The crazy things that crossed my mind while he slept...
He's a damn good kisser.
I could easily forget his bad manners
to be kissed like that.
While I lay here
wide awake
I think,
he looks innocent.
But he has fucked many
in the trenches
(bathroom stalls and back seats)
and a measly few have made
it to his bed.
I lay here fighting my pathetic
romantic notions like
"I can charm this man
with my quirky side dishes...
Reciting Emerson during fellatio,
Pulling weeds in the nude
and eating without utensils.
I’m having thoughts that should
only come to life, in the movies.
There's little harm in
having a counterfeit nightmare
complete with thrashing and whimpering.
I could prepare him.
a manly breakfast
with plenty of meat and
well done toast.
I should leave
him pondering his manhood.
I’ll leave him forever more
with no note,
like in the movies,
tortured with violins
and relentless rain.
Should I take a shower
and leave the door slightly open
so he can hear me sing
Karen Carpenter songs?
I could hide away
in his pantry.
with the Little Debbies
and the Beef Jerky
and once he’s stopped eating
and has grown a beard
I’ll come out.
I’ll curl up in
his easy chair
with a good book
barefoot and glowing
in morning sunshine.
Or should I write him a sonnet,
spray it with vanilla musk
and slip it into his pillowcase?
Should I
dust his trophies,
rearrange his living room
so that one can see the flat screen
and the pool
from every seat?
I could scour
his bathroom and
and buy him a plug in.
I could train his dog
to find the remote
and lick his balls,
with a jar of Jiffy.
Should I mend his socks,
or make him a scrap book
of his conquests,
complete with captions?
Yes!
Yes!
He has a sense of humor
and a library.
He recycles and has a compost tumbler.
The dark soft curl
that’s lost in his ear
should I lift it to my lips
or should I cut it off
and place it in my pocket?
- Holly Jaffe
(featured in the poetry forum 04.18.11)
The Things I Crave
I crave the feeling of holding
on tight
to my man while he
roars down a long dirt road
on a Harley Davidson.
Destination-
Diners,
cheap but clean motels,
and taverns
all across America.
I crave
a cult of enthusiastic hellos every time I enter a room.
I crave Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan
Jimi, in a stuck elevator
and Bob just as I'm slipping away,
silent and strumming.
My childish taste buds
crave sugar and then salt.
Captain Crunch with Berries
followed by bacon and eggs
and a glass of icy cold Coca Cola
"for to quench my thirst"
I crave words
any which way...
Not so much rhyming
but helping each other out,
to be greater...
Giving the most
common of words
pizzazz... Fuck you!
"Once Upon a Time
and Walla
anything can happen.
I crave words
needy and vulnerable...
on a white dinner plate
and an array of utensils.
I may take them one at a time
with a fancy cocktail fork
or scoop them with frenzy
before they disappear...Nightmare
may cut the bigger words
down to size.
I crave a man I can't have.
I crave being touched
and taken in visually,
slowly and with ease.
I want to be taken
by knuckle or knee
by toe or tongue
by vegetable or fruit
as long I'm taken until
I'm completely and utterly
gone.
I crave death
at times
when I'm bored
or too crazy
to read, even.
Yeah
Every day,I crave music
because my mind thinks poetically
when I'm floating atop a melody.
I crave the dark
when I cannot escape me
and when the sunshine
cuts through my corneas,
like paper.
- Holly Jaffe
(featured in the poetry forum 03.03.11)
Every 5 years my brain
Every 5 years my brain
pulls a jackal out of its magic hat.
While eating a donut
or brushing my teeth.
No warning.
No matter what I tell it.
"We’re okay, friend
remember blue hydrangea,
and cream-cicles"
And I know I’m cooked
when the TV can’t cure me
and the dogs start sniffing
around my head and whimper.
Every five years
a disciple yanks me from the hole.
There is one in every
unhappy place.
Every laundry mat
Every waiting room
Every all night grocery.
They appear
like lady bugs
on my hands.
Unexpected
Pleasant
Harmless
And for a
brief moment
I feel
lucky...
Until the verses
are fed to me like
apple sauce,
and like the TV
it’s just noise...
Babble
These preachers
of “the word”
think they know me
as well as they know themselves.
Did they know that I almost
set my church on fire?
These people are smiles and maddening calm.
They are Sugar Plum Fairies and Mr. Rogers
And they promise me peace
to end all.
"How many verses must I recite,
Before I am raised to your holy heights?"
I believe in Gremlins why not Saviors.
Satan capitalized in the dictionary...
Makes me uneasy.
- Holly Jaffe
(featured in the poetry forum 06.17.10)
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