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More Poetry

By Stephen Lindsay

MeaNinG? State of the Soul Shadow Puppet As Seen Through Squinting Eyes
God Stole My Bong Frustration at the Ripe Old Age of 21 AMBIGUOUS 'GATOR

MeaNinG?

Here I sit,
with tattoos
and memories.
Reminders of a time
long ago,
yet not so long.
(yesterday?)


Steve's TATTOO

Was I different then?
Am I now?
A time
of searching,
of discovery.
A time for you,
and of me.


Steve's TATTOO

Now, here I sit
with tattoos,
memories,
and time.
And I smile.


Steve's TATTOO

The world;
my page.
You;
my words.
Life;
my masterpiece.


Steve's TATTOO


STATE OF THE SOUL

(TOP)

I am plagued with the passion
for life that eats the
soul.
I crave life
unrelenting,
unforgiving.
I run with wolves
when the moon is full.
(red drips from it like blood from a fresh wound)
My jaws crave the sour-
sweet taste of flesh.
I am the devil,
dancing within flames,
piercing the void
with slithering orange,
yellow,
red tongues.
Edvard Munch SCREAM

I have stared god
in the eye,
and watched as he turned away.
(blushing)
Life is quick,
love is dead.
Look in your mirror,
and I look back.
We are one, you and I,
Humanity.

SHADOW PUPPET

(TOP)

I see you by the
fire,
smoke-ring halo
sitting perversely
atop your head,
tilted.
I am a mere
shadow puppet
against the wall,
dancing within the
fire's
rhythmic pulse.

SHADOW

All I hear is the
steady creak,
creak,
creak
of your chair,
and I pray
to the hallowed
GOD of smoke,
fire,
that you are asleep.

Please let me pass,
the smoke
is beginning to
circle
around my head.


AS SEEN THROUGH SQUINTING EYES

(TOP)


Reality

is the harsh

glow of the

refigerator light

in the middle

of the night.

Searing away

the sweet dew

of dreams.


GOD STOLE MY BONG

(TOP)

"I don't answer questions"
a poet once told me
as he lit up a joint
in my kitchen.
Funny, God said
the same thing.
"Does God smoke weed?"
I muse to the room.
Nobody answers
since all I know is
poets and christians.

"I once ate dog food"
a poet once told me,
stoned, sitting
on my bathroom floor.
"So much for the profound."
I say,
and get ignored
by the christians.


Frustration at the Ripe Old Age of 21

(TOP)


Writing for writing's sake.
Words made because
I know how.
Endless ink blahs
causing miles of deforestation.
For what?
My pen traces my mind
through trails of
unpublishable crap,
brief moments of madness,
and fleeting coincidental genius.
Nearly drowning in cliche',
suffocated by a blanket of symbolism
weaved in the vast sweatshop halls
of my brain.

I've given it up a thousand times,
like smoking,
only quitting that was easy.
No inspiration patch on my arm
to dull the painful moments of clarity.
Before the pen hits the ground
lightning strikes,
the gears turn,
and I'm scribbling again.

And I'll never stop,
I know that now.
And I'll never be
literary,
or famous.
But I will be.
Just a writer who writes
for writing's sake,
for beauty's sake,
for sorrow's sake,
for death's sake,
for my own sake.


AMBIGUOUS 'GATOR

(TOP)

 "You have to be aloof
if you want to be remembered",
a poet once told me
through his steel colored
bushy Ginsbergian beard.
"Don't you also
have to die?"
I asked while
puzzling over my shoes.
Glancing up I noticed
he had already retreated
out the bathroom window.
Scrawled across the
steamed up mirror
was written:
"The Ambiguous "Gator
floats no more
left than
right"
I grabbed my
pen and damp pad,
and full of passion wrote:
No more poets in the house!!!
What a goofy kid
I was.



All poetry is written by Stephen Lindsay.


Please do not use or copy any of Stephen's poetry without his permission. Thank You!

SIP

E-mail Stephen at srl77@rochester.rr.com

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