earth rose last night 2.19.07


rose last night

your book leaping off the shelf


and i found again

hidden between the beauty and the art

rose the hate

your hate

FUCK HATE you once wrote

and santa monica’s boys in black came and closed you down

took you away and frantic mothers of young girls burned up telephone lines from ocean park to the palisades cliffs when copies of earth were found hidden among catechisms and twelve year old’s homework assignments

SMUT PEDDLAR ARRESTED screamed the evening outlook’s headlines

laying on the front walk of my parent’s house

i waited for my father to bring it in

watched him unfold it and read it like some dead-sea scroll

that could save or explain

his only child

the look in his eye spoke volumes

as fireplace flame swallowed the newsprint of you


FUCK HATE you wrote

whose hate?

a misogynist’s hate of the women

your bard envied you for?

the ones he wrote cooked and cleaned for you

and fucked you when you needed fucking?

adored and worshiped at the altar of your cock and left you alone

women coming and going and coming back to you on command

then sent away

delivering to you as assigned

so your words could rise like earth

at any cost

then sent away

these women had hearts!  souls!  truth on their lips you tore apart!

slamming and shoving deeper into them                         you buried

their words          their kindness          and  their love for you

while you wrote. “only the men know what i mean”…


maybe some of them just wanted to cozy up to the little red

then blue and white house by the sea   watch the sun rise

and set

with you in their arms                        holding them, you could have seen

all of their softness and beauty inside

and out

they stood     holding plates of love’s food      some stood behind     next to

at the feet of       the demons you’d invited in       to dance the letters

onto the pages       for the words that fed you

but all these women stood in the way

demon meals mattered     lonely meals prepared       just for you

roasted with fire       hate       hard-boiled shinto with buttered toast

honey for you       feasting on the lonely muse


how many of the women hated       amid your revered aloneness

only wanted to clear weeds from your heart       to plant beauty there

to create art too       for you       in that yard set back from the street

did any want to plant fragrant scent for you?       pleasing to  your eye

as love for you       to bring the winged things to sing for you in the trees?

hoping to clear-cut and away       the brambles of hate     of isolation

for you too       as love for you

hopeful it could be returned in kind       

that love

in kind

some maybe  hoped your seed       would plant a child of beauty

to share with you       for you       as love for you     with your skin    of your skin

in and under your skin       your son or girl child       adoring unconditional love for you

there is no high like the feel       of your blood     your flesh     your love

little arms wrapped around your neck    are love’s essence, my friend


FUCK HATE you wrote     for attention     for praise

for the peers you despised

wanting them to stand and cheer    at the boldness     and the beauty

of your vomit in society’s face

but your own hate of us     ran deep   the hate of yourself

numbed you to love

numbed you to truths of friendship     the give and take     of love’s many forms

Exceptions were made, of course       for the rare ones

cloaked in absolute perfection     and artistic beauty        damaged     but stunning!


the drugs of those days were daily bread       absolving us from our daily pain

cloaked in mirth       we peered into hidden skull compartments   we learned

we saw       we recoiled         terrified       and imagined it would last forever

it stirred the juice-creative     strained from our bile      our joy

our madness

words and art in all forms gave us life

aliveness       and a reason to wake up       listening     hearing the sounds of waves

crashing from our morning windows

most of us walked       waded       crawled on our bellies through it

squinting our bloodshot eyes     we still were able to see the warning signs

blinking ahead       and we paid attention   even slipped sometimes

into the abyss of it     the depths of it     the burning claws of it     but crawled out       barely wiser       but before it was too late

for some       it was never enough       some lay crucified at hell’s gate

never to return       dependent on the strength of their hate       of self

drowning inside       some knelt at the altar of   the tar     the needle     the hot glass     sacrificed     souls sold     life bartered  for the gifts of today:

cocks deadened       waiting alone       praying for death’s knock on the door

of a section eight room with no view     no waves sounds to rock them to sleep

only the shit and piss of cars’ exhaust fumes     mixed with downtown LA’s

gift to the beach towns since the 80’s:  dead-air smog that the ocean breezes

can’t reach to blow away gray from the skies anymore   and the sun’s settings

can’t be seen from dirty windows     of barren lonely rooms anymore

facing concrete  

murdered!     murdered art for the sake of art!

and you     tired     emptied     still clinging to the arrogance of youth


FUCK HATE you once wrote     today i say    fuck those men who hated

my kind     the female     imperfect to them     ‘the women’ deemed


unable to stand     shoulder to shoulder     respected     as friends or lovers

our spirits no longer are winded by repeated kicks to the groin of our worth

nipple no longer twisted and bitten off     by shame     breasts mauled no more

legs spread     exposed     no more

heads bowed like geisha     at the whim and order of the men

knives of the men    we loved     plunged into tender hearts     no more

no more     wasted tears shed for those men     no more

from three and a half decades ago     back in the day

the fierce, cruel underbelly     of adoration’s one-way street     blown  up

blocked off     repaved with wisdom and respect of self   esteem of self

and a silent knowing     that it never has to unfold like that again


WE ROSE     screaming your words     your FUCK HATE words

and meaning it

never again to let     another heart or self     go unmentioned   never another

kick     only returned harder

we learned to squeeze your balls of HATE     until they climbed     crawled

bruised     up into your bellies

mean-spirited haters of us!     we only wanted     to love you


EARTH ROSE was prettier as earth rose       fragrant petals of truth unfolding

amid the chaos     and the insanity of the age

but at last night’s end     thorns buried beneath your art’s beauty

 stabbed me    again and again

prickling fingers of memories        raised hairs on back of neck     reincarnated

a fresh need to exorcise a young girl’s demons of long ago     onto these pages

you, still the stranger       you, who remains

not quite an innocent bystander       but left to dodge target-practice bullets

aimed to redeem a lost youth       me, wanting to justify my unknown reasons

for care and contact

of why i send breakfasts to you     of why i beg for godot’s scraps in return

not for blood       nor money       nor the hope or promise of a taste

not for a borrowed smoke       or a ride down the hill to the sea

nor to lay with you

just words       and me wondering       why i need to be the stranger who writes

to you       from afar   asking

you ok today, richmond?


the lines of your word art hold

and catch in my throat       still       those words i love

the other art pricks       bleeds my anger     bleeds years of untold

unspoken rage       countless numbers        others     men i found no words for


a much younger me       shrouded in so much       anguish

so it seems like i’m here again       bawling you out again, o demon muse

playing guessing games with your life

for we women who lived       and survived a certain time    with you and the others, the ‘men’ of then

we WERE earth’s true roses


About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i release the gamut of tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
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