Poems I
Peter Rehard
Poems I
Peter
Rehard
Poems 1 2011
Smashwords edition
The Rain Song
Cigarettes
Ruby ring
Vinegar
Fish
Through eyes of Love
What word
Hope
Rape
Cernnunos
Similarity
The Rain Song
An old man stands beside the street corner,
Spitting through the rain,
holding my mirror
saying: no one could stand all this water.
I.
The boy grows
It is law despite Ponce.
A fruit rots,
It is called the Fall.
But Lord, how is the dripping:
Drooling, viscid; slippery,
Salutations which I never knew,
By-gone’s, gone by a time I never knew.
Oh, I Know what it is, and respect,
Because I see its remnants
In two gray stones of marble
Dulled from an azure.
I Swim in the film;
Drips, drips, drips,
It trickles
Across a conversation.
It is the liquid
Drunk from life’s breast.
More acerbic than dead breath;
Sugar should be sweet!
Occurrences and chance meets with little to say,
But a desire to dry the mouth and lips,
As one spitting on a wet noon.
Blue has never seemed so pale.
It could explain strength,
Why lovers bathe in each others eyes;
How a pall becomes a blind
When age has the butt end of the rope length.
“There is hope, yes, Oh, there is hope!”
And then, before, in short:
“There was a time, there was a time!”
When he was in the dumps.
“Man often finds himself in the trash dumps.”
I say, I make my home in the trash dump.
And have known nothing more or less,
Except dreams
And the passer byes, with regret.
In respect, myself, I linger,
Who flees the Old Bear,
When he runs his craw
And directs you in a glossed stare?
If it means at you to bite,
Because it has suffered
In the woodland-city traps—
The old creature has that right.
II.
I am locked in the claws,
And will watch the level rise
With my repose to foe and friend ,
And the gray dim.
In the mucous, muck
Of turning water;
Once so bright gleam
And now—oh no matter.
“My daughter has been married six-teen years.”
Reciting quickly after:
“My son in law, he is a man of means.
They have wintered in—it is no matter!”
Singing in hoarse tone,
My only daughter,
“She has vacationed in Rome!”
But of me, my friend there is no matter.
***
I
take my box of cigarettes
I take my box of cigarettes.
Now I am content possessed
for all the good and bad
to be drawn in
with a tobacco breath.
I am to say, adept to deal
with all the questions dropped
and laid about ones feet
like rotting thoughts and peals.
Go about the streets
among the shops and parks
to acquaintances and friends
and cross-roads which lead
to broken ends.
To exhale out the refuse
of gutter—the mutters
which are littered about those streets
and pass the lamp shadow’s
whistling entreats.
***
Ruby
Ring
He bought her a ruby ring,
a jeweler’s baby boy.
She thanked him with a smile,
a good-you-did-oooh—kay!
And by-the-by
women could make claim the world.
If they got together
and jointly split their Jewels.
I woke in the morning—
to the grass I plucked beading dew,
and trapped three light rays
bending them into an ethereal chain.
Saying: “Here you are my Dear,
“it is Jehovah’s burning Joy.”
It is Liquid,
It is natural Bee-You-T-Eye
***
Vinegar
What is this, this love it stinks
of a long forgotten nether region
which now bears the salty brunt,
smelling of redundant seas.
O, Lord, I see
the heart shaped pulse
beneath her burning breast
which so longing tempts me.
What a foul feminine reek
that lets me waft so tender
on the bellow of her breath
before our two lips meet.
***
The
Pisces Fish
I lost My self
somewhere among
The side-streets and two-bit homes—
And the beautiful women who frown,
And the echo
Of my own voice
Reiterated in
A hollow throat.
Realizing it was never there
In the mirror,
that my mind was played an awful trick
And told by memory
There was a reflection in.
In the back-road
Shouted some strange vocal
Vaguely reminiscent,
And it persistent.
It sounded among the breaks
And the Swish-sh of the ebb on my feet.
Hearing daily, the called name
In broken tone
Of a voice cut
In a passage-way quickly shut.
Finishing hours late
After the tide had changed.
Screaming, Screaming, Screaming
Words were holding on
To a rope hung
Over a crag in cliff.
In repeat it pulled itself up—
In succession the gaps slimmed.
Until then, there he stood,
Behind my back—the world behind my back!
My eyes east, him now next to me.
This is where you have been...
All-along...I-I-searched hard long—
I walked alone far—
I cried alone...
‘But my friend we are home, Ha, Ha, Ha!’
Among the morning sprayed dawn.
***
Through
eyes of Love!
She holds the corner
with her mixed child.
The women towers the corner
in her crooked smile.
She is no lady of me,
no Gentile blonde with dark-blue eyes,
of fair, fair skin by light-blond hair,
a multitude of freckles,
of medium build—
of medium mind and height,
with a rasp tongue
capable of deep lust moans,
able to chide;
a future mom!
Oh, no, no, no this is not her.
She would not draw my eyes one inch
by the bosom shake or rump tight fit;
she filled the corner with her waste
she split the traffic with her face.
Her man loved her with eyes of greed—
this man saw her a bud of grace.
He loved the eyes swollen with drink
and the rather stumped feet,
the top the did not fit,
the pants with holes—
and more:
The dumpy cheeks, and plump pig nose—
with no profile, no better light;
perhaps except upon the night.
He would lie her upon the—bed did shake.
They would envelope through and through
glamor, slim, sheen opinion paramount
to a empty meadow...
Releasing back to a dark lit room.
I see something creeping along the street,
groping through the walk sections
beneath people’s feet...
He sees a flower bloomed
drifting through green-grass field...
‘nothin’
smell sweater!’
***
What
word
They say—everything will be okay
as if the words could drop scarps upon our plates
“It will all work out fine”
but one who does not live the life knows nothing of the fight.
I know the soulless shoes and worn out clothing,
the late night meals of bread,
and days of nothing done—
worse dreams rising in sheetless beds.
Told in frail empathy,
nothing past words rolled
from cold tongues of one
who does not feel torn to plight.
Ah yes but it is life!
The one I took on the chin.
to my sure-grin it is the only one I have:
to struggle fast for tomorrow’s unkindly grasp.
And, then reach the future at last
in which I can say such words
to young boys broken
and small girls with hearts of glass:
“Everything will truly be fine”
and mean it with my whole soul;
like a saint of sinned bedlam—
but
know I will make it so for them.
***
Hope
To stand strong and silent
for what I do not know.
The monstrance of my soul
had been given—driven empty.
In the selfish, selfless struggle,
gripped grimly in my death throes—
I suffer second on the second
for what I do not know.
Eloquently reciting my epitaph.
Oh, woe, what wonder to behold:
to battle tearless a vague future.
Of
what I do not know.
***
Rape
These women tempt me;
Sent the vine and grapes
to bloom and harden in the sun,
to grow stinging fecund.
I see their walking lust.
Striding voluptuous swagger
which I think I would take—
if it wasn’t a ten year wait.
(During which my gears would dull
then crack exposed
when women pass
from out my virile grasp)
Like the animal held beta last,
He alpha springs in fiery laughs
upon the running dear—
the bedded doe, he makes her fear
And laughs in distorted snorts
While her muscles contract.
Brandishing horn as he thrust, Thrust, THRUSTS!
Upon her back his musk.
So I admit it takes to hold back
all little boy nerve.
If I tore her clothes off
She might say: now you.
If I caressed her piercing breast—
God forbid, she begins to eat grapes
and frowns smiling at the taste;
Saying again: now you.
These women I would not touch
with a metal pole covered by rust,
nor ever meet their eyes in stair
during the maelstrom of tossed blond hair.
But it does remain:
the Troglodyte in mammoth skin rug
who Fights with his lips
and Kissed with his club.
Who takes it all
before it is given
who has copulation
because it is driven.
***
I
sat taking drags of the night
breathing so strongly the humid air
condensed in my lungs;
I spat out a mist of languid loneliness.
The world sat quietly in the sky.
Oh, my; she came striding past
a young girl whose life was the rose blurred black.
She paused in her path, smiling: “hi.”
I felt blood burn and run.
And bid her hello, offering a cigarette.
Beside me she crouched then puffed
as I lit the smoke and drew her name.
“Veronica. What are you doing tonight?”
With a teething smiling, offering.
“This night like all will simply pass—
‘till tomorrow’s darkness poses the same question to be asked.”
Her clothes molested her body tight!
“Perhaps tonight you and I can...”
“My dear,” extending my hand
taking her into the room arid and bright.
As a soul who wanders lost,
the vagabond beat-down, spiteful;
Yet empathetic as a body can will.
I laid her down next to my self so low in the ground.
Commencing degradation with all my might,
next to the bible in the table stand.
Seeing lust as a sin, clouded in mind;
and its primal essence manifesting in our moans.
Thus my body sown! In religious; shall I say: disdain.
Lord you give us path to our most seductive pleasurable pains.
Tempting us with an apple so sweet and down-sour
no snake-ly angel down or up would have resist and power.
***
Oh my! A
young girl’s body is so taught
and resilient to the short coming of man.
She is pardoned from cupid’s binding Lust.
Love is but a crime-less rape.
I plucked a grape from off the vine and drunk myself;
she took me off the alley-street and of a measly price;---
relieving me of sexual frust—
Taking it like the bull-eyed buck.
Yes, yes I was tight! Be it no excuse.
To use it as a means of soul diffuse.
It is the carnal weakness
and her ample fill thrilled my will.
We drank Chablis from plastic glasses—
payed her away—kissing her once more
thanking her for her time,
and bidding a safe good-bye.
***
Cernunnos
2000: Millennium, on the Ilse Anglesey;
It is witching.
Aside the high altar they call him!
I.
The Holy Glade has a fresh fire.
Ooh ah ho hoo hoo
Pine, Holly, and Mistletoe;
The forest is breathing.
Promenade of chants.
Old; the tone holds.
Oha ho ha hoo
Among priest, women,
Antlers and emblem;
It is Samhain.
In the rite smoke—
Congregate by the left spring,
Faun from out the river-hill.
Walking the granite alter;
Red print marks,
Wet dirt;
Sheep laid “Bah!” bled.
Weaving smoke to a cloak
Blanketing the night’s air.
Oh oh oh ah hoo
Here we go round the hallow,
Here we go ‘he,’ and holler,
For the past man of
Nature, wild: enchanted.
Moaning the moon
Hold now—
Hold the tone mad,
Scream lads and ladies
Until they cry back.
Passing through the ember
Ha! Faster, Faster.
Drinking the jonquil wine
In distort laughter
Ba ra ba ha haa
The faun come,
Tempting Doe, Rabbit, and Pheasant;
A forgot name.
II.
Raise all upon the plain
Of proven ground:
The sacred ground;
Exultance here we go round.
Men moan Oh ha ro bo haa
Over the animal and bones,
The mistletoe branches waved
“Come, Come.” in tenor.
With harp base
Pronouncing each letter.
Rest upon the wooden seats
And rock beds,
Among the fabled,
Along with animal—
It was time.
III.
The women use a crisp alto,
Of cold morning falls.
Resurrect the day.
Cutting in alto.
Fa la ma la haa
Coercing the trees
Into an antiquity
Long passed through these roots.
Wind blew, from the coasts
Rolling the water-river spring—
And the world ceased.
Silence drew in among the wood.
Stirring hair, settling on feet.
IV.
From Beneath the alter,
In rumble, mist plumes.
From Beneath!
Out rose horns
And wilderness,
Shadows of
Runeing, words,
Natural, life, enchanted;
Of spell, of a past world—
A birth!
***
Similarity
I
have lived this day before,
and oh wrote these same words.
I have lived this life of mine
and counted a wall a score.
And cried to many times
over what I did not know.
And been pondered
what cognizance has to lately shown.
If perhaps I could envision,
through derision and delusion;
the reflection in the hour glass.
It could be prevented and adjured.