Poemless

fields

of whisky

black

 

under

a sunless day

under

a cloudy sky…

heart is a

cardboard box;

 

forgotten rhythm(s)

& impotent stroke(s)

numb these thoughts

of thoughtlessness;

 

versus are shiftless

stanzas wander

prose(s) indisposed ~

drunk is the poet

 

with a leadless pen in hand

& a tattered notebook

with pages of dirty white

crinkle[ing]

against the wind…

                              scream;

 

in quoted brackets

I am read:

 

[Please Insert Poem Here]

 

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Reviewed: She Poems by Mike Meraz

As the Editor and Founder of BoySlut who’s had her share [aplenty] of reading poems on a daily basis and from some of the most renowned underground poets from around the world, I must admit I was not prepared for what Mike Meraz had in store for She Poems.

Read in as little as 15 minutes, not only was each and every poem cleverly versed and multifaceted depicted (with much respect to the women who inspired such genu~ism) these candid and satirical poetic trinkets are sure to not disappoint and to encourage the idea of what “underground” poetry really and truly is.

 

 

 

*reviewers note: If you haven’t read She Poems or anything by Mike Meraz. . .Shame on you!  But here is a list of his chapbooks (in no chronological order):  43, Black~Listed Thoughts, Writhing & Alive, Watching it Burn, Black~Listed Poems; and the link where you can view his online Journal, Black~Listed Magazine:

http://www.black-listedmagazine.blogspot.com/

 

Self~Cannibalism

greatness

this morning

came in the form

of wall street dogs

barking on CNN, and billionaire

roosters crowing in their

free range hacienda coops ~

i scratched my head beneath chipped nails,

peeling away dead skin from my scalp

like a snake shedding away pounds and pounds

of acidic rodent death

and cannibalism

and everything weighing heavy on my mind

and started fresh

with a half-pot of coffee,

a full kiss on your mouth

and this poem about nothing great

 

She Left

she left

ridin’

that midnight train

to Georgia

 

and she left

like a man ~

 

with only the clothes

on her back

 

I could’ve never loved her

as a woman, though

 

especially when she left [behind]

a twelve pack

in the fridge

and

the toilet seat up

 

.Jackie.

 

jackie

 

jackie.

 

the first time I saw you

was in a 2nd hand store in ’91

for 65 cents

in a World Full of Married Men

it was then

how I longed to be

one of your fictitious heroines ~

someone you could

glamorize

if “once upon”

 

but in your world

there was hardly ever any “happily ever after’s”

 

but after reading

chapter after chapter

you managed to capture

my own dark fantasies,

and sometimes it wasn’t easy

closing those books

on what “could’ve been”

 

Yes, the World Is Full of Sinners

an occasional Bitch and even a Rock Star

but none of them

will ever measure

to the fabulous superstar you once were

and still are

 

R.I.P Miss Jackie

and keep on writing,

’cause even Heaven needs

a bit of

raunchy drama.

 

 

 

(original photo  Devlin De La Chapa)