Ian Ayres

Ian Ayres Poems

Ian Ayres Biography

IAN AYRES, founder of the original Van Gogh's Ear anthology series, began writing poetry at puberty in houses of ill fame. In 1982, Leona Helmsley fired him from his desk clerk job at Helmsley Palace (New York City) for writing a poem on the back of Elizabeth Taylor's autograph in the hotel's celebrity guestbook. Since then, his poems and short stories have appeared internationally in hundreds of publications. Ayres moved from the U.S.A. to France in 1989 and, ten years later, along with Eric Ellena, created the movie production company French Connection Films. Ayres' memoir, Private Parts: The Early Works of Ian Ayres, features his previously unpublished experiences with luminary legends such as Tennessee Williams, Allen Ginsberg, Yoko Ono, Edumund White, Quentin Crisp, as well as a collection of Ayres' poetry, and is available through Amazon.com or an autographed copy can be requested directly from French Connection Films: www.frenchcx.com/press/private-parts-the-early-works-of-ian-ayres/)

The Best Poem Of Ian Ayres

The Masseuse's Son

His mom’s client hurried naked from her room
Aroused, proof she’d been doing more than massage
Or massaging more than backs as if to confront
All the petty people brought up by petty people
Who believe what they believe without questioning
The night a nine-year-old boy was shoved into a pool
Of his mother’s blood and towels thrown at him
To clean it up clean it all up don’t leave a trace
The blood dripping from between her palms

Her rocking back and forth naked on the edge
The boy at her bare feet, a beauty mark his focus
Her toenails painted the color the towels became
Her hands muffling the words, “Don’t let it stain…”
The boy’s sisters and baby brother crying behind him
Feeling he’s the eldest and should kill the latest
“Dad” whose fist they saw pounding her nose
Yet love pervades and turns blood into blossoms
Fragrant next to her bed where she rocked

Her perfume was all that caressed him
After she’d left for yet another night
The boy dreamed of becoming more
More than he’d held in with her blood
He didn’t know this planet would not last
Refused to get lost in other illusions
Her blood had blossomed on his hands
Red roses had filled her room
And her bed lay gaping.

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