tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33828643615504565812024-02-19T23:54:05.979-08:00Poems Of Vincent John AnconaView Poems of Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-9145769258507520932011-08-03T10:06:00.000-07:002011-08-03T10:07:12.122-07:00HabituéLet us dive into the bloodshot pool<br /><br />that has become your eyes...<br /><br />Flap our arms wildly--<br /><br />to purge the beast<br /><br />from your waning body<br /><br /> <br /><br />Let us burst into each others flames<br /><br />bravely just like old times<br /><br />except now<br /><br />let us forgive every sin<br /><br />come together inside your veins<br /><br />chase this rabid venom<br /><br />from your blood<br /><br /> <br /><br />Let us seek this cerulean sky<br /><br />you’ve promised<br /><br />There aren’t enough headstones<br /><br />left to swear on<br /><br />Not enough time<br /><br />for eternity<br /><br /> <br /><br />I remember the days before your<br /><br />Russian Roulette chemistry<br /><br />kicked in; confident days<br /><br />before your bones ached<br /><br />for a fix. <br /><br /> <br /><br />Darling, these are impossible depths<br /><br />to rise from with leeches<br /><br />on the spine<br /><br />I still dream of the day when<br /><br />you will look up and know<br /><br />a gentle sun<br /><br /> <br /><br />For now, we dwell in your shadow<br /><br />afraid to breathe, sweating<br /><br />your absence, dodging<br /><br />your funeral<br /><br /> <br /><br />Take these, my hands--<br /><br />They have been<br /><br />claws too<br /><br /><br />copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-65509546584543044792011-08-03T10:05:00.000-07:002011-08-03T10:06:25.154-07:00Departed--now unknowable, contained, though<br /><br />seen palpably, unable to speak<br /><br />but heard in the echo of days<br /><br />too hair raising for blankness<br /><br />long, piercing memories<br /><br />dancing briefly upon<br /><br />the delicate fibers<br /><br />of reverie<br /><br /> <br /><br />copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-80642537724638091702011-08-03T10:04:00.000-07:002011-08-03T10:05:34.509-07:00PurgeIt was in the utopia of joined breath---<br /><br />in the crucifixion of thoughts<br /><br />that bled you…<br /><br /> <br /><br />It was in the chisel that shamelessly<br /><br />etched possibility into a<br /><br />calloused heart<br /><br /> <br /><br />It was in the lawless glow of untamed spirit<br /><br />confessing the devilry behind eyes<br /><br />and midnight smiles<br /><br /> <br /><br />It was in the starving words that cascaded<br /><br />down from hurricane lips into<br /><br />a wild foam of desire<br /><br /> <br /><br />It was in the timeless vestige of love’s shadow<br /><br />where two silhouettes dared to grapple<br /><br />and emerge feverish from cinders<br /><br /> <br /><br />It was belief in something stronger than words<br /><br />when time froze and profound emptiness<br /><br />ached to be filled<br /><br /> <br /><br />Or maybe it was the soul’s emancipation<br /><br />from a cage of ribs into unknown<br /><br />cavities the color of sunset<br /><br /> <br /><br />Maybe still, it was the timeless divide<br /><br />of yielding flesh, splitting love open<br /><br />like a new dimension<br /><br /> <br /><br />A strange universe sliding in pure as water<br /><br />firmly rooted, reaching for the core--<br /><br />traveling with gravity...<br /><br /> <br /><br />Copyright © 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-8337795105840527272011-08-03T10:02:00.000-07:002011-08-03T10:04:24.881-07:00ConscienceSometimes<br /><br />it doesn’t hurt too much <br /><br />and one can sleep<br /><br />responsibly<br /><br /> <br /><br />Other times<br /><br />we know<br /><br />that our roots are collapsing<br /><br />into abstract pieces<br /><br /> <br /><br />where if we stare<br /><br />long enough<br /><br />certain parts become<br /><br />visible to us<br /><br /> <br /><br />Sometimes<br /><br />it remembers<br /><br />when our entrails<br /><br />were unconscious of aging<br /><br /> <br /><br />Other times<br /><br />our shadow<br /><br />reminds us of form<br /><br />it once knew<br /><br /> <br /><br />Sometimes it overtakes us<br /><br />like radiation<br /><br />Other times we bask<br /><br />in the glow of its presence<br /><br /> <br /><br />Sometimes<br /><br />we know it’s an albatross<br /><br />Other times<br /><br />the burning rope that was flung<br /><br /> <br /><br />from our desolate spires<br /><br />genuinely lands<br /><br />deep inside its <br /><br />unflinching<br /><br />arms<br /><br /> <br /><br />copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-61241810031483436382011-08-03T10:01:00.000-07:002011-08-03T10:08:36.383-07:00DreamsI saw a grouping of dreams,<br /><br />bleed into shadows<br /><br />pushed through uncertain horizons<br /><br />ferociously seeking<br /><br />higher ground to ascend<br /><br />the view, diminished<br /><br />people fading out<br /><br />like footsteps on blank sand<br /><br />I saw a murder of dreams<br /><br />buried beneath my own<br /><br />and wondered:<br /><br />will soil alone<br /><br />comfort the bones<br /><br />of broken dreams?<br /><br />are the bones of dreams<br /><br />at peace?<br /><br />are they released into the sky<br /><br />three dimensional voids<br /><br />desperately finding their way<br /><br />back to earth, into eyes?<br /><br />I found my dream<br /><br />on the roof of a lonely tower<br /><br />blown by chance winds<br /><br />looking down on the dead bodies<br /><br />of other dreams<br /><br />that were reaching for it<br /><br />the dark clouds opened<br /><br />a strange wind blew<br /><br />and more dreams fell<br /><br />little spatters of blood<br /><br />upon my skin.<br /><br /> <br /><br />copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-78950741045517287022011-03-09T21:56:00.000-08:002011-03-09T21:58:49.816-08:00UnpoetryPoetry is broken, gone far away--<br />bailed in the darkest hours.<br />Abandoning <br /> <br />without care. Poetry, won’t you<br />please stop being <br />unsure? <br /><br />You see, I know you’ve wondered<br />Should I desert<br />him? <br /><br />I’ve seen you hit and run<br />like a practiced<br />desperado. <br /><br />One manicured hand covering <br />half an eye, half a<br />reality--<br /><br />but I stayed true. Poetry, I’ve wondered<br />who and what we’ve allowed this to <br />become <br /><br />over the years. We’ve changed<br />so much I can barely <br />recognize<br /><br />our faces. We’ve grown <br />together, grown into<br />symbiosis... <br /><br />But it doesn’t seem you understand how<br />his goodnights still shatter my<br />heart<br /><br />How badly I’ve needed you in this empty<br />month when you became white between<br />lines. <br /><br />Poetry, I know you realize not everything<br />boils down to syntax and <br />deconstruction. <br /><br />You tried not to let them smash you<br />with ivory hammers into <br />screaming <br /><br />pieces they still call Poetry-- but I just can’t <br />seem to find you anymore buried <br />beneath<br /><br />this avalanche of emotional debris where<br />they say your heart is still <br />beating. <br /><br />Copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-74083384049230697172011-03-09T21:55:00.000-08:002011-03-09T21:56:21.174-08:00LovesickI wanted to reach inside <br />your kamikaze storm<br />and tear out <br />a sun<br /><br />Hold it up to the Heavens<br />with trembling hands <br />and let the masses<br />see Love <br /><br />I wanted to jump from<br />your hellfire skies <br />and fall securely <br />into feathers <br /><br />To close my eyes gently<br />and expand weightless<br />inside your nuclear <br />arms. <br /><br />copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-2549128723676699792011-03-09T21:53:00.000-08:002011-03-09T21:54:46.211-08:00Letting Gomakes the heart<br />spin wild<br />on troubled axis <br />braced for shrapnel<br /><br />means mostly gutted <br />using entrails<br />as a compass<br />through blank forests<br />and doubtful skies<br /><br />stares the beast <br />into withdrawal<br />asks no permission<br />to unbury old bones<br /><br />slowly embraces <br />the unknown<br />abandons careful plans<br />and familiar pain <br />bends so as not <br />to break<br /><br />means crawling <br />inch by stubborn inch <br />until there is light<br /><br />gives love<br />back<br /><br />copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-72702314836628560152011-03-09T21:50:00.001-08:002011-03-09T21:53:04.475-08:00Love's MetamorphosisThe butterfly <br />you told me to kiss<br />that rests on your lips<br />shattered wings beating<br />desperately against unworthy flesh<br />trampled legs kicking off flakes<br />of currish skin<br />creates blood between us <br />stronger than stars or dogma<br />stronger than philosophy or discharge <br />When the dust calms<br />the butterfly <br />becomes a caterpillar. <br />I swallow it<br />and kiss others <br />love resting safely<br />in the heart's cocoon. <br /><br />Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-30136166865902239872010-10-28T15:38:00.000-07:002010-10-28T15:48:06.516-07:00For DadI will not wait for<br />your approval <br />anymore. <br />You see<br />I’m getting older <br />now and I’ve learned <br />that chemicals, unlike choices<br />are for keeps. <br />And we’re both not sure<br />how to address this <br />roadside bomb<br />so it sits patiently <br />waiting for<br />blood.<br /> <br />You were always there<br />in increments. <br />So divided.<br />So practiced.<br />Mornings haven’t been the same<br />without 5:00 AM and English Leather.<br />The familiar sound of your razor.<br />The slant of light<br />through my bedroom door.<br />The groaning hallway. <br />Your heavy hand <br />across my head or <br />the shadow of your car <br />moving slowly up my wall. <br /> <br />I want you to know that <br />I always wondered how it felt<br />to be inside your flannel armor. <br /> <br />I want you to know that <br />I am struck by your ability <br />to only cry visibly twice. <br /> <br />I want you to know that<br />two strokes later and I'm afraid<br />time gets your heart before I do. <br /> <br />I want you to know that<br />I was always your son <br />even after my sex betrayed you. <br /> <br /> Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-82794093513117268592010-10-28T15:36:00.000-07:002010-10-28T15:37:59.829-07:00After LoveI wish I could be on your<br />lev<br />el. <br />You’re just that <br /> far<br /> out. <br />I couldn’t be<br />further <br />from you <br />if you were <br />12,500 miles<br />away.<br /> <br />Your angry tears<br />drop like <br />bombs a <br />series <br />of <br /> near <br /> misses. <br /> <br />It’s the smoke<br />that really <br />kills. <br /> <br />Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-31294855809624233722010-10-28T15:34:00.000-07:002010-10-28T15:36:02.427-07:004 YearsIt must have been like this: <br />I was sewn so tight to your shadow<br />that my own reflection abandoned me.<br />At night my chest was wildfire <br />and in our bed which was once so alive <br />my soul was being leached out <br />by your neutral spine.<br />Your heart is OK the Doctors said<br />throwing pills at me like stones<br />similar to the ones they used<br />to murder their feelings long ago.<br />Four years was a journey of love and hate <br />until we finally transcended both.<br />And in that empty moment things were <br />so terribly quiet but so terribly loud. <br />Imagine how it felt <br />to arrive in that foreign place <br />where the promise of everything that was once<br />so good in your eyes<br />had become an unrecognizable inferno where<br />we could only fail to avoid the daggers. <br />I carried the love that became our disease<br />in my arms like a baby<br />unable to stop feeding it because it cried out for more...<br /> <br />How do you kill a living part of you?<br /> <br />It was in letting us go low to the ground<br />on that unmarked day <br />that I spread my arms wide again<br />and reclaimed my shadow<br />piece by scrambled piece <br />even if all I had left to assemble it<br />were my poor and trembling hands. <br /> <br />copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-52697994603058800672010-10-28T15:32:00.000-07:002010-10-28T15:34:16.454-07:00DisconnectPeople die faster<br />than time takes the body. <br />If you don't understand<br /> <br />Watch us... <br /> <br />speed trepidly into the future--<br />souls trapped within the carcass<br />of the roadkill we call memories.<br /> <br />Watch us go...<br /> <br />unwillingly into our plastic cells<br />free as the words that briefly danced<br />on the tongues of our persecuted.<br /> <br />Watch us go in...<br /> <br />to homes where the beating heart<br />ebbs and flows and<br />must also adhere to gravity.<br /> <br />Watch us go in flames...<br /> <br />Ash, bone and ego<br />rising up in such trivial smoke<br />you'd barely know we happened. <br /> <br />copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-52979723850063172192010-10-28T15:13:00.000-07:002010-10-28T15:14:42.657-07:00Ode To SilenceI don’t mean to single you out<br /> <br />nor do I mean to draw attention to myself.<br /> <br />As you know, I exist in you <br /> <br />as we all exist in you. <br /> <br />My nights pour soundless like dark molasses <br /> <br />and my days, clenched tight by your deafening fists...<br /> <br />are stronger than any force I’ve known. <br /> <br />This beating heart, this throbbing universe <br /> <br />needs more than vibrations to sustain itself. <br /> <br />Perhaps everything exists to avoid you.<br /> <br />You embody empty rooms and shadows and <br /> <br />things that can’t breathe. <br /> <br />You are the heartbeat in my couch <br /> <br />and the pulse in my blinds. <br /> <br />Though even inanimate objects will eventually defy you...<br /> <br />you will outlast galaxies. <br /> <br />There is something inside you louder<br /> <br />than any noise. <br /> <br />You do not need me to make room for you. <br /> <br />All of empty space is where you <br /> <br />soundlessly stomp us out. <br /> <br />I make empty promises to myself each night: <br /> <br />Not to name the cracks on my ceiling...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Silence. </span><br /> <br />To be both gay and happy..<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Silence. </span><br /> <br />Not to plea with God...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Silence. <br /> </span><br />To hold more than myself...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Silence. </span><br /> <br />Not to see answers through chilled light...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Silence. </span><br /> <br />To seek out the great sound<br /> <br />that was lost in your <br /> <br />bottomless echo...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Silence.</span> <br /> <br />Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-14060004221600972612010-07-07T10:32:00.003-07:002010-07-07T10:32:52.883-07:00Revelation 2:16"Therefore, repent. If not, I will come to you soon and war against them with the sword of my mouth."<br /><br />Revelation 2:16 <br /><br />It might take a lifetime <br />to learn the secrets of an empty moment. <br />That we could look at the clock and be Ok with 2:16 AM.<br />That we could battle depression without pills.<br />That we could bet on happiness and win.<br />That personal identity would not be over-rated.<br />That we could escape our thoughts and be intact.<br />That we could feel truly sorry for someone. <br />That we could feel truly sorry. <br />That we could survive without Liquid Crystal Display. <br />That we could see the world by seeing the world. <br />That we could learn to forgive fully without forgetting. <br />That we could understand perfection as self defeating. <br />That we could understand which drugs we need to give up. <br />That we could acknowledge the need for at least one drug. <br />That we could live our dreams and pay our bills. <br />That we could pay our bills using only money. <br />That progress did not always mean technology.<br />That the heart was beating analog not digital. <br />That we could love completely on one leg. <br />That we could love completely. <br /><br />Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-65137283288947416912010-06-02T23:47:00.000-07:002011-03-09T19:25:28.859-08:00AphorismClose your eyes and start with black<br />Now, strip away the barriers, the dead zones<br />and catalogue each layer of humanity<br />Let your hands become outrageous flashbulbs--<br />isolating, capturing each psychic apparatus<br />every brilliant action or devastating effect<br />Look for dialogue in silence<br />Think short thoughts<br />Disappear with a trace <br />And by all means seek the meaning <br />behind every atom <br /><br />Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-35090870493080114012010-06-02T23:44:00.000-07:002010-06-02T23:45:50.198-07:00Untitled Copyright (c) 2010 by Vincent John Anconayou want<br />disease without suffering<br />cows without disease<br />milk without cows<br /><br />trust us.<br />trust us.<br /><br />you want<br />grey fabric walls<br />memos on stationary<br />carpal tunnel vision<br /><br />trust us.<br />trust us.<br /><br />you want<br />food grown in labs<br />people born in tubes<br />wars waged with casualties<br /><br />trust us.<br />trust us.<br /><br />you want<br />his heart to beat diamonds<br />her face to go down<br />it to be what’s in movies<br /><br />trust us.<br />trust us.<br /><br />you want<br />a president who cares about you<br />who worships your God<br />who lies but won't swear<br /><br />trust us.<br />trust us.<br /><br />you want<br />a mental bunk-bed<br />one for you<br />one for You.<br /><br />trust us.<br />trust us.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-20307006573578367912009-06-25T22:25:00.000-07:002011-03-09T19:27:12.821-08:00Maybe If I Keep ReadingMaybe if I keep reading<br />I’ll become more and more like THEM!<br />I could use words such as<br />floccinaucinihilipilification<br />and feel like I’m really (no really!)<br />contributing something important to the world.<br /><br />Maybe if I keep reading long enough<br />my brain will feel like an egg <br />that unwillingly erupts its yolk.<br />giving way to creative birth pangs<br />which sting like a wasp in fall<br />and cover my ivory skin<br />with that special slime only ugly truths<br />(and eggs) can leave behind. <br />Maybe if I keep reading<br />I can learn time management<br />so I can eat, drink, piss, shit<br />write and sleep all at the same time.<br /><br />Maybe if I keep reading <br />I can learn to pray the gay away…<br />or maybe, just maybe, if I keep reading,<br />I’ll stop feeling like living is dying<br />like working is sleeping<br />and loving is lying.<br /><br />Maybe if I keep reading<br />I’ll believe in Jesus or Buddha <br />Or maybe I can stop wondering why<br />I can’t covet my neighbor’s wife--<br />But what about her husband?<br /><br />Maybe if I keep reading<br />I can quit smoking, quit drinking--<br />perhaps even stop feeling.<br />Maybe if I keep reading I can master<br />cunnilingus, fellatio and abstinence. <br />Maybe I can learn how to self help myself<br />or cook 30 minute meals<br />or do chemical peels…<br /><br />Maybe if I keep reading I can<br />let poetry course through my fingers.<br />Maybe I can stop connecting<br />with bone and blood<br />and make contact instead with<br />heart and soul.<br /><br />Maybe if I keep reading<br />I’ll see what it means to be empty<br />so that I can be whole.<br /><br />Copyright © 2008 by Vincent John AnconaVincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382864361550456581.post-89540334496377934092008-11-24T19:26:00.000-08:002008-11-24T19:28:01.206-08:00I Have Learned<big><b> I Have Learned<br /><br /><br /><br />I have learned<br />In this life<br />That greatness<br />Is a careless whisper away<br />And is found where you least<br />Expect it.<br /><br />I have learned...<br /><br />I have witnessed that true love<br />Should be experienced, not sought after.<br />Nor tempted through the wreckage of impatience<br />A black worm through the apple<br /><br />I have seen...<br /><br />I have felt that life is short<br />And must be cherished<br />That the clock stops for no one<br />Not even the planets<br />And that time presses forward.<br /><br />I have understood...<br /><br />I have noticed that an indigo dusk<br />Is not permanent<br />That all creation's wonders pass by<br />In the blink of an eye<br />That all men's struggles<br />Are not in vain.<br /><br />I have remembered...<br /><br />I have seen how small I am<br />And how great the Universe is<br />How the cosmos so briefly grace us<br />With its solar impotence<br />And how one person can change so much<br /><br />I have struggled...<br /><br />I believe that kindness is important<br />And is so frail and fleeting<br />I give freely of myself<br />To nurture the human soul<br />To count my blessings or sheep<br /><br />I have believed...<br /><br />I have strived in this life<br />To be humble and accept all praises<br />Great or small, to be glad for my fellow man<br />To not be dismayed by failure<br />But to rise up out of the ash<br /><br />I have built...<br /><br />I have seen it with my own two eyes<br />Life, Death and Re-Birth<br />I have seen terror, toil and tumult<br />I've seen the center crash<br />And the bodies remain whole<br /><br />I have pressed on...<br /><br />I have looked in the mirror<br />And seen disintegration<br />Paired with peace and understanding<br />I have been confused and confident<br />Ignorant and wise<br /><br />I have risen...<br /><br />I have imagined a better world<br />Where everyone is equal<br />And no one is treated cruelly<br />I have seen it perfectly in my minds eye<br />And know it can exist.<br /><br />I have dreamed...<br /><br />I have known terror and elation<br />Unrest and Peace<br />I have seen it all thrown away<br />And the pieces swept up,<br />Reassembled like some awful puzzle<br />I have seen where they go<br /><br />I have learned...<br /><br />Copyright (c) 2008 by Vincent J0hn Ancona<br /></b></big>Vincent John Anconahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990597706565435194noreply@blogger.com0