For Every Time I Saw You (Sep 6, 2002)

I thought maybe
  I’d write a love poem
    for every time I saw you
      from a distance
        and longed to know your name,

A poem for every word
  that stuck in my throat
    when in your presence,

A poem for all the hours
  I spent thinking of
    ways to meet you
      that didn’t involve revealing
        that I already loved you.

But it would add up,
  you know,
    all that paper.

At first
  I’d slowly replace everything I own
    with stacks of love poems,
  but then the apartment would get too full,
  and the door would burst
  open like in the cartoons,
  with papers flying every-which-way
  …and there’s me running around,
  trying to keep things in order,
  keep them contained.

Me, running around making the worst
  hundred thousand poems
    into confetti
      for the impromptu parade
        for you,

And with the rest of the poems,
  building block after city block
    of shrines and monuments
      in your name.



                        - Jim DuBois

My Borrowed Ambition Pen (May 4, 2003)

My borrowed ambition pen:
      doodling,
                  noodling,
                              sketching,

trying to find
      what was lost

trying to arrange
      what is in disarry

trying to make sense of
      what doesn't make sense of


Like a mind of its own,
   it’s searching the shadows of my understanding,
      probing into my broken heart
         looking for the indestructible black box
            that holds the secrets
               to what went wrong


My borrowed ambition pen
   is travelling deep into outer space now,
      chasing comets of lost love,
         skirting the gravitational pulls
            of black hole disaster zones
               where nobody knows… knows what there
                  is there and nobody can.

What is it learning?
   What does it know?

When it gets back to earth
   we’ll have a party
      to study the complete map of the emotional cosmos
         called me,
      and we’ll put big red danger ‘X’s
         on certain spots,
         and never never go there
            except by accident,
            or if we have to because of true love again

Only this time I’ll have a new,
   re-enforced space suit,
      and extra oxygen tanks
      and plenty of food,
      in case I get stranded
         for a long time,
      and probably a homing beacon
         so you can come rescue me,
            all you people who were at my universe party
               and warned me not to go there,
                  but knew I would,
               because who can hold back
               where love and hearts are concerned,
               and who would want to anyway?


My borrowed ambition pen
   is like anti-kryptonite,
      boosting my strength to super human levels,
         and I’m using it to chop down
            forests of primal delusions
               where – by gum! – it’s still beating:
                  this old heart,
                     this old forgotten heart.

It looks like we got here in the nick of time, too,
   but it always feels like that,
      doesn’t it?



            -Jim DuBois

Hobbies of an Unemployed Poet (c. 2000)

Looking for change
Beneath pay phones and parking meters

Sweating shirtless in the sun

Hanging out in parking lots
    and on sidewalks

Abandoning practicality
    to study the mysteries of
        life and death,

Abandoning practicality
    to study faith.



            - Jim DuBois

Obsessing about my pants at 1:45 am (Oct 18, 2006)

Obsessing
about my pants
at 1:45 am

Obsessing
about my only sweater
at 1:55

Should I keep them?
Should I get rid of them?

Keep?
Get rid of?

Over and over

                (return to top of poem)



            - Jim DuBois

Poetic Grace (July 13, 2007)

I read about meaning
  and poetic grace
  and then
I fixed my toilet


        -Jim DuBois