UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
JAMES BABBS

Why Does It Always Seem Cold In Here

another month almost gone and
where the hell does it go
shadows growing longer
stretching into nights
spilling over with restless dreaming and
hope keeps fading
against the harsher brilliance of truth and
why does it feel like
I have nothing to show for it
some poems scattered here and there
this mountain of love
waiting to burn and
why does it always seem cold in here
no matter how high
I turn the thermostat up
listening to the rain
falling down and
the goddamn wind
so filled with rage


Now You're Gone

I know
this isn't the way
for me to start again
by trying to pluck
some lost memory
from the darkness of my mind
as Neil Young sings and
I hear your laughter
echoing from the bedroom
at the far end of the hall
but it's from long ago and
I realize
how much time has passed and
now you're gone
but I'm reminded of you
in the songs I hear and
when I'm changing
channels on the TV and
I come across another movie
we watched
while sitting together on the couch and
I remember how it felt
the two of us basking in
the soft glow of the screen and
the warmth of your body
melting slowly into mine


One of Those Things

I saw her driving by
in her little green car and
just one time I wish
she'd stop and
come to see me
I mean
I'd really like to
talk to her again
how many years has it been
I guess I'd have to think about it
we weren't really friends
but we both showed up at
a lot of the same parties
because we knew
a lot of the same people and
I'm pretty sure she never knew
how beautiful I thought she was and
of course
I never told her
because she always had a boyfriend and
it was one of those things
where I never really knew
what her reaction would be and
I didn't want to make things
awkward between us
but both of us are older now and
maybe the timing's right
or maybe
it's just saturday night again
and I'm afraid of being alone


Waiting For the News

you think you're different
when you see these other faces
these bodies moving past you
the edges blurring and
you don't make connections
because you're afraid
you keep drifting and
there's something inside you
beating against the walls
something inside you
wanting to cry out
but it doesn't have a voice
so you find yourself
searching for other ways
other methods
alone in the darkness
waiting for the news to come on


James Babb's recent poems have appeared in
his dreams and in in-Barbaric Yawp, Hazmat Review,
Poetry East, Rural Messengers Press and Snow Monkey.







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