Mainline

Just came across this. It was written in the mid-80s.

Adult langauge ahead. My apologies in advance to any offended readers; I couldn’t revise it and still express the rage this poem contained. It is not about a woman.

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Mainline

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She can hear

the rain sing

to the Sun Kings.

She can see

the Silence

through the haze.

She can dance

in Darkness

throwing shadows,

and reach within you,

touch your blood –

tiny dancing dizzy flood.

*

She is bouncing in your scream.

She leaves you lost

within a dream.

She takes your eyes,

leaves you blind.

And then your heart.

And then your mind.

Stumble, nodding rhythm.

Exploding time.

Is she so fucking fine?

(Is she so fine?)

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Incomprehensible

I have no idea when I wrote this.  Could have been early 90s.  Could have been late 90s.  I can be a slow learner.

Incomprehensible

 

Some level of irrepressible

satisfaction

bouncing bouncing

never stopping

never thinking

laughing, mindless

boundless, blinking

squashing

smashing

fun fun

funfunfun

  

but the wonderful thing about him

is he’s the only one

 

Within

This is the sequel to Call It Courage.  It was written years later.  As I read it, I can see the influence of college on the content. 

It was quite a serious poem at the time, but it amuses me now.  I take myself far less seriously these days.  Yet I am also void of poetry now.  Perhaps I’ll find a cure for that soon.  I wonder if Bushmills would still work for that?  If not, at least the prose still overtakes me.

Enjoy….

Within

a poem d.b. mcneill

 

 

It’s been years since I was whole.

  He put his finger through my soul.

I am caught beneath the wheel

  never knowing what to feel.

Still walking westward with the rain,

  I seek new ways to speak my pain.

The Earth sucks muscles down my bones.

  I suspect I’ll be alone

when I die.

 

All my life and lives before

  the rich could always eat the poor.

Unable to break the silence screaming,

   unable to wake the world from dreaming,

velvet here, he waits within.

  He has crawled beneath my skin.

 

No claws or knife can dig him out.

  So greet the dawn with strangled shout.

The howling light, the colors streaming,

  all the world will still lay dreaming.

Never having strength for peace

  A man can only seek release.

I watched the orgasm of his death,

  heard music in his dying breath

and it’s been years since I was whole.

  He put his finger through my soul.

 

 

Call It Courage

I wrote this in high school or soon thereafter.  I found a story I started in college that I may be able to weave this into.  It is not my favorite poem, but I like the rythmn…and I wrote a sequel to it some years later.  I will share that next…

 

Call It Courage

a poem by db mcneill

  

This has been my only sin,

I am the killing violin.

All the nights have tumbled down.

All the flesh has turned to sand.

Beneath the sweet and trembling flesh

I’m spinning here inside your hand

and she says….

 

I am the killing violin.

I am the fire that burns within.

The child moaned.

A man has grown

here within my hand.

Walking westward in the rain

I find new ways to speak my pain.

I’m never coming home.

 

In the darkness I awoke.

A single fear,

the words we spoke.

So much more we have to share.

I am shaking, never dared

to take this moment in.

I can sense a danger.

I could not bear the loss

 if you spiraled down to die

within this violin.

 

Years ago I had a dream.

A precious hope and not so far.

In darkness, you played your guitar.

In blackness, your tears blessed my skin.

The skein of souls that tumbled in

could not have sung their hearts in vain.

You put a bullet through your brain.

 

And so, in time, the truth is clear.

Despite the fire, I live in fear.

Too many eyes have died through this.

Your light could die within my kiss.

Become entangled in my strings.

In a moment hear the scream

spinning in my hand.

 

I cannot live without the dream

or live within the truth, it seems.

I only have the strength to kill.

Something this child must not feel.

The child has grown into a man.

I hold his offer in my hand.

Still I cannot let him in.

This has been my only sin.

I am the killing violin.

 

 

Thursday

Another old one…circa 1992.  All of this is actually happened…

 

Thursday

a poem by d.b. mcneill

 

I am on your doorstep

in my dream

wondering

if you can

disappoint me in the right direction

 

Under here

     

There is still more

but wordless

  

The magician spins

diamonds from her eyes

It’s only rain

 

Thunder breaks

I awake

 

Outside

there is a man

shouting shut up

at the sky

 

....

The Boxer

I think I’ll keep the poetry flowing for a bit.   This is a favorite, circa 1996.  And yes, an itty bitty beat poet does live in my brain. 

 

The Boxer

a poem by d.b. mcneill

 

It is the difference between having and wanting.

It is the difference between water and light.

It is the difference between sleeping and waking

to scream in eternal night.

 

There is an angel who’s fallen to human.

He’s pushing his way through the crowd.

He’s come to tell you that you should be drinking.

You should be drinking and thinking aloud.

 

He has the face of a pugilist

but ah, you could drown in those eyes.

He’s come to tell you the things you believe

that were born in the light

and the things you believe that are lies.

 

 

Man In A Bottle

I recently came across this in a cleaning frenzy.  I wrote it in 1996.  It made me smile, because I wrote poetry then.  And now I write prose.

 

Man in a Bottle

a poem by db mcneill

 

He will find her there

pressed between the pages

like a forgotten photo

or a postcard

rich with rhyme.

Her poetry is spinning, spinning

spinning into prose,

unlike anything imagined or pecked out in his smoky room.

Her blood stains

will never wash from his sheets

nor the wine from his floor.

She knocked it there

with her laughing hands

when she still believed

she was heavy in his heart.

 

Momsomnia

I first used this word  “momsomnia” in April of 2007.  I honestly thought I made it up.  But I just googled it and it is freakin’ everywhere. 

So, I wonder – is it one of those words that a lot of people make up around the same time?  Or is it one of those things I heard that I didn’t quite register until it came back to me later (and I just thought I made it up)?

Does that ever happen to you?