Single
He's in his 40s and never married,
Never had the pleasure of
Fathering a child or having
A long-term relationship,
Living with a woman under
The same roof, maybe he's gay
Or just plain eccentric,
Not knowing how to relate
To his social world,
But I've stopped trying to live up
To what a normal guy in his 40s
Should be like, for
So many creative people were
Often loners or unhappy in love,
Expressing their sadness through
Their art - just look at
Van Gogh or Emily Dickinson
And countless others -
So I'm not worried
What others think of my
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Facing the Truth of Your Lies
Back in September of 2004 -
A couple of months after
My short stay in the hospital
For severe depression -
I tried to contact you to see
If you still missed me,
As you rudely told me
To leave you alone,
That you were married
And had moved, had your
Last name changed to
Your new husband's
And were expecting
A brand new child.
Two years later I learn
The truth through none
Other than that fake 'husband'
Of yours, who posted a message
In one of his hosting forums
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Yes, It Just Might Be
Twisted fantasies of long ago-
The gap between
What love was
And what love now is-
And the sobering reality
Of being alone
In the world of perpetual
'Love is all' disease.
Too many lovers
Have gone my way,
Leaving me wondering if
It's all it takes-
One pretty smile,
One pretty face
To make you lose your head,
Make you lose your sleep-
One more set of lips
In hell's eternity.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet
A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet
Capitalist: What profit's there to be made?
Socialist: And how the workers will get paid?
Poet: Forget potatoes and your stocks,
The beauty's in the shining locks
Of my sweet darling-there she is-
An angel gliding through the breeze.
Capitalist: That's fine and dandy. What's the price
Of that sweet bosom and those eyes?
What is the bottom line, my friend?
Socialist: This dreamy nonsense has to end-
With millions walking unemployed,
What beauty's there to enjoy?
Poet: And in the starlight late at night
I see my lady burning bright,
And that is all I really need-
No public good or private greed-
I want my freedom just to be
Away from life's banality.
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Howl Revisited
for Allen Ginsberg
I saw the best minds as
the stray dogs
of my generation,
wagging their fluffy tails,
howling apocalyptic
announcements in buses
and on subways trains,
in supermarkets and
colleges campuses-
barking about something
extremely important
like Kafka and busty blondes,
revealing the utter banality
of our ever collapsing
Western civilization,
reminiscent of some Goya
paintings, smudged with lipstick,
rouge, powders and mascara-
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan (9 January 2010)
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Pretty Girls Don't Take Hallucinogenic Substances, They Are
Pretty girls don't take hallucinogenic substances, they are,
Pretty girls are like ether clouds inflating and deflating male egos,
Sometimes they give you a real cocaine high,
Making you feel like a millionaire executive of General Motors,
Or they can give you a bummer a trip and send you into the slums of
Chicago and New York City without your American Express or Visa,
Being approached by an unfriendly slum dweller,
Pretty girls don't take hallucinogenic substances, they are,
Wearing skin-tight pants and heavy makeup,
Never mentioning their children or social disease,
Always saying nice things at the right time,
Pretty girls never need protection, they are always protected by
Pretty boys, walking with hands in their pockets and talking
About boy's things, like sex and politics, or football and
Baseball, and never about love,
Pretty girls always teach boys about love,
The pleasures and the fulfillments of love as they open up
Their blouses and their legs,
Pretty girls don't take hallucinogenic substances, they are,
They are like short-action barbiturates or a good puff of a potent
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Two Years Later
Life is a battlefield
Of choices made
And choices waiting
To be made,
Even if your choice
Is not to choose.
And I have made
Some choices
That I sometimes regret-
Like opening up to
A total stranger,
Pretending to be
An aspiring writer,
Who took my heart
And stepped
All over it,
While I tried
To believe that
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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