moment
we met I've felt...
like one of us has cancer
like I have no right to sing
this song
like it's too early or too late
like you ought to be happier
but I'm not the guy
like I could be happier and
you're probably the girl
like why you are working for
a corporation instead of
modeling the finest fashions
to complement your beauty
which to me is
like nothing I have ever known
like something that addicted
every man you've ever met
like a clear skied golden sunned
autumn warm breeze knocking
the leaves off trees in giddy
swirls of harvest ripe fustration
like walking across our favorite
campus and dining in that
ivy league country inn
like it all took place in a movie
that I hoped would never end
like having the happiest of birthdays
which is what I wish for you
september 1986
—————— • ——————
forms
you were my
first awkward
quixotic charge
stopped by your
windmill majesty
perfect shadowed
cream sihlouettes
drenched in pure
august moonlight
what school girl
clothes did hide
you a real woman
and i a mere boy
october 1986
—————— • ——————
Visitation
to the poet's home
across harvard yard
anticipation meeting
with the daughter of
my grandfathers friend,
a pilgrimage to see
to learn, absorb the
aura of her way
to the poet's home
a tea august afternoon
of melon and madeleines
(bought just for me)
discussing words
and ironies of
working in our
new native tongue
to the poet's home
that ordered clutter
of books and words
in stacks and shelves
a stark and rich
canonical equilibrium
of perfect entropy
balance and awe
to the poet's home...
october 1986
—————— • ——————
rho-momma
percussive woman dance
and love percussive
woman dance that log
beat deep log beat and
dance my baby dance
sweet my lover dance
sweet percussive beat
that pleasure squirm
afro cascade beat
prim
so improper
became a proper
paradox of natural
rhythm logging
micro controlled
convulsions of
a style never
known to me
love that
woman percussive
fear that hot
woman dance so cool
to rub the belly
succumb to slightly
fecund matriarchal
synchopated servitude
all animal-woman
all woman-animal
define and redefine
make me feel
all scholar stupid
make me feel inadequate
make me feel a child
make me not feel at all
make me...
percussive woman dance
and love percussive
woman dance that log
beat deep log beat and
dance my baby dance
sweet my lover dance
sweet percussive beat
that pleasure squirm
and hold my triumvirate
in the nefertiti palm
of you hand
october 1986
—————— • ——————
she kilt me dead
all scott aloof
sculpted head on
neck long pedestal
that beacons ET
beauty eyes in
cock defiant glare
november 1986
—————— • ——————
she kilt me again
you dachau
punky doo
unshaven leg
attraction
that magnets
blood to posied
appendage
the lowest
spiral step
of soul
lost chaos
january 1987
—————— • ——————
Pepi
All swollen head
Rape queen strangled,
What promise of life
They lied to you.
Young willow fibre
Raped in two
Raped to the jagged
Edge where carnevors
Gorged on the marrow
Of your sweet terror.
M. Eby
What awful death
(hacked bloody)
Stalked you to
That horrored end
Where there is no hell
Vengeful enough
To house it.
Who could not learn
Any of the art you shared,
Moved to such hate?
Why was the drink
You offered not enough?
january 1987
—————— • ——————
a lament straight-up
with a chauvinist twist
a good lie
a half truth
no one knows
but you and i
a sad day
for a new truce
no one knows
but still we pay
a silent scream
for a good sleep
no one knows
our vivid dream
another time
a different place
no one knows
you could've been mine
january 1987
—————— • ——————
wrong word
if you be not languid
for you are not weak,
but i of shallow
thesauric mind who
did not delve to seek
that perfect pearly
adjective to grace
your abalone neck
if you be not languid
but move more in the
grace of soft laugh
light and auburn curled
bounce of a langur sirene
but seriously,
if you be languid,
you are languid as a lute
that rings so sweet
it moves a mind as
languid as mine to
alliterate homonymic life
february 1987
—————— • ——————
M. E. D.
so irish proper
non-stop hurling
of our spirits
in your breath
damp night when
i blew across
the warm moor
of your mind
the body
of your soul
as leviathan's
army lies fallow
in your ararat
valley plain
february 1987
—————— • ——————
April 24, 1987
Does it matter,
One point five two
Point six, the counting
The million thousand dead
Bleached Der-Zor skulls,
The thousand million four
Point three raped cleaved
Pelvic remains buried
In Tigris silt?
Does it matter,
That we the first
Twentieth century genocide?
Does that dim the brutality
Of the fifth or sixth
Genocide of the century
Genocide of the century?
The only number I know
Is that it was the
First genocide those
Armenians died in.
The first genocide my
Grandparents escaped or
Saw their parents killed in.
One genocide, two genocide
Three genocide, mass murder.
Four genocide, five genocide
Six genocide, gas chamber.
Meryl Streep in Seta's Choice
Never coming to any theater
Near any of you.
Why aren't we Jews?
They have no mere genocide.
They went out and copyright,
Patented, Wall Street to
Hollywood marketing their
Very own capitalized proper
Gory noun monicker, the mini-
Seriesed, Mengeled Holocaust.
We cannot forget
It cannot happen again
We will not allow it!!
At least, we're not Biafrans
(are there any left?)
Or Eithiopians dying of
Self inflicted ecologic wounds.
Bangladesh had a concert,
Van a heroes dinner each year
But alas, poor Keserig,
Who weeps for thee?
We got sub-paragraph three
In US Senate UN joint resolved
paperwork mired disinformation.
We got April 24 and madagh.
We got rallies and marches
And terrorists. We got
Speeches and oral histories.
We're owed something, we the
First Christian first genocided
Job of a Nation.
We couldn't have been more meek
but still we uninherited our earth.
We're owed something we may
Never be blessed with,
Megha Asdoudzo.
—————— • ——————
because or the rest is ambivalence
nine tenths of this law
is lack of possession or
progression towards anything
more then we have become
and we have become all
that you ever wanted and
not what i meant at all
though we are more
comfortable after all
it is a comfortable
true love affair
that lingers so sweetly
haunting so deeply
a gentle swim upstream
to spawn in a sun warmed
pond like dream of you
it is walking in your city
discussing our life apart
reflecting you into each
store window golden gate sight
walking hand in hand
talking laughing eating drinking
all things real lovers do
it is the sun washed
wind blown dew gone
morning meals we share
in my white walled
greek isle solitude
sipping tea and sharing
thoughts the way lovers
growing old together do
june 1987
—————— • ——————
Jimi
'scuse me while i kiss the sky
if i don't see you in this world
i'll catch you in the next...
and don't be late
Big power blues
Screech maple neck sad,
Writh and die in the
Stereo vertex in my head.
You grabbed electricity
And rode that mother watt,
Wrestling life from physics,
Sqeezing dreams from electrons.
Ride that raw power end,
Hold on for dear life and
Contain, just barely contain
The force that kills, 'till
You break its rugged back
And sail on under
The Rainbow Bridge.
Sail on...
August 1987
—————— • ——————
Skimming the Surface of Reality
Cruising the Hollywood
Boulevard of your id
Shopping for fellacious
reflief, bartering with
The wages of academic sin.
Roaring over the icey slopes
Of her hard belly body down
On bobsled luge rattle runs
Skidding towards disaster.
Hopping from ecstacy
To visual reverie
Gleaming glib gloats
In alliterative breezes
That loft panoramic kites
Of fish bird convolutes
While Escher emcees.
Imaginative Power
We were monks, high priests,
Visionaries, demi-gods
White robed in service
To the all powerful Khaldis.
You would sing of sorrowful lakes
In twilight wailing for our sad race
Forseeing horrors yet to be.
I laughed,
But you
Had travelled stars and
Sighed my mockery to dust
Died in a coughing fit
And disappeared to be
The sword of Annaheed
Forever unsheathed.
We soared, us cranes,
Our ancient land seeking
But an obvious truth
Crying to the princely fish
We moved all mystic innate
Incarnate mountain sages
Wondering if there were a god
How he could fuck us so bad.
Megha Asdoodzoh.
august 1987
—————— • ——————
mozell
you ain't no white wine but
you'se got one crisp taste
and a sweet bouquet that
primes the drooly palate
august 1987
—————— • ——————
The Lady of Hali
Those Byzantine tear drop
Almond black eyes set
Onyx moist in olive skin
That shyly emerged from
The lustcore steam bath of
My mind's libidridden I.
September 1987
—————— • ——————
Reading with...
Joan Gartland
the lilt and sway
mezmerizing tones
all anglic waspy
meld celtic welsh
gaelic brogish
white washed eddies
flood and cool the
magnified intensity
of my ethnic
focal point
Mitzi Alvin
like those that labored
long in desert hot slavery
polishing pyramids
you craft tight poems
gemlike waterproof
that double reeds
a frail wail in sun
soaked agony of
pharoh impositions
september 1987
—————— • ——————
Crusefixion
If I could paint your
face wide roundness
your chiseled nose
would socket eyes in
almost symmetry
lash crowned on skin
slightly downed
steel grey blue eyes
rivet my palms bloody
'cross the distance
between me and your ripe
pout bursting lips
october 1987
—————— • ——————
peignoir
the gloire de dijon unfolds
and flutters peignoir silk
that's damp from recent bath
and slightly parfum scented
as you comb and dream in a
candle lit moment of perfection
and dreaming of what...
a gentle paced country life
of gentry riding afternoons
in a perpetual autumn of
ever falling leaves and gold
light glistening off your hair
...just combed while in peignoir
waiting for your bed noir baby
november 1987
—————— • ——————
Masteller Sketches
I. Sculpture
you are so easy to look at,
the chiseled angularity of
cheek and jaw that shadow
and highlight a dreamy visage
alternating between
pain passion sorrow
tear joyous agony and
an endless eddy mosaic
of perceived adolescent
tautness: marked by an
economy of structure and
detail...
the finishing touches of
eye perfect brows and lashes,
the arrogant bassy pouting of
a down crowned mouth and nose
that melds all into a ruddy
girl boyish symmetry that
infects the unprepared.
II. Apfelwein
It bubbles tart and dry,
in quenching suppleness.
It washes crisp and clear
like a blizzard blush where
I could lose my soul in
that gold effervesce.
III. The PA-AZ Contrast
pure forest youth
young desert maid
spirit that flows and
floats elusively away
spring forest nymph
desert evening sprite
nature focused in your eyes
vibrating through your hands
ozone arking to jam my waves
a sweet drowning in your
amniotic ether net.
december 1987
—————— • ——————
Watercolors
Eine Kleine Iris
Aryan clarity shines in
your moist eyes and
the taste of apple wine
sweet and crisp...
The poetry in your
every move and
weary sighes made me
want to defect and
die withering on your vine.
Mary
No one loved you
for your passion but
took your gifts in
gluttonous fervor and
bent you to our edge
where you were still
too pliable to break.
In another time, God
could have chosen you
for either role
Christina Maria
I'll never forget
the black hair and eyes
that frost you perfect
petite in childlike wonder,
the innocence of
eternal first love...
a self cleansing love
I'll never forget
that I wouldn't know
what to do with you
february 1988
—————— • ——————
late model moonlighting
you are better than her
in young bacall rasp
that charms in whispers
forever leaning toward
unravelling entropy
you could've been her
in lilt of movement
styled via lens
intimate intensity
in soft focus
you could've been her
but for the vodka
that owns you...
march 1988
—————— • ——————
Kenae
I drift across a cultural sea
the breeze of your spirit
filling the sails of my soul
and dream convoluted satori
in the wind chimed peace
of your youthful laugh.
Haien Grandfather
I prayed to you
as i always do
but this time in
a place where it's OK.
April 24, 1988
Why on this day
I listen every year
not to the liturgy
nor the speeches?
I hear your soft
whisper whistle
that takes me right
to your Yeghikeh.
April 1988
Japan
—————— • ——————
you did lilacs already
and did them well
while every year
lines haunt and lift me
in the first lilac
scented breeze
though yet i feel it
every overburdened springfull
of crawl out of my skin
yearning mania that
demands lilacs last forever
which they never do
for it is paradise
come and gone
slam bam thank you
of the spirit
the age old
soul fast food
April 24, 1988
—————— • ——————
Pollution in Hayastan
I always thought, always dreamed,
Always knew that our lands
Would stay pure ever tucked in
Our crossroad corner obscurity.
Lands where only we could make
Things grow, the garden bloom.
Land that was fertilized by blood
Bone ash and labored sweat.
Now the magic is gone as
Lakes die, crippled cranes
Fly only a drunken dance
Unable to reach and remind us
Of anything but that the
earth dies for everyone.
The First Generation
They are almost gone
And with them go the
Memories no art can revive.
Gone the village life,
The dialects, the smells,
The songs that we just
Cannot sing the same way
That vibrated Armenian,
Pulsed Armenian defiant,
Groaned massacre visions
That no New Country could
Ever wipe away but slowly
Melts into the other side
Of the Earth...
Patriots
Old patriots glare from
Two dimensions on walls
In the Armenian halls
While children dance
To a much different beat
Where a mere Armenian
Marriage is viewed a
Fedayeen victory.
While in Hayastan
Blue eyed Silva marches
For a bit of land,
Testing the limits
Of promised freedoms.
Armenians pushing
To the very edge of
This thing: Perestroika.
We gaze on faded heroes
And rearrange them
Making room for you
The mother we soon forget
and praise in English.
The mother we wonder,
If we could follow
Out to that edge.
Karabakh Frustrations
I sit suburban
In my family room
Where there is the drone
Of some corporate
Helicopter shuttling...
But all I hear
Are the sounds of
Hinds* buzzing Erevan
To keep people
Off the streets,
Because they dared
To ask for land.
While Turks
By another name
Take up their
Favorite sport
Again killing
Armenians, though
I do not readAbout helicopters
Over Sumgait.
—————— • ——————
The Armani Excursion
i watched you
emote and gush,
acting for our race
acting poems
emoting the homology
of poems lamenting
transliteral
fixations not
cute little wordy
games but life
gushing I...
watched you
warm the room
no acting
and
knew that Turks
killed people like me
to possess women like you
a hot you didn't even
know you had
but I just watched you
watched you move
walk right through
and
out of my mind
I couldn't describe
what had
drained me so
but in thanking you
i knew
your hands!
your big warm
Armenian lovely
woman hands
no Yeats delicate pampered hands
no cummings little rain hands
but hands to hold
and warm the souls
of men that couldn't
defend their race
november 1988
—————— • ——————
The Earthquake
Armenian grief is a bottomless sea
A vast dark sea
- Hovaness Toumanian
I. History
What must we next endure,
The wrath of Turks or
The indifferent cruelty of nature?
Crawling out of killing fields
Or from the rubble of our own homes,
We must crawl and begin again.
We must rebuild, prosper
And await the next wave
Of that cold dark sea...
II. The World
Rubble on the news
Non-reinforced structures
In the stone piled agony of
Televised grief
Phone numbers, hot lines
Flashed to a world, a country
That wants to help
Money, medicine, food
Doctors and dogs
Blankets and clothes,
We are overwhelmed.
We are not alone.
There are no borders,
No politics of disaster,
They disappear but one...
III. turks
In Sumgait and Baku,
Frenzied crowds shout
Inshallah...
And kill more Armenians.
These are not people.
They have no god.
They have no souls.
IV. Ourselves
We have a God,
We have a God that tests us.
Forever, we have this God
Testing us until,
In the final breath,
The last Armenian confesses
To whatever sin for which
We are endlessly atoning
And reveals
What hidden agenda
What mysterious way
Is paved with so much
Armenian blood.
December 12, 1988
—————— • ——————
gift
for nvair kadian
when they found you
little bullrush
and took you for
their own
who could have known
that you would grow
and grace us so
singing better and
dancing our songs
in effulgent sway
the rare beauty
of one yellow rose
on this bush of red
december 1988
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