Thursday Night Poetry Jam

Tonight, I'd like to feature a couple "Pomes" by James Joyce- Ireland's greatest literary master on Ireland's greatest American holiday. Joyce is a writer that can be horrifyingly frustrating to some, and deeply rewarding to others. I personally find his poetry to be easier to tackle, than say, Ulysses, which I continuously tell myself I am going to finish "this week ." Regardless, lets get the pints flowing and the words rolling.

Nightpiece

Gaunt in gloom,

The pale stars their torches,

Enshrouded, wave.

Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,

Arches on soaring arches,

Night's sindark nave.

Seraphim,

The lost hosts awaken

To service till

In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,

Raised when she has and shaken

Her thurible.

And long and loud,

To night's nave upsoaring,

A starknell tolls

As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,

Voidward from the adoring

Waste of souls.

Trieste, 1915

A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight

They mouth love's language. Gnash

The thirteen teeth

You lean jaws grin with. Lash

Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.

Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung,

As sour as cat's breath,

Harsh of tongue.

This grey that stares

Lies not, stark skin and bone.

Leave greasy lips their kissing. None

Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.

Dire hunger holds his hour.

Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.

Pluck and devour!

Zurich, 1917

James Joyce- what a madman.

Here's two originals- I thought I'd keep the St. Patricks Day theme rolling with a couple poems that at least mention alcohol.

California Atlantis

this picture of you
is like your ghost
drinking beer on my sofa
during times of youthful idiocy

in your head are thoughts of california
the kind of california thoughts that only someone
who will never return there must think

your eyes believe the walls are different now that you have gone
the dead skin cells of your body
have disintegrated
and all that is left are memories
that will someday be forgotten

california is the new atlantis
buried underneath the water
and you can no longer swim

Armageddon Drinking Games

“never have we ever
seen locust”
we both drink to that
inside
our imagination
they are gigantic
milk chocolate brown
cockroaches
with buzzing wings of strobe-light psychosis
that weigh upwards of two lbs.
and strike the eyeballs of humans

in a field of california poppies
we are in love
fucking
with dirt under our fingernails
and skin shoved in our mouths
and blood surging through our genitals

i am covering your face with my mouth
in case the wrath of God takes place
during these moments of perfect excess

i would hate to see your face
covered with locust
gnawing at your sins
and your blood thick lips
sucked thin

That's it for the Jam tonight...Gotta get to work and feed the hungry drunken masses more drunken mass. Cheers, my brothers and sisters.