Just words on a page, sprung forth from a lost mind. These mean nothing.

poetry

I woke up this morning, to the light shining through my curtains.

The sun’s fresh beams blinding as my eyes first opened.

My waking thoughts racing,

turning corners folding back in on itself

all reflecting the water in the bay.

Crystal clear, cold and deep.

I go back to that place.

With unnerving clarity, I remember

it all.

and tears from the bay come rolling.

We held hands in this place

and dared tomorrow to come.

And it did.

And it swept us out into the sea.

Bless this, our water
one more time. Oh,
I beg of thee, to shake
this tree and let the rain
drops go. Soak the leaves
so my dog can lick ground.
We plowed those fields,
sown down with golden
stalks and stretching forth
to rake the clouds from the sky.
All our work, from day to
day, with bent backs
and bruised knuckles,
just to sit beneath this tree.
To feel the drops once again,
fall from leaves onto our skin.

poetry

We touched souls,
you and I.
grasping at clouds
as they passed us by.
in the morning mists
when birds turn to song
each warbled note
becomes a strike on the ancient gong.
sounding out the passing day
watching the dewed grass
where we kissed and lay.
We touched souls,
you and I.
first ours and then
others as they filled the sky
whispering softly
like the birds in song
kissing their ears
telling them peace won’t be long.

poetry

Another morning,
another day gone by
spent counting the days
and wondering when
my rose will grow

the children dance
and splash the hot sun
smile at passing trains
and ask when
my rose will grow

i’ve watched many years
pass and come, like the tide
mighty redwoods have grown
before my eyes
and no rose grows

to feel the thorn pricks
and dew’s licks
that soft tickle on your nose
from rose petals
that wont grow

another morning,
another day gone by
spent churning the soil
wondering when
my rose will grow

poetry

That summer night, so long ago now.

poetry

Outside, breathing in
the night air, spinning
in wide circles we’re spinning.
look up to stars,
kaleidoscoped, stop.
The world is still spinning,
spinning.
The trees are bending,
long weeping bows to the wind.
“Come, Come,” it’s as if it’s saying.
Car headlights, become earthly stars,
racing by in slowmotion.
Heads together, feet on the grass.
the blanket beneath us.
memories become giggles,
while we’re still spinning.
crickets serenading,
we’re just watching.

OOOhhh my lord!

I cried again, and was only ignored!

These cries were for joy,

and not for pain.

No sir, not that fucking pain.

I’ve had too much,

and a man can only take,

so much.

But I’ll walk over,

these stumbling stones.

With broken toes,

and shattered bones.

I will not be ignored.

I will not be denied.

Not for the first time!

poetry

Sorry for the absence, though I think we’ve all lost ourselves

poetry

How about an invention?
A reinvention, a reimagining.
Now I know we can’t turn time,
but we can pretend.
Can’t we?
We’ll lose some weight,
get some plastic,
grow some hair
(or lose some).
Hell I could reinvent myself,
in just a day,
a second,
won’t take long.
I’ve done it before,
I can do it again.
As a snake sheds its skin,
I’ll shed myself.
We’ll become anew.
But then,
isn’t a snake still the snake?
A butterfly still the same catepillar,
with pretty new wings?

if and when

poetry

If and when
i die I hope i’m laughing,
god knows i’ve seen my share of sadness.
i say if and when, because
i’m not really certain.
it’s all confusing to me,
how things work and why they do,
so i don’t really know what’s going on.
i just try to laugh, but lately,
lately that laughter doesn’t come,
and that’s not me, no not me.
i would hold a candle in vigil,
vigil for me,
but where am i?
i’m still looking, hey! still looking.
hide and seek with my soul.
all i know,
is that i’ll find me where the laughter is.
in the future, or
in the past.
i can’t die, not until then.

In another life.

poetry

Forever a child, owner of the biggest smile.

Saddled down with the same sadness,

Marked with age, acne scars and warts.

We’ve all felt it.

He feels it.

In another life

He lived with me,

In an apartment by some park.

I can feel it.

We used to sit around and smoke cigarettes

And drink, till the night returned.

“Fuck!” he’d yell and slam back another one.

Always smiling so damn big,

Would make you laugh just to see it,

Light up the whole room, calling the ships to safety.

One night, beer cans strewn, smoke saturated air,

I asked him, “what’s your fucking secret?”

“Fuck!” he yelled.

“Shit, what secret?

You wanna tip, here it’s yours keep it,

I rub one out in the shower each morning…”

Fuck…

It’s the same in this life…

My secret.

poetry

Every year, when I grow older

I draw a breath

exhale a wish,

locking it away for safe keeping.

any time I witness a star dying,

burning up as it streaks across the sky

as quick as the brief streak

my mind goes to one thing

always a secret.

but now that you’re here

I speak that secret

let it be said for the first time,

fall from my lips,

as I call for your lips.

My city

poetry

Looking out over the city,
my small, quiet, little city,
I see the lights atwinkle,
I see everything I never saw.
the cathedral sits,
squat and menacing,
it casts it’s watchful glare.
st. michael’s sword stretches
from father ryan on into the water,
protecting us from those on the other side.
My city is guarded.
My city is safe.
My city is mine.

my body is a cage.
rattling the rusted iron bars,
rattling my bones,
keeping time with the beat.
the baliff left me long ago,
grew tired with these walls.
only the dust to keep me company.
only the germs to talk to.
invisible friends,
invisible words.

poetry
poetry

How many ways are there to say
go to hell?
Righteously speaking your tongues,
lashing unwitting ears.
Burn, burn, burn it all.
If you bore straight into my mind,
what lies would you spread?
What opinions would you plant?
Thankfully,
opening my brain would kill me.
Thankfully,
my favorite phrase is,
I don’t give a shit.

Hipster

poetry

My coffee was black,
it seemed the rest of the room was just so.
we sat and drank,
and looked silently ahead,
at what, I’m not sure.
You told me that silence is golden.
I replied that silence is overrated.
every now and then I would take a sip,
the blackness falling into a black hole.
after a while you asked me,
“What type of music do you like?”
i jumped at this,
just the chance I’d been waiting for,
to show just how complex I was.
to impress you with my taste…
the look on your face after I finished,
suggested my taste was black.
like my coffee.

Mardi Gras

poetry

Kiss me.
kiss me.
kiss me here, underneath this blanketed sky
reflecting
all the lights from the streets
around us.

Multitudes all swarming
the city in drunken fervor.
kiss me here, let it be known
our eyes, our lips, our soul
locked
frozen.
all this is ours
so tell me you want it-
I’ll tell death to wait, kick his shins-
this is ours.
so kiss me.

kiss me here,
kiss me in the streets,
kiss me on the mouth,
open your eyes
let me look into you.

kiss me.
let me smile.