Tag: poem

Notes on Masculinity, Part Four: Five Easy Pieces; Night and Day

He would rather
Paint pictures or
Play piano than
Raise a child.

He would rather 
Stay a child – 
Be free of all responsibilities – 
Than raise a child.

He would rather
Run freely towards
Far away places
Than raise a child.

He would rather
Avoid the future 
Until its all that’s
Left to do.

five_easy_pieces_baby night_and_day_baby

Notes on Masculinity, Part Three: Five Easy Pieces; Night and Day

No man can resist
The call of creating –
Spreading their seed
On blank canvases.

No man can resist
The sound of accolades
And the praise of seductive

No man can resist
Finding dissatisfaction 
In all his work. That is just
How he is.

five_easy_pieces_art night_and_day_sex_painting

Notes on Masculinity, Part Two: Five Easy Pieces; Night and Day

These lusty, lost boys.
So in love with all the
Girls – their toys. So often
Praising the wonder
Of their bodies and breasts
But often failing to
Understand what lies

five_easy_pieces_drinkingnight_and_day_drinkingfive_easy_pieces_cheating_2night_and_day_cheatingfive_easy_pieces_comfort night_and_day_comfort_2

Masturbation for Beginners

Hand slips down waistband.
Rub or Tug with childish glee.
Clean up with Kleenex.
And happy you will be.

The Lydia Davis Project: Therapist

(based on Lydia Davis’ short story ‘Therapist’)

Why do I think the way I do?
Because of you I 
Think I do.
Because you make me think
I do. I think I think
Because of you.
I’ve always thought I 
Think I do. Because
Of you I’m sure I do.
The others think I 
Think so too. But I’m sure
I do because 
Of you.

The Lydia Davis Project: The Mother

(based on Lydia Davis’ short story ‘The Mother’)

There she is, pointing at me, poor girl,
Disappointing daughter, a woeful
Sight – these are her words
For me. This is how it is.

I long for times we were close with
One another. When notions of
Happy family panned out
To utter satisfaction.

Now she tells me the songs I
Sing aren’t sweet enough.
The meals I cook are
Not to her liking.

Please, mother, stop
Undermining me!
Barbed words
Tear me up.

Games she plays
To cut me
Down to

The Visitor

Ecstasy ecstatically pleases me
In these frequent bouts of flight.
Happiness haphazardly visits me
When I walk stark into the bright.
Pleasure potentially excites me
At the cusp of sensual delight.
Yet disappointment continues to visit
No matter how hard I try.

The Lydia Davis Project: Two Sisters

(based on Lydia Davis’ short story ‘Two Sisters’)

Born one after the other in
Imperfect sequence.
These girls exist as
Reminders of a man’s

A man is not a man
Until his wife
Bears him  a son.
That is the way
Of the father.

These daughters filled
With daddy’s disappointment
Carry resentment for
Each other: The girl who
Could have been a brother.

All our poor girls – now women –
Will toil away, leaving
More daughters behind,
Their husbands disappointed
With no successful successors.


The Lydia Davis Project: City Employment

(based on Lydia Davis’ short story ‘City Employment’)

Imagine the city you live in
Filled with all
Those characters
You see everyday:
The eccentric seniors
The fleeting strangers
The homeless stragglers.
But they are not
Who they are.

They are employees
Of a corporation:
The City Council.
Not quite actors,
But not the people
They appear to be.

Like yourself,
They have a job
To do. To fill
A role or two.
To play their
Part and pave
Their way.

The Lydia Davis Project: Cockroaches in Autumn

(based on Lydia Davis’ short story ‘Cockroaches in Autumn’)

They are so like us, despondent
And quick to scatter at
First sign of danger:
A moving hand,
A rolled-up newspaper,
A falling foot.

Disgusting as they are to us
We cannot but help
Respect their stubbornness
To live. Their
To Survive.

What better way to
Prove you live
Than not
To die?