** I usually only
feel like writing poetry when I am depressed, hence the bleak nature of much of my work.
At least that means that the paucity of my work is inversely proportional to the
amount of time I am depressed. Wheee, I got to use "paucity" and
"inversely proportional" in one sentence. All these poems are original and
copyrighted by Richard Gazley. If you have suffered severe head trauma and want to
use one of them for something, please, just ask me first. The more recent
poems are better (I think) and can be found farther down the page.
* I have added some poetry by friends of mine who have pleased me with their
work, perhaps they will do the same for you? So far there is one auslander
poem, but there will be more as it is produced.
Through verdant growth came I
struggling
reaching
Where twisted leaves fall
Reeking of wreaking
Blackened by soot
A dim feast is waiting
In some misunderstood Thule
Heaven help the robin
Who is he? Time?
Walking without shadow
In a land without shape
screaming
A wren passes near
But not too
For this is the time of the dying
And there can be no one here.
4-11-93 commentary
The tearing of redflesh
The core sick with guilt/love
Wrenching of life strings
Needed not-theres
Help for none/me
My blackened core
Why don't you fucking love me back
Life of filth and shame
Hacking at sanity
Taste of love is copper tears
West to the sun goes my soul
As a new day peels my life
4-11-93 commentary
Un-people
swarming, ant-like
Chewing at food
For empty stomachs
Thought, now pap
Weakens the crop
A meal for sages
Fed to fools
4-11-93 commentary
When the time of waiting is over
Love flies, leaving it's ghost
An afterimage traced in the soul
Loneliness weighs like a tomb's lid
And the colors fade from the world
I picked a small, purple flower
But I only killed it
And it didn't know me
7-94 commentary
Reaching out
I find air
The one I feel for
Does not exist
I pray to a blank sky
That the one
Is
But the sky is mute
And the sun sets
On me, alone
7-94 commentary
Sometimes I feel all twisted inside
Part of me's gone
Part of me's died
If you spot me staring, alone, into space
Spare me a smile
Bring me back to this place
For if I'm alone, with the thoughts in my head
My mood becomes bleak
And I wish I were dead
'Cause the one's that I love, they don't love me back
And if I dwell on it long
My bleak mood turns black
And the horrible feelings I keep locked up so tight
Come pouring forth
To devour the light
The self-hatred and shame bubble out of their cage
I curse this weak form
And try to swallow my rage
Choking back tears, I damn this wellspring of mourning
Sleep's unconscious realm
I reside in 'til morning
If in dawn's gray light the hurt hasn't subsided
Please mark on my stone
"Here's where pain resided"
8-24-94 commentary
At Autumn's approach
Friends like leaves drift far away
This tree mourns but you
8-9-94 commentary
Chained wings
Free now of the clay
Speed on
To skies long denied
8-24-94 commentary
A
dry ticking consumes me
bit by bit
each second's blade slices
wide
as the string unravels
the ball grows small
and one can imagine its end
to stand on that last step
with no more string to pull
and then to fall
free
better to try pulling slower
better to close one's eyes
better to dream
that the ball is still full
and one's days unending
than to stare at that nearing tip
7-17-01 commentary
I think that each day
is a small layer of sediment
that accumulates
on our lives
I have laid still too long
and the weight of many days
is upon me
at first you don't see
how immobile you become
and then it comes clear
the awful growing sense
that you are at the bottom
and there is no way out of the mire
and each day brings new sediment
so that the struggle seems futile
I am a shellfish
entombed in my own life
soon to become fossilized
or to be squeezed down
until nothing is left at all
except the faint trace of a shape
that looks like me
11-16-03 commentary
I walked into the sea tonight
I don't know why
It just felt right
I filled up my pockets
With stones from the beach
And I started out wading
To escape the shore's reach
Soon it was me
And the sea and the air
In our sad communion
That no other could share
I looked back at the land
With its twinkling lights
And I pondered my life
Endless days, endless nights
Where nothing seemed worth it
Nothing seemed clear
But in the primal seas foam
I was cleansed of my fear
I turned to the land with purpose anew
And fought with the surf
My whole life to redo
But my body felt sluggish
The sea tugged at my clothes
And 'neath the star's silent gaze
I was, no more...
12-29-03 commentary
by Frank Romeo
Funkadelic, psychadelic, Miskatonic U
tie-dyed t-shirt blowing, struggling:
antenna drying, colors flying.
you mind the road, I'll mind the view.
Sand blasted cheeks, off shore breezes,
tentacle porn on the frigidaire
sunblock, visine, wide-eyed stare
How much for Hello Kitty-lickin' tako freezes?
Tobacco potpurri, antifreeze and suet
cistern dry, newspaper tunnel
lowboy slipping, full to the gunnel.
Prime the pump, we gotta do it.
Elemental, monumental, caryatid splayed
three rings, baguettes, shiny baubles
Achilles' heel bloody, nipped by mongrels.
We're all in line for the big parade.
4-20-04
Commentary
Echoes in the Wisteria was the first poem I ever wrote. The title came to me in a flash and I wrote the poem from there. The title is probably the only thing I like about this one, it's pretentious and just not well done. I included it because I have so few poems and wanted to take up some space.
12 Reasons for Despair is pretty ugly, it also makes me sound like a psychotic....the last few lines are very good in my maybe-not-as-unbiased-as-I-think estimation.
Media is kinda weak, but I wanted to try writing something that didn't have birds or me wanting to kill myself.
Worse is pretty good, I think. I was in a melancholy mood and I picked a small flower that was growing through a crack in the asphalt at a gas station. When I got home I worked the flower into an existing poem.
Alone is more of the same bleakness. I guess I was having some problems with interpersonal relationships in '94.
Twisted Inside was an attempt to write a rhyming poem, it's not bad, but the act of trying to craft the poem superceded my depression. So the poem isn't as raw as the other's, which were pulled squealing out of my mind and slapped on the page. I still like it.
To Heather was an attempt to try a haiku (or is this a tanka?) for my friend Heather who was going away to school in Northern California. Addendum: I've since looked it up and it's a haiku, tankas are 5-7-5-7-7 syllables, while haikus are 5-7-5...I'm resting easier now that that is cleared up...
On the Death of My Mom's Parakeet was written spontaneously in an email I was sending to Heather (the haiku recipient) when I was telling her how much my mother loved her dumb little bird. I had just come in from burying him and chipping his name (Jonathan) into a block of concrete I used as a headstone.
Skein was written at work which explains its bleakness...I really wanted to go home. It is also the only poem that has been published...it's in the 2002 Poetry.com hardback. Yay me...<yawn> Addendum: I think it is going to be published in Boxer Shorts 2 (short writing from folks on the Wil Wheaton dot net soapbox).
Sediment was written in 5 minutes at 4:30 in the morning when I was feeling kind of introspective and blue. It was a wonderful catharsis, however, as I went right to sleep after writing it, feeling just dandy.
One Night By the Sea was written sometime during 2003, but I don't recall when. I found the text file in one of my "catch-all" folders and can't for the life of me remember when I wrote it. <shrug> It's one of my few rhyming poems so I decided to toss it in here and let you, gentle reader, decide if it is good or not. (Yeah, yeah, I know I am going out on a limb by assuming that anyone reads this stuff).
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