This may be nothing new nothing at all
or nothing now you need to take to heart,
whatever it is to you it will mean nothing
until realized: with billions of minds, hearts
savage wills pulling at the seams of reality
it’s a wonder the whole doesn’t tear open
spill out into riots, revolutions, war, chaos
far more often than it does which doesn’t mean
we stop tying to make life somewhat better
but rather it will never be what you want
That’s right, it will never be just as we want–
Say it often to yourself if you think it helps.
Poem first appeared in Of One & Many Worlds
Oh Lotto Ticket!
You make phone sex obsolete, your tongue
moves over the gutters of my body like a street cleaning truck.
Your love is like a red, red
Tube of toothpaste
You are better for my mouth than Scope
You are better than bubble gum blown
during an action packed movie
You’re more exiting than Twitter
More meaningful than Google
I get lost in Best Buys
Dreaming of your stupid afterglow grin.
When I think of what your fingers do for my Friday nights
A free Lamborghini… Bores me.
I am obsessed by what we do in bed more than what I do with my…
Visa at Nordstrom’s
You are to me
What potatoes are to potato salad, big dresses were to Mama Cass
Tie-dye to hippies
Plastic surgery to Tinsel Town…
You’re hotter than a Hollywood Comet, cooler than Kevin Spacey
You’re my “Living End”
My Marilyn Monroe Sleeping Pill
Janis Joplin Hypodermic, Buddy Holly Plane Ride
Jim Morrison Parisian Bath
Your my Billy Holiday Heroin-dusted Gardenia, my Birthday Wish
You pop out of a ten foot cake to give me free orgasms an hour
Then go for one more…
Oh Fuckkitten, Loveclone, Suckpuppy on your knees in the morning
The best thing about you without doubt is that
You… are… imaginary!
Note: This poem first appeared in Rattle 17 years ago! Wow, has it been that long? The version above is updated and revised to make it more current, but the thrust of the poem is the same: Anti Consumerism & Comedy. ~ Rayn Roberts.
I’d wondered how it would be in a body
Rented from God–
Damaged goods, cargo bruised each day
I thought being a man
Being free to go wherever I want
Not bound by the chain Mr. D yanks to remind me
This is his game and he’s nearly won.
I recall being a boy
Ready to invent a man, needy
So restless, eager to leave
And be here
In this bag of walking skin and bone, waiting
Feeling time pulled out from under me slowly
God’s clown, Death’s dog
for Will Petty in Blaine
or wherever he is .
There he is that sassy kid
Head full of wit and fire
Walking the hills like level ground
Hand in a sack full of plums.
Cocky, wild, full of himself
I wish I were more like him–
Take the heat from a flame,
The strut from a cock
The leap and kick from a kid
Break the heart of a nation!
Let be, let the boy go
Who can say
When he eats that plum
Where he spits that pit
A tree will not rise tomorrow?
Balance is that I that I briefly am
As much a father as a mother
As much a woman as a man
Though I disagree with another
Ideas do not offend, nor does snow
Ice, heat or wind disturb my mind.
Just now, as the agapanthus frame
The end of spring in returning rain
I am all I need and all I find
To be at perfect peace with all.
So being, I smile, because I know
I’ll lose my footing soon and fall:
Such perfection lasts, an hour or so.
Had he known the beauty of an apple, seen it, a flower
In the palm of her hand, seen in his wife’s hand the sun
Light to a tree of knowledge, knowledge of air and weather
The river, the flame, the earth, he’d know earth was woman
Insect and animal, he would see in her hand the farmer
A field hand picking the apple, the worker make the truck
Mechanic at work on the engine, trucker haul his apple
To the grocer who oiled and set it out, he’d see in an apple
The checker check it, the boy bag it, the energy of a star
To power the car that carries him home to the hand of Eve,
A sun in her hand, a blossom; he’d know what an apple is
Never again blame her for sin in a garden, nor she him
For the loss of Eden.
Rayn Roberts 2016
The Beauty of Apples first appeared in The Sow’s Ear Review as a Finalist in their annual poetry contest. Cover photo of apples by Rayn Roberts