Sparks

I’m just standing in the rain
barefoot in pajamas
taking in the night
thinking
of who you used to be
and who I once was
and now a fence
divides us
pulls our hearts apart
and love is forgotten
but still you are at no end
so I sleep sleep sleep
& dream of New Orleans
when youth was around
and sleep was not needed
and I touched you
when it happened

poem by Charles Lara
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Red Sin

The
Red Moon
slept
easy
over
the
garden of eden
waiting
for
the
worms
to
yawn again
before
the
feast
of
love and joy
requesting
just

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poem by Charles Lara
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The Great Room

books collecting dust
as old winos sleep
and students try
to fill their heads
with knowledge
and inspiration comes
out from the dead
while want to be poets
read rejections
typed on form letters
inside a public place
proclaimed to be
the largest library
in the city of Chicago
and I sit at
the smallest table
and read the want-ads
that might lead me
to my next job
because currently

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poem by Charles Lara
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The First Time Was Not The Last

i was not yet 22
when i walked around
with a bottle of sin
in my long black wool coat
the winter’s in Chicago
were very very cold
and i never thought
of going home
instead I wandered
the isolated streets
and went into
dark murky basements
and sat over heating vents
outside of university buildings
drank my posion and
smoked my shit
on those warm blowing vents
taking away the bite of the cold
i had no direction
and i didn’t care to find one

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poem by Charles Lara
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3 Steps To The Other Side

I

Worms worms
wiggle
without
inhibitions
or deep thought
upside down in fun
looking up for more
to wiggle wiggle
down again

II

Money money money
like a mad whore foaming
or Van Gogh slicing off his ear
or a suicide's regret
if you are not careful
it will invade your soul

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poem by Charles Lara
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Red Dago Wine

Red Dago wine
inside an Italian restaurant
called Mategrano’s
decorated like a
red red brothel
in the late 80’s
and everything
was as sweet
as the red dago wine
in a clear gallon bottle
without a label
smiling at me
for another taste
welcoming my youth that
planned to finally escape
but I couldn’t see it
until 15 years later
on the last day of
my 39th year
drinking red Dago wine

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poem by Charles Lara
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Grammer School

Today it was
twenty years ago
on the 3rd of June
where I found myself
on the top steps
of a church called Pompeii
wearing a thick light blue velvet suit
my oldman got it on Maxwell Street
the syle was 7 years passe'
still I stood there
and my legs were
just a little longer
than the hem of my pants
and I was feeling the heat
of a full belly sun.
youth draped itself
off my face
then the ending of my graduation
brought congrats and free beer
from everybody on Taylor st

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poem by Charles Lara
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Before it's Over

Clean and well fed
pushing white revolving doors
until time is up
and there is no longer
a reason to push
and smile
and think
it will get better
and ask for
the day to bring
another like it
before the sign
of the cross
ends another nightly
conversation with God
under cool clean sheets
inside a neat well lit house
below sapphire stars
singing sweet existence
away from the city

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poem by Charles Lara
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No rush

I waited on the subway platform
and listened to a young woman
play acoustic guitar and sing
her face was round and her eyes
were wide with hope, she delicately played
as her voice draped over the
passing trains, her song kept pouring
soon there was a small crowd around her
watching her thick black braided hair swing
with the melody of her sounds
she made me forget about my train
I smiled at her soft pale face
and gave her a buck
several other people followed
and she played harder
her voice grew louder
and more trains passed
nobody got on
nobody cared
and nobody looked at their watches

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poem by Charles Lara
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Who's In

Some of us lost before
the game was even over
like my buddy who took a spill
on his motorcycle in August
and snapped his neck
on a curb off Halsted Street
or my close high school friend
that grew apart with years
before the night when the
Cubs won the division and
his wife decided to
plunged a kitchen knife
into his heart for dramatic effect
then there was Billie
who lived in a tree house
one hot Chicago summer
before he had enough and walked over
to the Ike expressway and leaped
into the path of a speeding semi-truck
didn’t have a chance to survive

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poem by Charles Lara
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