mmmm sunday

rain in the night
bedroom window amerikan flag of art
tied & open onto west grandview boulevard
streetlights, lights of apartments,
electric night light
& drops of water cling to screen
damp must of our bed
of us
cold wet of come i touch with my big toe
surprised
it's all the way down there
& we embraced as i saw a white dolphin
beluga in misty ocean ascension
else light is something of strange depths
fleshed
watching dawn gray in the hesitant rain
wafting from pressed bud rose smoke & sounds
of cars across black & silver waters
dawn breeze blows yr milk-scented breath
across yr waif-like bone shoulder we spoon
in sex-odored bed at the open
window screen where wet air waits for
downpours
all day rain
oh god this is love

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Someone Mentions Montana And All I Can Think of is My Dead Brother
for Dean

on a winter Montana road
over a cliff
my brother, ex-Air Force,
finally flew
airborne in a big sky night
fireball on the river below
and he was gone
spirit rising in
smoke, smoke smoke
like when we all hid behind the garage
and he taught us Marlboro cigarettes
our hacking throats coughed up spirits
that drifted to clouds

gone

my brother spread his wings like ashes
blew across
northern skies
into the face of an Aurora Borealis
sometimes
I forget what he looked like
or worse - his name
rarely thinking of him
except when someone mentions Montana

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cosmic casino

that this planet has life at all
.
that this sun of ours is a young one all white and bright
.
that we haven't been hit lately by an asteroid
that would stir up a dust cloud
that would blot out totally
that young white sun and fill the air with
that unbreathable choking, life robbing dust
.
that we are the most intelligent life on this earth, ha
that we are not slaves
.
that we are not penned and slaughtered and eaten by those
that could have taken care of us and lived beside us
.
that we can do as we wish
.
that we are beyond the bonds of instinctual response and
that we can flaunt our free will
.
that soon we may have no choice but to find other planets
that we can ruin and rape
.
that we have created technology that allows us to do
that which we are doing, communicating across the miles
that we have this tronic connection that can start the next rebellion on this planet
.
that we love and can find beauty and truth to share or
that we can bring the worst instead
.
that we can read these little characters
that we take for granted
.
that we can look in the mirror and marvel at the roll
that the dice of the DNA put there staring back at us
.
that we can wonder about it all, AT ALL
that we can wonder about it all, AT ALL
.
that no matter how bad it is
that it is one damn fine cosmic casino
.
you bet your life

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"I Want You Green Forever"
© 2000 Marc Ellis

"The sky smells of amethyst;
The wind sings alone",
mused a poet, poised
on the moist thigh, high
sky country in slumber,
a salamander winked,
on a window ledge
bird wings and paper flowers,
and a moon dancing with gypsies;

          "I want you green forever,"

          Whispered the poet.

          "I want you green forever."

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grit to grind

pissed off and wasted
teeth grit to grind
river highway by the porch couch cat
angry singer screams
at trailing tail lights
from his rain soaked couch
malt liquor murder follows
cold shock tragedies
drunken lovers shade him
from the burning lies
that blister clenched fists
swinging at the sky
nauseous daylight pushes
his face to an unforgiving sidewalk
as he begs for the moon
under which psychotropic dreams
are spun and embraced
and illusion is gospel

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Strained I try to come up with something witty or interesting
philisophical
bit of wisdom
or nonsense

but to no success
I merely rant on about nothing at all
and before I know it
I have a poem of sorts
in my strong hairy hands

it may not be the best
but at least Ive found something
to squeeze from my pulpy head
like a sweaty grapefruit
drip drip

nothing seems normal these days
and thats the way I like it
I only wish they served Absinthe
then I could shave my balls purple
I'd let you take a peek
but I'd have to charge you a dollar
nothing personal
its the AmeriKan way

goo

if you arent driving by...dont even stop.

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Vietnam 1 Texas 0

Clipped hard and low
it came fast
wrapped like a pig
in a blanket
only the blanket
wasn't soft
and the pig was misguided
lead
it made a sound like suspenders
snapping
against the back
when they come undone
unexpectedly
he dropped hard
gargled rice water
and wondered aloud
if the Cowboys
beat Green Bay that day
Tet offense beat Texas
still and alive
laid on lily whites,
headed home
on a two wheeler
with casters
he became
his wife's talking head
she would lick his balls
hoping for a miracle,
it never came.

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sounds of electric blue tapering to an amber rush

I circle Vancouver's west end
a good half an hour, several blocks
looking for an after hours parking
spot, this Saturday night

six floors up, windows open
to the thick gray July air
I hear familiar echoes to night life

music and laughter
whirl of another siren
rev of each motorcycle
comforting hum of traffic

all above the dull
roar of reality

blind rattle of homeless shopping carts
silent fall of another overdose
throated gnarl of a back street blow job
muffled angst of the nearest rape

I breathe in the sultry darkness surrounding me
look deep into this single candle flame
electric blue tapering to an amber rush
and see absolutely nothing

my reality is still circling the block has been for a week now

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Let Us

Satanists make the best
drinking buddies. They
debate life endlessly,
all the while sucking down
the beer or whiskey you've
bought them.

Really,
I want to be an angel.
I want to fly, man.

Can't Satan grant that for
you?

I think of poems and
candles, bottles of wine,
dank cellars, of promises,
and unfulfilled parts of
life. I want it all. They're
content with the occasional
gothic dance party. Black
leather, mascara masking
haunted eyes, chains swinging
in the smoky mix, Doc
Marten's and musky perfume.

Let us dream that dream and
live that life.

Let us know what it's like to
be free.

Let us fly to the heavens and
beyond.

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no wonder my grandfather was always smiling

My grandfather
told me
to do this exercise
every day.

I was
to put a
small thimble

on the very
tip
of my tongue.

Then I was
to extend my tongue,
practicing everyday,

until the thimble
touched the tip
of my nose.

Because of
all the hard work
I was voted

the best
French kisser
in the sixth grade.

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LAYING PAVEMENT
for Eileen Marie

Once there was a rock that thought

It was a flower. All day long, it practiced
Glimmering on that dirt road, blooming and
Shrivelling what it thought were luscious

Petals. In vain it sat still to attract
The plunder of bees. When Spring came,

Under the influence of shadowed drives,

It heated itself with bitter sunshine, hoping
That by this the glib powder would flutter
Out into caressable breeze, and that

This would alert the other stones to their
Beautiful condition.
This is how the road to town got paved.

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Lake Champlain

You could hear Louis
Armstrong across
the black moon rippled
water when the wind
blew right. In the
dark, roses inched
up bleached wood.
Under low ceilings
the baby sitter laid
out Camels, patted
white bobby sox,
inhaled and let go
of horrors in Germany
and Poland, what they
did to young girls
in tunnels. Only
my mother's cigarette
glittered, a fire
fly in blackness
as the slap of water
on rowboats lulled me
to sleep until I woke
in a sweat. There was no
air, only the wet
wood, heavy as a
chloroform soaked
handkerchief pressed
over my mouth

from my new book: Before It's Light

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HORRORS

In all my days never
Has fear swallowed me up
As the times in panic
When scraping up scraps
Of nickels, dimes even pennies
Could count towards the
Life preserver called
Survival
~
Even in the fear of illness
Or death doesn’t turn
My stomach or rattle
My brain as the frights
Of no food or no shelter
Vagrancy being punishable
With jail time like the
Debtor’s prison of long ago
~
My close friend’s lifetime
Vision-her being a bag lady
Parading the streets of
Trashed cities searching
Its containers for discards
Valuables soda cans and
Other recyclables with
Nightmares of finding
The dead animal remains
Or worse still a rare
Human rigor mortified
~
I laughed at her fears
Cajoled her into seeing
The absurdity of her
Fright dreams with her
Anxiety medicated with Paxil
But now as I sit in this
Restaurant with no cash
To pay the bill
I am not smiling
~
I have joined my friends
In the horrors of her
Dream of homeless and
Starving humankind
The realization of poverty
Too close at hand
The butterflies in my belly
Finally abated along with
The stares of the cashier but
Now the check is paid
Delayed for long minutes
That stretched for an hour
Finally I can see the highway
Ahead and realize now
That sleeping under the stars
Is not all what its cracked up to be

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Testimony

It was this that
And I saw it felt I said
This that
Rewarded in the interim
As junctures paled
And it was this young
Forecast modestly
Inaccurate against
What ever softly
And eventually passed

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.Open.

Goddamnit,
don't put white carpet
in your house
if you're just gonna
make people take their shoes off
before they can come in.

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Gloria worries

because I am currently
without a lover and advises
I proceed to the bookstore
cruise the classics
carry a clipboard
& casually refer to
a list of questions
coolly sidle up beside
unsuspecting men
as they peruse the bookshelves
notice first there is no
wedding band
before I make my move
Gloria says
I might find
a better educated class
of asshole

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SOFT NOTES FROM A BYGONE ERA

Old jazz
on a college station
& a fresh
new bag of buds

books & beer
& e-mail
poems
& posting boards

are there really
such things
as radios? marijuana?
poetry on the web?

is there really
an untouched case
in the
downstairs fridge?

some nights it all
falls together
& fits
just so

some nights
open like fresh legs
swollen
with potential.

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Poetry Outlaw

To be a Poetry Outlaw
one must bend and break
the "Rules" of the past
and not be afraid to create

A path to travel
of uncertain ground.
Seek bodies in motion.
Absorb all sights and sounds.

Step beyond boundaries,
barriers and road blocks.
Take the tough journey
and shout from roof tops

Kerouac set
the beat and the mood
Ginsberg and Boroughs
always played their own tunes

Whitman was genious
with philosophical sketches
that cut to the marrow
with satirical stretches

Bukowski strolled
through his world filled with strife
and captured in words
his outrageous life

So forget about sonnets
sestinas and haiku,
and write words from your soul
that are true to you.

Those "Rules" were made
to be stretched and broken,
and the only thing that counts
is the word that is spoken.

RL "Whoopeecat" Stephenson
Copyright 8-17-00
Whoopeecat Press Inc.


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on the 10th anniversary
of the day lyn's mother died

lyn and I wrote about cats,
loss, death, people we love
who've gone to the other side
of something we can't see
around or get through,
how our hands won't reach,
can't say what is still
left in our hearts to say.

I lit a candle for lyn's mother,
for michael, for celeste,
and then I read them poems:
poems for love, poems for death,
what lyn wrote when her hands
stopped talking the way
mine can't say anything else to.


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Five Clutching Five

Decay of rot-
ten fingers (five clutching five (dirty and swollen))
connected in some way loosely
(through nerves I suppose)
to this flaccid thought-generating
and somehow livingly decomposing
mound of soft tissue
(scar tissue in bone)

Each scar is a healed vagina
(stitched and without child)
and each vagina is a reminder (in no way modest)
of his sexless composition

Nipples inverted through submissive involvement
in this arousal's musings bent
Prismlike this carnival escapes in waves
(the granules of which are embedded in the
soil beneath the circus tent)
and the elephants - trained caterpillars
captive to their gossamer chains -
are swinging, left and hanging low
beneath the brow, above the lips
(this kiss has flavour, odour, shape -
these muscles bending toward air and light)
Across this blast!
(a sound that is blinding)
and dancing as if mating now

But he never liked the dating game
nor learned the rules nor spoke aloud
and he never wrapped these bandages
'round abundant-
ly forming, swarming, and breeding like
insects recently made electrical
(wires, nerves, and shock vibrations)
wounds

Remove this healing process lord with your
electrifying fingers
Remove this sick (this lipstick) pleasure surrounding
with no accompaniment this loneliness
(is liberating)

With your white robes enshroud me (lord?)
and bathe me in ether's ethereal sting
(like shampoo in my eyes and cocaine on my wings)
Oh watch me lick
(and I'll suckle your flames gladly (as if the tit
of a mother to the child she loves)
and scald my tongue in my own saliva
growing furiously, fiercely, fast(ly)(ingly?) abrasive
(molecules lashing and striking out veinless this steam,
erecting vain in their sticky paths
this semen covered fly trap (where venus is cold))

Watch me lick this razor life
Watch me eat this aging peach

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