Poems

Poems by Lee Bob Black

Lee Bob Black reading some of his poems (videos)

Lee Bob Black reading poems and songs written by others (videos), such as Corey Taylor, Charles Bukowski, Allen Ginsberg, and Ani DiFranco.

Marilyn Manson: I am the third and final beast (video)

Nelson Mandela: I Am Prepared To Die (video)

Five poems for Sonhos Intensivos (Intense Dreams)

My collections ...

Behind The Shelter Of That Dark, Mysterious Name (Poems 1991-1994)
You’re Not The Intellectual I Thought You Were (Poems 1995)
I Covered All My Mirrors Today, In The Name Of Self-Discovery (Poems 1996)
Random Acts Of Senseless Writing (Poems 1997-1998)
no innuendo here (Selected Poems 1991-1997) (artwork by Damon Kowarsky)
No Longer 25 – The Sonja Poems (Selected Poems 1999)
Destined For Greatness Or Obscurity, or, It Should Always Rain At Funerals (Poems 1999)
My Dear-Sons-Of-Bitches / IoftheStorm (Poems 2000-2002)
Step Into Your Shadow Self (Poems 2003-2005)
Good Ideas Always Pop Into My Head When I’m Showering (Poems 2006-2009)

Following are selections from my collections ...

You’re Not The Intellectual I Thought You Were (Poems 1995)

my condolences

so, god, placed, commas, between, each, of, your, grandma’s, breaths,

and, said, to, her, “it’s nearly time for you to say good-bye”

so; god; placed; semi-colons; between; your; grandma’s; nights; and; days;

and; said; to; you; “she may not wake”

so. god. placed. a. full. stop. at. the. end. of. your. grandma’s. life.

and. said. to. her. “it’s time to die”

so! god! placed! exclamation! marks! after! each! memory! of! her!

and! said! to! you! “a smile is the best alibi”

so? god? placed? question? marks? at? the? end? of? your? grandma’s? death?

and? said? to? all? “why did this happen?

for god’s sake?”

I Want To Fruit You

I want to jump your bananas and do you berry-style

I want to give you multiple oranges and make you cucumber like Niagra Falls

I want you to lick my watermelons and finger my strawberry

I want you to squeal like a peach and love me as if there’s no more tomatoes

The Mermaid

Will you hold me to that which I’ve done,

Those pieces of my past which I deplore?

Will you hold them to my head like a gun

That loves me not nor for me care?

Will you swim through the door

That you shun?

Will you dare?

Will you kiss me, princess of the sea,

Love me to the depths of your heart?

Will you kiss the future with me,

Take my hand for the balance of forever?

Will you be my sweetheart,

My lady,

My lover?

II.

Lovelier than thou,

Coming, coming now.

Comes the mermaid to my plea.

From the deep, fish weep,

From a time forgotten,

Comes Neptune’s daughter,

Coming, coming now.

Comes the mermaid to my plea.

Through the angry sea of destiny,

Through the legend of a sailor’s friend,

Comes the mermaid,

Comes the mermaid to my plea.

She, mysterious.

She, goddess.

She comes.

Lovelier than thou,

Coming, coming now.

Comes the mermaid to me, to my vow.

I Covered All My Mirrors Today, In The Name Of Self-Discovery (Poems 1996)

The Last Will And Testament Of Lee Bob Black

I leave my flesh and bones to one of those research organisations

with the "don't take your body to heaven,

heaven knows we need it here" bumper stickers,

or to one of those universities with medical students who have 'practical' work

that entails slicing and dicing corpses and hurling

the remains

of grandmas and grandpas at each other when the teacher isn't looking.

You can all squabble amongst yourselves over

my diaries, photo albums, Metallica CDs, poems,

queen-size futon and king-size doona, large-print Melways,

painting of hovering naked woman, empty wine rack,

purple/black/blue roller blades and my favourite head kickers.

like when your parents

ask you to sit down

to tell you something

that needs for you to

be sitting like they're

divorcing or they

want to move away

from your friends or

your grandparents

have died or even

something else, worse

and then before going

to beddy-byes you turn

the television off and

touch the screen and

static electricity moves

through your palms and

you monotonously switch

the tv on and off just

to feel the sensation

and you have one of

those bizarre moments

of clarity like when

you can actually see

music coming from

your speakers

and you say aloud

to the super heroes

on your wallpaper that

you hope it snows

tomorrow

Every Twenty-Eight Days

When I'm pre-menstrual:

I'm horny and I'll beg and beg and beg - I'll take everything I can get;

I have conflicting and confusing feelings - I'll take everything personally;

My insides prepare for

World war three ...

... every twenty-eight days. Emotional maze. Ovulating. Patience abating.

Males can't empathise. They don't bleed between the thighs.

When I'm menstrual:

I don't think with my head - I think with my hormones;

I'm irrational and irritable - I think I'm entitled to be;

And by the way, you can

Love me or leave me ...

... every twenty-eight days. Stomach ablaze. Abdomen pains. When it flows it rains.

Males can't empathise. They don't bleed between the thighs.

Random Acts Of Senseless Writing (Poems 1997 & 1998)

REFLE C TI ON

if I were to give birth to a

DEF OR ME D

P AR APLEG IC

or a girl with

'PA L SY

or a

M ENTA LLY

R ETA RDE D

boy

I don't know if I could keep it ...;

my son

my daughter

not mine

it would be a reflection upon me,

if I gave the newborn up

it would be a reflection upon me,

if I raised it, loved it

They're All Pink Inside

The old and raw mothers

The young and experienced daughters

The ones with purple eyes

The haters of men

The ambitious liars

The affluent, lost ones

The poets

Strip them down

Sit them down

on a hard, wooden chair

Get on your knees

Open their knees

and ...

pink pink pink pink pink pink

Too

"can I be honest with you?

...

can I speak my mind?...

I think, Lee,

that you

try too hard to be cool

you can't relax

or go with the flow."

what do I do?:

not walk tall,

not strive,

not wish to stand out,

thank him for his candid observation...,

be someone

else?

and what should I think

when

another

friend,

someone I've done

everything with

(except swap spit with)

backs up this damning insight

into the perceived/real me

with the remark

that even some of our

close friends

think that I love myself

too

much?

I enter the first heaven and

eavesdrop on Adam exalting Seven (the movie) and how

the seven deadly sins are precisely mankind's truest desires.

Eve is being rather womanly (go figure)

and just can't get it through Adam's thick skull that humankind should live

as per the seven virtues.

and I know deep, deep, deep down I

favour the sin of pride to the virtue of charity,

lust to justice,

sloth to temperance and

so on.

and anyway neither notice me, so I move on.

I enter the second heaven and

listen to Jesus talking aloud to himself over a café latte and a ciggie.

he's dissecting the logistics of the seven days of Creation and

mumbles (once again, to himself) that if there was an eighth he'd have put money on Dad going fishing.

needless to say, JC pays me no credence,

and even though I'm not the first person to be cold-shouldered by the Son of God,

I'm harbouring a hunch he's singled me out.

and when someone like that has it in for you, you move on.

I enter the third heaven and

the Angel of Death is writing in his book the names of newborns

and blotting out those of the newly dead.

Azrael feels my presence

but can't look up and can't chat

because a ferry has just gone down off the coast of Madagascar and

I want to tell his deaf ears that he should invest in a Dell laptop with Microsoft Word 97

but realise that although technology usually is the (albeit cliché) answer,

in this case it is not, so I move on.

I enter the fourth heaven and

the Angel of Tears is a blubbering mess, shedding ceaseless tears for the sins of man (and wo-man).

I want to throw him a life-jacket

but he's burdened by all our filthy ways

and besides he wouldn't believe that it's the seven heavenly bodies which

steer our collective destinies, not our free will.

so, while recognising that sharing pain is not always a successful way of reducing it,

I remain bitter that I can't lift the weight of the world from his shoulders, and I move on.

I enter the fifth heaven and

the Avenging Angel is evaluating which of the remaining Seven Wonders of the World

should be the next to turn to dust.

he's got Stonehenge and the Coliseum of Rome in his sights

and I've got no time for angels who downsize our tourists attractions, so I move on.

I enter the sixth heaven and

Moses is trying to sell an idea to the Guardian Angel of Heaven and Earth

that existence-as-we-know-it would be heaps better off (his words) if

rather than having different languages, we have only one and that

rather than having seven seas, we have just one

because then each of us would be drowning in the same ignorance -

rather than incongruent ignorances.

and I think it's much of a muchness and, wrapped in total confusion,

which is a necessary ingredient for change, I move on.

I enter the seventh heaven and

I'm the first mere mortal to stand in the Abode of God and

each inhabitant is bigger than the earth

and has 70,000 heads,

each head 70,000 faces,

each face 70,000 mouths,

each mouth 70,000 tongues,

and each tongue speaks 70,000 languages,

all forever chanting praises of the Most High.

and I can't hear myself think

and I'm developing one capacious headache

and I need my sunnies 'cause divine light's everywhere

and I'm weary like I've just summitted Everest without supplementary oxygen

and is God me?

and the answer is in the question, but life is an un-answerable question,

so instead of moving on I squat right there and reflect.

Destined For Greatness Or Obscurity, or, It Should Always Rain At Funerals (Poems 1999)

Isolate, Intoxicate, Infiltrate

Subject them to subliminal sexual messages.

Baffle their brilliance with your bullshit.

Lull them into a false sense of security.

Remind them that the carnal instinct is a muscle -

The more you use it and let it rule you,

the stronger it becomes.

Feed their egos.

Tell them that the rule is MEN ARE SWINE.

Then demonstrate that

You are the exception to the rule.

my advice to you is to lose yourself to find yourself

meditate the ache away

let things go

take time

shed narcissism

give credence

absorb sun-rays

crave not possessions or luxury

water understanding

share smiles

build inner self, foster inner activity

act on good omens

cleanse your psyche

envelope yourself in inventiveness

develop imagination and aliveness

help

cultivate a culture of sharing and sacrificing

penetrate the surface and grasp reality

recreate your own creativity

bathe in generosity

search for spiritual wealth

dream

block ego from blocking you

dance on the inside

dabble with genius

serve the beautiful

unlearn greed and power

trust your heart

live lives within your life

be one

be realistically idealistic

be holistic

be esoteric

be eclectic

be eccentric

be content

be tolerant

The urge to shoot down planes

sticker

on her bedroom door reads:

"Q: if this is the question, then what is the answer?

A: if this is the answer, then what is the question?"

Confused, I enter

Clothes litter the floor - she

steps daintily between them

whilst

I stomp heavily with contempt on them

She says she intends to

name her

daughters

Strawberry

and

Cream

We live surrounded by generalisations and stereotypes and

like an iron lung it dawns on me that she fits no

helpful

societal moulds

The next moment

her body is one huge violent mouth

and at a million words a second

she's shouting

"lions have been known to do away with cubs in their pride

so they can have sex with the

lionesses!"

and

"if you want to make a civilisation extinct,

you only have to kill all of the

women!"

and

she convinces me that I also hate men!

... But I can't find an

equal-opposite word

to misogyny

She's had her fringe cut and coloured

so that

red hair-horns

are poking out of her head

like blood-stained daggers and

now I'm really

freaking

out

as if I'm

caught in the headlights of

tsunami

My Dear-Sons-Of-Bitches / IoftheStorm (Poems 2000 & 2001)

Manhattansexypoem 3

it's okay for her to flash

her red undies to me, here in Central Park

the frisbeeists and hackey-sakers

friz and hack their sport-art, here

Starbucks cappuccino capitalism

is disregarded as

sneaky beer-vendors sneak

their goods amongst us;

"ice-cold Heineken beer, here"

later, I'm not thinking about

how the nude is the most challenging genre

as we snap

… photos of fellatio

… photos of slapping butts

… photos of her request "I want you

inside me,

behind me"

if we'd had a camcorder

we'd have captured

her

yelling "what's my name?!" and

- thankfully, surprisingly -

remembering it at that instant where

vulnerability is limitless

Manhattansexypoem 2

she walks in and chooses me

I'm the one she's taking home

thank you Lord for meat markets

thank you Lord for the foibles and follies of human nature

she tells me her instincts tell her

I'm all the rage in bed

"sometimes, sometimes not" I reveal, feeling

like that guy who plays at being impotent

she proclaims a necessity for honesty and

scorns courting games

- so I say "I'm having casual sex already in New York,

but honestly, I'd still fancy sleeping with you"

"no games?"

"no games"

she makes me want to poetise during sex

and, thinking of my 3 passions:

sex, writing, and writing about sex,

I ask "have you ever made it with a poet?"

Lenny Kravitz is infusing the mood

as I'm a cat clawing and turning on my master's lap, trying to get comfortable

she speaks into the microphone,

pausing to ask "what if hokie pokie is what it's all about?"

we're watched by telescopes in near-by apartments

as I push the out-of-control-button

she's giving off a sensuality that could stop armies

but I don't care

she's pleading now

Friedrich maintained that power over oneself is always

better

than power over others

but I don't care

she's bouncing now

Manhattansexypoem 1

at the Guggenheim she says

that René Magritte's The Lovers

(you know that surrealist painting of a man and woman with

white hoods hiding their faces?)

is how most people fuk,

as if the act must be an act of concealment,

fuking cloaked by darkness,

fuking riddled with shyness

so we mirror-sex it to distance ourselves

from "them", perhaps from ourselves

it's theatrical, but it isn't theatre

it's pornography, but not urban smut

it's using a feather, but not the whole chicken

undeniably, sex with a view is better than sex with no view

Nudism / Leeism

it's better to be nude

nudity is a language

food tastes tastier nude, especially peanut butter

nude dancing is the only form of dancing

being nude is being true to yourself

hold long meaningful conversations nude

hold trite meaningless conversations nude

animals, under their fur and feathers, are nude; we are animals pretending to be humans

philosophy is a nude mind

to be nude, wholly nude and nothing but nude, now that's luxury

say the word nude while you're nude - it feels yummy

eroticism and sparkism are nonsense without nudism

things are meant to dangle and flap when nude

nudeness and quality are synonymous

we seek the nude

you have never been anywhere unless you've been there nude

I Must Not Mistake Love For Want Of Love

I am smack bang in the middle of it

Everyone is someone else

Horns beep less

Architecture is new

The air … is new

No retreat, I've burnt my bridges, I am smack bang in the middle of it now

The gloves are off, my guard is down

I am smack bang in the middle of it now

All my Big Choices are whimsical

or made on one millionth of all the info

but I'm not feeling homesick

and I'm not feeling alone

I am smack bang in the middle of it

Burning

Transforming into a hermit, into

the person I must be

Great writers go to great pains, they say

I say, I'm now smack bang

in the middle of it

and I'm not going to blandly make

the most of it,

I intend to

search endlessly

love hopelessly

and

Live with abandon

Good Ideas Always Pop Into My Head When I'm Showering (Poems 2006-2009)

The Devil interprets art with a sincerity that God lacks

A Christian wears a “Jesus is coming, look busy” t-shirt

A Muslin wears a “My God is more vengeful than your God” t-shirt

A Jew wears a “It’s all Hebrew to me” t-shirt

A Buddhist wears a “God is listening, use big words” t-shirt.

An agnostic wears a “The Religious Fence, get on it” t-shirt

A bright wears a “I only disbelieve in one more god than you do” t-shirt