I live in a shack in the wilderness.
Without ink, I write poems in my own blood.
I pick wild roses just so the thorns
will pierce my skin.
It hurts but I need the metaphors.
I live in a shack in the wilderness.
Without ink, I write poems in my own blood.
I pick wild roses just so the thorns
will pierce my skin.
It hurts but I need the metaphors.
We’re too distracted by our lives
To notice the life around us
So wrapped up in our status
We fail to see anyone else
Thinking we’ve seen it all
Without wanting to see it again
Mike Meraz might be watching it all burn, as the title of his latest poetry collection suggests, but he’s also diligently keeping track of the chaos swirling around him. The attention to imagery and sentiments combines the best qualities of observation with confession.
A face stares out
from the album cover,
worn eyes hiding
behind tinted lenses
the darkness of
the Hollywood
night lit by
a single spotlight
Afterglow
An ocean, cream calm and wide. Tides that breathe with a secret pulse.
The dishes need to be washed.
The dog needs to be walked.
The children need to be watched.
The minutes slip by one by one
Before you notice the years gone.
I swim in the warmth of your arms
I bathe in the kindness of your eyes
I hold your sweetness in my hands
And I still haven’t had enough of you
To fill my appetite
his face in the photograph
is waxen,
his cigarette drooping
from his teeth,
while the kids
embark on warm kisses
he sits in front of the
water jets listening
to David Bowie
singing “Life on Mars”
Most of us gaze in dismay
as pieces of us fall away with age:
Merrick gained.
He gathered, accumulated, soared and swelled—
until he crumbled.
The sign outside the office said, You are requested to close your eyes. She did. In those far-off days, illnesses had other names – bloody flux, Bright’s disease, consumption. Her doctor was so deaf he needed an ear trumpet to be able to hear the patients screaming in pain.