Here's a page of poems...some mine, some (hopefully) those that others wish to display...
When you are gone, I miss your face
Even for a little while
I think of carboxypeptidase
Every time you smile
A small sacrifice of blood
Offered freely for the sake
Of what might be the greatest thing
I have ever done
The aftermath, with shifting eyes
Others glare and know
I'm sure, the change that I have made
And vomit lies to tell me
I'm ok.
Wrinkled paper, vials and cotton
Sucrose dusted with the cloying smell
Of Metofane and rats
Scaley mottled lizard tails
Eyes of tearing blood
Six-legged needles siphon life
Bloat silver striped and die
All for million-dollar gem-scaled eggs
Which hatch to million-dollar spermy worms
That grow to hypodermic monster mirrors
Of Jurassic Park
Lemon drop yellow
Jars of sweet sugar
Stacked beside water
in purified form
Rats in small cages
Mosquitoes, their larvae
and new DNA
In the eggs to be born
Glow in the darkness
Feed from soft bellies
Grow to be mutants
Stray from the norm
Never see sunlight
You Frankenstein creatures
Smashed into shapes
That we want you to form
Oddment of nature
Product of god-power
Life stripped to baseness
Existance is torn.
Sometimes there is no justice
Because the lady drops her scales
To brush her hair back from her horns
And lift her blindfold
To count her money
to lie in a bed soaked with sweat
and pray that yours
is the face he sees on the back of his eyelids
as he smiles in his sleep
because his image is burned into yours
You did not hate yourself at two
When you learned to walk by falling
So why do you hate yourself now,
As you learn to live by living?
Out of the blackness
A beacon of silver light
My inspiration
A word on the page
Placed just so, to make eyes smile
I am a poet.
Forgotten in the darkness,
Wax drips slowly down the candle stub
The music is long over.
Butter light reflects in the warm bubbles
Pooled at the bottom of the glass.
Unnoticed, the cat walks by and stops to wash himself.
Between the half-brains
Rests a tie that bids complete
Without which, minds fail.
Has no one taught you kindness
Or is your immediacy
And effort to forget who I am?
Snowflake soap bubbles
Drifted down to kiss my head
I walked in sunlight.
Neatly folded clothes
outside their furry suitcase
Glisten in the sun
Pressed against the mesh
petroleum-faded eyes
Blink as the rat wakes
Triple beeps wake me
From thought as I sit waiting
For my PCR.
The fan has been running so long so loud
That its absence roars louder.
The seconds pass minutely slow
And the rat and I, with equal looks, stare at nothing.
But her apathy is brought on by chemicals--
She sleeps at my command.
I am only lulled by thoughts of better things
Which makes me wonder what it is to be an anesthetized rat.
An old man turned my way
He wrote an equation and I heard him say
"It's a benzene ring in a folded chair.
I'd tell you more, but you don't care."
And I said:
"But isn't it ionic? Don't you think?"
It's a real pain
To memorize
All the olefins
Cut down to size
I wish that I could improvise
But who would have thought that I'd know it?
--JLB
The warm green summer days each took
Eternities to pass
In the two-acre field. I spent
My youth in the tall grass.
My father spoke of treehouses
And of rebuilding cars
Each night I dreamed his promises
Beneath the wheeling stars.
But every summer had to end
And every winter snowed
And still the treehouse tree stood bare
But we had both grown old.
I will always remember perfume lingering after
Secret summer smiles that taste like whispered laughter.
And die with the blushing caress of a liquid kiss
For dark and light, day and night, are the sweet wine of your lips.
--JLB
Lather-tongued puppy;
He has lazy sleep about his head.
Delirious summer panting waxes lovely,
Shadows playing within the fading light,
Beneath the mad moon.
--JLB
a thousand days
I did sit
my life only shadow.
Every cry
chanting my need…
All I want is you
--Jo
blood music so sweet
delicate beats of luscious power
singing in the breast.
--JLB
Sad is his voice that calls me,
sadly calling at grey moon rise.
Love hear thou how soft, how sad his voice,
is ever calling, falling then as now.
--Eric Whitacre
...and still the leaves do fall
and yet things cease to change
and yet life is as always ever was
yet different
yet the same...
--JLB
Copyright © 1998 Jennifer Bidlingmeyer, Dragonet Designs