Gina Wilke

Wordgrove presents:

Wordgrove

Wordgrove

    presents:

Verses

She is young...too young perhaps to write poetry this experienced.

But she does and knows whereof she speaks, because she nails it. 

Welcome to the promise of...       Gina Wilke

I was in Portland      

I remember there was a stone fountain

and brick buildings

I remember I came in a denim skirt and Chinese flats

carried a brown handbag

my skin was pale silk

and I came there

inner city

inner pain

buildings lurching forward

streets racing sideways

fast mouths  futile gestures

I was sober throughout

all the insanity

yet

I remember

men frothing at the mouth

women mumbling beneath those towers of paradise

dressed up as monkeys and strange fish

an eerie rain began to shift and pull

I saw

screaming instruments

oriental lights with a spherical gleam

growing pavement

cinnamon cigars

that bakery with the pink counters

throbbing feet

a man wearing an apron

books under his arm

with a flask of whiskey

a Mexican torpedo

a destitute daughter, penniless

This has all passed by on the boulevard

sizzling food

cigarette fumes

silver men statues

fire in a child's eyes

dreadlocks

Sorrowful fighters

welcome signs

Buddhist bibles

Christian bibles

all being passed out

by those noble priests and

basic philosophers

dogs lurking in the back

of that Italian place

birds on their streetlamp thrones

children searching for heaven

boys limping

biting at their lips

drums beating into my liver

cold pavement

pointing fingers

and the ever-present pain and brilliance

in all the faces

Lovers

Transients

Exotic dancers

Murderers

and Chefs

Guitarists

Wanderers

Lesbians

Gods

and Fathers

not a single one

.familiar

This is the city in all its glory

~~~~~~~~~

from:

This One Time I Rode The Bus

...

there's always some bastard trying to tell his story on the public bus

and there's always some glory in the history of an old drunk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tribute to the Artist

Swiftly he stole my words with his blue kiss

And wrapped his arm tightly about empty

Floors and caressed my stomach.  This I miss

Light poured in from the window so sweetly

But it intruded upon dark embrace

And lonely quarrels between desperate hands

So he led me, a dim room with lace

And tile floors and fabricated night and

The porcelain sink which he slowly

Hoisted me up upon by tender hips

And there we made love so effortlessly

glass mirrors, the thrust of wandering lips

Oh we pieced ourselves together slowly

and we thought the flow of romance empty

******************************

Oh Blessed Africa

                                                                                                     

river waters

pumping

she can see it now

caressing the banks

tall grass

small children

peeling back

those leaves

like fingers

with pale arms and

painted eyes

jewels rotting there

in the ground

oh destitute daughters

leave this city

for that place in Africa

mango smells

pow

wawawawawawa

the edge of the jungle

chikookoochikookoo

swallow her

oh Africa

feed her your slumber

your rain

and even

your strange animals

failed gardens

and the new

summers harvest

she will kneel there

hypnotized by the cruelty of

this foreign nature

see the vine twist

its curse like

death around

that tree

the onion of pain  

                                                                                       

so there I was

walking along the avenue

and you know

one of those moments

of insanity

overtook me

like a horrible lie

you know

when you question

the pain you feel

right now

so you begin to lash your arms about

then hurl yourself in

front of that car

and you feel your

legs

split

hear yourself

scream

your stomach

churns

then your body tumbles

up

and over

the hood onto

the asphalt

leaving mere decorations

of reds

blues

browns

and ivies

along the concrete

everyone sees this horror

everyone can see your pain

and

slowly a low grumbling

you know

a mumble forces itself

through your tightly

pressed lips

"finally," you say

"I know true pain."

lying there in pieces

you begin to gather yourself up

realize that all

the trite comments

day to day

useless

you begin to ignore everything

and you know

just become completely detached

from overscheduled days

even from time

itself

yes I have felt the pain of a dying child

of a cancer patient

of a paraplegic

of an obese woman

and even

of a broken home

futile motion

everybody's going somewhere

in their squeaky bicycle thrones

on their squeaky feet

we're all going somewhere

we're all poor

bumming cigarettes

off that other guy

we can't afford

a burrito

a beer

a war

a taxi

or even a good fuck

we're all

walking talking

moving our hands

washing our faces

picking at our toes

pointing fingers

and waving hello

goodbye

we're all in

one place

speaking deceit

to feed these lonely habits

everybody's got

somewhere to be

someone to be

curling their tongues back

to feel the

roofs of their mouths

curling their fingers in shame

curling inside themselves

there's something to beat

leaning against

that bench post among

teachers

and timers

talkers

swindlers

wasters

flatterers

lawyers

philosophers

and shrinks

there's nothing to beat

Your Symphony

you can hear your stomach digesting

it's like a damn symphony

and you like the sound of it

so you eat constantly

it's like a disease

it's all just a horrible accident

and you can't really make out what

it's trying to say

so

you just keep feeding the symphony

oh the beauty of it

the audience cheers

you sit in your yellow leather chair

and scream

'PLAY ON PLAY ON!!!!!'

you love the noise

the music of it

men playing violins and

women at the piano

churning and

yearning

for that next bite

that next compulsive snap

'PLAY ON!!!!!!'

chuckle gurgle ahhhhhh

it's like a damn symphony