by Jesse Domingos

What’s In a Name

Who was he?
The man I am named after, Jesse.
A king, a warrior?

A shepherd with seven children.
What happen to your sons? Of your daughters?
Were you there as they grew up, or were you out tending to your herd?
Sitting in the pasture, dreaming under God’s light,
Watching over your flock, away from your family.

Father to a son, blessed by God.
King David’s father, Jesse forever placed in stain glass as the tree who gave life to a king.
A stump sprouted with a single stock, a root, a lineage of God.
Was David your only destiny?
Did you live your life peacefully, Or did you fear God would talk to you,
Like Moses, like Jobe or Noah?
Did you wish you were Samson, Jacob or Joshua?
Were you a poet?
Did you write the psalms or did you just write them in the sand
Like Jesus once did?

We were borne with the same name.
You were born with freedom of making your mark
I carry your life with me.
We both turn to the simple life,
With the fear of God.
I wonder if I will surpass the water mark

Or be placed in stained glass,
Like you.

The Drinking Poem

I drink to be happy… because I’m sad.
I drink because I’m sad and I can’t be happy
And I get mad.

I put on a smile, every day,
To keep people from asking questions for answers I don’t want to say. I smile hard, which makes others smile back. Their smiles make me want to cry
So I drink until those fucking smiles die.

I drink until my face falls to the ground
Until my soul is not to be found

I drink because I have to be happy when I’m always sad
I have to drink away the pain, like my dad.

I drink and drink and drink until my eyes dry from my tears. I drink to drown my fears.
I drink trying to be happy but I just drink until I sleep. I drink hard, heavy and deep.

When I drink I put on the smile and play the nice guy even though it’s mean
Oh yeah I play the nice guy smart and keen.
I play that game until she wants the fiend.

I turn into a moon crazed beast, play-dough, a Greek God or whatever makes her feel the best
Until she falls asleep, and I finally get what I want, I care not for the rest.
Now I get to take what I need, somebody, a person to sleep next to in the bitter lonely night.
That’s all I want, someone to sleep with, to pretend that they want me to with all their might.

I drink feeling like I’ll have this great inspiration!
When it’s only emotional masturbation.

I drink, when I’m happy because I want to be sad! I drink because I can’t.

So I drink until all within me can’t hide
And I drink until I kill all that is inside.

Abe Slams

He calls to Van Zant,
He calls to Hank.
Which is good.
He sings soft lightning under his willow thunder voice,
Pounding the carpet.
He sings to no one, not even to a full house.
Each verse turns his body.
3 O’clock,
He bleeds.
Only looking into our eye’s later to sell his book,
It’s not a sin
Validating is consent, even if you’re Poe.

Each poem-song said to the walls, written for himself.
Some laugh at his Hank vibrato.
Others mock his Elvis palsy beat and look toward the free food.

I stay silent. Listening.
Trying to see the poem
See his pain,
To see the frog in the cold, wild garden.
Sound and Fury.
Only, sound and fury.
He is an artist, but he is not mine.

About the Author:

Jesse Domingos

My name is Jesse Domingos I am originally from Templeton California, I have been writing short stories and poetry since I was in high school. I have lived in Jonesport Maine, Alameda California and Salem Massachusetts. Now I live in Logan Utah and attending Utah State University majoring in Creative Writing to become a professional writer and teach college.