#reza ghahremanzadeh

[new-poets-society]

Everything But Human (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Don't care if you get angry, God,

Don't care if you start fumin',

You say that you are everything –

You're everything but human!

Heaven's where you hibernate,

To Earth you never travel,

You truly have a lot of cheek

To wield your scoring paddle!

You've no idea how hard it is

To navigate this life,

The constant stress, the hurt, the pain,

The searing, savage strife!

If you came and lived with us,

I'm positive you'd fail,

Your pious ways would not last long,

This hellhole would prevail!

Believers say I've got you wrong,

Have misjudged who you are,

They say that you'd live perfectly,

That you would raise the bar.

If I'm wrong & they are right,

Don't hide behind the sun,

Go and wrap yourself in flesh

And show us how it's done!

[writtenconsiderations]

The Detour (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Perhaps my soulmate is out there,

Perhaps he just got lost,

And maybe when he asked for help,

All the wires got crossed.

Perhaps he chose the scenic route,

A detour for the soul,

He'll find himself & then find me,

Maybe that's his goal.

Believe me when I tell you this,

I'm not the desperate sort,

I've seen myself through thick & thin,

I've been my own support.

But sometimes I get lonely, yes,

Get tired of being strong,

I'd like someone to hold me tight

When everything is wrong.

So, soulmate, if you are out there,

I hope someday we'll meet,

But if we don't, let's vow to thrive,

And make ourselves complete.

[fuckyeahqueerpoetry]

To Wong Foo: The Second Road Trip (By Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Vida: I wonder who came up with the expression “hit the road.” I mean, it was obviously some Neanderthal man. No woman would inject violent undertones into a phrase that describes driving.

Noxie: You know what, Vida? You're right! He probably coined “pound the pavement” as well!

Chi-Chi: And all this nonsense about cars being women es loco. I think men are more like cars: They leak, they struggle to get going, and they guzzle fuel.

Noxie: I've certainly had to deal with a few leaky Chevrolets in my time!

Vida: Well, darlings, as Louise says, “You get what you settle for.”

Noxie: But some women didn't settle for that. Some men start off as limousines and then turn into the cars you see at the vehicle graveyard. What should those women do?

Vida: Get a bus pass!

Chi-Chi: Mamas, where are we going?

Vida: The Golden City, dear.

Chi-Chi: As in heaven?

Vida: As in San Francisco.

Noxie: Vida, remind me again why we're taking this trip?

Vida: Because, pumpkin, I need a break from New York and the ordeal of having to walk past Trump Tower every day. Think of this trip as a political detox.

Chi-Chi: I'm thinking of dyeing one of my wigs the same colour as Trump's hair.

Noxie: Chi-Chi, stop trying to make blonde happen! It's not going to happen.

Chi-Chi: Oh, yeah? Well, I hope you maintain the hair down below better than that nappy 'fro you got on ya head.

Vida: Come on now, ladies. Play nice.

Noxie: What's the itinerary?

Vida: Fleetwood Mac are playing at the Chase Centre on Saturday night. And yours truly got us tickets.

Noxie: (singing) Players only love you when they're playing!

Chi-Chi: Ain't that the truth!

Noxie: I just hope we don't run into any of those weird gay Trump supporters!

Vida: Dieu nous en garde!

Noxie: I mean, I understand that some fags have a thing for Mitt Romney. He's a zaddy.

Chi-Chi: I prefer his hijos, Matt and Tagg! What I wouldn't do to be inside that sandwich! Oh, Dios mío!

Noxie: And what exactly happens in this fantasy?

Chi-Chi: Well, you girls know I like it rough. So maybe they start off by throwing me on the bed and calling me names.

Noxie: Like what?

Chi-Chi: Like a “dirty little democrat” or a “pathetic little snowflake.”

Noxie: A dirty little democrat who needs to be punished?

Chi-Chi: Exactly!

Vida: Oh, ladies, you always find a way to lower the tone. Can't we try and have an intellectual conversation?

Chi-Chi: You picked the wrong queens for that!

Noxie: Speak for yourself! Anyway, what are we doing on the Sunday?

Vida: We're attending a fundraiser for Kamala Harris.

Noxie: Wait a minute, wasn't this trip supposed to be a political detox?

Vida: Well, darling, I'm willing to make an exception for our first female president.

[uutpoetry]

Crepuscular

Reza Ghahremanzadeh

The archangel Gabriel came to me. He asked me to walk with him, in a manner neither forceful or unforceful. And so we ventured into the crepuscular air. Everything was still. Quiet. Peaceful. Like God had just given the world a bottle of warm milk and put it down for a nap. I explained my worries and concerns. About how so many get shredded in that chaotic sandstorm and don't reach the pearl stage. He spoke of destiny, fate, free will, master plans, things happening for a reason. (All of the spiritual get-out-of-jail-free cards.) Silky Gabe. Teflon God. Would you like to discuss anything else? he said. No, Gabriel. Within seconds the noise returned. Naptime over.

art by beamahan

[everyonespoetry]

An original poem submitted by  Reza Ghahremanzadeh

[poem-porn]

A Midsummer Night's Rejection (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

The knight approached the maiden fair,

Got down on bended knee,

Say thou will become my wife,

My heart belongs to thee.

The maiden looked him in the eyes,

Her face was full of pain,

I can't accept thy offer, sir,

Return to whence you came.

Thou hast lost thy mind! He said.

His eyes grew dark and wild.

Is it 'cause thou art unchaste?

Hast thou been defiled?

The blonde-haired maiden kept her poise,

The evening air was still,

Thou doth not understand me, sir,

A man can't bend my will.

I pray to Eve before I slumber,

The first one to be blamed,

I vow to stay a shrew, good sir,

And this one shan't be tamed.

[lgbtpoetry]

God Is Dead (A Villanelle by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Friedrich, my lover, he whispers God’s dead,

And I rejoice ‘cause I’m finally free,

Thoughts about shame are released from my head.

We open champagne and put on a spread,

Caviar, oysters, fresh truffles and brie,

Friedrich, my lover, he whispers God’s dead.

Preachers and priests used to fill me with dread,

But now I feel light, I’m bursting with glee,

Thoughts about shame are released from my head.

Two men at the alter, watch us get wed,

I stroke his left hand and kiss his goatee,

Friedrich, my lover, he whispers God’s dead.

Lube on the nightstand and mints on the bed,

And then I climb you just like you’re a tree,

Thoughts about shame are released from my head.

Let’s never look back, babe, only ahead,

Like Bonnie and Clyde, it’s just you and me,

Friedrich, my lover, he whispers God’s dead,

Thoughts about shame are released from my head.

[poetselixir]

The Love Within (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

You ventured into a dangerous world,

Convinced a piece was missing,

Rom-coms were your favourite thing––

The love, the hugs, the kissing.

Near and far, you searched and searched,

You drove yourself insane,

Clinging to an untrue thought:

A man will fix my pain.

And when you said you needed him,

I told you you were wrong,

The love you craved was there inside,

You had it all along.

[poetryriot]

Virgin Mary and the Three Good Fairies (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

The three good fairies grabbed their wands

And flew to Bethlehem,

They found poor Mary on the floor,

Surrounded by large men.

All of you, please move aside.

Flora's voice was terse.

Delivery inside an inn?

There's surely nothing worse!

She tapped her wand repeatedly,

Impatience marked her face,

Gentlemen, you heard me now,

Give this girl some space!

The wise men did what Flora asked,

Though each seemed rather miffed,

Three wise men, oh deary me,

And not one useful gift!

Fauna, conjure up some silk,

This hay will make him chafe!

And Merryweather, grab a broom,

This dust cannot be safe!

Trails of glitter filled the air,

Like something from a dream,

And soon enough the filthy inn

Was tidy and pristine.

Flora waved her golden wand

And conjured up a bed,

Mary, dear, you need some sleep,

Come and rest your head.

The milky moon and twinkling stars

Bedecked the twilight sky,

Merryweather rocked the babe

And sang a lullaby.

Why aren't we called wise? asked Fauna.

It sometimes hurts my pride.

We're females, dear, Ms Flora began,

The wisdom is implied!

[late-nights-and-daydreams]

- Reza Ghahremanzadeh

[proseriot]

Tell Us The Truth, Alice (By Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Wonderland? What’s so great about wondering? When will I die? How am I going to make it through this? Where is my guardian angel? Why me? What the fuck is going on? Wonder. Wonder. Wonder. I want Certainland. Secureland. A-Place-Where-Everything-Goes-As-Planned-land. Wandering in Wonderland. Withering. Wilting. Hatter. Not Mad Hatter. Just Hatter. We’re all mad, darling. Some are just better at hiding it. Free falling in the rabbit hole. Yes, I’m falling. But I’m free. Silly rabbit. Late? Late for what? The tea can be reheated. The neurotic guests will still be neurotic when you get there. You get off on being late, don’t you? Adrenaline junkie. Funny how quickly we drop the “adrenaline” part. Junkie. Just a junkie. Most girls don’t make it out of Wackoland Wonderland. She saw them. Not long after she stepped through the iridescent undulating glass. Old women. Old Alices. They asked questions. Had she accidentally broken the mirror? Did she have shards? They begged her for shards. Fresh shards for old wrists. No time to help. Chasing a rabbit. Chasing love. Chasing men. Chasing a career. Chasing. Chasing. Chasing. And no one’s chasing you. Hey, little rabbit. Is your pocket watch a Rolex? Monitor your mortality in style. Queen of Hearts. I get you. I understand you. The man who broke your heart gave you white roses. He gave the real love of his life red ones. You decided you would give yourself red roses for the rest of your life. Mirrors. Looking Glass. Mirare. Look at. Just look. Simple. The judging, the agonising, the nitpicking, the evaluating, the analysing, the accompanying inner monologue. Human inventions. They all came later. In the beginning, there was the mirror. Only the mirror. The time has come, the doctor said, To talk of many things, of fears and booze and sleeping pills, of going round in rings, and why the angels never help, and never spread their wings.

[new-poets-society]

The Ends of the Earth (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

When the night reached its zenith, she absconded.

She left no note explaining her decision––

that would have been a waste of paper;

a grotesque use of a tree's stolen life.

She took what she could carry,

which wasn't much.

(But enough.)

With every step she took, society's gravity became weaker.

At a certain point, civilisation's umbilical cord snapped.

When rest was absolutely necessary,

she sat against the trunks of great oaks––

their stoic physicality the only form of contact

she would tolerate going forward.

At the ends of the Earth,

she fashioned herself a stone igloo.

Bitter cocoa and blackberries––her only sustenance.

Sleep––her only hobby.

And yet,

if you were to look closely at the entrance of her dwelling,

you would notice a little beige rag.

One might almost mistake it

for a Welcome mat.

[writtenconsiderations]

Marie Kondo (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Oh, Marie, I need your help,

My soul's a cluttered mess,

There's so much hurt and so much pain

Deep within my chest.

This darkness has been piling up

From when I was a boy,

It sparks a lot of things, for sure,

But certainly not joy.

Alas, it is a part of me --

A part that's here to stay --

It's not a thing I can extract

And simply throw away.

And even if I somehow could,

Where would that pain go?

'Cause energy can't be destroyed,

Albert dealt that blow.

I lie amongst the cold debris,

Tears falling down my face,

Dreaming of a lovely soul --

One with light and space.

[fuckyeahqueerpoetry]

Conversation with a Nun (A Poem by Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Sister Edwards beckons me,

We step into her room,

“Every sinner,��� she begins,

“Is bound to meet their doom.”

“And let me tell you this,” she adds,

“Hell is cruel and wild,

If I were you, I'd meet a girl,

Get wed & have a child.”

“I simply can't,” I say to her,

“'Cause, Sister, I am gay,

To build a family based on lies

Would only bring dismay.”

“I'll make this crystal clear,” she says,

“God does not like faggots,

And when you die, you won't be saved,

He'll leave you with the maggots.”

“I don't believe in God,” I say,

“Your words instil no dread,

And I am staying true to me

From now until I'm dead.”

“I cannot force a soul,” she says,

“To walk into his light,

But I have tried my very best,

Now get out of my sight.”

As I walk towards the door,

I sense her evil glare,

“One more thing,” I say to her,

“You're married to thin air.”

[uutpoetry]

[tumblrwrites]

My Dear John Letter (By Reza Ghahremanzadeh)

Dear John,

   The phrase "it's not you, it's me" doesn't deserve the vitriol that people love to hurl at it. We can be our own worst enemy. And people should be given credit when they admit that.

   I wanted everything from you. I wanted nothing from you. I wanted singleness, intimacy, freedom, security, solitude, reassurance. I wanted them all simultaneously. I both loved and loathed the timeline that society encourages us to follow.

   I know you resented the fact that I didn't give you all of me. But I'd always think to myself, If I give him everything and he leaves, what will become of me? I couldn't risk allowing myself to become spiritually burgled. I couldn't give someone that much power over me. Not God. Not my family. Not my soulmate.

   So many nights I'd lie awake as you slumbered in dreamland. I'd think about the Pollyanna-esque guy you'd marry after I screwed up the relationship. And I'd also think that perhaps that would be for the best. I can't give you – or anyone – sunlight 24/7. My darkness is an eternal part of me.

   People assume that the majority of singletons are like vampires who come out at night and search for one-night stands. That was never me. That will never be me. You know, one of the reasons I resist love so much is because of a desire to prove society wrong. You can get through life alone... you don't need someone by your side...self-love is enough. I want to prove to people that romantic love isn't worth losing yourself over.

   Life is so difficult. But it's the difficulty that makes us stronger, I guess. I hope. That's all I've got to cling on to.

   I hope there is no heaven. I don't want to see you and the love of your life on the other side––the guy who knew how to enjoy you. If there is a heaven, please don't look for me. Just leave me to drift on a cloud, leave me to dream of all that could've been.

                                                               All my love and respect,

                                                                             Reza