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

Let’s Tell The Same Old Jokes (Nov 26, 2005)

Let’s tell the same old jokes:
Men are X
Women are Y
    ha ha ha

Kids are Z
    ha ha ha

The liberals _________
The conservatives ________
    ha ha ha

Let’s tell the same old jokes
Let’s buy the same old stuff
Let’s do the same thing every day

Let’s watch the same old
    white guy talk show host
        tell the same old jokes
            with the same old attitude:
                cynical, detached, passionless,
                    mean, empty,
                        american bullshit artist

Let’s make the same old movies
Let’s write the same old dialog
Let’s have the same old plots

Let’s have the same old news:
You’re fucked!
There’s a disaster,
There’s a war,
Be afraid

Let’s show the same old ads:
Cars will set you free,
Beer will get you sex,
other stupid shit will make your life easier

Let’s make the same old excuses
Let’s play the same old games
Let’s tell the same old jokes

Let’s write the same old lines
Let’s tell the same old lies
Let’s commit the same old
    slow-death suicide by overwhelming mediocrity
        so popular in America.


                            - Jim DuBois

A Real Life (Dec 4, 2005)

If we told the truth
  it would be a story of:

fucking
fighting
loving
hating
hurting
crying
shitting
sweating
chewing
farting
burping
puking
breathing
pissing
scratching

thinking
talking
swearing
yelling
whimpering
lying
longing
wondering
wanting
cringing
laughing
running
wishing
touching
holding
and
dying


        -Jim

Stuart

I wish they'd named me
    Stuart,
'Cause then I coulda
    been nicknamed
    "Primordial Stu",
And I woulda
    jumped around
    like a monkey
And started
    a rock band.



           -Jim