If I spoke from the heart and you could hear
You would ride the sound
Back to the beginning and see who you really are.
If I spoke from the heart, my tears would be a river
Running into the sea, an Ocean of sweetest water.
If I spoke from the heart, my joyful laughter
Would fill the universe
And ring the galaxies like a wind chime
If I spoke from the heart, you would hear my voice call
From time past, present and to come
All our wounded children– It would heal them, every last one
And the world, if ever it were, would be whole again.
Photo by Rayn Roberts
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.
for Ann Anderson
I’ve come to an uneasy peace running from the past
Where voices speak your name
You living ghost come out of darkness
Blinding me with joy only animals know.
I was your toy, a thing nearly real
For love ever is
But marriage is money in the big city
And a soldier’s son
Was unwelcome to a physician’s fair daughter
Lady Anne of quiet beauty, love of you nearly killed me.
Where are you, barbed eyes, sex like E
Raw love of a man
Ruin of my youth locked in my arms?
So foolishly cunt-struck was I
I’d have killed for you
Like some kill for gold or dreams
I had none, only love, pathetic love–
Nights on a sea cliff
Where the waves thundered invitations!
What a scar I might have left
But I could not in any way harm you–
As you flew out of the city
Forever away from me
I felt you sitting next to me in my car
I guess you were
Floating over me, I turned and said your name.
Will you smile real pretty when I pull the trigger?
Will you let a squadron of dragonflies carry you
By your nipples and hair into a green forgetful sky
By your toes, your nose, the white fuzz on your ears?
You will forget the red and blue years
Sailing a typhoon of moonlight, money and mercy
Mercy for queers, money for roses, so many
You can give one to every hobo-drunk in the world
And ten for me, your god-forsaken rebel.
If I whirl a twister of wishes and dreams
To right the wrongs we have brought upon our children
All the animals and insects gone to extinction
If I gather the lint from our toes, sox, bras, underwear
Into a sudden mighty wind and knock the leaders
Kings and tycoons off their murderous feet for good
To say there is something very different from
What they promise and what we get, my dear
Will you smile, will you smile, will you smile real pretty?
The future never arrives on time
When it does
It’s not what I expect:
A walk in the park,
A punk grrrl
In pink Mohawk
Lifts her green skirt
Shows me some blue bush…
Runs off laughing, I laugh too.
I guess she wanted to shock me
Give me a thrill, I don’t know.
I walk on
To a dumbstruck bar and grill
Forcing back a confusion
I grin and think
It’s a fucked up world, but fun still
Rayn Roberts 2016