In the Corner and Wait for the Rain

As I took my leave
into the
tin-roofed shack
where she had the man
the door open,
the smell of coffee
greeted me.

I sat in the corner
and wait for the rain
to wash out the reports
to wash out the stories
out the madness
out the shame.

Nature

Suddenly darkness

Perhaps a cloud is passing

Over the skylight

He is Just a Violin Crying in the Dark

A barefaced unspeakable dawn

Creeps up in the weight of living

--crocuses poking through the snow

One by one, crown my brothers

As they crawl through the veil of night

Telling dreams from one another:

The cloudless above our heads

Terrifies nicotine youth-

The silence on a tongue

Giving it a name

Sweetening an age between words-

Of a supine vision tucked in at daybreak

“Let him go,

He is just a violin crying in the dark”

“Laugh.

It’s only just begun”

Liaison- Toledo, Ohio's 4th annual Erotic Poetry Reading: Performance, Douglas Lutman

Watch Link Here: Liaison- Toledo, Ohio's 4th annual Erotic Poetry Reading: Performance, Douglas Lutman

photo credit: Kayla Williams, Best of Toledo- Literary artist 2014

Tickled Lips

Mirror--

 boy to everything

I am pawn with frightening scheme

An apple drops to carrion game

In ewers of vitreous humor

An audioasphyxiated aristrocrat diplomat

            Who choked on lies, whispered too close

            Who tickled his lips on tiny ear-hairs

            Who smelled his musky neck.

 --shame, Strike a torch

mirror-

Save

a queen.

Twilight Dancing

Dancing that little dance of lotus buds, we, step step step in our night time, while daybreak shines on stumbling toes. Graced like the edges of An Auguste Rodin, we trampede along our timeline. Gluey, and content, we ignore the threat of dawn, that is time zoned and holy. Black slacks swish  swish  swish and  blue and heaving we exhaust and We agree to squander our twenties, stuck in a tepid tango, named you and me, lovers. The sex is a David, a great David deferring the Goliath sized blisters burning our feet, and we danced a dance that is beauty and blue. Gentle suitors monocled, and conditioned to wait, sit in, and dream of the song’s ending, that crash of symbols, the alarm clock buzzing for us to encounter another day, their turn to cut in to dance. I call ‘em fans, and they call upon where I will be when we stop dancing. Empty smiles grit through a fire of distant hopes, and not so empty eyes watch real time twin Pisces break in the dJ, that hip hop priestly burrow, caving in before us.  The zeitgeist of our sour splendor, an idol worshipped by mendicants, broke for love, Cast us in silver and shaped us as finned twins, swimming along in a torrent for passion that is beauty and blue. Those damned fish took their place and shook their place. And we too, did wait for a dying bull, stagger stagger stagger to the nearest exit. Feted hands, sweat pouring palms clench, cry to years we carried that two step, one two step to the beats of a  nighttime love that is blurry and full, stay stay stay. Shackled in our warmth, we get heated. Hot friction and hot friction. Weary and worn, we lay. And we lay.

Breathe deeply now, in hale that aromatic tangibility of comfort, and recognize that you are now yoga master at one with your breath,  of your breath, in your breath.  Conscious and understood.  Smile at me upon pillows tossed in a tarry of splendid sensual embrace, a timed three count waltz, a bedroom dance, now just for show, and do so, so  I can hear you vibrate those vocal cords in a capricious manner. Exhale cum covered breath, and  talk of fancies and nancies and of lavender soap. Talk of lingering frustrations, and tonal verbations, the disgust of our nation and of cabbages and kings. Inhale and talk of the size of our dicks, the sunsets whipping daylight and of  the cured south thai-landic hiv patients. Talk so can I smell those salty words and wait for your teeth to show, a stoic water surface, Narcissus called lover.  The night, a tribute to what is beauty and blue.

Then a yellow hued dew comes through and I begin to ache. Morning time bringing thoughts of what would be regret, and I stretched and commanded answers of myself, how long will this continue, how long will I seek comfort for solace and good sex for a countership and you for me.  a sun and a sun’s mirror lags, and images of a self repeat, a playing card striking beats on the spoke of a childhood bike like a  beat beat beat. And I answer in a tempest of tearing on clothes, should’ve wained from snooze, late for my life, and Morningstead scenes scrapple, green for their turn in  Chronos’ arena, that is time zoned and holy.  Then, I am mindful of age, and ring after ring, I am ten fingers full, and deceiving our fans. Night after night we break at the eve of what seems ten thousand dawns. We break before the talk turns to us, named you and me, lovers and we don’t stop stop stop and still …stumble over our four left feet.

The Fair

               Dizzy 

                                   with             excitement

We 

       step  

                onto the Dazzling Wheel

                         Spin, Laugh, take pictures of friends

              in the other cart

Colors wind
                        with us, red, white, green

                                      A twisting rainbow

funnel cake aromas and child screams dance with us
                    on this twirling, creaking monster

                   ‘Til we stop,

And a gritty black hand

Unlatches the cold metal bar

To release us

And we totter off to the next ride

Douglas Lutman reads "Rose in that Garden" at Taken in November 2011

Douglas Lutman Reads 'My Dear Dead Aunt Doo' and an interpretation of "Their Last Conversation"

Douglas Lutman reads as part of Toledo, Ohio's addition to 100 Thousand Poets for Change... held at the University of Toledo's Center for Performing Arts, Studio Theater, on September 24, 2011.

Sometimes they can't see the cradle of life and loss

In the Time of Being

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Best of Toledo 2011- Literary Artist, Toledo City Paper

Thanks to all my local friends, family and fans for this honor. I will admit, when I read that they were calling me 'bawdy' I took immediate offense, but after a few moments (and remembering that I had to miss the award ceremony because I had a performance at an erotic reading scheduled for the same evening) I realized that its true to the fullest meaning of the word. Its nice to be a part of what makes Toledo Toledo.

Literary artist (poetry, prose and spoken word)
Douglas Lutman
"We’ve got lots of talented writers — it can be hard for a shy and retiring literary artist to stand out. Luckily, Douglas Lutman isn’t. He’s as good a performer as he is a poet, and if you’ve been to venues like Glass City Cafe to see his fast and flamboyant readings of his lyrical and sometimes bawdy work, you won’t forget it.
Runner up: Ryan Bunch"

http://www.toledocitypaper.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=4245:best-of-toledo-2011&catid=96:cover-stories&Itemid=542

Adumbrated Words at Taken. Toledo, OH

Having the words of a poem on my tongue tastes sweeter than a good pinot noir. The way they fill my mouth, the plosives and vowels rolling between my teeth, over my tongue and spitting past my wetted lips takes me to my God. Below is a video of my spoken word poetry...

Glass City Poet, Douglas Lutman, reads aloud his work, 'Adumbrated Words' at Taken, one of a series of poetry venues hosted by Tara Armstrong at Glass City Cafe in November 2011. Douglas Lutman was voted Best literary artist in Toledo, 2011 by The Toledo City Paper.

The Quest For Our Perspecive

I Like Meeting Me More Than I Think I Am

The Revolut--

They Watch Your Back Saying 'Careful Not That Close'

A Personal Vision of Vanishing Wildlife's Ode to Joy