Paul Haines Poems:

 

 

LET’S SIT RIGHT DOWN

LET’S SIT RIGHT DOWN
AND SAY HOW SLOWLY THE PASSING
CAN  APPEAR
TO TAKE

WHEN NOTHING
IN THE FORM OF EVERYTHING
IS AT STAKE

 

SUCH CREDENTIALS
AS HAVE BECOME PSEURONYM

MEMORY IN THEM
TAKING ON A NASTY HUM
IN BOTH DIRECTIONS

WE ARE ALL SO GOOD
I AM SORRY TO SEE US GO

OX PALATES CUT INTO
MATCHSTICKS REPLACING
MEDITAION OVERNIGHT

AS FORWARNED IS FORLORN
AND SEDULOUS DARE
TO THE OTHER

 

POEM FOR GRETCHEN RUTH

EVERY LIVING THING THEN
JUMPING UP

NOTHING PAYING
ATTENTION

LIGHT CRAWLING
AS SLOWLY AS EVER

INTO HIS HAMMOCK
HUNG IN MIST

AS DRY AS WASPS
WHOSE SONG

IS SONG AS
WEEPING

 

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS
(excerpt)

SO MUCH INFLUENCING
SO LITTLE AND SO
LITTLE INFLUENCING
SO MUCH

LEASING THE PUPPIES
TO STRAIN TOWARDS
PIGEONS

LITTLE ROSES ON THE
INSIDE OF AWNINGS

THE VIOLENT SENSE
TO ACTS

 

 

PEKING WIDOW

FROM NAKED BRIDGES
DIVING BRIDES RELAX
IN FREEFALL FISTFULS
OF SPARKLING ALBUMEN

SPLASHING AS SHORT
AS WATER FALLS
OF IT‘S INTENDED
RELENTLESSNESS

THOSE BELIEFS THAT
LIE IN ENFORCEABLE
WORLDS
YEIDING TO SEQUENCE

(ALL PARODY A RHYME
IN TIME OF JEOPARDY)

HORSES SEEN FROM AFAR
AS INCHES TALL
UP CLOSE IN THE MIST
INVISIBLE

WINDOWED LOVE
A SURINFECTION
SHE FEARS MORE

THAN THE GENTLEMEN
CHINESE PORCUPINES
CRYING IN THE COLD

 

THE PRINCE

HAS TAME SHEELP TO THE DUMP
AND THE SMOKE
IS WOOL COLORED

TO THE AMAZEMENT OF
EVEN SECRET CARNIVAL
WORKERS

THE PRINCE CONTINUED
TO SHIT THREE DAYS
PAST DEATH

LITTLE BAY SCALLOPS

 

WHAT IS FREE TO A GOOD HOME?
For Robert Wyatt

ON BIRD
WALKS

OUGHT
THOSE WHOE DON’T
BELIVE IN BIRDS

BE ALLOWED
TO TAG ALONG

WITH THOSE WHO
DO?

AND WHEN I
TOLD THEM

THEY DIDN’T
BELIEVE ME

 

STILL TRYING

STILL TRYING
AFTER ALL THESE
YEARS

TO LIGHT
THE FIRE?

 

BREAKFAST

HIS SURPRISE SO
INTENSE
IN SUCH AN UGLY
TOWN
FINDING SWEET
BUTTER
THE PRETTY WAITRESS
EASES
HER SILLY PANTS
DOWN

 

TODAY

WHIL YOU
WERE OUT

I WAS
IN

NOT THAT I
COULD BE
HIM

BUT THAT HE
COULD BE
ME

 

SONG SUNG LONG

INSIDE
THE MIX
RESIDES
A CLOCK
OF SONG
SUNG
LONG
BACKWARDS
FORWARDS
EMPTY
OR FILLED
WITH
OUTSIDE

 

HUMAN WEATHER WORDS

A DAY MARKING THE END OF A HARD WINTER, NO SNOW ANYWHERE
EXCEPT WHERE HIDDEN YELLOW , WITH A CHILL TO THE SOFTSTONE
BREESE BUT WARMTH FROM THE SUN IN A SKY AS PALE AS EYES.
AT THE LAKE, NOTES LEFT-WORDS FROM HUMAN TO HUMAN-UNDER
WINDSHIELD WIPERS HAVE FLOWN LOOSE, BEEN BLOWN ABOUT, NOW
LIKE LEAVES AFOOT, SHUFFLING AND HOVERING, MOMENT BY MOMENT,
AND BECOME STUCK TO THE TRUNKS OF TREES.

 

 

Now can you tell me
Or can it still be told?

Rooms free at last
Of meeting
And prosperous simile
Of poverty

No silly lucidity
Of wound
But and illicit extract
Of broken nose

As all wrong pieces
begin to fit
and so much of what
happens

doesn’t happen at
all

 

paint me!
dedicated to the President
of the United States of America

PAINT ME!
PAINT ME!

I’M A DOG
PLAYING CARDS