Royal blue
these seas of red
can you ever stop-
start again?
wishing well
i look inside
hard to see bottom
sound disappears
raise that flag
mourning son
shine again
concede the win
My song is gone
Little lost voice
miss...all wrong
tacky tongue, moist
The departed eyes have seen some crys but the daily "do's" are lovely lies.
look east and,
at least...
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Die There Then
Father don't fail and mother, why must you call....when the front has passed and the Summer swings to Fall....should we be there yet or wait a while still...illusion and allusion to the ferrous will chills? Stop me silly someday....but for now just point the way down the block....down the dock....down the braided boardwalk....we'll peer off with peers and command our smiles smite the shimmering isle that hasn't had friendly fun in a while....it lies dishonestly and mocks the moon......but we move on in our own ways....high time we start....high time we count and call.....our son.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Loosen, Release
Ever tightening.
Winding.
Twisting.
There is this stranglehold...
The wind tightens it
Your hands manipulate it.
Pick up the scissors.
Cut the hold.
You'll be freer.
Feel looser.
Let go, there is fun, there is work
Responsibilities last forever.
There is no lever,
That shuts them off at the switch in the cool of day.
This chokehold that you release is
Pressure eased.
Happiness.
Freedom.
Once you realize you're not confined.
Strive instead to become
Defined.
Winding.
Twisting.
There is this stranglehold...
The wind tightens it
Your hands manipulate it.
Pick up the scissors.
Cut the hold.
You'll be freer.
Feel looser.
Let go, there is fun, there is work
Responsibilities last forever.
There is no lever,
That shuts them off at the switch in the cool of day.
This chokehold that you release is
Pressure eased.
Happiness.
Freedom.
Once you realize you're not confined.
Strive instead to become
Defined.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Abduction Envy
...take me away to a shore of flat stale champagne water rushing to embrace clear sparkling silver sand dunes climaxing in a flurry of audible murmurs and gossiping giggles that wake the old men in their straw huts from their own vivid dreams of impossibly blue water and yellow sand...
...and the party people fly like they swim desperately for family picnic pics on a random level of some unannounced hanging gardens of wild untamed rainforests full of hunters hunting for their prey's bodies and prey praying for their hunters' souls...
...to a wide expanse of windy indigo blue plains that stretch so far to meet the challenge of a citrus orange sky with abundant clouds the shape of puffy lips descending to fumigate all fiscal thoughts of those who look up in contemplation...
...where the practical pigs administer their own eggs and the handy horses their own milk so the farmboy can lay on that silky indigo grass and nonchalantly chew on a stalk of tasteless wheat while tucking his sweetheart's hair behind her tickled ears...
...to a mountain forest maternity ward of fertile ferns that somewhere coo nighttime lullabies to babies in their nests and elsewhere shed their golden yellow leaves onto the velvet violet earth below as offering to bury pasts both remembered and forgotten accordingly...
...and where whole bustling metropolises cease and desist in order to visit the sick old lady on her creaky deathbed and each recite a chapter of her lifelong achievements such as raising dogs who can roll over and tending a garden of treehouses sprawled with off-white misspelled exclamations...
...to where a tired dying crimson red supergiant appreciates every single precious moment it has left before it takes down millions of lives along with it and sets each day to rest for some three or so jade green followers that illuminate those ignorant and remind those who forget by choice...
...during a golden age of not nothing, nor everything, but just something, anything...
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
confused intake manifold
take! take! and shut the damn door....you're letting all the hot air out.....and it's cold outside....it's cold and cobalt bold
from heavy breathing....heavy lifting....heavy hearts and heads.....quit. just stop and stand and twist that band around one more time...let it get tight around your wrist and let the names add up right down your list...but don't tell me what you have to get, just get it...and bring it back...share it and I'll pass the plates....we'll sit and talk....discuss our fates....do you see the scratches and the scribble 
scroll scribes? they sit in anticipation......of someone, something else.....emancipation....proclomation? trick-turn whore....is a sloppy snore bore......what we want is something more.....do you understand that your hand on my heart is my hand......or is your head too deep in the sand?.......ahh the chains of command....and the blind man begging while the woman wails away....this is what I wish they'd say....tomorrow, yesterday, today.......dismay.
from heavy breathing....heavy lifting....heavy hearts and heads.....quit. just stop and stand and twist that band around one more time...let it get tight around your wrist and let the names add up right down your list...but don't tell me what you have to get, just get it...and bring it back...share it and I'll pass the plates....we'll sit and talk....discuss our fates....do you see the scratches and the scribble 
scroll scribes? they sit in anticipation......of someone, something else.....emancipation....proclomation? trick-turn whore....is a sloppy snore bore......what we want is something more.....do you understand that your hand on my heart is my hand......or is your head too deep in the sand?.......ahh the chains of command....and the blind man begging while the woman wails away....this is what I wish they'd say....tomorrow, yesterday, today.......dismay.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Spider
I intend to inspire the intellectual spire to expand,
Like the web being splayed by the spider,
As daily I was the innocent spirit that soared freely
in my solace scented sky,
The scent of roses and rain,
that scavenges for sovereignty.
But recently, dishonesty was the rope that bound my feet to the ground
And once I cut him in half,
I was free
And I heard a voice
and his voice alone was poetry.
I was the solitarty teacher in search for my independence
when out of a slip of destiny, or perhaps of chance,
My life scenario switched to possibility,
Like the sanguine sower spreading the sumptuous seeds,
that stimulate the bare earth,
he plans to simulate during a passion season: spring;
Like a smiling and sacred situation made of silk and silver.
But, how she hesitates to shed her armor about her trust,
So she'll hold it tighter about herself as she standsC
stiff and still,
observing the movements of uncertainty.
Scavenger, now turned to skeptic,
wants to be secure, and only slighty knows that skill.
But she knows for certain that trust will only come
slowly.
And if love is speech, she is stuttering---
Her hesitance from a bitter taste in the past.
Consistantly, trust became possiblity
and the heart grew redder
and the sour spice diminished from my tongue.
His voice alone is poetry
and inspires the webs to expand
So that the sceptic is now saved.
But now the voice, too, has faded
and the heart pales once again
because the trustworthy possibility was
incompatible with the over inspired spider
who built her learned web too wide
and his voice whose was poetry alone,
had weaved a web too small.
And, so, again, she set her feet free
in search for sovereignty.
(And in the end,
I see shadows of roses
that kiss my fingertips
on the white wall.)
Like the web being splayed by the spider,
As daily I was the innocent spirit that soared freely
in my solace scented sky,
The scent of roses and rain,
that scavenges for sovereignty.
But recently, dishonesty was the rope that bound my feet to the ground
And once I cut him in half,
I was free
And I heard a voice
and his voice alone was poetry.
I was the solitarty teacher in search for my independence
when out of a slip of destiny, or perhaps of chance,
My life scenario switched to possibility,
Like the sanguine sower spreading the sumptuous seeds,
that stimulate the bare earth,
he plans to simulate during a passion season: spring;
Like a smiling and sacred situation made of silk and silver.
But, how she hesitates to shed her armor about her trust,
So she'll hold it tighter about herself as she standsC
stiff and still,
observing the movements of uncertainty.
Scavenger, now turned to skeptic,
wants to be secure, and only slighty knows that skill.
But she knows for certain that trust will only come
slowly.
And if love is speech, she is stuttering---
Her hesitance from a bitter taste in the past.
Consistantly, trust became possiblity
and the heart grew redder
and the sour spice diminished from my tongue.
His voice alone is poetry
and inspires the webs to expand
So that the sceptic is now saved.
But now the voice, too, has faded
and the heart pales once again
because the trustworthy possibility was
incompatible with the over inspired spider
who built her learned web too wide
and his voice whose was poetry alone,
had weaved a web too small.
And, so, again, she set her feet free
in search for sovereignty.
(And in the end,
I see shadows of roses
that kiss my fingertips
on the white wall.)
Friday, August 10, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Postmaster Delivery Status Notification (Failure)
The new Pumpkins is out, let's go grab it before--
Don't keep avoiding this, got no more tears in store
They got Jimmy back on drums, so it should really--
No more futile returns to the touchy feely--
Sing me that one verse from "Perfect," how does it go--
Don't stand any closer to me than toe-to-toe--
"Aaangel, you know it's nooot the eeend. We'll always be--
Feeling your nestled neck next to mine would make me--
So I thought more about our plans for when--
Can't keep doing this again and again--
With my technical and exteriors--
What grains of time we have fall through, it blurs--
And your decor design interiors--
So sorry to kill you with these murmurs--
There couldn't be a better match made in--
They don't like you, so it's gotta fade in--
It'll be great, just like how we--
The choice of freedom comes to me--
I'm so happy right now I could--
But the stench of creeping fear would--
Nibble on those luscious lips of--
No easy way to turn you off--
Just want you to know how much I--
Bye--
Don't keep avoiding this, got no more tears in store
They got Jimmy back on drums, so it should really--
No more futile returns to the touchy feely--
Sing me that one verse from "Perfect," how does it go--
Don't stand any closer to me than toe-to-toe--
"Aaangel, you know it's nooot the eeend. We'll always be--
Feeling your nestled neck next to mine would make me--
So I thought more about our plans for when--
Can't keep doing this again and again--
With my technical and exteriors--
What grains of time we have fall through, it blurs--
And your decor design interiors--
So sorry to kill you with these murmurs--
There couldn't be a better match made in--
They don't like you, so it's gotta fade in--
It'll be great, just like how we--
The choice of freedom comes to me--
I'm so happy right now I could--
But the stench of creeping fear would--
Nibble on those luscious lips of--
No easy way to turn you off--
Just want you to know how much I--
Bye--
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Black Sheep Blues
Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool
left for your shunned silly sullen self
or did you forget in your superthoroughness
that the proempire are unforgiving?
Yessir, yessir, three bags full
of preimbibed puss oozing
novel neoactivist nonconformity
reerupting in a manner most moot.
One for the master, one for the dame
who bore this malapropos monstrous beast
not out of love but as harkees to the harkers
of bogus biology and tacky tradition.
And one for the little boy who lives down the lane
of false philosophies where authority astraddle
and dreams dormant from fermentation
suppress shining souls most sincere and true.
left for your shunned silly sullen self
or did you forget in your superthoroughness
that the proempire are unforgiving?
Yessir, yessir, three bags full
of preimbibed puss oozing
novel neoactivist nonconformity
reerupting in a manner most moot.
One for the master, one for the dame
who bore this malapropos monstrous beast
not out of love but as harkees to the harkers
of bogus biology and tacky tradition.
And one for the little boy who lives down the lane
of false philosophies where authority astraddle
and dreams dormant from fermentation
suppress shining souls most sincere and true.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Salt and Light.....or (I Am Unfinished)
hey out there and hello again...black-cloud clarity and liquorice lies...sugar shine my shoes...sugar take my blues...and make me make them be of use...own them unlike the life I lease...stand up, fight, and die for peace...watch me watch the world slip by--two hundred channels at a time...put 'em down on paper for someone else...put 'em down
forever...sunset on my face...smoke streaked skies burning my eyes...fuck this place...take me home to somewhere sane...that has compassion's pulse: one, two, three, and four years more...can you remember what we did this for?...not me or you or the kids or the crew...but the double stitched, navy-blue sympathy and starched collar cry that told us why...why we had to hold our heads...high up on that hill...but still, the city burns...and turns my mind to ashes...
fly away...make it true...two by two thousand times...remember each between the lines...getting dark as the dismal day...weary shadows stretch our way...and that holocaust heap, uneasy, rests on our feet...uncountable, ground down, Al Hillah on high...or at least nearby...even to an average guy...almost done with what's on my mind...shrinking sun explodes...supernova soul on these desolate roads...unknow...unknow...let go...no......it's not dark yet...but...
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Gaping
There's a hole in his backyard, so he throws in:
Two authentic foods that devour him with the gastroriffic goodness of their truth. Three board games that he always conquers because he is the only player subject to their risky rolls of dice. Five dear friends old and new, lost and found, who pose the biggest threat to the hole. Seven fake antiques with no meaningful history but the ones in his morose mind. Eleven films for futile escapes into other worlds that would break him just the same. Thirteen glaring glossy pages of insistent instruction that tell the how-to-writer how to write. Seventeen harrowing hardcover tomes offering meanings of lives that elude the very life they claim. Nineteen plane tickets to familiar and exotic places that remind and humble his minor miniscule existence. Twenty-three scorching suns he has avoided, but that fuel the jump-and-jive journeys across foreign lands. Twenty-nine sullen songs that allow momentary lapses of rhythm for an otherwise dying dance.
There's a hole in his backyard, and it never ever seems to fill.
Two authentic foods that devour him with the gastroriffic goodness of their truth. Three board games that he always conquers because he is the only player subject to their risky rolls of dice. Five dear friends old and new, lost and found, who pose the biggest threat to the hole. Seven fake antiques with no meaningful history but the ones in his morose mind. Eleven films for futile escapes into other worlds that would break him just the same. Thirteen glaring glossy pages of insistent instruction that tell the how-to-writer how to write. Seventeen harrowing hardcover tomes offering meanings of lives that elude the very life they claim. Nineteen plane tickets to familiar and exotic places that remind and humble his minor miniscule existence. Twenty-three scorching suns he has avoided, but that fuel the jump-and-jive journeys across foreign lands. Twenty-nine sullen songs that allow momentary lapses of rhythm for an otherwise dying dance.
There's a hole in his backyard, and it never ever seems to fill.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Visions of Happiness, Abandon the Sadness
In a moment,
a singular,
lasting memory.
The time that we spent together,
the ongoing tension.
Thoughts return to the happiness
But...
somewhere in the back of one's mind
sadness and pain creep in.
While the mind realizes the happiness of being solitary.
In life we need friends,
no stress,
no disfunctionalness.
Reading a book does not require debate,
or to motivate one to question fate.
Friends grab your hand and lead you on,
family does that too.
Your own mind knows that there is a reason to not dwell.
Forget the life that you had in that memory.
Create a new one with what God has given you.
Remember goodness, charity, and kindness.
Forget the distant memory filled with a past that drains.
God wants you to move forward,
your friends want you to go on,
and your family waits for you to continue.
Become part of the love,
the peace,
and the contentment that this type of life gives.
Take a deep breath, exhale, and think.
Life can only be as good as you make it.
Pain washes away that concept.
Continue to see the beauty in the world.
Trudge on, and remember happiness.
a singular,
lasting memory.
The time that we spent together,
the ongoing tension.
Thoughts return to the happiness
But...
somewhere in the back of one's mind
sadness and pain creep in.
While the mind realizes the happiness of being solitary.
In life we need friends,
no stress,
no disfunctionalness.
Reading a book does not require debate,
or to motivate one to question fate.
Friends grab your hand and lead you on,
family does that too.
Your own mind knows that there is a reason to not dwell.
Forget the life that you had in that memory.
Create a new one with what God has given you.
Remember goodness, charity, and kindness.
Forget the distant memory filled with a past that drains.
God wants you to move forward,
your friends want you to go on,
and your family waits for you to continue.
Become part of the love,
the peace,
and the contentment that this type of life gives.
Take a deep breath, exhale, and think.
Life can only be as good as you make it.
Pain washes away that concept.
Continue to see the beauty in the world.
Trudge on, and remember happiness.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Drawing and Sketching
Pick up a pencil...look out in front
Where's the inspiration?
Where's the creativity?
Take up the drawing pad...
Draw line after line in the fading light.
The wind blows through your hair whispering traces of the past.
Your pencil stops.
The drawing unfinished...
Listen to the traces of the past.
Take up the pencil again...
trace the memories across the pad.
In the distance you hear happiness, in the fading light you see peace.
This drawing puts pencil to paper
Memories left to unravel.
Your past guides the drawing, impressions that it has left.
While the drawing is in the present, there is some reflection in it.
A memory preserved, an age retold.
Something that will help you remember in the years to come.
The light fades...
Put the pencil down.
The new day dawns, the light explodes.
A new drawing begins with reminiscences of the day before.
The setting the same.
However, the past pain and joy remains.
Where's the inspiration?
Where's the creativity?
Take up the drawing pad...
Draw line after line in the fading light.
The wind blows through your hair whispering traces of the past.
Your pencil stops.
The drawing unfinished...
Listen to the traces of the past.
Take up the pencil again...
trace the memories across the pad.
In the distance you hear happiness, in the fading light you see peace.
This drawing puts pencil to paper
Memories left to unravel.
Your past guides the drawing, impressions that it has left.
While the drawing is in the present, there is some reflection in it.
A memory preserved, an age retold.
Something that will help you remember in the years to come.
The light fades...
Put the pencil down.
The new day dawns, the light explodes.
A new drawing begins with reminiscences of the day before.
The setting the same.
However, the past pain and joy remains.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Come Along Song
come back to me and sing those words....the ones we made up on our backs...
left, left, up the hill and still...beneath the bear we'd stare and leave behind the world to care.....upright thinking and careful consideration....minds making meaning...bodies on vacation...but now it's all wrong...all wrong, and I long for that come along song...that used to put the air in you...take the air from between us too...can we confuse ourselves enough again? can we write the lies and fit them in? can you see me still whispering and can you hear me waving loud? I'm leaving soon and then it's gone...good and gone and gone for good...in the back room baby where the wishing we would...walk two roads afraid...of what truth lies alongside...so stood we still and still we stand...we deal with our days and the chains of command...but you keep yourself at odds even when the drama drains...you seem to like the prickly pains of prophecy...you seem to like the other me that couldn't be and couldn't see...that cut the cords of we...without regard I'm keeping it on...because it's not coming off...
twice seven and three on that first full branch of my memory tree...did I place that place with
you and me...grey stucco and rusted rails...solitude in public view...but somewhere I think we both knew that we swam transparent seas...that we made our perfect mysteries...alas, I love you still...and moving away I know I will...not travel through those woods again...I will not have that chance to sin...and I lament that the brief time spent...was spent in disagreement...over silly little laughs that walked such narrow little paths...that, page after page, made me skip out of class...to be with you on back-room days...in back room ways...but still...you keep yourself away...there and then and here today...i'm left to understand...second fiddle in your little band...can be pretty tough indeed...so i speed down and right and right again...
out along that lonely lane I used to leave...and leave again...mountains of madness and plenty of
time...a twenty minute loop...let me touch your light...that one and only spanish night...with quizas y quizas...we stopped way out there...porque "a veces es deficil ver"...and you leaned while we learned and the two of us burned...about the cold air outside...that blurred the world full wide ahead behind and to both sides...
empty desk days...summer sets in strong...can you come again with your come along song?
left, left, up the hill and still...beneath the bear we'd stare and leave behind the world to care.....upright thinking and careful consideration....minds making meaning...bodies on vacation...but now it's all wrong...all wrong, and I long for that come along song...that used to put the air in you...take the air from between us too...can we confuse ourselves enough again? can we write the lies and fit them in? can you see me still whispering and can you hear me waving loud? I'm leaving soon and then it's gone...good and gone and gone for good...in the back room baby where the wishing we would...walk two roads afraid...of what truth lies alongside...so stood we still and still we stand...we deal with our days and the chains of command...but you keep yourself at odds even when the drama drains...you seem to like the prickly pains of prophecy...you seem to like the other me that couldn't be and couldn't see...that cut the cords of we...without regard I'm keeping it on...because it's not coming off...twice seven and three on that first full branch of my memory tree...did I place that place with
you and me...grey stucco and rusted rails...solitude in public view...but somewhere I think we both knew that we swam transparent seas...that we made our perfect mysteries...alas, I love you still...and moving away I know I will...not travel through those woods again...I will not have that chance to sin...and I lament that the brief time spent...was spent in disagreement...over silly little laughs that walked such narrow little paths...that, page after page, made me skip out of class...to be with you on back-room days...in back room ways...but still...you keep yourself away...there and then and here today...i'm left to understand...second fiddle in your little band...can be pretty tough indeed...so i speed down and right and right again...out along that lonely lane I used to leave...and leave again...mountains of madness and plenty of
time...a twenty minute loop...let me touch your light...that one and only spanish night...with quizas y quizas...we stopped way out there...porque "a veces es deficil ver"...and you leaned while we learned and the two of us burned...about the cold air outside...that blurred the world full wide ahead behind and to both sides...empty desk days...summer sets in strong...can you come again with your come along song?
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