Noel Negele- Three Poems

Street Life

Real people knock

On your door

From time to time

Hold hands

Drink together

Become friends

Familiars

Lovers

All this terrible involvement

All these players

It doesn’t take much time

Before you realize

They are only out there

To kill 

To humiliate

To diminish

To bring down

There’s so many people out there

As I stand in my living room in the morning

Scratching my balls

Feeling empty and meaningless 

Like so many times before

They are enslaved

Angry

Spinning in shells

Learning hatred

And passing it on like

Antibiotics

The drivers want to pass you

The pigs want to imprison you

The women want to hurt you

The doctors want you wounded

The lawyers want you in trouble

The bosses want you jobless

And your best friend

Wants to fuck your wife

The hand reaches in

Rips the flower apart

Dragging all the roots

While the others

Try to find a meaning

Amongst the knives.

There Was Once A Time

Broken mirror pieces on the sink

Your blood running runlets 

Amongst them;

Your fist wounded five times;

A small piece of the mirror

Jabbed into the knuckles

The snow begins to fall

Silently

And you remember her

Coming in your house

Her presence lighting up

The dark corners

Bringing feeling into the vacancy

Of your heart

She was so lovely 

Wasn’t she?

And you were so unlovely

You’d be grateful for a simple touch

Or look

Let alone the glorious dance

Under the sheets

You were both young

But you didn’t look like it at all

In those beautiful nights

With the windows open

As the air entered the room

Like a slick burglar

And the curtains danced

Like Turkish striptease girls

with a yearning to entertain you

And that wonderful way

She took the cigarette out of your

lips

As you lied there acting cool

To kiss you

With her tongue in your mouth

Like a light in the fog

And you know now

That you were once

Very much

Deeply in love

With that face reflected on

What’s left of the mirror

Staring back in disappointment

Weighing you

As if trying to find signs

Of an insanity

That would justify 

Some of all the terrible 

Waste that has passed

And of all the waste

that will most surely

Follow.

Underground Flowers

I would pretty much

Prefer a good view

When I die

Something

Like a sunrise over 

Mountains

Or better yet

A sundown

Over sea

Something good 

And beautiful

And far away

Something

That has nothing

To do

With humans

A good symphony

Is pleasant 

In a night with

A subtle darkness

But it is even more so

When shared

With a naked female

Resting on the bed

Next to you

Breathing love

In and out

Of courteous lungs

You know

It all leads to

The nothingness

But that doesn’t mean

That the transcendence

Doesn’t have to have

Poetry in it

Maybe a tear on the cheek

As you watch the orange ball

Of the sun

Eulogizing the day

Like a precious medallion

Dipped into the sea

Somewhere in the horizon

You cannot become

The best

Or the most terrible

But it matters little

Life will go on

After you’re gone

The dogs will keep pissing on the same trees

The armies will march for different reasons

The chaos needs little excuse

To break loose

And the lovers

Will always wait

For those coveted words

Of kindness

It will matter little

To the corpses 

Swarming the dirt

Like underground flowers

We will not

Be able to

Root for your efforts then.