.
In the city all alone
Just drifting getting stoned
'Til there was nowhere left to roam
So I came rolling home
You talk to me like winter rain
I close my eyes listening
Tell me baby everything
Where you've been what you've seen
Tell me all your hopes and dreams
The voice of doubt that's whispering
You talk to me like winter rain
I close my eyes listening
Come and lay down by my side
Share feelings we can never hide
Fill the emptiness inside
With love's sweet sorrow long denied
You talk to me like winter rain
I close my eyes listening
For Melia. Inspired by the Tennessee Williams play, "Talk to me like the rain and let me listen." Its first public reading was at Regency Coffee Roast in Brea, CA, sometime in late July 1995.
Appeared 1997 in the anthology "Through Sun and Shower,"
published by the National Library of Poetry, and on the cassette, "The Sounds of Poetry," by the same publisher.
sixty miles an hour
down slightly less crowded freeway
post-rush hour
the ghostly fog creeps eastward
heading east to escape the roar
of ocean waves pummeling rocks
to nothing
the roar of semis passing by
pummels the senses
visions of "Ozersane" scrawled
on tree trunks in
Inglewood park where children
once played
in the dark recesses
of crack addict mind
the sound of engine misfire
or gun fire is all the same
in the heartbeat moment
words scrawled on paper
or brick and stucco walls
traces of memory
passed from one to the next
the torch emits fleeting
toungues of golden flame words
delicate heat of human passion
against entropic winds
in a flicker lost forever
as the paper is burned
or the wall knocked down
and the poet dies
A glimpse of post-riot L.A., and some thoughts on mortality. Written during the summer of 1998.
I woke up
To find the silver lining
In the clouds eroded
I see no color
Only black and white
And shades of gray here
The snow will fall
On barren plains
And in my heart
The northwest wind
Is blowing
Feel the chill inside my bones
Can you hear
The sparrow weeping for the life
She once had known
Midwest winters have provided me with all sorts of new imagery to use in my writing. Written toward the end of 1996.
E-mail note
Telling you I won't
Be coming home tonight
When I am home
You're always yelling
And throwing things
The kid screams
Guess I wasn't
The marrying kind
After all
It's past midnight
You're both asleep now
I can come home
To peace and quiet
The message cancelled
For now
I log off
A reflection of the potential pitfalls of marriage and of electronic communication. Written in 1996.
As the sun began to set
I watched the shadows grow
The colors fade to gray
Your once-clear features
Blended into the darkness
Then you vanished
Leaving me alone to wonder
What went wrong
Written for an ex-girlfriend, Susie Kim, in June 1990. It first appeared in "Encephalon" (vol. 6, no. 1) in April 1991.
I reached nirvana
To the eardrum buzz
Of a wall of feedback noise
The sound surrounding
All my senses
Alone inside the void
No one remaining
And all my thoughts
Had vanished in the din
No more sorrow
No more searching
For some peace within
Written in April 1994. Kurt Cobain's death caused me to reflect a bit on why I'm so drawn to loud music. The poem was first read at Cafe Yorba in Yorba Linda, CA in early August 1995.
My muse
Sometimes whispers
Sometimes spits shards
Of metallic venom
Often angry
Or depressed
But rarely silent
I hear her voice
At the oddest times
Often in the dead of night
After too much booze
Or caffeine
Or both
Her words
Give me form
Definition
Give meaning
To surroundings
That otherwise
Make no sense
I'd make love to her
If she would
Reveal herself
In human form
Make herself flesh
From the dust and ashes
Of my mind
If only I knew her name
I would call her
When I needed her
But instead I settle
For the sound of her voice
At two a.m.
Writing is both a labor of love and an uncontrollable urge. Composed in April 1996.
felt him kick
for the first time
first day of winter
sitting on cheap
walmart futon
my hand on her belly
she said
did you feel that
i said yeah
first connection
with my son
first of many
The first poem written for my son, Kevin. Composed in late December 1995. Kevin was born in March, 1996.
After dark in no-man's land
You walk where few ever dare
Past charred remains of '92
Forgotten - no one really cares
The tattoos covering your arms
The anger engraved in your mind
Peace assassinated with a piece
Out of sight and out of mind
Past vacant stares and angry glares
Piercing flesh as bullets do
You walk the wounded corridors
In search of peace, escape
Escape from hopelessness engulfing
Distant dreams and memories
Fleeting as the spray paint scrawl
Anguished cries left unread
Nirvana in the dead of night
Fading in the morning light
One of my reflections on post-riot L.A. Written and revised 1993-1994.
One could see the masses
Of nameless and faceless people
Pouring in and out of
The blue-grey buildings that
Caressed the grey sky.
The snow on the ground
Was like the snow inside
The hearts and minds
Of the people in that place.
Expressionless and numb,
Oblivious to their surroundings,
They shuffled onward,
Far removed from nature -
And from their own nature.
They were no longer humans
But merely automatons, numbers,
Tools for the machine.
Every move was programmed.
Freedom, love and creativity
Had been long forgotten.
There was no life here -
Only emptiness.
This was written in October 1987, and originally appeared in "Pressure #6" in the summer of 1988.
Information: If any of these interest you and you
would like to see more, please drop me a line. Just click on the envelope
below:
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The above works copyright 1988, 1991, 1994, 1996, and 1998 by Siddhartha Vicious.
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