Making Noise -or- Unpleasurable Happiness

Making Noise
-or-
Unpleasurable Happiness

Wood on Silver-
Wood on silver-
A metalic clank repitous on steel.

Shine, and coil-
force and effect-
small arms direct.

A look from above-
smashing noise-
a coy smile below.

A musician in the making,
they'll say-
a quake in the heart for most.

-Matthew Koutzun

Untitled - or- Sing of Fire

Untitled -or- Sing of Fire

Inspiration comes in bursts,
Song from Hell
sprang from it and spontoninity.

A tang- a ping- a voice- an urge.

Song from Hell,
sung from such sweet lips
looking so much like my own.

Tune from the Underworld,
lull me into security,
false or even true.

That scares me more.

Oh, expire me to your song;
so sweet in ears
so sweet to sleep to.

Take me home,
fire and brimstone
is where I was bore.

I cry- I weep- I tear- I was.

I was not made of light-
like the others,
but I walked with them anyway.

Thought I could learn how to behave;
to be like them
and fit from shadow.

But trying never was doing.

Now, Song from Hell; chiming.
I am coming home.
Started and now I end.

Wrap around me warmth,
burn me till I am no more,
make my fears be true:

if I am consumed there is nothing more of me.

-Matthew Koutzun

On Stage at the Orpheum Theatre

On Stage at the Orpheum Theatre

Sing,
terrible voiced boy.
Crack a note,
noteworthy to shaken head man across the room.
Deepen the pitch,
in hopes a girl across will catch the throw.

Oh,
red faced child,
it's not so bad
it is what resides within your house
the one that you look from
those windows- eyes.

Pluck a string,
cause that vibration trouble,
bang a drum,
create earthquake noise,
hold a breath,
to create silence beat.

Constuction demolished,
a tune in need of tune-up,
oh, boy,
it's not so bad,
being honest to the crowd-
the loneliest people are the ones who overspoke the truth.

You just sang.
No harm, none done.
Sing more,
shake heads,
someone will like.
And that's only the start.

-Matthew Koutzun

Honour

Honour

The hardest part of honouring a good-bye,
is acknowledging when not to say hello.

-Matthew Koutzun

From High Places We Shove the Lightest

From High Places We Shove the Lightest

Why can't you fall already?
I've been personal,
I've given,
I've been speaking from that place;
you know that's hard for me to do.
Why can't you fall already?

-Matthew Koutzun

More

More

Get to bed you,
or time will not slip fast enough to fall.
Its bruised its neck
and won't get up.
A tragic ending
for the beginning.

Touch it's throat,
feel a beat,
a rythem- a song:
from the heart.
Oh, now that's the wonderous place
from which we can start.

It's not dead-
no, not time.
Pick him up-
kiss his lips,
there's a tingle
from the spine, where we don't touch the tip.

Breath into her,
it is sex-less,
moving faster;
in the air
and on the floor.

Oh, I've seduced them
oh, I've tricked them
oh, don't tell them
or yell them,
or open the door.

Cause I'm young,
yes, I pushed him,
and seduced her,
and picked them up for more.

But I'm slipping,
and they've
caught me.

Time
is fleeting

and all I want is...

-Matthew Koutzun

(Great thanks goes to Evy, on this poem.)

Violent:Posession:Heart

Violent:Posession:Heart

Stop.
Take those three steps back,
don't come any closer.
I said stop.
Don't touch me!
Stop hugging me.
Stop wiping my eye-
my brow.
I said stop!
You're hurting me.
I told you this before.
Why won't you listen.
I told you this wouldn't work.
Step back.
I told you.
I told you
I told
I told you.
I told you.
Why won't you stop.
Stop caressing me.
My eyes are dry,
Don't make excuses.
Get that hand away.
My eyes are fine.
Don't touch me.
That's my arm.
Not yours.
Not yours.
Not.
Yours.
Not at all yours.
I told you.
I told you.
I told.
Get away.
You do not care.
You never do.
Or did.
Or will again.
I want you gone.
Stop.
Step back.
I told you.
Step back.
Get out.
That is mine.
Bring it back.
Come back.
With that.
Come back.
With that.
Come back

-Matthew Koutzun

Miss Fairweather and Mr. Comebackagain (A poem in broken verse)

Miss Fairweather and Mr. Comebackagain (A poem in broken verse)

Oh, I know and love both of you
in your many forms.
But your pure forms I see so well.
so I must expose you both.

Miss Fairweather
my honest friend,
we share so much and so few;
there's not much you don't know of me.
but you come and whine to me
about problems here and far,
and when I have problems of my own
I can't find where you are.

Mr. Comebackagain you've fooled me.
Many, many times.
You come to me during your roughest hour,
and I'm here for you, there for you,
from the ones who hurt you most.
And revived you leave
and I am hooked on you,
and again your lost from view
off to prove to those who hurt you
that they must love you too.
They never will,
and run to them- you'll push.
Oh, you're not content with me.
Even though I'm here in the end.
Oh, what a fool you've made me,
Mister,
come back again.

I'm left here,
between you,
even though you are both away.
I could take a step forward
and hide from verse,
it follows you know-
like thee.

-Matthew Koutzun

On Loving Two Women

On Loving Two Women

Don't do it my childen:
loving two women.
You won't get what you want from either,
and you can't combine the good qualities of each
to make a whole.

One will get suspicious-
and then the other.
They'll know you're split from them at the table,
and in the bedroom your tounge is tight on names
they can't hear.

You love one more;
but the other you might break.
What love you have inside of you at times like these,
a beautiful love that will help string them along
such a lovely convenience.

-Matthew Koutzun

A singer is a liar- believe what your mother told you

A singer is a liar-
believe what your mother told you.

"Waiting is the hardest part,"
Only beat by the blows of confirmation.
"All you need is love,"
After the food and shelter needed.
"It's not unusual, to be loved by anyone,"
No, not unusual, a rarity in fact.

-Matthew Koutzun

Seated in the Cafe, Watching from 6:53 p.m. - 9:55 p.m., On Davie and Burrard, December 13, 2006

Seated in the cafe,
Watching from 6:53 p.m. - 9:55 p.m.,
On Davie and Burrard,
December 13, 2006

Spy it. 10 O'clock. In the corner. Sitting in the corner. Head swiveling at a lurch a second. Takes off jacket and lays it across chair adjacent. He pulls it back. Reluctantly. Wanting to give comfort. To someone barely known. But still removes it knowing that a stranger will demand. The spot. And phone rings. Answers. Meeting place changed. He blindly chases a blind date.

Empty for a while

Adjacent now holds woman. Smiling with phone. Chats. Smiles. Taps outer thigh in humour. Hangs up. Reachs for paper. Leaving seat.

Empty for a second

Elegantly reads. Man enters. Glances and walks on. She removes her jacket. Inspecting the paper still. Flipping pages elegantly. Another man passes. Glances and sits opposite the room. A lot of reading happens. Man feigns to read whilst his body turned sideways in his chair watching her from above his book. She fiddles with earrings. Oblivious. Licks finger. Turns page. Oblivious. She adjusts shoulder strap through shirt. Oblivious. Pretending to read is fun. Ring. She talks into phone flirtaciously. Her jacket now of the original chair. Adjacent. Hangs up. Smile from the other end. Still dances on her lips. It fades into the paper again. More reading. (I hope there is some parable to this and it's not all in vain). He's here. And her jacket is back on. As well as her smile. Her feet point to him. And his at her. He puts his hand over his mouth. But his eyes betray that he has a smile. Both chairs full. Conversation. Unheard. He speaks with his hands. Like he's hold an orb. That grows as his stories do. Loud laughter from her. Twice. (As an observer I feel creepy). She plays with her nails when she thinks. Pulls off her jacket halfway. To expose covered breasts. "I need to find a guy". (It's funny how selective our hearing can be). Man with book looks on annoyed. Man in chair leans back suggestively. Girl looks him over. And motions with her head they should leave. The seats empty. They go. As friends.

Empty for a moment

Frumpy man sits. Stirs coffee. Unzips pocket. Phone. Sits. Eats. Watch cars pass. Drinks. Seems content. Goes to garbage.

Seat Empty

Returns. Resumes the above. (I start to realize how boring and ultimately quick you have to be to observe someone). (It tries my patience but I force myself to continue). Still nothing new. Still nothing. (I kind of want him to explode). (That might be more interesting. (But only a bit). Now he is staring at the sample girl. Kind of green eyed. She hasen't offered to him yet. She walks outside. He seems less content. (Maybe he wants to explode now too). But now he eats. Content again. (Makes me want to explode). He's made a stack with his garbage. The coffee stick a pole. Without anything to preoccupy him. He sits. Cross legged. He's changed which leg a couple times. (Plot Twist). Foot shaking antsy. Reflective. He bops to the jazz beat. He's resting. Not resting. Leaves.

Empty again
For a long time. They sure look comfortable. No. Deny yourself. (Don't publish this). (People will laugh).

-Matthew Koutzun

"We Are Together"

"We Are Together"

We'll say it-
Scream it-
Yell it-
Shout It-
Whisper it-
Voice it-
Martyer it-
Demand it-
and all with hands:
held.

-Matthew Koutzun

In the Arms of a Giant

In the Arms of a Giant

Have you ever wanted to
change yourself?
By machine,
magic,
chemical,
mere thought of another?

Their control
or yours?
For the better
or worse,
or is anything
but you
better?

Made my muscles bigger-
features handsomer-
hair styled long-
and cried in the arms of a giant,
who gave it all to me.
As Atlas in a magazine did for millions.

Glisened and gleaned,
and gouged out my eyes
because I could still see myself in them,
and cried again
because I still could not feel
the difference,
even with all this flesh.

Cried in the arms of the giant
who could not change me at all.
Bastard- I love.

-Matthew Koutzun

Deft Perception

Deft Perception

Enter grocery store
to follow her.
I weave the aisles
deftly.
Not caring where she
leads.
She stops;
looking at products.
I stop two columns beside her,
"inspecting" products too
but more her.
I make my way
beside her.
She's even better
up
close.
She doesn't even smile
and asks,
"Heavy or light day,"
motioning the tampon box in my hands.
I drop the box!
She laughs.
"Heavy," I say.
She says, "light,"
as she slyly
goes to the till.

-Matthew Koutzun

Transformative

Transformative

Nature
beguiling enough
is sufficent to be fooled,
by layers of itself:
bold.

Image
taken sharply
blends in covered form,
one on the other:
mistaken.

Gender
fused palpable
on nature strained through an image,
the androdgany in design:
fearful.

-Matthew Koutzun

The following was written from my newest experience as being done up as a drag queen as you can see below. It was an amazing experience to have chanced, and it totally helped my views on gender assignment in sexuality in the most laudable way possible. I suggest everyone to try it: be another gender, even for a bit... it changes your view on how one presents themselves, and what is natural for each gender to present. An exgagerated personification of a gender- a beautiful form. The poem surely does not do the experience justice, and another will definately have to be written. This one just doesn't have the attitude I'm looking for- as you can see below- haha.

Make-up and photos by Nikole [ ] (c)2007

All I Got is Attitude- Bitch!

Oh, what ever happened to Faye Ray?
With that satin draped frame?

Here's the fun trick:
Cover up on side-
then the other.
You know it's androdgonously fun!

I just realized this: what a great first time for everyone to see my face...