Dah is the chief editor of ‘The Lounge," a poetry critique group, and a full-time yoga teacher. fourth poetry collection, "The Translator," is available from Transcendent Zero Press. His poems have appeared in Straylight Magazine, Otoliths, The Cape Rock, Acumen Journal, Sandy River Review, Indian River Review, The Linnet’s Wings, and Junto Magazine. Born in Herkimer New York, Dah lives in Berkeley, California where he is working on the manuscript for his fifth poetry book.Harbinger Asylum Magazine nominated Dah for a 2017 Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been published in the US, UK, Ireland, Canada, China, Philippines, Spain, Australia, Africa and India.
Straightforward, No Chaser
Because there’s a lot to consider
I think of it all
the understood, misunderstood
the drum-tight dark light
winged motion of lovers
I’ve stood on Venetian balconies
fell in love with violins
and gondolas with canals
cafes and piazzas
with the lusty Adriatic
I am water and land
godless, pure
forming bones into bread
blood to Merlot
snakes and tendons
As a poet I believe in
the unbelievable, for instance
sunflowers bloom at night
rainbows are colorless mirages
lesbians are lovers of men
sand dunes are crushed diamonds
Please, don’t judge me
over my dysfunctional imagination
Do not raise a disapproving attitude
when I say
nighttime is born sunny
creation, a matter of suffering
hell, a refuge for candid poets
Pictures Of You
Beneath this poem
are stretch marks of imagination
Some might call them fantasies
because
metaphors can be misleading
like watching sci-fi
or sappy spiritual movies
telling us we’re doing it wrong
that the hollowness we ignore
is a point of denial
like blaming others
for our emptiness
for not speaking out
the way that self-help book
spoke out about our trivial thoughts
holding us prisoners
in our failures
So we drink wine each night
to reach that neon glow
in the dark of a cloistered room
glowing magenta as if pastel’d
by a famous artist
bringing us back to life
but it’s just another distraction
making us believe we’re alive
like when The Cure sings
Pictures Of You
and our hearts fracture
like romantics reading love prose
until the glow fizzles out
I wanted to write something
positive
something supportive
but what fucking good would I be
if I lied to you
(First published in ‘Streetcake Magazine’)
Accessories
My three-dimensional weakness
muses over genetic elements
something about
who, where, when
I link thoughts
to lifetimes
be it foolishness or the wooziness
earth’s rotations cause
swirling like mix-tapes
buzzing
looping
static
Many times
I’ve told myself truths
not knowing
how I lie
It begins
and concludes with
shots of whisky
chased with words
which are never enough
like the sky is never enough
It doesn’t matter
who you are
there are only two parts
life and death
both rattling
like bad accessories
If I were smart
I’d slip an eye
into a holy man’s journal
just to read the lies he tells himself
Straightforward, No Chaser
Because there’s a lot to consider
I think of it all
the understood, misunderstood
the drum-tight dark light
winged motion of lovers
I’ve stood on Venetian balconies
fell in love with violins
and gondolas with canals
cafes and piazzas
with the lusty Adriatic
I am water and land
godless, pure
forming bones into bread
blood to Merlot
snakes and tendons
As a poet I believe in
the unbelievable, for instance
sunflowers bloom at night
rainbows are colorless mirages
lesbians are lovers of men
sand dunes are crushed diamonds
Please, don’t judge me
over my dysfunctional imagination
Do not raise a disapproving attitude
when I say
nighttime is born sunny
creation, a matter of suffering
hell, a refuge for candid poets
Pictures Of You
Beneath this poem
are stretch marks of imagination
Some might call them fantasies
because
metaphors can be misleading
like watching sci-fi
or sappy spiritual movies
telling us we’re doing it wrong
that the hollowness we ignore
is a point of denial
like blaming others
for our emptiness
for not speaking out
the way that self-help book
spoke out about our trivial thoughts
holding us prisoners
in our failures
So we drink wine each night
to reach that neon glow
in the dark of a cloistered room
glowing magenta as if pastel’d
by a famous artist
bringing us back to life
but it’s just another distraction
making us believe we’re alive
like when The Cure sings
Pictures Of You
and our hearts fracture
like romantics reading love prose
until the glow fizzles out
I wanted to write something
positive
something supportive
but what fucking good would I be
if I lied to you
(First published in ‘Streetcake Magazine’)
Accessories
My three-dimensional weakness
muses over genetic elements
something about
who, where, when
I link thoughts
to lifetimes
be it foolishness or the wooziness
earth’s rotations cause
swirling like mix-tapes
buzzing
looping
static
Many times
I’ve told myself truths
not knowing
how I lie
It begins
and concludes with
shots of whisky
chased with words
which are never enough
like the sky is never enough
It doesn’t matter
who you are
there are only two parts
life and death
both rattling
like bad accessories
If I were smart
I’d slip an eye
into a holy man’s journal
just to read the lies he tells himself
© Dah
