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More Poetry by Ronald Oliver
#1 on GOOGLE
I pop pills for flatulent bowels,
my jaw line’s becoming a jowl,
my boyfriend just wants to be pals.
But,
I’m #1 on Google!
The icecaps are starting to melt,
the rain forest’s steadily felled,
the vegetables have an odd smell.
Hell,
I’m #1 on Google!
World peace is a waterless fish
since Rumsfeld was given his wish
by our dim Commander and Chief.
SO?
I’m #1 on GOOGLE!
2464 MILES
Caught in a cloud at SFO,
ferklempt with multi-continental fatigue
- your consciousness a kite
barely tethered by thread –
you raggedly radiated
inexhaustible delight.
My little meshugina
from decades past
( although evidently
an irreversible resident of recollection )
still inhabited
your large mischievous laugh -
the lyrical lilt of which
quickly recalled and reconciled
twenty years of unattended history
and 2464 miles.
ABJECT JOY
Matthew,
when I think of your tender body
- one hundred and ten pounds,
five feet two -
lashed to a distant fence
beaten oblivious
I want to howl
I want to kill
I want to keen with grief
so profound
that it will destroy the world
- or heal.
Matthew,
when I think of your gentle face at 21
- teeth still in braces -
lolling silently
upon your shattered shoulders,
no centimeter bare of blood
except where cleared
by trails of tears
I want to wail
I want to murder
I want to pitch with sorrow
so grotesque
no man or faith
will remain unscathed.
Matthew,
when I think of
the engineers of your execution
and marvel
that but one facet
from the diamond of your desires
- the one for which you died -
is now and forever how they will survive
I want to pity
I want to forgive,
but, in fact, feel abject joy
which betrays your ideals,
but reflects,
I'm ashamed to admit
( more than just )
my sentiment.
ANIMAL CRACKERS and GIN
Lawn luncheon at Farragut square
- gather the city-saddened -
animal crackers and gin.
Beneath the urban elm
a solitary child
with searingly sweet violin
- summer song for sale
and probably him.
AYE AYE, ENSIGN CARTER
I traveled 2000 miles
so that my best friends step-child
could seduce me…
and fell deeply, as did he
- kissing on Beale Street
until our lips would bleed
- dancing cheek to cheek
in the ultra-chic
and indignantly heterosexual Peabody
- tickling each other into sweaty reveries
on the banks of
the muscular Mississippi
- embracing love's prodigal dream
at a discount motel...
until Alameda intervened.
_
Before reporting for duty,
he softly sang to me on bended knee:
“Sweet Child of Mine”
(you know - we never had sex, but it was
with-out doubt
THE sexiest summer of my life).
BI BOY BLUES
This is more than desire
for body parts -
intercourse is orchestrated
by the heart.
The tune may be broadcast
through your balls
on a surging wave
of alcohol,
but it is your arms
that hold me
and it is your tongue
that told me
while exploring my body
and adoring my mouth
the deepest secrets
of what desire is about.
It pleases you
to please me.
In fact
my climax is needed
for your parts
to be satisfied,
having joyfully given
and received me.
But the following day
when the high tide
of liquor
finally subsides
you remember your orgasm
but never mine
and I feel so sorry
for while in your body
you softly sang to me,
"Oh Ronnie love me,
please love me Ronnie”.
COMEDY
Please, Michael
make me laugh tonight.
Raise your wall of comedy -
delight and deter me
concurrently.
Please, Michael
make me laugh tonight.
Distract my desire
to shatter your shield -
to pillage and plunder
and steal what you feel.
Please, Michael
make me laugh tonight.
And I shall giggle endlessly -
so deep and hard
it can't help but hurt.
CRITICALLY CONFUSED
The gaze
of a balding boy
whose resolve’s
deeper than cancer, chemo or pain.
A lifetime
of deft endeavor
eradicated
by earthquakes, fire or rain.
An athlete
with great innate talent
felled
by an inferior blood vessel.
A titan
on Wall Street
buying an acquittal
with money he embezzled.
Lingering love
in the eyes
of a pet euthanized
because all else has failed.
_
DOES THE ARCHITECT OF THIS PLANET
RESIDE IN HELL?
The blueprints really need to be reviewed.
Somewhere, somehow, someone was
CRITICALLY CONFUSED!
DAWGS !
They don't always come -
but for sex
( the probability, possibility,
or prospect in theory )
dogs always go.
Dog / man / hound
snuffing around
intent upon mounting
whatever they can -
on the prowl
for a bitch to train,
who will then train them
how to heal, roll over, sit, stand,
PLUS
satisfy 100% of the irrepressible need
even in hounds
for emotional proximity
- although they’ll continue
nudging, nuzzling, pawing, snuffling,
licking as if kissing -
obliquely begging
for the female to unleash
feelings they thought
( but never )
were missing.
DEAR DAVID,
You blaze with such a vibrant light
that you are,
as intended,
blinded by your own brilliance.
Forgetful
( again intended )
of the blessings you've selected
for this tour in time :
Exceptional intelligence
- a condition that endures
in spite of
your conditioned denial.
Quick, yet reticent wit
- not a patent facet
of intelligence,
but brightened by it.
Physical beauty
- ''el hijo de su madre'',
whose radiance you reflect,
yet refute.
And extraordinary intuition
- your fear of which
is endearingly ordinary -
though intuition is merely illumination
( un-random rays
of the perfectly patient light
conceived to define darkness
. . . and that which is not ).
" GONE for GOOD"
What an odd expression -
not gone for bad
or gone for ever,
but gone for good.
_
Yes.
Explosive, expansive,
radiant, reckless,
magnanimous, marginalized,
blatant, latent,
dear, disingenuous Jodi
finally took all of her medicine
like a good little girl
- and although it is not good
that she is gone -
she is nevertheless gone for good.
But what IS this good
for which she has gone?
Something to receive
or achieve
or retrieve?
No.
“Good” I believe
is who, what, when, where, why
and how Jodi is now –
at one
with such blinding love
that young souls
must bear burdens
vast enough
to cast shields of shade,
so that they can go for good
without losing their way.
(For Emily)
HEART DISEASE
Seduced by the light of a night
in San Francisco -
spellbound by shifting shadows
of dieffenbachia -
aroused by the rising rhythm
of Space Oddity
- you kissed
and reinfected me.
After years of self-imposed quarantine
from the incapacitating effects
of intimacy and sex
I had cultivated a strain of resistance
I believed to be
the equivalent of immunity.
How arrogant to assume
that I could again
commune with such a virulent virus
and defy the disease.
One FUCKING night!
And now I am
nauseous with need,
faint with fever,
delirious with desire
and
incoherent with craving
for more of you
or someone new.
INEVITABLE WIND
The Santa Annas
pound the south
like perennial puberty
shearing, searing,
scorching, roaring,
enriching
rashly erotic
gravely exotic
wholly hypnotic
suffocating, invigorating, devastating
inspiring fires
lacerating landscapes
wresting regeneration
and new inhabitation
stealing / revealing / healing
hearts
redefining discomfort and desire
infusing the air
with vapors so luxurious
the enhanced beauty of irresistibly thickened
red setting suns
rivals only their
inevitable restorations
after long-lingering,
deep, dark, daft
and definitive nights.
The PALACE of PLEASURE
The very first time
a boy came in my mouth
was in the shadow of the shrubs
around our fraternity house -
not especially inspired,
but miraculous then,
considering what my lips
had just done to him.
I felt powerful and desirable
- a penile pioneer -
eager to open
every sexual frontier!
And my friend was delighted
to accommodate this -
to teach me the wonder of fingertips on lips,
of soft liquid kisses on feet, ears and eyes,
of tongues gently licking knees, nipples and hips,
of feathers on bellies and ice cubes on thighs.
Our trysts were so fruitful -
our friendship as well.
Frank, I reach around time
to tenderly tell you,
“I love the simplicity
with which you revealed to me
what a palace of pleasure
our bodies can be.”
PEDRO, COME HERE
Succulent Pedro
- dulcet as mango
though sweeter I swear -
here there’s asylum
from perishing marriage
and untended tears.
Creamy-dream Pedro
- smoother than satin,
combed cotton or silk -
here there is respite
from coarse obligation,
hard debt and/or fear.
Soft-spoken Pedro
- silently seething
under the drugs -
here there is refuge
from every impelling
and bellowing peer.
Penniless Pedro
- backdoor lothario -
here are piñatas
of booty to “borrow”
as long as you yield los cojones of
roiling and boiling, young Yucatan love!
PINS of PERCUSSION
On the lambent dance floor
you are free -
the riot of lights,
rhythms, synthesizers
and you
in perfect synchronicity.
You become
the beat in the heat of the song
- enveloped by soft fog,
hard sweat,
pheromones,
and the thrill of believing you belong.
It is the perfect marriage
of heaven and hell
as the hypnotic, erotic, monotonous music
doing voodoo on you
recedes
and then swells.
You contort,
grind and spin
as the priestess of the night
propels you
with pins of percussion
more seductive than sin.
When you've a gift
for obsession and possession
- liberated from
the illusion of control -
abandon your body,
but guard your soul.
PUBLISHED !
I am a proper
published poet finally -
well bully for
me !
Now I may define
self-absorbed isolation
as
creativity
summon a cemetery
of selective sounds
from my friend
memory
exhume words
not yet decomposed
with which to form
vitality
now that I am a
proper published poet
imploding with
credibility !
TO LIFE !
To rest
- to release routine activity
and chronic animation.
To drift
- to surrender isolated thought
and patent motivation.
To sleep
- to set aside selective sight
and tactile collaboration.
To dream
- to abandon rote reality
and requisite relations.
To yield
- to disavow crude consciousness
and carnal incarceration.
UNSUNG
Eight hundred thousand
dearly disaffected spirits
flock to
the freedom of San Francisco.
The incomparable
metropolitan bay area
attracts some
seven million more.
The inebriating beauty
of mythic California
captivates
thirty-five million pilgrims.
From sea to shining sea,
the sweetest "land of liberty"
intoxicates nearly
three hundred million.
Altogether, they say
that in excess
of six billion souls
inhabit this extraordinary globe.
And among this multitude –
not one /
not a single soul sings to me:
it is you that I love the most.
WELLBUTRIN
Only you reaffirm
( my twice-a-day tutor )
that this autobiography
isn’t totally futile.
You’ve suspended truancy
and reinstated verse
- summoned sexuality -
apple pie and perverse.
You’re my master,
mentor, and primary muse
- a prerequisite of
non-pharmacy friends,
for without you
they would be of little use.
Bupropion Hydrochloride
( chem-catechist stud )
you’ve deconstructed my plot
and rewritten my blood.
WHAT I FOUND
I lost a little life today -
six pounds ( formerly ten )
of loyalty betrayed
by people who
left it to me to see
that their pet
didn't die alone / out of sight
while they feigned infatuation
with "The Price is Right”.
I lost a little faith today –
trust
that grace is an integral part
of every heart
attended the soul of gentle Domingo
whose care had mattered less
than cash,
X, crystal meth,
and a fatuous family's distaste for death.
I lost a little more today -
debilitating years of fear
that I was selfish, weak,
and too emotionally meek
to confront a cruelty
and take control
[ to console a creature ( not even mine )
whose kinder death craved only
comfort and time ].
YOU TREMBLE like NEON
You effervesce.
You tremble like neon,
radiating light
throughout the nights
of other lives,
but I fear not your own.
You're pretentious and profound,
giddy and trite,
but when you write
or you sing
every word carries weight
as does your heart.
You are maddeningly magnetic,
pathetic, kinetic -
even Versace boys
can't ignore
your voracious veneer?
You are painfully intelligent,
talented, attentive,
tenacious, attuned,
and connivingly clever.
You're so young
that it hurts
( more than just me ).
YOUR LEGACY (Love)
After twenty-two years
of living in fear,
a black and white cat
introduced me to trust.
I knew nothing of
unconditional love,
for me or from me -
only symbols and lust.
But this gentle girl
so settled my soul,
my stiffly creased heart
was made to unfold.
For nineteen years
- despite the circus in bed -
she slept on my shoulder
in deep perfect peace.
_
My sweet, soft familiar,
now you rest in my heart
where your legacy ( love )
will forever increase.
( for Cicely )
Shepherds and Shamans
View my guestbook
Dedicated to Anderson Ballesteros
( Brother / Child / Muse / Sicario )
"Ardent Assassin" ( Anderson Poetry )
HERE
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I am honored to be nominated for
2005 Poet of the Year
and recognized for
Outstanding Achievement in Poetry
( 2004 / Silver )
by The International Society of Poets,
the recipient of the
2003 & 2004 Editor's Choice Award
from the International Library of Poetry
and to be a featured Link on the Web sites of
Starlite Poetry ,
PoetryBox , Poetry.net ,
PgsforPoets
Hidden Agendas , Creative-Poems
Peter Howard and Panic! .
© 2007 Ronald Oliver
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