Thomas Chickenbone
He was demented and well-known
By those who knew him not at all-
The thundering Thomas Chickenbone,
Who walked these famed poetic halls.
The younger lemmings aped his writing,
That came from his almighty quill,
That wrought much jealousy and fighting
Among his peers of lesser skill.
Larger-than-life, he walked alone,
Like some half human and half beast-
The brazen Thomas Chickenbone-
The bomb of poetry released.
He rolled his r's and hissed his s's
In every poem he would write
Like presidential addresses,
That he delivered day and night.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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To the Masters of Pretentious Verse
Write what you will,
But your lines do not impress -
Your metaphors, hyperboles
And anaphoras do not contribute
Anything to my life
Or anyone else's -
You glorify madness
But have never seen
The frighteningly real
Darkness of the mind -
You're just buffoons
Proclaiming shallow
Prophecies that are
Dime a dozen, while
Your captive audience
Of comfortable middle class
Feels safe with the parameters
Of your fake madness
And artificial breath stops -
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Bleed No More
Bleed no more, bleed no more, my love-
Just go in peace towards your destination,
For in this life my eyes have seen enough,
Enough of broken promises and frustrations.
Just go on without a word or thought
About what we've done when we were young,
About that pure love that we once sought-
Just go on-what has been done is done.
I will not say I loved you any less-
Whatever was one time had disappeared,
Dissolved in memories and years of loneliness,
Transforming flights of passion into tears.
And what is left? What's really left of us,
Of those moments when we loved each other? -
I should've known that your heart of glass
Was never tied to any single lover.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Poem for the New Year 2010
Alas, the sleazebags of tomorrow
Are our icons of today,
And every year brings forth more sorrow
With promises of better days.
Enough of Bushes and Obama,
Enough of change, enough of wars,
Enough of Clinton blowjob dramas,
Enough of Cheney, Biden, Gore.
I bid farewell to Michael Jackson,
There'll never be the King of Pop-
Half saint, half a child molester,
Who'd make us boogie till we drop.
And, Tiger Woods, your sordid story
Of secret sexual vagaries,
Has somehow dimmed the shining glory
Of all your golfing victories.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Katrina's Wake Up Call
It's a far too familiar sight -
All the poor who were left behind,
In the cesspool that once had been
The great city of New Orleans.
No carnivals here, just death -
Sick and elderly out of breath,
Hungry children barely alive
In the heat and filth, left to die.
In the flood of drowning cries
They were given nothing but lies -
Promised rescue that never arrived
For the thousands still alive.
Private charity drives will roll,
But the poor have taken their toll -
Jobless, homeless, with nothing at all,
Having trusted the government's bull.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Place Where Light Is
In these cold rainy nights,
In these streets, in these dreams
I'll walk in my solitude
To a place where light is.
Do not ask who I am,
Do not ask where I go-
I've lost all direction,
Yet I always knew this-
I'll find my way back
To a place where light is.
No, it can't be that far-
I've walked many miles,
I've seen it in a smile
Of a girl like a breeze-
I'll find my way back
To a place where light is.
I've been walking in darkness
Of frozen minds,
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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If Jesus Scratched His...
If Jesus scratched his balls
In the most indecent way,
Would a thousand angels
Turn into a pack of perverts,
And would you laugh at me,
My love, and say
That humanness is something
We desire,
When cast out of the womb
Into the fire
Of all that's human,
All that is insane?
And so what if Jesus scratched
His balls? Or rubbed his ass?
Or picked his nose
And told bad jokes, burping
Or passing gas? -
Would you believe that
He was just as human
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Survivor
for Eric Hauptly
It's getting better and there's no denying
The bullshit I put up with and her lies
Are slowly diminishing and dying -
And I'm glad to know that I survived.
Some people are a bitter pill to swallow
When you begin to trust them with your love,
Only to find their affections hollow
And that your love is never good enough.
But they will reap one day what they have sown -
As they get tangled in their web of lies
Until they find that they are all alone
Because it's trust that makes true love alive.
Self-love and self-respect are cultivated
By recognizing love is not abuse,
That love is not about tolerating
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Colorless Green Ideas
It might be if I were or will be there,
I would somehow dance inside your hair,
But then again, I'd say that I am here-
The elemental joy of being near-
Around and inside yourself, myself-
Like books, that sleep or slept upon the shelf,
Miasmically and tragically appear-
Sweet sonorous, you beam and laugh, unfolding,
We are indeed inseparable, holding,
Caressing our memories, my dear-
There is, there are sweet nothings in this world
That block the lucid verses from the ear,
But if you try to listen, you might hear
The gentle waves like syllables of the heart-
As our thoughts encroach and depart
Within the sea of hopes, dreams and fears;
And what is I to say and you to say? -
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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I Love You
I love you-
Do you remember how it was
When words were playful and seductive
And we felt
Such tenderness and warmth
Inside our hearts?
I love you
Just for being who you are,
Not trying to be somebody you're not.
I love you
Weren't just words, they truly spelled
A bond, a union between two souls who shared
Such joy and laughter and a sense of ease.
I love you
Spoke the sunlight in the trees,
And we were filled with childlike sense of awe.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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