the poetry knook :: the poetry of stephen m. james :: indianapolis, indiana » heart

When I found out they were humans

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

I never wanted to rape girls that got close enough to love,
unlike middle-school crushes and models’ airbrushes
that dreams are made of,
if I know you, I wouldn’t want to know you–biblically, that is:
imagining you bouncing and wincing upon my waist
if I tasted your dreams–your heart,
nothing else would tempt my tongue?
well, at least anytime soon.

Go fish. I don’t have the cards you’re looking for

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Don’t tell them who I am:
preconceived ideas–damn it!
I had to deal with those when I got called–oh, so long ago.
You thought I was going to make things better:
give you a mansion by the seaside?
All my talk of mansions isn’t here, you know,
to keep you warm and cozy by the fireside.
Go and save the world, and oh, and by the way,
break your grandmother’s heart
she’ll only see you every 2 years.

Meningitis Vaccination

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Too beautiful to be a passing note, even suffocating in polyester I’d stay or castrating into the night I can’t stop writing,locking omen shared into this heart pulp,
slamming it into your nervous vein.

Boy watches

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Boy watches girl sitting on bananas–
surrounded in road signs, pin-ups, and pop-ups–
ripping CD’s and a heart far away bleeding,
making a “love-making” mix for a friend
for his 21st and last birthday.
One more cuticle from a hangnail,
as actions appoint us owners of everyone’s future;
deciding right and wrongs momentarily–
autonomous and lonely as a form-filled mailbox.

When on the mountain

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

When on the mountain,
I know I am living for You
just maybe, not everyday.
When in the valley,
suspect, dark, done for
just want to pronounce Your name.
On that knob, hallow to my heart
I cried serving–undeservingly
washing familiar sandals that walked close by,
begging, “Come tear my bread today.”

Pulverize my heart

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Pulverize my heart upon the butcher’s board.
Add your tenderizer and throw my wicked heart upon the wall
Then smother it in dusty grovel until I choke.
Beat me until tender, and I cough blood onto my own carcass.
Pummel my pride into powder till I do not serve my selfish self.

Holy Taint

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Burnt from both fingertips to the heart,
Ruined by their Redeemer and
Scared by a Savior,
Yearning for the nail print
Ask and ye shall. . . .
Dangerous with passion,
Empowered with promise,
Striving to follow the forsaken fisher of men.

Ride Home

Stephen M. James — Mon, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

My windshield is maria menaced by metoers.
Everything but my face is dry,
But nothing shields my heart.
I drive on; into the stormy night,
with double glare;
Should I pull over
crying.
“No more.” I cannot say:
Can’t face. . . . this.
We will now never–the same
Can’t return–
You as I did–
Once.