Category: Poems

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“Love Will Tear Us Apart”

The night we met was perfect
and y(our) first kiss haunts me now.

We might have been imperfect…
(Ian Curtis taunts our vow)

Torn apart by love
and doubt
by time
and timely yearning…

Torn apart by love
about
this time
of no returning…

You blessed me on the spot
and then you left me feeling cursed.

I guess we kissed a lot of men
but I was still your first.

I know I’m not the last to love you;
know I’ve not the right…

But close my eyes
and I’m above you…

Comfort me tonight.

Written by Jason Wright
February 22, 2022

For Sean Mobley / Theo Wolfe

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From July to September

It is September 4, 2021
and I’ve decided that
I’m taking a break today.

I’m at Riverview Campground
and I’m missing my mom.

This is the hardest hitting day
because the memories are Little Jason’s;
our mother wasn’t perfect…
but she had graceful, beautiful,
quiet, unrecorded moments,
which are all I am remembering today…
1 day after what would have been their 39th anniversary.

At times, our mother seemed psychic.

She begged me not to take Jamie to the theater
to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show;
she told me that something terrible was happening
and though Jamie never forgave me,
I knew that our mother believed what she was saying
and I broke my promise and left Jamie at home…

Later, Paul (who I had seen Rocky with the previous year)
called to say that he had been raped across the street from Oz.
She knew. Somehow she knew.

And she knew about Katie.
And she knew about other things…

Back in my memories and
my mother is looking out
across the low green field,
storm rolling in toward our backyard –

I’m a small boy child,
clinging to her mysterious silence,
her wary hypnotized gaze is exhilarating
in its graceful stillness…

The emerald sky sparks
and forms tear drops
over Janet Lynn forest
years before that tragic coupling
will leave me forever scarred
and always haunted;
a dark harbinger of things to come.

Could she see all of that then?
I’ve never imagined that she could…
but who is to say what stirred within her?

“The shameful secret she never shared.”

Written by Jason Wright
September 4, 2021

For Myra Canell

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Sex At Sixteen

At sixteen years old
the sex was degrading.

At sixteen years cold
my sex life was blazing.

At sixteen years gold
my next life: amazing.

At sixteen years bold
the sex was emblazing.

It colored my outlook
and flattered highlights.

It numbered black book
and lacquered my nights.

It painted my soul
with shades unimagined.

It tainted my whole
for decades and fashioned
me into myself
which was separate from others:
apart from my family, their God
and my lovers.

Sex was between
myself and desire.

Sex at sixteen
was a trial by fire.

Written by Jason Wright
February 23, 2020

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Smoke & Abuse

The sky lights the fair
with the screams of potential,

The dry nights are rare
but the dreams are torrential,

Those infinite days
so meaningfully spread
in cigarette haze
in dreams of bloodshed,

Thus christened by squalls
killed there by heartbreak,

The crimson stained walls
are still there when I wake,

The beauty, the faerie,
the stud and the surgeon;
the ruby, the cherry,
the blood of the virgin…

I slake the abused;
I nurse and I wet…

I wake up confused;
I thirst and forget…

But the blood is still there
and my cock needs a stroking…

The flash flood despair
of a non-smoker smoking.

Written by Jason Wright
February 11, 2020

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surficial

Knives on the slate
and discussion of death.

My lives of late
are now months bereft.

The veiled lure of cash –
(recitation complex)

A failure to crash –
(cessation of sex)

And all of it: meaningless –
(meaning too much?)

Is there any redeeming us
there where we touch?

Written by Jason Wright
February 6, 2020

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The King is Dead

In cold ninety-four
he stood as an emblem.

An old belle de jour
in young woman’s harem.

Collision of truths
with deception to spare.

Division of youths
with exceptional flair.

His eyes captivated (as eyes often do).

But lies separated (as lies often do).

And the words and the drugs…
they drowned out our laughter…
Though he still exists in the shrugs of disaster.

He certainly hates
the women he loved.

He treats them like shit.

He hates them because…
because they are women
who don’t hate themselves
so he can’t relate…
so he can’t compel them
to stay as confused as he was on his drugs.

He paints himself victim
and that is not love.

Written by Jason Wright
November 11, 2019

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When Benjamin Blushes

When Benjamin blushes
my grind starts to ponder
and that we are rimless is strange.

When Benjamin blushes
my mind starts to wander
and all that was sinless is changed.

When Benjamin blushes
the youth provides shivers
the ardor of which is infecting.

When Benjamin blushes
the truth behind zippers
is harder than one was expecting.

His blush
is worth a hundred thrusts,
His smile
worth a million.

His words may wax poetic
(prophetic?)
but is that wax a Brazilian?

When Benjamin blushes
my mind is forbidding
and my thoughts are wrought (led astray).

When Benjamin blushes
but who am I kidding –
I always have viewed him this way.

Though mostly in jest
and not at my best
this scribble provided amusement.

I’m mostly just joking
and being provoking
One must excuse my bemusement.

For we do as we’re bidden
when we can’t be ridden
when there in the gentleman’s clutches…

We are given permission
and all is forgiven;
ensnared when Benjamin blushes.

Written by Jason Wright
October 31, 2019

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The Powers of Charlie Bottom

The look in his eyes
of innocence wise;
hardly has this blaze been stopped.

The cleft in his chin
makes us all want to sin
yet Charlie has always been tops.

But deep in the past
there’s a question that’s asked
and a standard comprising a prism.

Openly yearning
from hope he is learning
the answer is: “Lies are a prison.”

When left in the sun
and bereft of his fun
his toys melted into each other.

Left there in the heat;
deft care (incomplete),
his boys belted there to teach others.

His potency proven
is cogently human;
from Charlie the cowards took shelter.

Embracing his power;
his plaything deflowered;
young Charlie devoured his elders.

Written by Jason Wright
October 31, 2019

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Daniel’s Procession

The last of summer fades
as future lovers trade on trust

the tasked discover glades
with suitors splayed beneath the thrust

the chill arrives with fever
as the preacher feins amusement

the thrill provides procedure
as the teacher tames a student

change of time once captured
in this prism light of fall

estranged sublime enraptured
in the schism bright of thrall

brought him to surrender
like agrarian set on fire

autumn victim’s splendor;
a grammarian of desire.

Written by Jason Wright
October 26, 2019

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The Procession is Over

On the Monday train
Sunday’s tear stained aftermath
is muted, faded watercolor sketch
of last night’s confusion and misery –
with photo slides behind closed eyes
of family’s autumn life celebration,
Daniel’s text exchanges,
Brandon Lee Gameboy photo,
unseen moron homophobe hell discussion…

And Aaron’s weeping exhaustion
which left me reeling in confusion,
doubt, anger & regret.

Written by Jason Wright
October 21, 2019

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