All at Once

All at once
When you ask
what do I need

there is no confusion
No second guessing
You know.
Food, shelter, medicine
Family to be safe
Country to be healed
That is it.

It was always true
But now, you know it
You know it like you know
The smell of spring or the taste of winter
You know it, like you know, the sky is blue
Or the way your grandma’s house smells
And you will always know it
From here on out


The Love of your life
Means love for my life
For the green things
that will soon sprout
For Robin who sings
And geese coming north
For the homeless, the weak and the strong And those with mansions
You have learned
We are all connected
On this blue beautiful earth
you’ll never be able to forget
And that is a gift, if you can live
With it

The Hardest thing

The hardest thing
is to live with love and kindness
in a cruebullshitworld
I am an atheist so I believe in kindness
And love not because of what is to come
But what is. I am is
Every day I am reminded of my frailty
And temporary status by the pain
That burns my heart and body

I am doing all
I can to stay kind
Anger and pain trick me
somedays I want to die too
The abyss, the last breath
Seems both terrifying and reassuring
At least I don’t have to worry
About forever
My body, fat and aging and full of pain
Is all I have. It has mostly bad sides
If I am touched it hurts
If I wake up it hurts
If I walk it hurts
I have lost all hope of not being in hurts
I have accepted it
It has made me free
I dress how I like. I laugh how I want.
I live how I like
And say what I want

If I feel like it, I say fuck you dog shit liar
And if I feel like it, I say, I love you dog shit liar
I know what is mine
my time, my love, my life

I don’t know if you own yours
or
If you are still trying to become some other time
I could tell you, don’t waste yours
Feeling less than -It’s your brain sucking you
But it’s your choice and sometimes necessary
you are dog shit, after all
You are a dumb dumb. You’ve proved it.
Who isn’t? Who hasn’t ?
Don’t worry if you hate yourself
You probably have good reason
Most of us do
Just accept your a fuckturd
And go from there
The important thing you must
Consider is what kind of you, you’re in
if your going to wear stonewalled brutal you
Or are you going to allow love
space inside your body?
It hurts you, at first, just so you know
And you will have panic attacks
And you will lash out at those around you
You may attempt to take your life
Or run away to another town
And maybe you will
And maybe you’ll find a better job or lover
Or view and a minute
You’ll be able to breathe in your body
And feel the earth between your toes
Just maybe the fear will lessen long
Enough for some love to get in
Some kindness to shuffle to the front
Or a smile widen across your body
And in that moment breathe
Just breathe you in
This is you
Then, look out and see us
The forests and dogs
The 13 lined squirrels and corn flowers
The creeping Charlie and the crows
We are hard and uneven, like you
Breathing here too
Learning to love here too
Sometimes failing here too

Please be gentle with
Your existence.

Press it lightly on
With us
And witness the spec of time we are

My Husband is time

My husband is a not real
He is my fantasy.
I made this world
In a sweet slumber
after drinking the last
of summer’s rations
Where I am loved so well
And kissed so tenderly
With the scent of cardamom and orange
his touch of warmth and electricity
He is a God with a magic penis
That can stop time and suspend gravity

Some strange luck loops
Has stopped war and given

me this dream life and his to share

I am day dreaming girl
sleeping in a dirt tent

if you find me
do not wake me

there are dark shadows
in my world.
I am fighting in a war
on the wrong side of a line

With a broken foot and a belly wound

I don’t make it out of here alive
this dream is all I’ll know of time or love

Drop dirt or petals if you must

Raining Ice Again

You have been in your head too much
this doesn’t work for you
You are a doer. You must stay busy and engaged
Right now, you are not. You are tired and in pain
Your mouth is dry, your skin is dry. It is cold outside
…You’re an idiot.
I’m bored of this already
This needs to be erased
I need to go for a walk

Off a cliff. dive into a dream of cold water
I want summer in Lake Superior
I want her freedom
Her sweet clean air

It is winter. White and dirty and grey
I slept like shit again last night.
My neck hurts. Blah
That is what I feel like
Blah
Blah blah blah
I am wasting my living
Here
Far away
I am giving it all, for what I can’t grass anymore

Da Vinci

The greatest painter to ever paint
Made sure to fuzzy the line
Where one ended and another began
That is what I am trying with your love
And poetry

This is not the poem I want to write
The poem I want to write is about taking
care of one another
But that poem is boring and nice
It is too polite for us

What the hell are we doing?
Why are we not fucking?
Must I beg for your cock in my mouth?

You are doing dishes and Im pretty 
sure you have fever too
Both of the girls do. 
I can barely stand. We are dizzy
And puking and coughing and shitting 
But you are doing the dishes
You come and check on us
bring water from the other side
of the universe and those cool magic pills. 
Yesterday I went to store 
and got a bunch of groceries. 
you were sleeping and had a fever. 
Then I cleaned. 
Brought you some pills 
And helped the girls. 
We take care of each other. 
When people complain about being married
I want to say, have you tried sucking his dick? 
Maybe if you give it all 
maybe the someone else 
will give it all back to you

Wash your face

Somethings don’t have to be said

I know that all humans are not bad

But I have a hard time fingerings out the good ones

I don’t trust my ability fully. 

 There is always something I can miss

This uncertainty is my armor 

I try to keep one foot on the ground

And one hand on my pistol 

I not going to put up with bullshit

Its nothing personal, you understand?

It just, you see, I don’t know

how long I have to live

It may end soon or something

so I don’t want to waste any time

on bullshit -You get it

You’ve wasted time on bullshit

I see it on your face

On Christmas past

The Christmas lights on my tree

            twinkle, unnecessarily. 

Its all I have kept of tradition

You never put me right

Maybe you tried  

Maybe you loved me

But that’s not enough

Your love can’t cover up your abuse
I’m not a little child. But I’m still vulnerable 

I admit it.  I’m at accepting 

I can’t live for you
I’m not sorry.  

You wanted me to carry you

Like a pointless backpack of rocks

like a bucket of shit  

sloshing on top of my head

I was your surefooted mule

I took pride in how much I could carry

For you

I’ve put it down 

The bible, the apologizing, the pride,  shame,

And now – the fear and bucket of hate.

I’ve given up being the ass
Its no longer my surprise

I’m not passing it on or boxing it up

Or hiding it in the basement

Wrapped tight for later
You fucked up

You 

fucked 

up

you carry it

  

 

And On

I’m trying real hard but I can’t find any warm cocks or juicy pussies or even busted lips or bloody blisters
In the books
That you gave me
Not even a dried lily or a dead bug
Just paper with words
And more words
I like words a lot -I do- I live in them
But sometimes I need more than words
Sometimes I’d like my hand held
or some jasmine green tea in a big cup
I guess
What I am saying is I miss dancing with you
Dancing alone isn’t all bad in a pinch
But I always pretend you are dancing with me
And that is pathetic
Dancing in sync with you is ancient earth magic
We are mirrors, cracked and smudged on cheap beer and old patterns, strange magnets
spinning each other on

A Damning or Blessing

20161215_110125You fight and kill at each others’
freedoms and limbs cuz the anger
tricks you to whip and slave
To nazi and to Jew
To rock over the bus and light it
on fire before you climb out, dear you
I have watched from inside the house
humming and singing as the pie bakes, the meat roasts kissing fat babies and embracing your existence living in a dream world full of coffee and poetry, painting and folding clothes, living a fantasy of soft fluffy puppies and beautiful cloths drape around my fat and happy body

But you are so busy destroying
Yourselves that you don’t realize
You are building a wall of dead bodies around yourself

You have imprisoned yourselves with your lifeless families

Willingly you take your clothes off and fold them in a neat pile
put your gold in the heap and sit
in the poisonous gas of your putrefaction, meditating
The great experiment has begun and you hurry to see how fast you can kill yourselves

The speed you do it is hard to keep up with

Damn it -throw down the gun from her temple
Lady liberty  was given to you on the day you were born

And now you can’t wait to grab her by the pussy
lock her to the pillars of your bed
rape her and then burn her down And well her blood is coming from her whatever
It is all over you -Sticky and hot
you can’t move in the vicious thick stink
Ive seen the plains in a nightmare
Dropping bombs on the prairie and flash the shore for
Each night I vision of your war
You kill for coin lust
in the morning
I cradle your babies, dead
And rotten, I sing lullabies to your young covered in blood,
sand slips and slides, so do you child
climb into the camel’s eye and hide
sand slips and slides to the other side

The shadows come and whisper in my ear
and show me the horrors you commit
In the name of thirst and hunger

They give me the spoon and force
me to stir the generations of
Broken bodies so I can read
the signs until now, now I’ve learned to stoically
love war and peace, the swing up and the fall down
The faster it be done I cry as the warning call.
I scream until I’m hoarse slinging my spoon
Faster and stronger, to see your future self doom human

The outsiders looking down have come to eat
Limb by foot and finger, ass and cunt they eat
You pray out but the gods have abandoned
you with a bet with the devils

They have bet against you
They have grown tired of your abuse
Dived into the mouth of giant black
worm in the center of your universe
They have been torn apart and now are falling out creating existence elsewhere by tearing yours apart
They have cursed you to kill yourself
They have given you to evil.
They force my mouth to me tell you
Enslaved my hand to hold the mirror of your undoing
They have  given me the evil eye
and made me swallow it to
burn me out as I speak your doom

by your own hand you die and live
by your own heart you will be loved
by your own hate you will hearth
by your own frost you will have lost

The snake shadows are fucking you.
And soon dear, they’ll fuck you dead.
I am the sibyl you do not kill; I’m already beheaded.
I am the dove on the wind of the wilderness
Suffocated with honey and locust
Heed my dead song – only you can save yourself
Only you can love the shadows
out or beat the blood lust to dust

Nostalgia for War and Peace

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Annieepoetry

I get it.  It was a simpler time

A sweeter time for rivers and old trucks

and tongue flicks

Or it was the music

Or maybe we are magnets

and memory aligns us back

to the crystal structure we were before

I’m not sure.  It doesn’t make sense to me

I’m aware of my ignorance.   I don’t need

everything to fit into hard little rows

It doesn’t have to be simple or straight for me

to swallow it whole and let it keep my stomach warm and new

I love winter. There I said it.  I love the cold, the snow

The bundling up with sweaters and blankets

I love hot beverages and rums and scotches

I love cedar in the swamp toppled with clean white snow

And hot steam from my mouth when I breathe out

In steam visions, touching your cheek

As my feet make a trail along a…

View original post 284 more words

Nostalgia for War and Peace

I get it.  It was a simpler time

A sweeter time for rivers and old trucks

and tongue flicks

 

Or it was the music

Or maybe we are magnets

and memory aligns us back

to the crystal structure we were before

I’m not sure.  It doesn’t make sense to me

I’m aware of my ignorance.   I don’t need

everything to fit into hard little rows

 

It doesn’t have to be simple or straight for me

to swallow it whole and let it keep my stomach warm and new

 

I love winter. There I said it.  I love the cold, the snow

The bundling up with sweaters and blankets

I love hot beverages and rums and scotches

I love cedar in the swamp toppled with clean white snow

And hot steam from my mouth when I breathe out

In steam visions, touching your cheek

As my feet make a trail along a doe’s path

Over the creek into the meadow under the apple tree

Pausing to breathe and breathe, happy and sad

I like feeling the relief when I step into a warm home, when I stomp my feet and take off my boots and scarf and hat and coat, the hot fluster on my cheeks. And then smelling the wood burning fire,  the chimney puffing up

like my heart for you and our world

I love you.  I can’t help it.  It’s the music.  The step.  The waves.  The past or the future

It doesn’t matter.  But its here. It hangs on.

It doesn’t leave.  It isn’t sick or destructive

not disparate  or selfish.  It doesn’t hurt.

Its not a spring flower, nor a brown crumpled leaf.

It’s a rustic road that runs up north along lake Michigan and never seems to end

That leads to lake superior and cools all the fear out.

 

You can’t own or  fight it. There is no need.    Its here, in my poetry

These silent odes, from an old fat human woman

who is learning to walk soft and dream expansive peace

I don’t want to go to war.  But the war is here too.

So now I dream we are holding hands, like little laughing children

Who have not learned to hate or mistrust.

I am transforming myself.

I am focusing my intentions on life. I am forever restarting with me.

I am learning to live free of ego and hate.

I am eating the fear and panic one breath at a time.

It will take times.  There is times for you to learn too.

 

Put your ear on my heart, I am alive with you.  What more could we ask for?

 

[AL1]

In time

We were walking on the shore of lake Michigan, wet and hot
the smell of fish and sand hung strong in the crisp air. You grabbed me and kissed me, squeezed
my breasts, lifted my shirt, exposing my breasts on the dock as an old man in a fishing boat watched.
I pointed at him and we ran away giggling to our friends house where we sang and drank ale.

And I was in love, with you
And with myself
For first time

Dizzy and happy and full of energy
High on being alive in our bodies
Young and brimming with expectations of greatness and wild wondrous success

Eager to earn it and to lose it and fight for it.

For all of it, not settling for damn thing, no regrets, just push push push and play play play
That’s the way we were

That’s how we are now
Because it works works works
To create the life we want

Is there a point to pain?

No. There is not.

Sometimes it hurts so bad we growl out feral death wishes and sometimes it feels like we are soaring fast and high
Invincible to harm or sadness

Happiness doesn’t need sadness or the pain. We would stay joyous and free if we could, forever

But we can’t. That doesn’t make hurt heroic. If someone trys to tell you otherwise, tell them to go fuck their self

From the rest of us

I don’t need to know shit

You do.  That’s your life purpose
I want to be ignorant and stupid of the rules and limitations of this mother tongue

Name parts, divvy up the line, organize the intent, frame the time

Me, I’m going to mess it up and confuse it in half thoughts and run on sentences. And you can name me dumb, and I’ll admit it happily and full of pride and self affirming horseshit stops
I have unruly and coarse and untrue poesy and I am an hell of a lot more entertaining than you

Don’t you dare

God damn it Henry
you son of a.    -fuck- Hell. No

There is no defense.
No cure. it’s hopeless

You smile at me and look at my face and rub my back and tell me jokes and  get me to tell you jokes and you tell me how smart and funny and sexy I am and kiss the back of my neck and pour me brandy and ceva ask me questions about light and shadows and time until i start looking down and smiling
So easy
Before I know it your snoring
On my face with your right hand on my ass and left around my breasts
Locking me for an hour or so
With a grateful smile
Sighing
Fuck. Hell.Yeswpid-20150420_100605.jpg

guilt is a funny thing

 

 

 

it doesn’t matter if you knew better

or if you were doing your best with

the knowledge you had

 

if your own hindsight doesn’t shame you

someone else’s will

 

if it doesn’t, you’re probably not human

 

Well Meaning

Well meaning humans

friends and family members

tell me to write a novel

something I can get paid for

They ask if I write

if I write at all

if I do, why don’t I show it

to them

they say with ups at the ends of the words

I mumble about the poem

about the line

about when I sit down and write

a poem  I do what

I can and hope

their war will be lost

on my ability to write a

decent poem

Of course I have a lot of

horse shit that I don’t

finger until it becomes apart

of my identity but the

process of writing a poem

I’ve put everything in

I’ve excepted

that I will never get drinks or licks

in exchange for my poems

But if I don’t write these bloody

stumps, if I don’t fuck on the mother

tongue and smear her ideologies

in my gruesome fantasies

her neat and organized world

may beat out the orgasmic

and thirsty

Missing A Few Hours

I want sex.  That is what

I’m writing this poem for

 I hope to convince you

that having sex with me

is a good idea and that you

shouldn’t delay. Or else

you’ll miss your chance

 

A chance that could change your life

forever or entertain you for a few hours  

I Use Poems

I use poems the size of war.

I write them in the morning

after the pretty city motions work.

When other citizens shop

for beans or rake progress

I arrange sounds that fuck people.

 

So high they get, after my oos and aahs

they promise not to kill again 

 

The Trees

 

 

 

 I hate the sight of the lonely trees in parks 

or in front of people’s houses

or on the sides of roads in narrow strips.   

If I could lose the road

in the forest I’d wander

through the years eating

grubs and leeks and doves

with my body to teach me love

 

The other people

constantly about on a cell phone 

with their infectious hellos  and drive-in’s

could be tricked out

 

 

 

 

The city visions are not life’s

glory or the moist forest floor.

The wheel on the bike path is not

the hollow notes of sticks on trunks. 

The tang of the paper mill is

not a fresh bundle of cedar

 

The city is an ice cream truck

with meth head driver.   

 

 

Someday a road will fell the last of a forest.

Some chain store or lawyer’s office will take

the spruces’ and maples’ thunder and the wish

of the leaves and the heart of the forest will be myth.

It will be a jump of machinery.

It will be a thump of humanity.  

It will be a hump of death and waste and rebirth.

Carrots

The carrots taste gross and I’m not lying.

Hot chocolate with chocolate chip cookies

taste better and there is really no reason to discus it. 

Carrots may be better for you but chocolate

tastes better and that for me is enough of a reason

to eat dipped chocolate chip cookies, not carrots.

 

May you live forever 

Teddy Bear

I am not happy in my playhouse. 

My teddy bear changed.  Or I did.  

Or the world did. 

 

I got some mad inside me and 

said fudge.  Teddy hissed. 

I snuggle with a stressed out bear

who paws my tongue. 

Ha.  Good great pancake syrup.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My number one fur wants to gain morality or sensibilities. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some days aren’t ours 

they come and they go

and what are we 

 

we are what is left on the chair

watching and loving 

and for what and why…

 

when we realize our mother

loved us best and that was as good 

as we can get. And then   then

we think someone else might love

us. We think we’ve found 

some magic that the rest 

was too dumb to find….that we are

lucky and blessed. Then… then we come 

home early and find our cat on the neighbor’s lap

purring.  Then we say suck it and we find

our lover in some odd position giving

goo glue eyes at some slender beef

and then… then we leave and walk and walk

and walk until we forget who we think we are 

and we stop caring about this life. This life goes

by too short but then, then we don’t want it

it is meaningless. It is pain.  We are all there is.

We are not enough. We are not garlic or a sunset.

We are old. We are still stupid. We don’t 

like to be alone, still stupid and old

 

But others can’t be trusted. We can’t stand on their back

to see farther.  We can’t make them hold us. We smell.

We are cry babies.  

 

There is no pudding for cry babies.  

There are no songs for cowards. 

 

 

The bath water is cold and the flies are in.

we have sand in our butts. We are freaky 

looking wearing blue all the time.  We 

write. We shit. We pace. We write. 

 

No one reads it because it is lame. It is not

smart. we can not write smart. We try but 

everyone tells us told you so.  

 

We say fug off but we hurt and want someone

to tell us we are ok but we are not ok and so 

no one will say it and we wouldn’t believe

it and so here we are   

 

and yet we talk politics and paints and pens

 

is there anymore ale

no 

it doesn’t matter -I’ll have a glass of tap water

Someone plays with someone

a lover snores besides a someone.

the daughter of someone is in a bedroom

pulling air through a harmonica.

 

 the sun is out and someone sits with goose bumps.

 someone has turned grey as a rain weathered tin.

someone’s heart is twisty sensitivity and has not yet learned to swallow.  Darfur. Iraq. Afghanistan

war torture. Cuba…WWII, the love of family.

 

 

someone’s grandmother comes to visit and leaves.

someone’s friend calls. someone gives advice, says, “find a lover

you can sit and talk with,

 

 

 laughter holds hands into sticky glances. 

 

 someone’s daughter goes outside to a ride a scooter

someone’s lover snore stops and becomes a whisper.

someone is sad and blessed

someone is lonely and surround by carpet.  someone doesn’t know

what a someone is, only what a bomb is not.

 

all the creative ideas

that someone hasn’t learned

to control are the pieces that someone tastes and savors.

 

 someone can’t shake the snakes, or explain

the need of death by whips and earthquakes. 

 

someone needs a bath with potato soap and someone brushes

the lives that someone tangles and never notices. someone

moans for the someone who someone is mis-teaching.

and someone is searching for a home for someone who is homeless. and someone

is playing dice down -out into a hall to make someone some money.  Someone is dodging

work to go to a war and haircut. someone is looking in a fridge

and someone is watching tv. someone

pretends that someone’s feet are planted on the ground. someone is nobody cause they are dead

cause someone has just blown off someone’s head.  someone is singing

words of evolution. and someone is wondering

when someone will peek into someone’s eyes, and hand

someone a rye and Swiss sandwich.  a someone is scared to go outside alone or

talk with someone over the phone. someone doesn’t want someone

to know someone writes death letters to someone’s self. someone is sick

and poor. someone is rich and disconnected by a fence around their yard. someone is birthed

and someone eats noodles without sauce. someone is

a friend for life and someone has cancer  of the mouth.

someone is an artist and someone is

nurse. and someone utters a little curse. 

 

someone listens and someone blesses  the life-giving tree.

and someone won’t ever be free. someone

lives their life internally.  and someone is trying

to figure out who someone is, and someone won’t

find the answer, while someone will know it doesn’t matter.

someone marches for peace and someone doesn’t want to come home from war

someone needs a hug, and someone’s been over touched. someone is on

drugs, and someone wishes drugs could fix someone’s problems 

End of the Road

 

 

 

 

You’ll know when you get there. 

You’ll be surprised, a fever may come.

You might have to sit and stare off.    

When you leave you will weep.

Walking backwards,

staring and trying to remember

as much as possible.  It won’t help

 

You’ll scratch your insides

to ask why you can’t return.

You’ll try to rationalize

the big the city, the prairie grass.

you’ll say a river is good enough.

that there is more opportunity

where you are, better schools,

better job market. 

you’ll even say you can go

home and visit.

You’ll say people move on 

but despite all yourself talk

you won’t be the same.

 

Visiting won’t give peace. You’ll leave. 

You will say, its time to

take advantage of the new place.  You’ll try, 

you’ll look at the people and their hem lines.

You’ll find old buildings and new lace shops

but it won’t be enough. 

You’ll fake it for years. 

You’ll bitter, and save money,

hope to buy that little cabin.   

But you won’t.  You’ll stay in limbo. 

 

Knowing your dying but thinking

you are doing the right thing.  

Your heart will break.  Again and again.

You’ll make new friends

and find new ways to express the hole.

You’ll read your poems to strangers.

your stretch yourself out and in 

but it won’t matter.

You’ll still miss her.

You’ll still want to return to lake superior. 

Even the warmer climate won’t be enough.

Land locked you’ll damn alone.

Smart enough to hide your wanderlust

your craft will become

the source of replacement. 

 

You’ll miss the library

with the sacks of poetry people.

The rocks, o the rocks,

 you’ll be attracted

to all rocks and touch every

fugging one you can, and say,

send a vibe  back north.

 

 You’ll miss October’s face,

 its eyes, its grin, its sway. 

It teasing you. 

You’ll miss February  and her doe

that is shy and curious. 

Your miss June’s sass

and March’s enlightenment. 

You’ll miss December’s

scotch and savior conversation.

 

You’ll miss August’s acceptance and wit,

strength and hot friendship.

You’ll miss May’s perception,

its soft anger, that grows on the world.

You’ll plan to gather your months

at her shore but it won’t happen.

Goose pump you, will follow someone

 else’s lead, your gentle job’s.

You’ll hate yourself for it,

for doing the right thing,  ever.

Mold

Strangers keep asking when I’m going to fit

the mold that they need.  I’m a hobo, a street musician.

I paint on corners, and read my poems

on the sidewalk. Fuck the coffee snob houses.

They’ll take me if I want them.

I write.   This is it. This is all you get.   

This is my hand. It will probably cramp soon.

I must write while pain is young

 

 

Let us not be folded into others’ cubicles,

not deranged and broken by their patterns.

 

Listen.  I am the greatest woman to ever live. 

Lick me.  When I walk into a room of dredges

they slide the muck towards me with eyes as lonely

as history. They want to pluck my string. Hear the symphony

of my fucked lost lines. Stand aside

poesy. I have a cunt of amber.  Men, women

I’ve changed the philosophy, I’ve brought back witchcraft.