CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Another great and relevant continuation of the first poem! Lockdown has been a tricky time for everyone and it was interesting to read these thoughts about it.
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Poems
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Tricky is precisely the word. Tricky, uncertain and more uncertain because it brings home the dissatisfaction of the things that were already wrong and amplifies them. My goddaughter says she is longing for an apocalypse and I kind of know what she means. By the way, how is work?
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Work is good! Its nice to get back into the routine of going there and actually doing something besides relaxing or exercising. Its also nice to see friends there too.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
sex in the time of plague
iii
There is too much sun in my eyes, shut the shades and replace the glaring light with golden darkness
there are far too many eyes,
replace them all with your own seeing,
seeing the sun on water, seeing the world for what it is and not the background to your endless lies and conversations,
and these days the difference between the two is hard to see.
Say, to the goose filled land and the duck skimmed river, you are my temple.
Say to the silence waiting inside: you are my lord.
You are my god.
Seek in the silence your salvation.
We are here, as honest as we can be, cobbling honesty out of a hundred hoaxes,
sifting through shit to find the glimmer of gold you didn’t know was there,
we are rekindling, remembering the dreams in our half sleep. We are half afraid of quarter dreams,
a tinge of fear, the fear of death, of your death, of being sued,
of being sued again, of madness,
of the cough turning to corona,
the possible endless ghost train of dread.
Say to your dedication and to your every working, to lines of poetry and crafted art, “you are my temple.”
Say to the place of darkness where you dip your pen, “you are my lord and god.”
Find in this deep and unending striving your salvation.
We don’t know the shape of the new world.
I have prepared not to prepare, I am waiting like the dog staring in the bowl that I have to stop myself from looking at, bubble, bubble. The shape of days changes itself,
alchemy doesn’t need to be forced, alchemy will work itself if you but let it.
Wizardry is learning how to wait.
I slough off old things like the summer skin years ago that clung to my feet
like snakeskin until I spent days and peeling it off,
I let shit fall off I don’t need.
I revert to the days I was a pig.
We are like the Noah and his sons, his nameless wife and his nameless sons’ wives,
that is wives without names,
the sons were shem, ham and japheth,
two names for hatred and one long forgotten.
We sit in this ark praying not to be lost, tossed about while we feed animals,
the wind howls outside and we wonder how can this be a work of god
and what god can this be?
We start to plan the harvest and then stop,
plod over planks to think in a new way….
Tradition says his wife was naamah
iii
There is too much sun in my eyes, shut the shades and replace the glaring light with golden darkness
there are far too many eyes,
replace them all with your own seeing,
seeing the sun on water, seeing the world for what it is and not the background to your endless lies and conversations,
and these days the difference between the two is hard to see.
Say, to the goose filled land and the duck skimmed river, you are my temple.
Say to the silence waiting inside: you are my lord.
You are my god.
Seek in the silence your salvation.
We are here, as honest as we can be, cobbling honesty out of a hundred hoaxes,
sifting through shit to find the glimmer of gold you didn’t know was there,
we are rekindling, remembering the dreams in our half sleep. We are half afraid of quarter dreams,
a tinge of fear, the fear of death, of your death, of being sued,
of being sued again, of madness,
of the cough turning to corona,
the possible endless ghost train of dread.
Say to your dedication and to your every working, to lines of poetry and crafted art, “you are my temple.”
Say to the place of darkness where you dip your pen, “you are my lord and god.”
Find in this deep and unending striving your salvation.
We don’t know the shape of the new world.
I have prepared not to prepare, I am waiting like the dog staring in the bowl that I have to stop myself from looking at, bubble, bubble. The shape of days changes itself,
alchemy doesn’t need to be forced, alchemy will work itself if you but let it.
Wizardry is learning how to wait.
I slough off old things like the summer skin years ago that clung to my feet
like snakeskin until I spent days and peeling it off,
I let shit fall off I don’t need.
I revert to the days I was a pig.
We are like the Noah and his sons, his nameless wife and his nameless sons’ wives,
that is wives without names,
the sons were shem, ham and japheth,
two names for hatred and one long forgotten.
We sit in this ark praying not to be lost, tossed about while we feed animals,
the wind howls outside and we wonder how can this be a work of god
and what god can this be?
We start to plan the harvest and then stop,
plod over planks to think in a new way….
Tradition says his wife was naamah
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
I am really enjoying this series and hope there is more! Keep it up!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I had to look. There is more, but I'm still proofing it, so it will probably be posted tomorrow night. Thanks for reading and thanks for your encouragement.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
iv.
At easter Mother lit a cigarette and said, that’s twenty thousand…. By wednesday it should be twenty two thousand.
I don’t count she does the counting, she stopped at thirty thousand,
my fervent hope is that at least fifteen thousand were assholes.
We eulogize the dead but they can’t all be good or wise,
not in this world, no not in this world.
Mama saw a coyote beyond the backyard, just strolling along.
The first man I loved, I now talk to every day, and it’s not that he doesn’t matter
but I don’t love him anymore.
It isn’t true what they say
That love never goes away
and another man I wrote fifty poems to taught me how to make a loaf of bread,
and later I learned that was the most interesting thing that he had ever said.
All you need is for time to pass. All you need is for things to settle.
v.
I came to your mystery some time ago, thought I would consume it in a hurry,
never worried over your details, your infinite folds.
Now I am ready to come to you again, look deeply into whatever secrets you reveal.
I was filled with a desire to know and understand until a little voice said,
“in everything you do, in all you remember, don’t forget joy.”
I remember everything you said. Remember the summer I rose from the dead.
It rained so long that night, and the clouds were gray as gravestones.
Ice was in the air, a miracle there, winter in the height of summer.
The ground was scarcely soft enough to dig my grave.
I came back up all amongst the midges and the rooting badgers,
summer heat, wiped dirt from my face and snail slime from my limbs,
I climbed back in the house and took a cold bath.
turned my back on everything I’d know before because I had to.
And I blamed you, but it wasn’t only you.
And I blamed men, but it wasn’t only then.
This is what happens when you spend
the first twenty five years of my life loving the wrong people.
Now we are in the time of plague and I remember everything,
remember all the songs I began to sing then stopped because I couldn’t bear them,
loves I lost that I never had that sat in my mind, and him,
strong of limb and solid in muscle, gentle in his charm,
once I touched his arm and then I felt that was all I had of him,
I still dream of that man,
I think, gods he must be forty, but so am I,
and I love making love to forty year old men.
Listen, girl,
you can’t keep mourning over the same things you did when you were twenty five.
You can’t keep singing the same old sorry song and dance,
No one feels sorry for you.
Yesterday is called yesterday for a reason. Take off your clothes,
wash your hair, wash your face, wash your mind,
you are losing seconds all the time,
take up the seeds and start planting.
All this time this role you’re playing and no one’s here to see the show..
They’ve already changed the channel
At easter Mother lit a cigarette and said, that’s twenty thousand…. By wednesday it should be twenty two thousand.
I don’t count she does the counting, she stopped at thirty thousand,
my fervent hope is that at least fifteen thousand were assholes.
We eulogize the dead but they can’t all be good or wise,
not in this world, no not in this world.
Mama saw a coyote beyond the backyard, just strolling along.
The first man I loved, I now talk to every day, and it’s not that he doesn’t matter
but I don’t love him anymore.
It isn’t true what they say
That love never goes away
and another man I wrote fifty poems to taught me how to make a loaf of bread,
and later I learned that was the most interesting thing that he had ever said.
All you need is for time to pass. All you need is for things to settle.
v.
I came to your mystery some time ago, thought I would consume it in a hurry,
never worried over your details, your infinite folds.
Now I am ready to come to you again, look deeply into whatever secrets you reveal.
I was filled with a desire to know and understand until a little voice said,
“in everything you do, in all you remember, don’t forget joy.”
I remember everything you said. Remember the summer I rose from the dead.
It rained so long that night, and the clouds were gray as gravestones.
Ice was in the air, a miracle there, winter in the height of summer.
The ground was scarcely soft enough to dig my grave.
I came back up all amongst the midges and the rooting badgers,
summer heat, wiped dirt from my face and snail slime from my limbs,
I climbed back in the house and took a cold bath.
turned my back on everything I’d know before because I had to.
And I blamed you, but it wasn’t only you.
And I blamed men, but it wasn’t only then.
This is what happens when you spend
the first twenty five years of my life loving the wrong people.
Now we are in the time of plague and I remember everything,
remember all the songs I began to sing then stopped because I couldn’t bear them,
loves I lost that I never had that sat in my mind, and him,
strong of limb and solid in muscle, gentle in his charm,
once I touched his arm and then I felt that was all I had of him,
I still dream of that man,
I think, gods he must be forty, but so am I,
and I love making love to forty year old men.
Listen, girl,
you can’t keep mourning over the same things you did when you were twenty five.
You can’t keep singing the same old sorry song and dance,
No one feels sorry for you.
Yesterday is called yesterday for a reason. Take off your clothes,
wash your hair, wash your face, wash your mind,
you are losing seconds all the time,
take up the seeds and start planting.
All this time this role you’re playing and no one’s here to see the show..
They’ve already changed the channel
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great continuation! I really enjoy your poetry!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I'm glad you enjoyed that. It's almost done. I'll post the end of it tonight.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
v.
in these day I feel no hurry, I feel no fear, I wake up and roll myself in blankets and come back to sleep with you again, limbs and limbs like jungle vines, lazy and strong we entangle each other, creep in and out of of dreams. There is no worry, there is no worry, there is no hurry
slowly like water in a big pot the world warms from the third winter and the forth little winter, heats under the sun, we wait for May and a day where our feet will be baptized in the blue waters by the beach. I stretched and stretched myself and blinked and felt the comfort of this body and the pleasure of this life, I could not get up to race through the world
and realized it did not matter
take the stuff of this world and hold it long and lovingly to your chest. Make the oatmeal slowly, pour the honey and the cinnamon, roll the cigarette and inhale its fragnrance, slip a blanket over your feet, read proust,
linger over every paragraph.
Light a candle,
fold your legs under your ass, and wait for God to come. Days unfold like flowers before you,
place your face in the fragrance of grace
We cannot live like we have before.
We believed in bad things and made our lives a war
with the earth,
domination in the stead of living.
Love,
stop,
learn to live again..
in these day I feel no hurry, I feel no fear, I wake up and roll myself in blankets and come back to sleep with you again, limbs and limbs like jungle vines, lazy and strong we entangle each other, creep in and out of of dreams. There is no worry, there is no worry, there is no hurry
slowly like water in a big pot the world warms from the third winter and the forth little winter, heats under the sun, we wait for May and a day where our feet will be baptized in the blue waters by the beach. I stretched and stretched myself and blinked and felt the comfort of this body and the pleasure of this life, I could not get up to race through the world
and realized it did not matter
take the stuff of this world and hold it long and lovingly to your chest. Make the oatmeal slowly, pour the honey and the cinnamon, roll the cigarette and inhale its fragnrance, slip a blanket over your feet, read proust,
linger over every paragraph.
Light a candle,
fold your legs under your ass, and wait for God to come. Days unfold like flowers before you,
place your face in the fragrance of grace
We cannot live like we have before.
We believed in bad things and made our lives a war
with the earth,
domination in the stead of living.
Love,
stop,
learn to live again..
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
A great ending! Don't really have much else to say!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I accept your silent appreciation, and imagine you snapping your fingers, jazz age style
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
b e d
linked in love
mortared by morning perspiration
invitation to this love
no hesitation between my skin and yours
on this bed
all hungers are fed
drink of me and never die
you can always ask why and still
be left in wonder
s p r i n g h y m n
pewter sky
even wind
spring is starting up again
clouds now parting for the sun
raindrops glistening
everyone
with Apollo's tears in them
Kore coming back to men
and their daughters
hearts now sing
the approaching tramp of spring
praise the March and April rains,
praise melting snow making its lanes
down the asphalt
up the street
stronger now let me repeat
praise the days
and the warmer night
praise the one who made this beauty
praise the days and praise their light
o f f e r i n g
dark brown branches
flesh pink sky
this is all i prophecy
chilly weather,
early spring,
all that I am offering is my laugh
spring in my gait,
to fill your round collection plate,
collect the snow, collect the rain
collect the uprush lust,
the pain,
everything is yours i see
and you have poured it out to me
r i v e r
God, don't let me die in the river,
like driftwood drenched to the bone
don't let me drown in the river,
don't let me die alone
don't let me die in the subway
a trashbag all i own
don't let me pass near mass transit
don't let me die alone
for those who die in clinics,
the cynics in pillared homes,
the poor and the poor little rich ones
whose money could not atone
for the scourge of dying loveless,
now let the Spirit moan,
as i light at saints feet
these candles
for those who die alone
linked in love
mortared by morning perspiration
invitation to this love
no hesitation between my skin and yours
on this bed
all hungers are fed
drink of me and never die
you can always ask why and still
be left in wonder
s p r i n g h y m n
pewter sky
even wind
spring is starting up again
clouds now parting for the sun
raindrops glistening
everyone
with Apollo's tears in them
Kore coming back to men
and their daughters
hearts now sing
the approaching tramp of spring
praise the March and April rains,
praise melting snow making its lanes
down the asphalt
up the street
stronger now let me repeat
praise the days
and the warmer night
praise the one who made this beauty
praise the days and praise their light
o f f e r i n g
dark brown branches
flesh pink sky
this is all i prophecy
chilly weather,
early spring,
all that I am offering is my laugh
spring in my gait,
to fill your round collection plate,
collect the snow, collect the rain
collect the uprush lust,
the pain,
everything is yours i see
and you have poured it out to me
r i v e r
God, don't let me die in the river,
like driftwood drenched to the bone
don't let me drown in the river,
don't let me die alone
don't let me die in the subway
a trashbag all i own
don't let me pass near mass transit
don't let me die alone
for those who die in clinics,
the cynics in pillared homes,
the poor and the poor little rich ones
whose money could not atone
for the scourge of dying loveless,
now let the Spirit moan,
as i light at saints feet
these candles
for those who die alone
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great poems! I especially liked the last one.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Thanks, Matt. That last one is one of my oldest
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
n e e d
He was not needy, but he was in need.
He hated needy people.
He didn’t need to tell this girl everything, but he needed more
than a quick fuck in the back of a car,
and
yes,
he had needed that fuck.
I bet you thought you were so much more and so
much stronger than you were,
blinked and wretched and sat up startled
after fucking on the floor.
He thought, driving home with an erection rising between his legs,
pointing straight at the car whose red taillights blinked up Dorr Road
and then out into the suburbs,
that people who wanted to fuck were like that too..
Back In her apartment they drank a little and talked, and he needed that.
He needed to hear this girl talk about work.
He needed to rub her feet after offering.
He didn’t need to simply be consumed or comforted.
He needed to offer comfort.
He needed to forget his own sorrow in the sorrows of the world,
to make that magical connection to a stranger he would never
see again.
The two of them in the shower,
him washing her back,
washing her hair,
washing her skin so tenderly,
getting on his knees to adore her,
to bow before her,
to bury his face in her pussy only to lie against the tiles groaning
while she sucked his cock until her mouth ballooned and she gagged
while he twisted and shuddered as his semen spilled out of her
mouth and down her throat.
He needed them sleeping exhausted in that bed,
and then he needed the
deep
dark
middle of the middle
of the night
sex.
turn
i saw you the other day
i turned away because you asked me to
all i hold is all the world
and all you see
when you look at me
is nothing
He was not needy, but he was in need.
He hated needy people.
He didn’t need to tell this girl everything, but he needed more
than a quick fuck in the back of a car,
and
yes,
he had needed that fuck.
I bet you thought you were so much more and so
much stronger than you were,
blinked and wretched and sat up startled
after fucking on the floor.
He thought, driving home with an erection rising between his legs,
pointing straight at the car whose red taillights blinked up Dorr Road
and then out into the suburbs,
that people who wanted to fuck were like that too..
Back In her apartment they drank a little and talked, and he needed that.
He needed to hear this girl talk about work.
He needed to rub her feet after offering.
He didn’t need to simply be consumed or comforted.
He needed to offer comfort.
He needed to forget his own sorrow in the sorrows of the world,
to make that magical connection to a stranger he would never
see again.
The two of them in the shower,
him washing her back,
washing her hair,
washing her skin so tenderly,
getting on his knees to adore her,
to bow before her,
to bury his face in her pussy only to lie against the tiles groaning
while she sucked his cock until her mouth ballooned and she gagged
while he twisted and shuddered as his semen spilled out of her
mouth and down her throat.
He needed them sleeping exhausted in that bed,
and then he needed the
deep
dark
middle of the middle
of the night
sex.
turn
i saw you the other day
i turned away because you asked me to
all i hold is all the world
and all you see
when you look at me
is nothing
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great poems as always! 
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Thanks. I hope you're have a good night. It's been busy over here.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
sea song
This coffee is not strong enough
It will not do, this sad history lesson in our ears will not do, re hearing blood baths right now will just not do. The history of the world has been too rough, no it will not do. I will light this cigarette, I will turn off the noise and let the world turn in my head till all that’s ill slides off its plate into the dark. I will help make the new creation. I turned that off to turn that on to turn that off to turn this off to have a light always glaring, I trusted in noise and made no room for silence and darkness, but silence and darkness is how the world began
And silence in darkness creates it again.
I don’t read your stories cause they hurt my eyes
I don’t read your stories cause they hurt my eyes
I don’t listen cause what I hear is made of lies
All the shit these days comes to me
buzzing full of flies
Last night I thought of you, today you were on my mind you asked me what I was thinking I said it was complicated. It had to do with the peculiar scent of your breath, and the feeling of your lips on my mouth, had to do with something like love confessed but unheard by my praying tongue wedged in the cleft of your ass as your bent over for me on a spring morning, your head bowed over my bed, hair hanging like a curtain while you made a lowing noise, milked like a cow till your started and spilled seed hot as popcorn butter all over my sheets. How could I tell you in one thumb tapped texts that I love you and I love the reflection of you, half seen in a puddle of slickness that you made?
Surely you must remember that night when the weather was warm for the first time, and I came in the middle of the middle of the night, high and buzzing on anticipation, I took my clothes off and lay on your bed, and you gave your head to the place between my thighs, snaking up and down like an oil rig, you knew how to dig to the core of me, three am and then, bodies tight and clenched, and I am riding you and the wind of spring it whistles moments later, layered and glazed in the mystery we lie on the bed wondering what was done to us. How could I tell you in one thumb tapped texts that I love you and I love the reflection of you, half seen in a puddle of slickness that you made?
At least get over yourself long enough to let me thrust my tongue into your ass
Here are all these boys who spent their days posing only so they can say
I am here to let you know you cannot have me.
I will be resentful if you have me
Someone better should have…
You could have been better
I should have been better
I should have…
I should
Ah, but it is better to have loved and lost,
it is better to have loved and lost
it is better to have loved and lost
it is better to have
it is better to have fucked and tossed
then to never have fucked at all
This coffee is not strong enough
It will not do, this sad history lesson in our ears will not do, re hearing blood baths right now will just not do. The history of the world has been too rough, no it will not do. I will light this cigarette, I will turn off the noise and let the world turn in my head till all that’s ill slides off its plate into the dark. I will help make the new creation. I turned that off to turn that on to turn that off to turn this off to have a light always glaring, I trusted in noise and made no room for silence and darkness, but silence and darkness is how the world began
And silence in darkness creates it again.
I don’t read your stories cause they hurt my eyes
I don’t read your stories cause they hurt my eyes
I don’t listen cause what I hear is made of lies
All the shit these days comes to me
buzzing full of flies
Last night I thought of you, today you were on my mind you asked me what I was thinking I said it was complicated. It had to do with the peculiar scent of your breath, and the feeling of your lips on my mouth, had to do with something like love confessed but unheard by my praying tongue wedged in the cleft of your ass as your bent over for me on a spring morning, your head bowed over my bed, hair hanging like a curtain while you made a lowing noise, milked like a cow till your started and spilled seed hot as popcorn butter all over my sheets. How could I tell you in one thumb tapped texts that I love you and I love the reflection of you, half seen in a puddle of slickness that you made?
Surely you must remember that night when the weather was warm for the first time, and I came in the middle of the middle of the night, high and buzzing on anticipation, I took my clothes off and lay on your bed, and you gave your head to the place between my thighs, snaking up and down like an oil rig, you knew how to dig to the core of me, three am and then, bodies tight and clenched, and I am riding you and the wind of spring it whistles moments later, layered and glazed in the mystery we lie on the bed wondering what was done to us. How could I tell you in one thumb tapped texts that I love you and I love the reflection of you, half seen in a puddle of slickness that you made?
At least get over yourself long enough to let me thrust my tongue into your ass
Here are all these boys who spent their days posing only so they can say
I am here to let you know you cannot have me.
I will be resentful if you have me
Someone better should have…
You could have been better
I should have been better
I should have…
I should
Ah, but it is better to have loved and lost,
it is better to have loved and lost
it is better to have loved and lost
it is better to have
it is better to have fucked and tossed
then to never have fucked at all
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Excellent poem! I hope you post more soon!