Small Poetry Showcase from RP Verlaine

photo from pixabay

At 26

Having been on the streets 
long enough for 
the rest of 
his life to be 
an anticlimactic series 
of near fatal falls to
the abyss routinely 
calling his name- 
Les, in his rock 
t-shirts and jeans tighter 
than the grip of drugs 
on an addict which 
he also knows- 
more intimately than 
most of his intimate- 
friends - 
makes himself available 
for men with ghastly 
eyes and smiles so warped 
they couldn't be fixed 
by all the makeup men 
in Hollywood.

It is a living, as it is also
slow death he tells me 
how they eventually come   
to him. Still young 
enough for that 
to be almost easy most 
weekend nights. Where they   
kneel to him as if 
he were a flawed god 
made of something 
more than glass. 

Married men are the 
easiest, he claims. 
And night club pickups 
the most dangerous.. 
Their rock hard bodies 
prisms of violence   
drugs, drink and rage 
born of too many empty 
hours in the hopeless 
thrall of annihilation. 
Which he admits 
to being drawn to 
as well. 

I've seen him spill his 
barren soul at poetry   
readings where he 
makes up for skill   
with stinging candor and   
acid observations   
I'm always moved by. 
 
His recurrent 
theme is that he 
won't make it to 
30. Based on 
all I've seen of 
his life and others 
equally dissolute 
or exquisitely   
less so… 
I have to agree. 


Crosses & Kisses

Evening of sin 
begins with her 
removing her cross. 
 
Life's too short 
says her tattoo 
I say maybe. 
 
Champagne from 
her lips lingering 
on mine. 
 
She licks 
edge of my ear 
with a smile. 
 
I lean even 
closer to this 
flawless mirage. 
 
Wondering if 
it will vanish 
up close. 
 
She doesn't 
our shadows 
are all too sure. 
 
They have 
much to say to 
surrounding walls. 
 
Silent voyeurs 
without eyes 
who hide us 
 
All night 
and we half pray 
keep some secrets. 


For a Suicide

The first kiss 
and its every echo 
in all the others 
come to me 
swimming upstream against 
each dream that brings 
you back only to steal 
you again to depths 
I remake with tears 
even now, two years  
after you drowned. 
 
Each day has 
its own remembrance 
taunting as any  
ending that 
begs to be re written such as ours 
it may be our destiny that it still can be 
in all the lives we’ve yet to live


Bio: Rp Verlaine, a retired English teacher living in NYC, has an MFA in creative writing from City College. He has several collections of poetry including Femme Fatales Movie Starlets & Rockers (2018) and Lies From The Autobiography 1-3 (2018-2020). Rp’s work has been featured in Punk Noir, Ygdrasil, and Runcible Spoon. 




By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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