PoetJames

I Was

2008-12-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

I was
in the garage
today
when my
cell phone
went off
I
had the
ear bud plugged in
but it had fallen
from my ear
and was
now
inside my T-shirt
hanging now
like dew from a plant
Fumbling with the
phone
I pressed the talk button
and realized
I’d have to dig
the ear piece out
of my shirt while
a voice was calling
“James, James, are you there?”
“Yes, how are you?” I spoke
to the air as
I dug for the
ear piece
“This is, Bonnie.”
I could hear from deep inside
my shirt
great
my
boss

Rock Around a Neck

2008-11-26T07:33:00.000-08:00

The stock market
makes homeless of us all
As our cash
which had value becomes cash valueless
The jobs begin to dry up
to those
nearest retirement
The boomers are out
of work and out of
money What happened to
the greatest transfer
of wealth in history
did someone take the stopper
from the tub
who is circling the
drain
Where did the money
go, and how did it
Get there so quickly
The only good business
now? Pawn Shops, graveyards
and soup lines But
who is left to donate
to charity
I met a man today
He was selling his
house- what would he do
with his proceeds What proceeds
He was selling short
He was,$180,000 down
I met a man today
who worked as
a biller all his life
A woman who worked
as a auto claims
adjuster- a salesman
of high end
clothing- What
are they going to do
now What are their transferable
skills Can they work for $8 an hour
Who will hire them
when they've been
making $40,000 or
$50,000 or $80,000
What skill will
they transfer
My back hurts
and I have trouble keeping up
with
physical labor
Who will hire me
What ditch will
I dig
My wife
of 30 years got
called into her
bosses office
she was offered a 20% salary cut
not a raise, a cut
not a raise, a cut
When they raise you you get
3% and 4% it takes you years
to make it grow
When they cut its the head
or the arm
a hack with
a dull rusty
blade, oh course
she took it
she's already working two jobs
at one
7:00 in the morning
till 9:00 at night
weekends too-
we all take it
What can you do?
She can't even look
for another job
too busy working
Maybe if I left her
she wouldn't have to work so hard
I'm all crippled up
and broke, a rock
around the neck
of my love, how'd
I get to this place
a rock
around a neck

2005-07-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

Learning to Fall Down the Stairs

Loop1

To learn to fall downstairs you have to learn to roll downstairs
Like rolling down a hill
This is easier to learn when you’re a child, when rolling in the grass comes naturally
When the idea does not seem strange, instead it catches the imagination
Thoughts of falling downstairs seem exciting, more real, and more “actual” than
Using a slide in a playground
To roll downstairs is to expand the playground; the world becomes your playground
It breaks that wall trapping children in a box

The first time is the best,
A waking time
Hopping, then jumping, and soaring
Jack and Jill
Hit and roll
Feet over head
Taking care to breath, and the rolling
Enjoying every moment
Sounds echo off the hall
So exciting to take care of the fall
Waiting for the landing at the end

Loop 2

Sometimes, once you’ve learned to fall
It becomes a habit, a way of life
You can begin to enjoy odd things
Like losing
Like being last, expecting to fail
You can get a kick out of
Knowing bad news is coming

So down you go again
Into that dark hole where
You pretend everything is alright
And you have a little bit of light
Which you can hold, and that is enough
But the light is only there
When you can find it

And sometimes, after a hard night’s sleep
The earth is still in darkness when you awake
And you fumble for that little bit of light
But can not find it
And then you must walk in the pressing dark
Which makes it hard to think, makes it hard to eat, to walk,
To work, to breath
Down and down into that rabbit hole, digging more
And more to get away till you become
The rabbit digging the hole
Then deeper still till you become the claws of the rabbit digging the hole
Then deeper still till you become the dirt that is being dug
Until finally you become the blackness
Inside that deep hole
And you know
That you are home—the furid smell of rich, dark dirt
Fills your nostril, the feel of worms around you, the
Silence of those buried

Loop 3

The worm in the soil hits the rotted wood
And pushes forward
Why does he keep pushing through the rotting wood?
This is hard work for a worm.
Is there a biologist who studies the motivation of worms? And why they
Push through things, as if knowing there is something inside?
Or, are they (the biologist that is) looking objectively at the worm, not caring about motivation, but trying to see things objectively by measuring, numbering, weighting, and never asking why. Why the push through the coffin wall to the inside.
To look objectively does the scientist consider the worm an object …just a thing?
Oh sure, the worm fills a purpose, performs a task, sure it fills the organic whole
That is life—but does the biologist ever wonder—late at night, why does the worm push?
Do they think the worm is just an organic robot, programmed to move, and gobble and digest and recycle …
But I, I will tell you the truth
This is not what the scientist wishes to hear—but the poets must answer
That yes, the worm does know. The worm can sense, and smell, and taste and know what is in that box
And the worm pushes, Mr. Scientist, the worm will dig and wiggle
Until he gets his meal, be that meal man, woman, dog, cat, Einstein, Hitler, mom, dad, or
Even you, Mr. Scientist, think about that—even you.

2004-02-19T21:57:00.001-08:00

she leans on

she leans on the bannister,
looks down on the town.
the smell of
new construction; wood,
dust and paint ...
she smells of cigarettes.
it is a hot day after all,
she realizes,
half singing the idea
to herself.

dark skin and green earrings,
this afternoon she will roam
all over the place and
will never be satisfied.
heart going fast enough to kill.
the worries and longings
burn hot as she wanders
aimlessly, yet
sly and yearning.
nothing to listen to but
the noise in other people's heads.
her face scattered in pieces,
as she sings to herself
"I want to know
what it is that
I want to know"

2003-12-23T13:18:00.000-08:00

the emotion of paper

in the
stood still she
bedroom cultured
opens her drawer of
dresser mohogany.
fish of
silken underwear
and something surfaces
tickling out from
the past of her
knowing
yet holding
back
to imagine surprise.
she puts it together
soon enough
the plain fact,
an old photo.
inhibiting her face
making sure
her expression is blank
in case her husband
might see,
this creates an internal fight
which ends in failure
and a grimmace.
confused about the
emotion of paper
she must
accept the power of symbols.
impromptu door noises
shake her
straighten right now
submerge the photo
back into the
sea of underwear,
underwat
er
yo
u
no.

2003-08-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

RESPCT

The smell of you dented
my milky waste hallows
and fell upon diddles
of homesteads untoddled
homogenized unifoms
yanked families from houses
to moorings for spirirts
ting tingle ting tingle

A virgin regressing
you wait by the water
your keeper from Kansas
screams loudly, "Dear Bog."
the carpet on wood
the candles on fire
the trains in the kitchen
ting tingle ting tingle

I love you forever
till death parts us always
a fish in the ocean
an oxheart unbroken
joy and then frenzy
oil and then out up
rushrace and hardgallop
ting tingle ting tingle

2003-08-13T12:21:00.000-07:00

Ozone Layer

Summer comes on like a wave
the oven door is opening
and California can not save

Memories of summer you may have
from childhood they hide in your cells
summer comes on like a wave

Knowing it will come means you must be brave
deep and ready, for months you prepare
and California can not save

No place to hide there are no caves
there are no longer clouds to cover
summer comes on like a wave

The clouds are gone, they had to leave
the brightness is almost unbelievable
and California can not save

Open your sweat glands, wet your shirt
when the white heat comes it will blind
summer comes on like a wave
and California can not save

(c 2003) James Rosenquist

2003-08-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

710

who owns this freeway?
hell, who knows
a black stretch
of hardened
chemical waste
there’s a billboard on the right
a fifty foot mechanical heart
and man, the things beating
this freeway’s the artery
cut open
bleeding towards home
one red corpuscle after the other

I try to relate the whole experience
to myself,
explain my life
in one big
metaphor
but find I’m locked up in a gearbox in my head
and can’t relate to the tissues
that surround

the radio plays songs
about distant battles
Iraq and Jerusalem
I drum my hands on the wheel
but no matter
how hard I beat them
I can not feel that pain

traffic is backed up
red tail light stopped
it’s getting dark and deep
at least another forty-fife minutes
before I reach a bar
I look in the rearview
and see my face
the mask of a
Chinese Dragon

(c 1992) James Rosenquist