BARBARA GRAHAM

Born to get out, Born to get out, Life in the darkness Lit by dark saloons and jailhouse lights, Lady brightly waiting To let the lights go out… rcs. Current draft: 02/08/03

World's Best Fun

Daily Blogs are a Bog

I suppose I've been "quiet" in some parts of my life lately. Most people are not going to miss me, and that's good because I don't need the grief, anyway. Old friends are just an email away, but they were slouches about writing, anyway, so they'll probably not even notice anything. My "live" friends don't notice my silence because they'd first have to shut the fuck up before there would be adequate silence for them to notice anything! I'll tell you, it sometimes just feels wonderful if you can pull back from things. I have been feeling good about my exodus from the Blogger advice blog. It now feels even better that I have been able to once again immerse myself in writing and revising poetry. THIS is what I was born to do. Even if I say so only because it's such fun and not always the world's best poetry. It's still the world's best fun, for me at least! And some of the poems ain't so bad, either!

No One Can Hear You

In space, said the movie trailer, No one can hear you scream. Neither can they hear me whistle While I write this wretched blog Or exult while I relax and fart a happy tune And you eat your Happy Meal and get fatter and fatter!

Thank You Note For G. Knaak

It's words like yours that make me feel Like I do have some remnant of dignity, Even if in arrears, even if just a semblance. How much of my experience and resemblance Gives me the appearance of heading the right way, But my sensation is that I’m thinking At a high rate of speed in reverse. I’m thinking about all the wrong things that often Leave me like any drunken pirate or primate— Hearing ladies or music that’s not really there, Writing Shakespeare’s sonnets and plays, And toddling on gladly straight to hell. rcs. Created on 12/31/2009 1:41 PM

Bug Me

You can bug me all you want, But it won’t go far or gain much space. I’m sorry not to be any better than you find me, But I am that, and that’s no special case. rcs. Created on 1/10/2010 2:49 PM

Every Connection

[Those of you with sharp eyes and long memory may recognize this as a poem previously, even recently, published in this blog. In the past, I've just pasted new versions of a poem over the original. Just for fun, I'm leaving the originnal intact in it's original location. If you don't have much interest in "the process" of revising poetry, just don't read it.]

Every connection I intend Fails at coming through. I see failure here and falling behind, Nor will they depart. There can be no expectation of great success, No way to anticipate my heart. No way to learn the right or wrong address. Each fork in the road is just another wrongful guess. At every corner that I turn I see us at a dead end. So suck it up and believe what you believe, Which is nothing, And let the other suckers go on by us; They don’t have a worry that we’ll be Famous for our sins or adored for our crimes. They look relieved and relaxed Even if that’s only how they look, And I wish I could be that way— Never feel spotlighted or trapped like a rat By all their endless jabber while I invent These cold false smiles to brush them off At each wrong address and each dead end. rcs. Created on 12/6/2009 5:37 PM 1st revision: 1/8/2010 8:20 PM

SEA SQUALL

The ship Our Care is drifting, And none can make her stay; Men watch in helpless horror as the sea spits forth a storm That drags and drowns and draws her bow away. The fishing fleet that rushed to save her Is foundered in the roil and must return, Now the folk at God’s Word Tavern are overcome, Disturbed by Satan’s strife and toil—one cannot look more. The ship Our Care has drifted As far as she can go without hope; Down she goes before our eyes, beyond our ropes, And no one here can throw a net or swim out after. Each man’s tongue to mouth’s roof cleaves As all about the visible wind roars And from Old Jones’ Locker There comes a mocking laughter. rcs. Current draft: 1/5/2010 ©1981 Ronald C. Southern

BOTH WAYS

There is no deeper wound Than one’s self-scorn; Like arrows or the dagger’s blade, Hate’s knife can cut both ways. rcs. 2nd draft: 1/5/2010 ©1980 Ronald C. Southern

THE END OF IT

By time that swept us to this edge, Consider movement, moment, place; By what is strong in each of us, Observe the weakness in each face. By what was young in springtime, Let winter be no worse than this: That we are worn by hardness And buried like the rest. rcs. Current draft created on 2/8/2003 7:20 PM ©1980 Ronald C. Southern

Slouch

Is it only that I’m a slouch and a slob, Is that the problem? I can’t suppose it’s very attractive any more, If it ever was. I lost weight and gained a cane, But I lost confidence and with it All my cool perspective, too. Then, like you, my beauty, my looks also went. rcs. Created on 12/30/2009 8:43 PM