the room's a scattered memory. i spin your records. sort your mail. search for you in strands of hair. heavy handed. my limbs are shaky. hold me in this placeless time. return with treasures ripe and wise. sand on your toes. sand on the sheets. your letters speak of narrow streets. cobblestone and penny wine. tripping painters and tragic tales. ancient temples through silver valleys where water falls from heaven. rolling greens and mountains forever. i read on into the jungle. jezebel tent. men greeting women. shirtless and wet. tangled skies above. tender skies below. shoulders shudder on slow walks with strangers. waist deep in snow. i read your letters far too slow. show me signs of coming home. of loving still. fill my mind with secret lines. share yourself in a phrase or two. wrap yourself in the finest wool until the sun stands still. mount your magic mare and glide. over jails and long stone walls. lay the night away in gowns that flutter and flow. will you see me when your lights are low. see me in the tavern clouds. in the twisted jokes of fellow clowns. have you seen me in the frowning sky. smiling at thoughts of you and me. hey babe. i need your words. set my better instincts free. your reticence is ripping me apart. tell me not lose my grip. send me beads of irish rain. send me grains of spanish soil. return to me when roan leaves crumble. when the wind is light to rustle. blue sky ahead melts away to purple. streetlights hum and flicker. down comes the night. heat pipes chuckle. window panes cackle. sacrifice is everywhere. the air about me clings like dust. heavy motes across my chest. fall dismays the summer. winter winds enthrall. captivated lovers stumble through it all. can you see me in the circling pounding of infidelity. gently chipping away at loneliness. it doesn't come easy. it's rough on the heart. trying to be the man of your dreams. we're walking around blind. our compass is dated. i was trying to be a lion just the other day. i said she's wonderful. but i don't need her. i don't need anyone completing me. i belong alone. seven weeks gone. still no letter. i've grown accustomed to the weather.

Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Share on Reddit
Pin It

About Jeffery Van den engh

Jeffery Van den engh was born in the Montreal Jewish General Hospital not too long ago. "I read T.S. Elliot mostly, but my greatest influence comes from music. I am inspired by many things, but mostly memories. I write because I'd be foolish not to." Jeffery has written this poem for his bio. for my more readers i haven't yawned very long in literary circles. to bear away in basements clueless to the sensual flux of seasons. to masturbate salvation. to suckle inspiration from the posthumous teat of some old bard as life leaps and sprouts beyond the sheen of chessboards freshly greased. through nicotine pasted casements angled only by a bible turned propping stone. where semen glazed posters portend towards a plaintive future. a bleak tunnel. perhaps a blade of moonshine. to slurp pretensions and mochachinos smoking catastrophes on corduroy sofas. to seek out kinship with williams and ginsberg. to ridicule daddy with reference to cronus. i regard your disquietude. would you have me cease to notice. my arms in raised pomposity. i coliseum cheer. sparrow songs truckle when you speak. please undo me with your wit. slit my wrists with paper daggers. to abscond to paris patios. bleeding woman with my tongue. to squat square chested on a breakwater trembling from the ocean score. to flake away in fiery conversations. to build up like hysteria squeezed into a padded jar. to erupt with scorn and snobbery. to juggle for the bar. to bury my face in lunacy dripping drunken la dee das. is to me a waist of life. which is to me replete with inspiration.
   21 months ago - edited
I liked this poem a lot, and found a lot of meaning in it, probably because of my personal life. But I liked particular lines "will you see me when your lights are low," and "send me beads of Irish rain." I too find inspiration in the drunkenness of others. A particularly more poem.
   21 months ago
I particularly enjoyed the bio poem.
   21 months ago
I think this is my favorite poem on Red Fez. Beautiful lines, Jeffery.
   26 months ago
I am still reeling...not sure which was more overwhelming - the magnificent prose poem, or the bio that followed...too many word choices and phrases that tickled my poetic funny bone to pick a favourite

Graphic of the Week

Thursday, February 16th, 2017

FOOD: Salvador Dalí Does Food Porn:

Need a few novel ideas for your Valentine Day's feast to impress your beloved's discriminating palate? Have a hedonist you'd like to wine and dine...
FOOD: Salvador Dalí Does Food Porn
by Lori Gomez