This blog ran for more than two years with no graphics--and it received about 50 page views. I was advised to add graphics; after seeing the huge public that followed blogs dedicated to homoerotic images, I decided to use that kind. The result was a dramatically increased number of monthly page views, and the number has remained fairly steady. Most of the images were found on the internet; although they are assumed to be in the public domain, they are identified as far as possible. They are exhibited under the Fair Use protections of United States copyright law: their function is simply to attract readers to the poems--I receive no economic benefit from them or from the blog. Nevertheless, they will be removed if they are copyrighted and the owner so desires.

Monday, December 29, 2008


The mechanical silence of the piano--
Standing where you breathed and sang
And filled the room with life and feeling,
Warm as the sunlight in the leaves
That stained the window yellow and green,
Strong as the beating of my pulse. . . .

Dead space where once someone I loved
Stood at the window, then moved to touch me--
An empty room, a strange place now,
The dusty loft of a deserted church.

Outside the window a car passes.
Pressing the pavement, the tires hiss.
Outside is another country
Where strolling couples meet and kiss.

Trapped in a mirror, my distorted face
Gasps soundlessly, without air, without space.

First image from http://all-men.net/men/2013/03/03/all-men-nudes-part-2/ 

Second image from http://www.lessing-photo.com/p2/250102/25010256.jpg

Thursday, December 25, 2008


Matt. 5:29-30

Because his eyes offended, prying
Between buttons and thighs,
He plucked them out and cast them away:
Of small importance was the light of day.

Because his ears offended, hearing
Invitations and sighs,
He drove nails into the tender membranes.
Weeping, ecstatic, he embraced the pain.

Because his tongue offended, singing
Desire that shocked and scandalized
The good neighbors and innocent passers-by,
He ripped it out and hurled it from him.
Above all, he must deny his longing.

Because his thoughts offended--How
The images did glow!--he gave up control
Of his own mind and learned to seek not to know,
But only to believe what he was told.

Because his hand offended, and his sex, and
--Fie, fie, for shame! Must I
Tell all he did? Indecency I dare not name!--His hand
He cropped, the rest lopped off and cast like Satan behind him.

Free at last,
Because mindless, maimed,
Blind and deaf, without tongue or touch,

Maintained in charity and disgust
By mortified Saints
--behind bars, of course, on water and crusts--

Himself he hourly befouls,
And everything else for yards around,

Without knowing when, where, why, or how.
Image from http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.stevenkasher.com/html/..%255Cpublish%255Cworksimages%255CPlattLynes009169_LG.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.stevenkasher.com/html/Detail.asp%3FWorkInvNum%3D9169%26artistname%3D%26whatpage%3Dexhib&usg=__eg5UwE_ioWBRsgKFLAMBObu12HI=&h=419&w=345&sz=22&hl=en&start=143&zoom=1&tbnid=dcQzFRB1SmIdxM:&tbnh=125&tbnw=103&ei=fZKHT9DUF42Y8gTVtKnSCA&prev=/search%3Fq%3DGeorge%2BPlatt%2BLynes%26start%3D126%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dsafari%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Den%26tbm%3Disch%26prmd%3Divnso&itbs=1

Wednesday, December 24, 2008


Dateline: 20 January 1969. With humble apologies to John Keats.

-- From having dreamed so long
With every song and love-scene ever played,
The couple locked themselves in and lay down,
Left the lights on, and stayed
(Locked in themselves)
While the TV went out of tone
(The shadows there
Squawked, more like parrots than before)
And then went out,
Not leaving even a cathode star.

And the newspapers piled up against the door
And the cleaning woman rattled her keys and called
And the manager came and went
And detectives dusted the walls and the floor
Without finding a print
Of foul play or fair: Except for where
A bouquet of red roses stained the air
Like a 3-D greeting card,
Nothing was there.

These two had gone beyond
Reality, desire, illusion.
A dream had ended; a journey had begun.

Friday, December 12, 2008


Allegory is easiest,
if you want to get spiritual,
or the erotic sublime—Sebastian
bound and bleeding, blind
for love of God in man—

Or the Catullan-sentimental,
“Admit this sparrow to your nest,”

Otherwise, the pseudo-surrealist
metaphor—an umbrella thrust
through a melon, a tongue
—or else: Sir Daddy, Sir, here I kneel,
(of course) your un-                          
derserving son….

But where can I find
the words, the way to make you feel
what I feel, how
when you look at me,

A globe of light suffuses my chest,
a sunflower spirals below
my belly, glows, grows golden tentacles,
pulling me toward you with electric force . . .    

Do you feel it now?  

(above poem) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:François-Guillaume_Ménageot_-_The_Martyrdom_of_St_Sebastian_-_WGA15027.jpg

 (below poem) http://www.artistsnetwork.com/articles/artist-interviews-profiles/jorge-alberto-gonzalez 

Tuesday, December 9, 2008


If there were such a thing as bi-location,
Your house would be haunted
A presence would follow you from room to room.

You would have the sensation
That some one was constantly beside you,
Especially at night, in your bed.

You would think twice about looking in the mirror,
Because every time you did,
You would see a face looking over your shoulder

At you . . . your face, your body . . . your ways . . .
The thought of you makes me shiver;
You have taken control of my head.

I have not spent such sleepless nights
Since I was a teenager; never has my bed
Been so empty, nor my heart so full.

Never have I been so driven to masturbation.

I keep having endless imaginary conversations
With you, about you.

This began as a poem about you; it has become
Incoherent through my loss of concentration.

I don't know what I am going to do.


First image from http://http://www.123rf.com/photo_3648678_young-sophisticated-man-looking-into-a-mirror.html