Peter's Favorites - A Celebration of National Poetry Month

Happiness Whoever embraces a woman is Adam. The woman is Eve. Everything happens for the first time. I saw something white in the sky. They tell me it is the moon, but what can I do with a word and a mythology. Trees frighten me a little. They are so beautiful. The calm animals come closer so that I may tell them their names. The books in the library have no letters. They spring forth when I open them. Leafing through the atlas I project the shape of Sumatra. Whoever lights a match in the dark is inventing fire. Inside the mirror an Other waits in ambush. Whoever looks at the ocean sees England. Whoever utters a line of Liliencron has entered into battle. I have dreamed Carthage and the legions that destroyed Carthage. I have dreamed the sword and the scale. Praised be the love wherein there is no possessor and no possessed, but both surrender. Praised be the nightmare, which reveals to us that we have the power to create hell. Whoever goes down to a river goes down to the Ganges. Whoever looks at an hourglass sees the dissolution of an empire. Whoever plays with a dagger foretells the death of Caesar. Whoever dreams is every human being. In the desert I saw the young Sphinx, which has just been sculpted. There is nothing else so ancient under the sun. Everything happens for the first time, but in a way that is eternal. Whoever reads my words is inventing them. -Borges - Regina Salve Regina and I need new geometries. One cone of silence as a centerpiece, Two non-Euclidians with recurring spheres. Point to point is too mundane. Give us trigonometry insane! Load tangential sines for show; We’ll take our calculus to go. Sub and super; Death’s h'ors d'oeuvres. Irregular polyhedrons, With which we serve. - Peter Miltz 10-30-09 - Pimp Blood in the Hour of Horus (Intro) Pimp blood chompin’ an’ hummin’ like a vampire! (repeat) Horus Florist Hoke her, poke her (Verse) Watching the game and I'm tryin' to call ya, You sitting in Milwaukee Jus' a' lookin’ at Ren-wah-wah (Verse) Call Harry Kalas, I got Dallas Green Bay While youse in Philly-Delphi learnin' how to mess da cha-cha (Chorus) Yo, girl! I can nevah catch ya weekends Damn, girl! wondrin' whatcha do fa' semen Dumb fucks, I can feel they neveh met me Mah luck, I got da plays dat gonna turnkey (Verse) Watchin' a film jus' trying t'forget ya She love to kick in LA Callin' dicks for golden showahs (Verse) Call Poppa, I know he know how t' do it She slummin' down Boca way Axin' chumps who wanna buy shit (Chorus) Yo, girl! I can nevah catch ya weekends Damn, girl! wondrin' whatcha do fa' semen Dumb fucks, I can feel they neveh met me Mah luck, I got da plays dat gonna turnkey (Bridge) Watching you now, from a place within y'all More shit, excuses why ya'll say ya can't call High art sittin' at da bottom of y'damn lies Big town, jus' picked da wrong girl t'satisfy. (Bridge) Watching you now, from a place within y'all More shit, excuses why ya'll say ya can't call High art sittin' at da bottom of y'damn lies Big town, jus' picked da wrong girl t'satisfy. (Verse) Pimp blood! I ain't never seen it cure yo luck she droppin up in Frisco got ideas to blitz shit schmucks (Verse) Her blood! can't bring mahself t'spill it she only hit hospital baby have kid, ‘fore I fills it (Chorus) Yo, girl! I can nevah catch ya weekends Damn, girl! wondrin' whatcha do fa' semen Dumb fucks, I can feel they neveh met me Mah luck, I got da plays dat gonna turnkey (Verse) Watching the game and I'm tryin' to call ya, You sitting in Milwaukee Jus' a' lookin; at Ren-wah-wah (Verse) Call Harry Kalas, I got Dallas Green Bay While youse in Philly-Delphi learnin' how to mess da cha-cha (Bridge) Watching you now, from a place within y'all More shit, excuses why ya'll say ya can't call High art sittin' at da bottom of y'damn lies Big town, jus' picked da wrong girl t'satisfy. (Chorus) Yo, girl! I can nevah catch ya weekends Damn, girl! wondrin' whatcha do fa' semen Dumb fucks, I can feel they neveh met me Mah luck, I got da plays dat gonna turnkey (Bridge) Watching you now, from a place within y'all More shit, excuses why ya'll say ya can't call High art, sittin' at da bottom of y'damn lies Big town, jus' picked da wrong suckah t'satisfy. (Bridge) Watching you now, from a place within y'all More shit, excuses why ya'll say ya can't call High art, sittin' at da bottom of y'damn lies Big town, jus' picked da wrong suckah t'satisfy. (Outro) Pimp blood chompin’ an’ hummin’ like a vampire! (repeat) Horus Florist Hoke her, poke her Pimp blood chompin’ an’ hummin’ like a vampire! (repeat) Horus Florist Hoke her, poke her - White Punks on French (Intro) Everybody run! Emile Zola’s got a gun! (Verse) Roman noses and middle names Amateur interrogator playing rude games Got a permit and he’s packin’ heat Realistically French and oh so discreet (Verse) Sick girl chillin’ to his wicked left side Chomping on hot wings for tickets to ride Can’t afford the medicine to clear her pretty head Thought she’d buy a meal that would do it instead (Chorus) Everybody run! Emile Zola has got a gun! I know who you are. Is that a surprise? Ya’ can’t conceal weapons In your damn black eyes (Verse) So you wanna study Islam Got me spillin’ like an Imam Five strong pillars and seven sins Wonderin’ when your life can begin (Verse) Loud muthafucka rappin’ with the caliber Revealing Id an’ tryin’ t’get back t’her Runnin’ your mouth an’ runnin’ your game Thing I’m keepin’ from ya: my own real name! (Chorus) Everybody run! Emile Zola has got a gun! I know who you are. Is that a surprise? Ya’ can’t conceal weapons In your damn black eyes (Bridge) Callin’ out the President Thinkin’ like a resident Tryin’ to set a precedent Gonna have an’ accident You wanna build the boys a damn fine empire Call state buildings – load, and open fire! Terrorist punk with all the fundamentals Threat to me? No! ‘Cause you ain’t developmental Bible born believer with the heart of Ahab Don’t remember Jesus sayin’: “Kill the fuckin’ Arabs”! Y’all packing the powder like you packin’ your dicks Finish your dinner drink and I hope you get sick (Chorus) Everybody run! Emile Zola has got a gun! I know who you are. Is that a surprise? Ya’ can’t conceal weapons In your damn black eyes (Chorus) Everybody run! Emile Zola has got a gun! I know who you are. Is that a surprise? Ya’ can’t conceal weapons In your damn black eyes (Bridge) Callin’ out the President Thinkin’ like a resident Tryin’ to set a precedent Gonna have an’ accident (Outro) Roman roamin’ back in time Roman emperor Roamin’ pines Roamin’ Roman catch ya next time Get roamin’, Roman! All in good time… Rome Roam Rome Roam ROME! - Art Thou Pale For Weariness Percy Bysshe Shelley Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy? - When The Ship Comes In Oh the time will come up When the winds will stop And the breeze will cease to be breathin'. Like the stillness in the wind 'Fore the hurricane begins, The hour when the ship comes in. Oh the seas will split And the ship will hit And the sands on the shoreline will be shaking. Then the tide will sound And the wind will pound And the morning will be breaking. Oh the fishes will laugh As they swim out of the path And the seagulls they'll be smiling. And the rocks on the sand Will proudly stand, The hour that the ship comes in. And the words that are used For to get the ship confused Will not be understood as they're spoken. For the chains of the sea Will have busted in the night And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean. A song will lift As the mainsail shifts And the boat drifts on to the shoreline. And the sun will respect Every face on the deck, The hour that the ship comes in. Then the sands will roll Out a carpet of gold For your weary toes to be a-touchin'. And the ship's wise men Will remind you once again That the whole wide world is watchin'. Oh the foes will rise With the sleep still in their eyes And they'll jerk from their beds and think they're dreamin'. But they'll pinch themselves and squeal And know that it's for real, The hour when the ship comes in. Then they'll raise their hands, Sayin' we'll meet all your demands, But we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered. And like Pharaoh's tribe, They'll be drownded in the tide, And like Goliath, they'll be conquered. - Robert Zimmerman _ Losing all the youth of Athens (Is losing Spring from the year) (verse) Where are the boys who used to play? With ships and guns and forts of hay Into the wind, they fought all day, Into the night, they died their way. (verse) Where are the boys who used to date? With shirts and pants and loving till late Into the wind, we loved all day Into the night, we pledged our way. (chorus) Faith, hope, and love The greatest of these is metaphor What the hell’s a meadow for? For graves to sprout with fear Losing all the youth of Athens Is losing Spring from the year. (verse) These were the boys who sang their fate These were the girls dancing with grace Here are the fathers, painting their faces Here are the mothers, acting their paces (verse) Where are the parents who used to raise? She is the mother who can only gaze He is the father who works through haze Where is the God who guides our ways? (chorus) Faith, hope, and love The greatest of these is metaphor What the hell’s a meadow for? For graves to sprout with fear Losing all the youth of Athens Is losing Spring from the year. (bridge) Battle born, uniformly worn Following, leading Forward falling Forever sailing Born of battle, worn into form. All night long we resurrect All day long we insurrect But death cannot correct (verse) Dyed in wool through all lives past Lying red, into our memories cast Flag draped, death raped at last For future love of centuries past (verse) Monuments morph with morphine scorn Tall granite ships to sink once born All unknown souls with bodies torn All for love, once lost, reborn (chorus) Faith, hope, and love The greatest of these is metaphor What the hell’s a meadow for? For graves to sprout with fear Losing all the youth of Athens Is losing Spring from the year. - The Second Coming (Slouching towards Bethlehem) Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert. A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? - W.B Yeats - somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands.

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New Poem:

I Like Christmas

Wood of iron; life’s lampoon.

Beer, television, baseball dreams gone awry.

Pitcher special?

No, it’s a cold-activated glass.

Shouting, silently, “I like Christmas!”

KKK comes out of my mouth…

Fuck you, Poindexter! Issue a PO!

Your SS troops are gay as snow.

You’ll buy me a drink based on the size of my dick?

Give me a car bomb, low voices, big sticks.

Who’s the proprietor of this establishment?

I will shoot the unarmed man.

I will shoot the one-armed man.

KKK go away,

Come again on yesterday.

I came to this place to drink in peace;

Leave me alone or you’ll rest in pieces.

I like Christmas!

Nothing happens; everyone is there.

Nowhere to go; no one bothers us.

I like Christmas,

I keep telling myself

I love Christmas,

I believe myself.

Will you be back for Christmas?

I keep thinking of how much I love you

So I don’t blow these Nazi asshole faggots

Straight to hell.

Wood of iron; life’s slow swoon

I change stools under a beer light’s moon.

I don’t want to kill you, but I love my life.

Shut the fuck up.

I like Christmas

I like Christmas

Peter Miltz

11-11-09

Veteran’s Day

- For three potential corpses and, of course, Dana.

Key West

A mouse trap snaps off in the kitchen with no struggle to follow and my fitful waking sleep from holding onto bed pillows and charging them with feelings and responsibilities, meanings- well, that gives up all too easily. But it is an exquisite hour as the cocks crow brightly, madly, independently- and I bike out for sunrise, stopping at the AIDS memorial beside the long pier (White Pier, I think.) Watching Venus hang- like a hole punch with heaven's light blasting thru- over the place where a subtle jaundice gives way to a burnt pink. Clouds now- nebulous and melancholy as bulls, prepare to be themselves seared away to reveal the hottest and best light over this- an end corner on an American world. Sol bides her time, and the wind picks up to chill me, only clad in t-shirt and swimsuit. Inky water beneath me pushed out by the staggered, pock-marked rocks. A white lip of sky rising, rising, has almost cast Venus away. It is good that the last thing we see- a beacon to mark the end of the darkness- is our sister. Our celestial twin and guide. Increments of light dull further into shape and the last pastel of storm cloud blue lifts gently off the west side of the island. A fishing boat comes in fast. Water choppy enough to let your mind play that it sees fins of large fish coming out of it. Today is the sailboat race around the island. My first Sunday here- and the mark of the beginning of the second week. Maybe I'll swim myself into a nap today, or go get a raw coconut. Finally- a reward thru the clouds- thick flush to full sky blush around the great wide red moment. The planet put to bed in blue. Blood orange defying gravity and shaming inexpressibly what goes without color. I leave myself to be reminded, over and over and over again, that we are always being transformed, and always on the edge of further transformation.