Great themes in poetry

1. Quit procrastinating,
         you’ll be dead soon


2. Flower = vagina,
         please have sex with me


3. This government sucks,
         but I can’t say that directly


4. I am lonely, angry,
         (fill-in the blank), etc.


5. This poem
         is a self-reflective poem


6. I’m a fairly clever intellectual


7. I actually love you,
         and could tell you over and over


8. It’s spring,
         life is filled with beauty, possibility and newness


9. It’s autumn,
         life is rich but impermanent

-Jim DuBois
March 20, 2005

I Don't Know Exactly What to Say

I was gunna
write this poem
about the feelings
I'm having
about dating you,
but there haven't been
any disasters,
and I'm not filled
with unattainable longing
and you're not at all cold
or distant
and I realized
there's no pressure
because you like
my actual natural self
and so I guess
I don't know
exactly what to say
or even exactly
how to write
a love poem
when I'm so
relaxed and happy.


-Jim DuBois
July 22, 2009

Love note poem #1 for Kara

Hey! It's wednesday,
and I miss you!
The hugging and kissing
and especially
the love.

-Jim
July 22, 2009

And Love is Like (May 11, 2005)

Love is like
    a demon loan officer
    possessing and re-possessing
        my heart,
    demanding timely payments
        of imagination and memory,
    held at bay
        only by obscure signs
            of blood and fire.

And love is like
    a lion you find unexpectedly
    in your home.
You fling scraps of poetry-covered paper
    at it in a wild despair,
    hoping
        it will be delayed long enough
            for you to escape out the
                window.

Love is like a tornado,
    scattering your carefully arranged loneliness.

Love is your shadow.


-Jim DuBois

Oct 27, 2008

Caught up by desire,
suddenly afraid of a real yes
because of "what if?"


-JD

Short Poems, Short Affair

All fucked-up
      and tender-hearted,
waiting for you to call

Long, open-hearted hours,
at the green bus stop,
      and in my dream-like room

I love you already,
I miss you
      even after one day

Real love is so simple
I don't have much to say about it,
      but I want to keep saying it

Confusing conversation -
you like me... but...
not ready right now?

All fucked-up
      and broken-hearted,
and wishing you were mine

I kissed you goodnight
I took that flower you gave me out of my pocket
I put your number back with all my other numbers


-JD

Stealing into your Heart (feb 28, 2005)

I wrote poems about love and longing,
I pined,
I schemed about ways to meet you,
planned what I would say
and how I might approach you.

It's all come to nothing so far.


Here's my latest plan:

You won't know me when I'm near,
because I will not notice you,
my eyes will glance over you to someone beyond,
I'll turn away,
look down,
keep walking,
but late at night
I'll return to my secret task:
digging a convoluted tunnel
to your heart,
bit by bit,
with a bent and rusty spoon
I stole from the cafe.

Any day now I'm sure to break through,
and stealthily enter
the chambers of your heart -
on tip-toe,
in socks,
breathing shallowly
and moving slowly.

I don't want to disturb anything,
I just want to see what it's like
to be in there.

Maybe I'd pause for a bit
and watch how you secretly
love the world
when you think no one else is around.

I might take a nap, too,
before I headed out,
because it would be so warm and comfortable.

The only things I'd leave behind
are a few tender kisses
in spots that wouldn't bother you
or disrupt your days,
a soft string guideline
to make finding my way back easier,
and a note
that said

  "Somebody loves you"


-Jim

Brief Encounters (Sept 5, 2000)

I saw the fading slogans
  of ever lasting love
    decorating the rusty railroad bridge
      in dare-devil
        spots.

I wondered about
  the people who wrote them,
    10, 15, 20 years ago.

I wondered
  if they still
    remembered.

I thought of you
and I wondered if
    our brief encounters
    were like those slogans,
  thrown up in a momentary abandon,
  left like relics
    for future lovers to find
    and wonder over.



-Jim DuBois

It Doesn't Turn Out Like in the Movies (Feb 25, 2005)

There's that face in the crowd,
a random person in a sea of strangers,
that sets your heart on fire,
and it doesn't turn out like in the movies,
because you never meet them,
and your struggle to tell them you love them
never gets resolved, one way or another.
You just go on seeing them every once in a while,
heart-aching, trying not to let on, trying not to care,
wondering why it seems to matter to begin with,
but not understanding how you can do nothing,
or how you could do anything, anyway.


-Jim DuBois

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