Bio: Rp Verlaine lives in New York City. He has an MFA in creative writing from City College. He taught in New York Public schools for many years. His first volume of poetry- Damaged by Dames & Drinking was published in 2017 and another – Femme Fatales Movie Starlets & Rockers in 2018. A set of three e-books titled Lies From The Autobiography vol 1-3 were published from 2018 to 2020. His latest book, Imagined Indecencies, was published in February of 2022. He was nominated for a pushcart prize in poetry in 2021 and 2022. Haiku for Jack Kerouac Too drunk to find where I was headed or been. Coney Island at the freak show I find my soul mate. Warming up the stripper takes off her glasses. No strings attached shows you how even bondage gets complicated The ashtray tells me how many cigarettes I've had since quitting. Moonlight finds the thumb of the hitchhiker My dance partner a bottle Stargazers We hot wire a car though we are far beyond any false sparks we may need. We make out between precautions abandoned and the waiting jail cells promised to us since birth. Cars seem to stand still, all going 55, too slow to chase us- totally high on meth and too crazy for redemption. This is our sixth robbery in three months. Two 7-11cashiers think we’re joking as if we knew how. And though my nine isn’t loaded, it looks good in her hand. The last holdup got us some ink in the local papers. We peel the Chevy Camaro out of the lot , leaving a blue blur crossing red lights. Out the window, we throw twenties at the stunned hitchhikers we pass. They'll remember us which is the point or it isn't. Outside the city limits she wants to play. Lust interferes our planned getaway to nowhere but what the heck. She chokes me and laughs, daring me to do it to her harder. The backseat leaves us bruised but the wine heals our pain. We stargaze on a hill, sad we don't see a shooting star which would be just right. Bottle empty when she starts more kissing. As flashlights like sabers penetrate our fog. The Sheriff's gun registers big time. .When she tells him the handcuffs are way too tight, the Sheriff smiles and jokes- we thought you'd like that. Zero Kickbacks of Love I should've stayed clear or seen past the broken glass to what it was. A mix of liquor both good and bad taken straight. Only one of us in love paying every day for zero kickbacks of love. Watching always her lovers real and imagined in the rear view mirror with face against the reflector. Driving with nervous hands on the wheel on those cruel nights when nerves shook me not knowing where she was. Impossible to find an illusion which was all she was. While I relived stolen moments in a nightmare waking up to turn on the radio to hear voices to convince me I was less alone... Until she came home smiling. We ended it promising to stay out of each other's lives. I do not miss the distress or being a jester stripped of the joke while played with like a child's toy. Love covets its petty tortures as it does its delights. Even with her gone I can't remove the poison she left to crawl in my veins. Loves petty tortures... Being drunk before noon again thinking of her, in an empty bar is one of them. Remembrance For Townes Van Zandt Ever laconic, drifting on any number of limitless booze and pills. Hardened self-respect lost in mirrors long ago cracked for wire thin showman w/ ace songs up and down his sleeves. A genius too many said to be ½ wrong. Bittersweet tunes laced with the underdog's sad eyed look as wistful idealism slithered through despair. Only 52 at his demise the cheap parlor trick of making virtuosity disappear. He is much missed. On his birthday, I listen to his masterpieces on old vinyl they were made in that just seemed to know... the odds of winning while playing the devil's default clauses. Where there's no such thing as dying from natural causes. 10/27/13 For Lou Reed After ten text messages state and restate your death… real tears come. Much later I let the usual escapes fail me. A foreign movie the wrong company and drugs no more illicit now than then to fuck me up enough to forget the present is temporary as all of us are to every mirror that matters… as fewer and fewer do. Making memory a hostage we have no ransom for only counterfeit dreams cheaper by the day. Invisible Handcuffs For Nick Cave “I'm layers of dark beneath that, she said is unsettled turbulence.” Her invisible handcuffs I ask to loosen she sets conditions. Staling all my Ramones t-shirts, so I'll like her a fraction less. Still it's strange to kiss her tattoos of Nick Cave on her thighs most nights. Until thin ice gives way to the deep cracks between each word we speak. She tells me she can wear gold in other places besides her fingers. Not a day-walker avoiding the sun keeps her pale skin white. I wonder about her with vague trepidation. Her eyes tell me she's a vampire but her cross tattoo hints she might be just going through a phase. Vicki For Lou Reed You were so fearless others followed asking few questions. In high school every boy learned to beg after watching you walk Doe-eyed girls all wanted to be you toteing birth control & voodoo dolls.. You who called lovers disposable, not that any got close enough to argue. No one has forgotten the night you threw Marcy halfway down the stairs For calling you a whore even if it was true You did fuck her boyfriend In a bathroom when a party got too damned dull. Or the time a limo pulled up to the club and the driver picked you from the rest. And you got 400 bucks to piss in an old man's mouth he didn't touch you- you said. For years, you supported more musicians than welfare by stripping in clubs Your drug habits so well known tales abound of near arrests and spectacular overdoses. Yesterday, I learned you have Aids that the new drugs can't help you nor will friends scarce as hope. So I write this -to mark in the wind a fragile beauty fallen- wishing only you or I- had learned how to pray. For Marilyn Monroe in Niagara Not yet the actress-Strasberg's method made her nor the diva forcing directors to wait for hours. Nor the legend books would fail to decipher she is here a presence that somehow towers over the falls themselves with callow ease moving as if each false step carries an alibi beyond a shady past she wants no one to see through a primal allure of 1/2 smiles and lies. Her cunning however is undone by wild fear when she's hunted and becomes the prey Monroe dazzles as she totally disappears in the role till her violent end can't be delayed Hands on her throat her mad husband gasps “I loved you Rose- You must know that” THORN OF THE ROSE for Joni Mitchell please dream of me you said and i ask what for when the stillness in my heart is but an ocean roar beating for you like ocean water into the sand washing away everything that was my love will stand and where will you be away somewhere laughing at me all too unaware of the blood in my hands that ill hardly know gotten by touching you thorn of the rose and when our words are mere echoes that no longer ring lost in the confusion and doubt that strikes deep within to a truth so uncertain that it cannot be found know only this-longing and you-shall always be bound and what would you say nothing i could hear that wouldnt make me cringe or reduce me to tears when your lies and deceptions are finally exposed tearing those they embrace as do thorns of the rose and when the candles have all blown out in a fold and like the starless night the airs searching and cold as it looks for a reason and traces what was if theres nothing left there will be my love and how will i find you away somewhere laughing with another all too unaware of the blood on my hands that ill hardly know gotten by touching you as do thorns of the rose yes the blood on my hands that ill hardly know gotten by touching you as do thorns of the rose
Category: Nick Cave
Poetry inspired by Nick Cave from Elizabeth Cusack
Clubs and Diamonds
You were not there On the sleeping veranda When we watched the sundown You did not see me shiver In a wet bathing suit As the sun went down Grandma was nearly Out of her head As she taught me to balance The silence and dread And daddy was in town Feeling sorry for himself His immaculate revenue Dead on the ground And mama pretending Jangling and pushing Everyone around Did not see me slither Watching grandpa Remembering mama In her silk nightgown I want to arrange One more vision of you Lying naked in the sun On a rock by the sea. Third War(Colossal) You knew what an alert was, You exited when told, You did not protest, You covered up quickly, And left with the rest. Were the woods radioactive, Were the corks, were the genes, Was the glass in the desert, Were the ways and means? Were you there when the bomb came, Did you see it fall, Did it leave a shadow on your wall? The man had a blade, And he cut your throat, He burned down your city, And he made you choke. When you woke with the dead, Did your heart still pound, Was it the day of the dead, The day you were found? When the innocent bathe in blood, Is the war over then, And are you set free? Breathe in and breathe out, The night is still here, And oh, my darling, you are so near! Bio: Elizabeth Cusack is a recovering actress. Ever since playing Rhoda Penmark in “The Bad Seed” as a child, deservedly, she has endeavoured to keep up her end of the bargain. Elizabeth has been blessed with the best of teachers over the years, mostly from the school of hard knocks. She has championed and performed in fringe theatre in America. Elizabeth edits her favourite poet while not otherwise inspired by her muse to write.
Poetry inspired by Nick Cave from Roy Duffield
How I Feel About Our Father
after Nick Cave under the cold sunshine cracked and bloody fingers weep through the swollen cotton-ball cloud a golden mo(u)rning- only after peeps I've got nothing to say to him. He, not even an eye for me. Bio: Roy Duffield helps edit Anti-Heroin Chic and his writing, which deals heavily with social injustice and youth rights, can also be read in The Nashville Review, Into the Void, Spillwords, Versification, Sein und Werden, and most recently, Seppuku Quarterly.
Poetry inspired by Nick Cave from hjarta
From hjarta (on Instagram) name means ‘heart in Icelandic’
Into Your Arms
Peace Tranquility Home and space Freedom A moment for my head to clear at last We’re moving together Hearts beating fast Sounds of love spinning in sweet circles of sensuality. Infinite Synchronicity You say we are serendipity personified Spinning skywards, I know I’m falling but too scared to say I want to play you a song to tell you how I feel You say. But my head is playing a song already Into my arms, Oh Lord Into my arms, Oh Lord Into my arms, Oh Lord Into my arms. I’m heading down that glorious downwards spiral, And yet upwards, out of control An out of body experience that hasn’t been present for oh so long, My head keeps playing that same sweet song. Our clear cool river We’re drowning in our own space and time With lightness of touch On sensitive skin Collective warmth…our closeness Together we merge as one We’re orbiting in our glorious galaxy Dancing to our own collective symphony We move to the music That plays in our heads Sensual sounds with rhythm and flow Orbiting virtual worlds below We lay at peace, Our place of sanctuary And notes that reverberate again in my head Into my arms Oh Lord Into my arms Oh Lord – into my arms. hjarta 2022
Poetry from Alexander Poster inspired by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis’ album “Carnage”
Apollo One-Six by Alexander Poster
The stain of beetroot on my hands As I hammered the patrolman Into Negative space Remains unsanitized. All astronauts have blue eyes. The spaceman with the round moon face Proclaimed, demanded One small step for a man A proud man, A gilded man, An armored man, A man in stack formation, A man, rabid, foaming bullets inside the atrium, He brought loaves and fishes and an amplifier And promised us dreams in still images only Of an unchanging Topography like Mars. A shining city on Olympus Mons. We prayed and tore our raiment At the moonlight of His visage. He will rise! He will launch! Because I gouged the patrolman Because we died for His sins. But fruit when it sits In its own juices Tends to putrefy. Out, damned spot! These rancid, ruddy hands Now reek with iniquity. But still, they will stain any white flag that, in weakness, I may wave Into the blackness of space.
Alexander Poster is a poet and fan of Nick Cave from Washington D.C. this song from the album “Carnage” strikes a chord with them due the Capital Insurrection even though the song pre-dates the event but feels in a way it predicted in a way.