David B. Wilcoxen:
Writings
My soul is an old
Oh so comfortable, pair of shoes.
Full of holes, unheeled, leather-worn
with laces threadbare.
-will-
That
is a day,
a day
to remember.
There you were
in, blue linen cloth
dress-white polka dots
red satin panties
and lace brassiere.
black curls, on
bronze skin
floral scented kisses
and tropical sighs
yes, indeed
you were
a Sight to Remember!
When I close my eyes
I feel your heart dancing.
on fledgling legs
I found your bird of paradise
perched, neatly singing
and smelling of rum
Where did our clothes go?
there they are, cornered
your panties and my shorts
trying to get the leg up
on one another
cutting through the fabric
of their lives
to make a connection
that’s tailor made
for one another
and ready to wear.
secretly, they patch smiles together
absent any remaining quilt
It’s not about sex, you know
I don’t care what the buttons say
they have no meaning
without their strings attached
The needles know the score...
how to thread lightly
along society’s seams
the pins, how to play
a model of success
holding together, water borne spirits
composed of earth and clay.
-will-
No. 12
It’s another cool night
Spring jazz
and magenta tulips budding
black dogs
and borrowed time
Time again
for my thoughts
to return to you
lying on the wet grass
black as the night
spiraling
around my limbs
your cobra muscles abounding
rising and recoiling
only, to rise again
and again
to Spring me
releasing
again
all that jazz
-will-
Does it matter
that I don’t see you
does it matter
that we can’t speak
does it matter
that we can’t write
Do I need photos
to hear voices
or hold paper
in my hands
In darkness
I see the silhouette of your form
against the black light
in deepest silence
I hear the laughter of your eyes
in my heart
I read the words, left
by your touch
-will-
Tonight the night
is quiet
even the stars
shine quietly
beside this fire
I look into
the night sky
and wonder where you are
i’m sure by now
you’re sleeping
curled as a kitten
on a towel
I wish,
I were there to hold you
stroke your hair
smooth your curves
I’d lay my hands
upon each breast
and dread
the morning light
-will-
How do I spend my evenings?
Tonight,
I’m looking at my hands.
Black soil fills the cracks
and has taken root beneath my nails.
I’m watching the pen sweep across
the page and recalling the raspberrys
I moved,
earlier in the late afternoon.
These hands,
these hands that
have held you
have danced lightly, across
the inner limits of your thigh
today, held a shovel
and picked with an axe
Today these hands uprooted a
life, several lives
brought them home to live
with me, and sunk themselves in soil
Tonight,
I imagine these hands
on your body,
finding places, and
filling others
have only dreamed about
Tonight,
I see these earthen hands
planting you firmly
on my waist
Tonight,
I see these hands
flowing through your hair.
-will-
sing
little drop
sing
your misty love song
make note (s)
the presence of her absence
how your heart trebles
over falls
Where are you my lover
hiding in the brook
behind the color trout
listen to the song
my streaming sings to stone
Spirit water
take me to my lover
drop me
like dew upon her lips
where are you
my trickle lover
have you gone ocean
found your old-sea home
wait, for me, my lover
don’t catch out
on the next cloud
I’m longing lover
deeper than gravity allows
O’ willowI ever
(damn this river
locked again)
find my lover
‘wading in the rain’
-will-
Cricket Song
blue day
sunshine
lolling ‘round my neck
breathe me, leave me
singing on a lark
oh sunshine, moonshine
loopy leaves me high
blue eyes, bluesky
drinking raindrops dry
-will-
It was a slaughter
of kindergart proportion
there, at the scene
of the disembowled school bus
hopes and dreams
barely six years old
lay shattered and broken
all along the tracks
wailing and crying
some died hard
others just kept on dreaming
or really, never woke up
-will-
Oh what a relief
now that Spring has come
now that Mourning thaws
It was a long winter
of painful silence
tears quietly sobbing
unable to flow freely
to wash away the rain
clouds
in my heart
that shrouded the smile light
the wooly straw fat i used to
insulate my tender heart beet
is burdensome now
that Spring is here.
I’m giddy inside
feelings quiver and shake
mix and flip
jackhop and rabbit dance
in ‘n around, over and with
the joy of living
What tears can express the light
of being alive, of having survived?
Each moment recreates itself
out of nothing
the Sun sends little bits of light
particles of life
the essentials for living
a clean and healthy mind
Oh Springshine
I bathe in the luxury of
your warmth and healing soulstice.
I am happy.
My friends are returning
home, on the wind
the buck robins are fighting over mates
the black-eyed cardinals are singing
their sentinel serenades
Miss Sparrow’s features are featherly,
motherly and smooth
Mister Sparrow, though spent
and in need of a shave
looks satisfied--
his Nest has survived.
-will-
oh god,
i feel a poem coming on.
the moon is full
and my legs are humming.
i’ll sit in this cafe
til the feeling goes away
god i love the women.
i love the smell of a woman
the look of a woman
the Idea of a woman.
i love their smile
i love their lips
i love their tart
or rounded hips.
Big eyes
slanted eyes
blue eyes
black,
i love a woman
on my back
A breast on my cheek
my nose on a nipple,
Oh,
life should be so simple.
-will-
slip sloshing
words
slide around
ratta tat tatting on
your eardrum
Open, open up
let me inside
blow your mind thru
Oops!
Nimble words just clipped
your brassiere
and there they fall
look at those silly breasts
nipples open wide
standing
surprisly muted
my callous hands
ever unemployed
never once
left, the pocket pool hall
And yet,
there you are
freshly laid naked
loosed from your honor
unbound by my words
-will-
tropical breezes blowing
lava laden
girls thru skirts
sniffing the air’s scent
for the color of money
“Hey sailor,
toss me your best line,
maybe we share some port,
spend your last dime.”
“Sorry, flat out.”
polite as a West Texan seabe
“Then go rig yourself.
Stop prowling ‘round my wharves.
Another wave’s a coming,
and I need a shore.”
-will-
A cowboy and an indian
sitting together, chair to chair
engaged in a mortal conversation
“Don’t be a coward.”
“Come out and fight,” said the indian
“But, I’m just a simple cowpoke,” said the cowboy,
not knowing what to say
“Not true,” said the indian
“You’re just full of fears,”
“and hiding in the Sun.”
“Hey! watch it,” said the Cowboy
“you’d better be careful how you paint me Injun,
I’m not yeller.”
“Perhaps so,” said the Indian
Being, color of the earth
“But, how else will you know
what your life’s worth?”
-will-
A young
heron waitress
ducking behind
stumped hellos
and
stepping over
deep goodbyes
strides thru
the breakfast swamp
to feed the crows
lining the beach
Like driftwood
they return every day
to watch
and wonder
why
she doesn’t leave
the place
use her wings to fly
Cawk!
It’s a pity
such a beauty
stuck in the muck
She works so hard
for only a few bucks
Cawk!
Look how it makes her
so sad and so glum
C’mon, let’s give her
more
than just crumbs
But
the crows aren’t clever
they don’t
realize
she only
ruffles her oatmeal feathers
as a disguise
-will-
Jinat
Behind her blazing eyes
I cling myself/to her flesh
thru the darkening
Arabian night
Equine passion, set loose
gallops, flared nostrils
thru the deepest forests
of my allegience
Opposing cultures
slash and whip our bodies
closer together
mixing
mud, sweat and blood
leaping over granitic virtues
Onward we race
though I dare not tremble
for fear or delight
our breathing so close
bodies so tight
-will-
In the corner
of a lake
lives
a quiet frog
Every day
all day
he sits upon a log
and thinks
about his life
Sometimes
he smiles
at his children
or stroaks
his kindly wife
But,
When night goes home
and wakes new day
he thinks aloud
begins to pray
A prince
he hopes
might like to be
Uncertain
he asks
Eternity
-will-
There are two crows pickin' on me
while my soul lies flat
On the open road.
Trash blows by, and
collects in the ditch
While tires press tar into my heart.
When the wind blows
the heat dances by
and gravel fills my throat.
As my flesh withers
and the blood evaporates
My naked bones quiver.
Once, I had Purpose that was clear and straight,
Now these homeless entrails
spiral down the grate.
What will become of me I wonder,
when I no longer see,
There are two crows pickin' on me.
-will-
sing a song of sixpence
the pocket canary’s
full of rye-
whiskey
hiskey
herkey
grinding the locks
into the nightro
that BOOM!
goes their love
without warning
cause or fight,
and
another love lies buried
mined dead
by mourning’s light
-will-
Oh these bones
these bones
these bones have never been broken
but they are worn to nubs
just the same
a whale swims deeper
a bird flies higher
but these bones
don’t move
like
fish and fowl
these bones are ground
into dust
these dirty bones
just sink
they don’t sprout roots
or host a climbing vine
when you left
my flesh went with you
couldn’t tear itself apart
Not like these bones though
who organized a cage
impounding the heart
-will-
my Postbox Heart
lives on a pole
along an obscure mail route
isolated and empty
it yearns for a scented letter
or card from afar
longing for Purpose
it earnestly raises the flag
seeking to be fulfilled
it humbly opens the door
still,
the Void remains
As creeping vines, slowly climb
the shaky pole
the postbox heart
fears for its soul.
-will-
An open road,
a home fire,
I am bound,
by desire.
-will-
ISO A Woman Of--
African regality,
Polynesian charm,
European style,
Slavic constitution,
Arabic passion,
Indian sensuousness,
Oriental enlightenment,
Occidental independence.
-will-
Waiting
I’m waiting without end
This waiting never ends
Waiting is the end.
-will-
I am just a simple stick
longing for the fire
I have no leaves
to clothe myself
or purpose
to aspire
The sap is gone
my bark is dry
no longer will
I touch the sky.
-will-