One year of collected poetry of all types.

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Stephen Huff's
ALL THE GRIM MINUTES
September 8, 1999


all the long days to dally
a boat tied to shore
and the incessant waves lapping
at the watermark
grown green and crusted
to mark a passage of ages
all the black hours to folly
slow dip the finger
into the finite measure of time
so the ripples spread to infinity
and are gone forever
where forever fades
all the grim minutes succumb me
a summer afternoon dream
beneath a blazing sun
and the wind a secret whisper
in the ear to tell tales
of disaster come and gone
all the scant seconds to drown me
madness the dawn unfolding
between eyelids tightly shut
so the sky is a pinch of sweetness
and the mind become
a harsh grip of enduring night
Stephen Huff's
YANKED
September 8, 1999


yeah, you da big man
you come, slap my hand
spank me for my pranks
beat me for my wet sheets
yeah, you da big man
you got dem big hands
dat take me snatch away
all in one quick yank
Stephen Huff's
INDUSTRY
December 11, 1999


their dark parlors wherein dark dreams are laid
with the certainty of manicured hands that would lay upon
crystal tumblers
filled to the brim with heady liquors
with the certainty of the eye that is blue to the core
turned to the sum with a measuring disdain
with the certainty of the riding crop
tucked beneath the arm
that flashes this way then that alongside the cattle cars
their dark minds wherein black thoughts portend
a doom of madness to plague all from depths of reason
that is sterile and void of conscience
from the depths of lewd depravity that is called science
that delves into the most sacred lairs of nature
with a vandal, unwholesome intent
their dark genius wherefore we are made slaves to the machine
while they are faceless and well kept
within keeps of unknown magnificence that are turned against us
while we are tangled to the flesh in the mechanism
that sprawls across the land and leaves it unclean
but never where they live
while our children drink poison and eat scraps
their children dine on opulence beyond a poor man's dreams
their dark endeavors that are cancers to eat the life of our desires
to leave us nothing in the end save wrinkles and faded feelings
to leave us naught when they are done
save for the bestial holes they have made in us
by the relentless thrashing and boring and poisoning of their damned machines
to leave us nothing when we are used up
beyond miserable dollars that cannot last us through to the end
and mere tokens of esteem that is nothing beyond a sick, tormented curse
Stephen Huff's
WHAT LOVE THE TOUCH
December 11, 1999


what dream the dead
when the dead are so long asleep
what seem the unborn
when the unborn are so long unmade
what seem the mind
when the mind is not given to record
what bear the hand
when the hand is opened to relax
what harbor the soul
when the soul is never witness
and what love the touch
when the touch is not but mind
Stephen Huff's
WHEN I DIE
December 11, 1999


when I die
let me not whine about the pain
or bemoan my regrets
when I die
let me not witness the flash
of my life before my eyes
when I die
let me not lay unaware
to think of nothing
when I die
let me not go of an instant
and no time to ponder
when I die
let me think of these things
that were most human
let me think
when I die
of my wife's cupped breast
as it once lay in my hand
free and gentle
let me consider
the first sight of my children
that struggled in my arms for life
regardless of my understanding
let me remember the feel of my fingers
on these keys when they were dancing
hot and true
let me remember the breath of my pipe
when it was sweet and smooth
and lent my mind the wandering touch
of my dearest friend, Mary Jane
let me remember the cool touch of wind
on my cheek
and the sleepy sound of rainfall
dripping from the eves of my safe house
let me remember warmth
when the world was cold
and let me not forget how it felt to be so full
when children starved
Stephen Huff's
WHERE DREAMS
December 12, 1999


where dreams tread
nightmares follow
where lie the dead
the living wallow
where sleep safe babes
fiends must hunt
and where delves the prick
there shoves the cunt
where fat men feed
thin men grovel
where young ladies gossip
old men dodder
where madness hides
sanity shelters
and where you want to know
ignorance is better
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