Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Poem #31 of 365

I didn't mind that you phoned
it's just that i was busy
with a woman and some food
having to hide her in the closet
having to chop on the cutting board.

It was great that you noticed
enough to make you curious
and when you whizzed past
this concrete block my subtle
dog had a premonition.

Please call again or let me
hear your song whittle
at the tempered solid steel
of the buttered quelling
chambers of my heart.


after a dream of R.W.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Poem #30 of 365

i summoned you priestess (or b.c.'s friend request)

today i submitted
my latest anthology
(i published, i edited)
to a competition
on a deadline

and was rushing
through my house
to find the perfect
packaging for the
5 sample copies
i had to include.

i reached for a
box, a perfect-sized
box, which had been
on a shelf for whoknows
howlong.

i froze the moment
when i saw your name
and return address label
on the back panel.

and i kept still, noticing
the dust that had collected
on the box flap, and wondering
wondering
where you could be
why time had elapsed

since our last talk.

still thinking of you,
i inked lines from
a sharpie
across your name
your address

feeling such regret
and a sadness too

for even marking over
your name on an old
priority box
seemed an
unfriendly offense.

AND then, 6 hours hence,
i am seeing this picture
of you on my screen,
and that skirt
that recycled skirt

that been-to-Himalayas
skirt

just twists my mind in
leaps of surprise
and glee.

some things have to be
brought back again
taken off the shelf
brung back to the valleys
of reconsideration

and there
so there

you are.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, January 29, 2007

Poem #29 of 365

Throw your guts to the wind
be the life of a dewdrop
wrestle with the lawn
toss yourself about.

Why worry the witnesses
stifling their own sacred shrieks
in diaries of oblivion?

Press play on all the panels
and lift your tongue to every sip
wiggle your mind
in the mud of curiosity.

When did you give your
body to the taxidermist
stuffing you with empty pomp?

Drink to your soul's extent
so you can drive under the
influence of dreamy thoughts
with your headlight eyes.

What gain you suffer as
you exchange a life of
excruciating ecstasy
for moribund passivity.

Drink, toss, wiggle, throw
yourself a life!


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Poem #28 of 365

"you know so much about the blues."

she pursed her lips speaking that color.

"you know so much, them blues
gonna just rub up off on you."

still, her lips needed no primping.
the color just stuck.

"one day you gonna be at the bluebird,
with them blues socking yo' ears
and you ain't gonna hear the bell
marking your time to pass"

smacking them lips, sucking some
back teeth, she made a smuglike noise.

"and all them pallbearers gonna be
wondering why they arms don't be hurtin',
it's cuz you stuck back there still
listenin' to some blues off 'n there"

she smile big now, her lips pushed
back, and red color on her teeth.

"we all gonna be laughing, say how you
missed a free ride to allelujah cuz you got
held back diggin' them beat black blues, and
the ole preacher left to pray over
an empty pine box"

her mouth all open, head throwed back
and neck wide as earth.



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Poem #27 of 365

A metal bracelet upon your wrist
is the worst choice for advocacy
and advice. When Jesus lived upon
this soil, if indeed he ever did, i'm
sure he never counted on mass-
marketed gimmick jewelry to stir
his movement, impel his compliance.

One day you'll have a meltdown, probably
in the heat of a Texas summer, and said
bracelet will irk and scald you, seizing
you with impatient wrath and undecorous
foul-mouth obscenities. How would
Jesus cuss? How would he flip us off?

I choose to wear no mentor's emblem
upon my arm, and no acronyms
of self-righteousness emblazon
my fashion accessories. I simply have
two simple symbols at hand, subtle
on my tabletop tonight:

a gilded decal of a green Ganesh
and a photostat of Cornel West.
West-Ganesh, they check my shit.
A radical scholar and a beloved
Hindu god, they keep me on point.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, January 26, 2007

Poem #26 of 365

When your eyes are sanpaku
i want to order more migas
make sure you fill your belly
and mostly i want you to face
down, upon the plate, so i
don't have to be frightened by
your stare,

And what it has to say. You
were only in for 10 hours, and
it was small bail we had to pay,
yet your irises float in that
alarming way i've seen in the
eyes of the most disturbed men
among us.

If you might choose to do a handstand,
tumble down the levee at the park, perhaps
your eyes would reset themselves, and
your woeful thoughts would be turned right,
so you wouldn't have to be so frantic
in your psychic layers and i could
let go of the tablecloth at breakfast.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Poem #25 of 365

Prostitutes arguing about love in jail
is about as poignant

as

T kicking S in the head
to protest escalations in violence

is credible.




(with a nod to Hal Hartley and our sordid, sooted past)



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Poem #24 of 365

random stacks
invade my house:
treatises, how-to handouts,
handbills, and just bills.

the paper ephemera
of my adult existence.

who knew that so many
news clippings could
take up so much room,
and my only solution
seems to be to
just stop reading.

all this information
just floors me.

with dust and cat hair all around.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Poem #23 of 365

Serena sat on her
fecal impaction
in the other
room whilst i
sudsed dishes
in another.

Sobbing boo hoos were heard
over the tv screams
and i didn't even
rivet my spine.

Though i did cock
my head a bit for
enhanced audio definition.

Another client came
to verify. She's okay,
but you better walk over
there anyway, or she might
not ever cut out her crying.

Okay, what's wrong, Serena?
That house, burning on the
tv, makes me remember the
house I lived in when we
was little. Through
yellow wet eyes she said this.

A minute later, my hands
are dipped in the sink,
and she's screaming with
laughter about a joke
over a cigarette or the tv
story and whatever else has
gotten tangled up in the
eaves of her mind.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, January 22, 2007

Poem #22 of 365

When she breathed
into her sacrum
there was a scorch
under her,
a chair that squeaked
in the room
drawing fast attention

But she breathed once
more and turned her
head for accents
in the inhalation
as she watched the
shadow
exceed the animal

Ah, she intervened
how can i be panting
atop a clockface when
so many underfoot
furried things
are darkening my walk:

Go to the light, breathe
in like butane, follow
the flame, and all will
be made right.

Facile nonsense, a pithy
remedy of syllables never
cured a cancer. how can
you begin to believe that
ranting run-on
sentences can tithe
a tidy mortal sum?

I give up, i won’t breathe,
if that helps you come to
mind, but lung alert
on suffering can one day
sound the dawn.

OH, YAWN.

(a 4-minute poem)


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Poem #21 of 365

B spoke of Eve and evil
and gave us an apple
each.

I circled the table
before reciting
making sure the
wine was out of reach.

Layne wore her
dress split open
for effect or for
expanded waist.

The food looked
brilliant laid all
out, yet i chose
to have no taste.

S set up the slides
to show, her drawings
took nine years.

The women all
assembled there,
well, some were moved
to tears.

The few bold men who
deigned come in
had luck if they were single,

For as a sweet minority
that night
enjoyed the mingle.

J himself was swarmed by
girls as his smile put them
at ease,

He drank no wine, nor
spun no tales, but the
ladies he did please.

We sang for love, and cried
for rights, and justice mercy too.

This Saturday soiree for grrls
did more than benefit a few.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Poem #20 of 365

War-Bungled Anthem
(to the tune of the Star-Spangled Banner)

O say can you sing
such a difficult song

for the words to it now
are so devoid of meaning

if you think about it
it’s an unusual song

for the words make no sense
cuz a drunkard he wrote them

and you want to believe
this song reflects our lives
but the truth stares us down
cuz hypocrisy’s gleaming

o someday
they’ll find out
that
war is
not so noble

and the citizens will rise
to sing
of peace
soon.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, January 19, 2007

Poem #19 of 365

I called his name
twice aloud,
and his classmates
offered explanation.

He is always late.
He never comes on time.

When he finally slouches
in, bypassing me with
a stride of expectant
confidence,

I call him to my table,
insist on proprieties,
look into his eyes,
and he returns the respect.

I count him present,
give him a chance,
as he brings a chair
away from the others
to sit near me.

When it's time to do
work, I tell him to
distribute the papers,
which he does with
a relaxed smile,

He says, I've never been
asked to do this before.
And I let it slide, opt
not to share a favored quote *

with this
discarded boy
who just minutes before
was labeled gangster, bad.



* "Every human being is worth more than the worst thing they ever did." - Sister Helen Prejean, anti-death penalty activist and author, DEAD MAN WALKING.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Poem #18 of 365

A week of watching wig films,
those charming Brit flicks
from archaic times,
along with hearing
so many proper English
quiply elegant
acceptance speeches
on Golden Globes night

inspires me to squat
too long
uncomfortably
in the mega-book mart
reading article
upon article
about Martin Amis
in publications
about
publications.

Quite so.



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Poem #17 of 365

When the bit of Grace
on the table
splays out and wide

it is imperative
to speak a prayer
a beseeching psalm,
a promise tryst.

When the bite of Grace
on my hand
brings blood to bear

it is insolence
to complain my cries
a simpering sob
a plaintive mist.

Why bite back
and spew my rage
and drag all manner
of backs to fore.

Why indeed
should I implore
redress and recompense
of lost to me.



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Poem #16 of 365

you prefer to confront
and i like to whisper
into the conch of their mind

you prefer to hammer
and i do the tapping
as finger on heart

you prefer to threaten
and i give them words
on a forgiveness receipt

how we fight our battles
how we storm our love



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Monday, January 15, 2007

Poem #15 of 365

America showed up onstage
the audience applauded
and the women wept

We want America to win
to persevere, to grow
and be proud of herself

It has been a long time
coming for America;
she hasn't always
been so supported.

America, she won
the Golden Globe
for best actress
in a tv comedy series.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Poem #14 of 365

(water)
heavy when
frozen
is
more
heavy
than
my
tears
when
they're
hot

though
it always
seems
that they
drag
my
face
down
when
they
bloom
from
my
eyes

pulled
down
as
the
ice-dappled
branches
crying
outside
in
the
yard


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Poem #13 of 365

what god giveth, the
web taketh away, as
he wiped chardonnay
frm his chin again.

so, oh, you against
the premise of open source

he interrupted with
unscheduled burp, no,
theoretically, i'm not.
i mean, it's a good,
good samaritan,
level the playing field
type of worthwhile thing
to be after.

so, huh, you are
for it but yet not or

he doesn't let her finish
a sentence, as he takes
her elbow by the elbow
and spoke
i don't mind sharing
i just don't want the whole
wide world knowing that
i shared

with that
in tiptoe quiet steps
they left the bedroom
and moved back into
the din of the den
of the party



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Friday, January 12, 2007

Poem #12 of 365

In the drizzly lunch hour,
i spill don't-get-lost crumbs
on the streets as i curl
and curve away from
yet another public school.

I am in pursuit of a meal,
a noontime challenge
that has me regretting
my lack of good planning,
with homemade snacks
and healthy grub.

A man stands in the parking
lot, opens a door to a truck
by mistake. Wonder if he
waits for a ride or a fix,
the connection to wealth
or a nod.

I wish he would ask me a
question, put me on the
spot with a quip. But
he just stands there,
waiting, without umbrella
or money or song.



copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez