The lights are out, again
combing through sanguine
heights, floating in
gentle southern winds,
tiny beats of the heart,
fluttering inside the soul,
down a dark step, caressing your
cheek, along honeyed curves,
in the summer
night, still clinging to the
morning's edge, between
truth and monsters grasp, Death
promiscuous in the glassy-eyed
stare of the midnight
priest.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Flesh
Sadness locked in the
Thick evening air,
Like honey
Slightly tainted,
Cut me like butter
With a frozen flame
And blue skin,
In a singular place
She claims my
Soul
Torn fleshy parts
Clinging
To the aged bones
At the edge
Of certain vision
Stripped away in
Layers
Every night alone
A silent scream when the
Music stops
We're left standing
Weak
With a wish
Caught in a
Spider's web.
Thick evening air,
Like honey
Slightly tainted,
Cut me like butter
With a frozen flame
And blue skin,
In a singular place
She claims my
Soul
Torn fleshy parts
Clinging
To the aged bones
At the edge
Of certain vision
Stripped away in
Layers
Every night alone
A silent scream when the
Music stops
We're left standing
Weak
With a wish
Caught in a
Spider's web.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Fervor
Gaze upon the thirsty masses,
round callow eyes,
in their fervor,
clouds turns to ash,
and bombs scar the
night sky; golden fireworks
cascading
like entrails
into greedy mouths
and empty bellies,
as the bloodlust
crescendo
breaks apart the
empty temples and
brazen bulls,
the earth
take them all to
her bosom
to eternity's
rest.
round callow eyes,
in their fervor,
clouds turns to ash,
and bombs scar the
night sky; golden fireworks
cascading
like entrails
into greedy mouths
and empty bellies,
as the bloodlust
crescendo
breaks apart the
empty temples and
brazen bulls,
the earth
take them all to
her bosom
to eternity's
rest.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Untitled
Turning away, the frail old bones - a dimly lit prison
only window to the soul, light the pathway with
rosy incandescence, ring the heart's torch
with a drunkards heavy haze, content
again the leafy clouds embrace,
while dewy phrases uncoil,
like the hangman's
noose, softly
swirling
fragments of
the mind, thoughts
trickling into silver
goblets, and layered smiles
sickly sweet, like the dance of
bees swaying in summer's wispy wind,
with kings and gods, death and the goddess,
festooned in the midnights' gloaming, forever an
acrid tale for minstrels at the doorsteps of the unholy.
only window to the soul, light the pathway with
rosy incandescence, ring the heart's torch
with a drunkards heavy haze, content
again the leafy clouds embrace,
while dewy phrases uncoil,
like the hangman's
noose, softly
swirling
fragments of
the mind, thoughts
trickling into silver
goblets, and layered smiles
sickly sweet, like the dance of
bees swaying in summer's wispy wind,
with kings and gods, death and the goddess,
festooned in the midnights' gloaming, forever an
acrid tale for minstrels at the doorsteps of the unholy.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Restless Leaves
Wither away in the
restless leaves
like stained red flames
against an orange sky,
the embers sway in
a lustful whisper of the wind
and the icy sting, winter's breath
bleeds through a tattered mind.
Hollow limbs dance along the
edge of a lake of mirrors
in an infinite gaze,
rain, tranquil in the mist,
as the soul flutters away,
leaving the body to linger,
in the restless leaves,
with a dagger through
the shriveled heart.
restless leaves
like stained red flames
against an orange sky,
the embers sway in
a lustful whisper of the wind
and the icy sting, winter's breath
bleeds through a tattered mind.
Hollow limbs dance along the
edge of a lake of mirrors
in an infinite gaze,
rain, tranquil in the mist,
as the soul flutters away,
leaving the body to linger,
in the restless leaves,
with a dagger through
the shriveled heart.
Monday, October 31, 2011
All Hallows Even
O' dance in the foggy gloom,
baleful creatures of the night,
under the moon macabre,
somber, fiercely blazing eyes
of the ravens, piercing maleficient
minds.
Run away now, my dear
under the inky sky!
Dash along the rickety
old bones, turned to
dust, revived by lurid
dreams.
Drink deep, potion of the dead,
alchemy of the ancients,
cadaverous mouths greedily awakened,
by the gnashing of teeth,
while each pace brings certain
doom.
Too late, for the earth is alive now,
with swarthy hands grasping,
a tangle of arms, pale in the
moonlight, taking you back
from whence you came, to sleep in the
darkness.
baleful creatures of the night,
under the moon macabre,
somber, fiercely blazing eyes
of the ravens, piercing maleficient
minds.
Run away now, my dear
under the inky sky!
Dash along the rickety
old bones, turned to
dust, revived by lurid
dreams.
Drink deep, potion of the dead,
alchemy of the ancients,
cadaverous mouths greedily awakened,
by the gnashing of teeth,
while each pace brings certain
doom.
Too late, for the earth is alive now,
with swarthy hands grasping,
a tangle of arms, pale in the
moonlight, taking you back
from whence you came, to sleep in the
darkness.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Malady of the Flowers
My amorous Dawn,
pause with me for a little moment,
here,
beside the sick flowers,
salacious Dawn,
why must you be taciturn now?
Brooding upon the darkness,
all the while, as the morning air
congeals around the colors of
God's eye, Dawn are you with me still?
I would that your threadbare love,
rival the world aflame.
Along the cottage streets where harlots
reign, glancing come-hither behind
the red curtains, billowy
with the rhythm of ancient blood,
Dawn, will you not rest with me
here, alongside my bitter heart?
Now Dawn, iridescent, resplendent
in the rosy clasp of Helius,
can you sense malady of the flowers?
Transcendent in your lost eyes, I falter
in the hollowness of reason,
and the ambrosia of time.
pause with me for a little moment,
here,
beside the sick flowers,
salacious Dawn,
why must you be taciturn now?
Brooding upon the darkness,
all the while, as the morning air
congeals around the colors of
God's eye, Dawn are you with me still?
I would that your threadbare love,
rival the world aflame.
Along the cottage streets where harlots
reign, glancing come-hither behind
the red curtains, billowy
with the rhythm of ancient blood,
Dawn, will you not rest with me
here, alongside my bitter heart?
Now Dawn, iridescent, resplendent
in the rosy clasp of Helius,
can you sense malady of the flowers?
Transcendent in your lost eyes, I falter
in the hollowness of reason,
and the ambrosia of time.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Empty Shelf
In the night-time hours,
the footsteps of a madman,
remain calm, even against
the call of the faceless
wonders, and the embrace
of the neon widows,
unfettered, unrelenting
the crunch of broken glass,
scattered underfoot, splintered
dreams, yet the feet keep moving
sometimes fast, sometimes slow,
always forward, till
everything becomes one in
the moonlight, still trudging
over bodies, sinking into
the marshy pavement, feeling
numb after one last drink,
and that look in her eyes,
speaking to me from the
edges of memory, soft words
and lips, painted across my own,
yet moving away now, afraid to
die while the night is young,
like a new star, the city
twinkles with pure intent,
yet remains incomplete,
a masterpiece torn by
regret,
gathering dust on an
empty shelf.
the footsteps of a madman,
remain calm, even against
the call of the faceless
wonders, and the embrace
of the neon widows,
unfettered, unrelenting
the crunch of broken glass,
scattered underfoot, splintered
dreams, yet the feet keep moving
sometimes fast, sometimes slow,
always forward, till
everything becomes one in
the moonlight, still trudging
over bodies, sinking into
the marshy pavement, feeling
numb after one last drink,
and that look in her eyes,
speaking to me from the
edges of memory, soft words
and lips, painted across my own,
yet moving away now, afraid to
die while the night is young,
like a new star, the city
twinkles with pure intent,
yet remains incomplete,
a masterpiece torn by
regret,
gathering dust on an
empty shelf.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Untitled
Through that window pane,
as the rain rolls downwards
beady, loving streams,
in droves the innocents rave,
snarling eyes, with fear
in tow, balefully gazing
out that window pane,
when the waters' rush
outside muddy river banks,
spindly fingers caressing
frozen faces, cold breath
upon the window pane,
Death, that old
reprobate, hanging about the
trees strewn thick like haystacks,
he'll catch his death in the rain
dripping through the branches
like honey,
run away now, the view is grand
and there is safety in
numbers,
behind that window pane.
as the rain rolls downwards
beady, loving streams,
in droves the innocents rave,
snarling eyes, with fear
in tow, balefully gazing
out that window pane,
when the waters' rush
outside muddy river banks,
spindly fingers caressing
frozen faces, cold breath
upon the window pane,
Death, that old
reprobate, hanging about the
trees strewn thick like haystacks,
he'll catch his death in the rain
dripping through the branches
like honey,
run away now, the view is grand
and there is safety in
numbers,
behind that window pane.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Silent Past
The morning bell tolls,
for those who listen,
a gentle reminder of
what things may come,
trace the path of the
sun from eastern
shores, for the west
is where all things end,
let your weary mind
rest now, unburdened
by the silent past,
live in the fluid moment,
not what is set in
stone, recall the
night, and embrace
the dawn.
for those who listen,
a gentle reminder of
what things may come,
trace the path of the
sun from eastern
shores, for the west
is where all things end,
let your weary mind
rest now, unburdened
by the silent past,
live in the fluid moment,
not what is set in
stone, recall the
night, and embrace
the dawn.
Oct. 3rd
I got a little chuckle this morning when I was perusing the talk threads on Yelp. It's been just about a year since the end of my 3 year relationship with a certain someone, and this person is still obviously quite bitter about how it ended I guess.
What posseses her to do that? - She has a good man in her life, and by all accounts they are quite happy together. Despite this, she continues to make little jabs and references about me in public forums. I didn't even end the relationship - she did - so why all the hostility?
I realize that I'm pretty much an asshole when it comes to relationships; lord knows I've made mistakes, and will likely to continue making mistakes since I'm dreadfully slow on the uptake. But one thing I will never be is bitter. I want people to be happy!
This isn't the first time I've addressed this issue, I know, I know, but it seems to me that people ought to appreciate what they've got, and not let the past run their lives so much. In other words: grow up! Or don't, and remain a bitter and angry person. I'll choose the former, thank you very much.
What posseses her to do that? - She has a good man in her life, and by all accounts they are quite happy together. Despite this, she continues to make little jabs and references about me in public forums. I didn't even end the relationship - she did - so why all the hostility?
I realize that I'm pretty much an asshole when it comes to relationships; lord knows I've made mistakes, and will likely to continue making mistakes since I'm dreadfully slow on the uptake. But one thing I will never be is bitter. I want people to be happy!
This isn't the first time I've addressed this issue, I know, I know, but it seems to me that people ought to appreciate what they've got, and not let the past run their lives so much. In other words: grow up! Or don't, and remain a bitter and angry person. I'll choose the former, thank you very much.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Short Stories
Every touch receptive,
senses heightened to
the pinnacle of love,
not alone now, but with
a predilection for faith,
hungry now, yet willing
to wait for the end of time,
without foresight, blindly
following a bruised heart,
calmness descends along
the brooding mind, as
her image arises again
up through the cataclysm,
shimmering in the
breast of black-winged
night, protecting the
innocents, and a man
who forgot how to
forgive himself,
yet still there is
promise,
the sun also rises
in the embrace of hope.
senses heightened to
the pinnacle of love,
not alone now, but with
a predilection for faith,
hungry now, yet willing
to wait for the end of time,
without foresight, blindly
following a bruised heart,
calmness descends along
the brooding mind, as
her image arises again
up through the cataclysm,
shimmering in the
breast of black-winged
night, protecting the
innocents, and a man
who forgot how to
forgive himself,
yet still there is
promise,
the sun also rises
in the embrace of hope.
Port Window
Three silver moons wrapped around
her fingers, demurely bathing
in the morning mist, lips
pressed against the stained glass,
candied prison, melting the heart,
steeling the nerves on the turn
of the knife, in the distance,
a keen-eyed reflection, divine
by the rights of men, stands
warily, beckoning ancient vessels
to port, silently, across
amber waves, into the jagged
graveyard of the sea.
her fingers, demurely bathing
in the morning mist, lips
pressed against the stained glass,
candied prison, melting the heart,
steeling the nerves on the turn
of the knife, in the distance,
a keen-eyed reflection, divine
by the rights of men, stands
warily, beckoning ancient vessels
to port, silently, across
amber waves, into the jagged
graveyard of the sea.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Tornado
Here in the darkness,
the silence echoes
around the cavernous
mind, a keepsake
of discordant love,
broken now, splintered
across a chasm,
unhindered from the
heat of the bloody
red moon, dripping with
good intentions, like honeyed
words from a liar's lips,
as the dagger slowly drives
into a forlorn heart, smiling
sweetly all the while, as porcelain
fingers devour all that is left behind,
one hand washing the other, till the
wounds turn raw, and dead eyes fervently
scan the horizon for a way out,
up through the darkness now descended,
a mirage, clearly reminiscent of a kiss
now turned to ashes dancing on the playful
wind, on the crumbling earth, laid to rest.
the silence echoes
around the cavernous
mind, a keepsake
of discordant love,
broken now, splintered
across a chasm,
unhindered from the
heat of the bloody
red moon, dripping with
good intentions, like honeyed
words from a liar's lips,
as the dagger slowly drives
into a forlorn heart, smiling
sweetly all the while, as porcelain
fingers devour all that is left behind,
one hand washing the other, till the
wounds turn raw, and dead eyes fervently
scan the horizon for a way out,
up through the darkness now descended,
a mirage, clearly reminiscent of a kiss
now turned to ashes dancing on the playful
wind, on the crumbling earth, laid to rest.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Hangover
The gray walls around me now,
crumbling away like a sandbar,
against the ocean tides,
in the shadows,
gathering against the window
pane, last night's revelry
upon a bar stool, staring fixedly
into the golden draught, trapped
in the cracked glass, contemplating cold
comfort through a pinhole in the
mind, as the afterglow buzzes along
like a hot, hazy summer day,
the slippery smiles of the
nameless wonders around me
evaporate, escaping into the
stratosphere, turning away to
far-flung desires, unfulfilled
like a hangover in the morning
sun.
crumbling away like a sandbar,
against the ocean tides,
in the shadows,
gathering against the window
pane, last night's revelry
upon a bar stool, staring fixedly
into the golden draught, trapped
in the cracked glass, contemplating cold
comfort through a pinhole in the
mind, as the afterglow buzzes along
like a hot, hazy summer day,
the slippery smiles of the
nameless wonders around me
evaporate, escaping into the
stratosphere, turning away to
far-flung desires, unfulfilled
like a hangover in the morning
sun.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Birth
Stroll along, my dear lady
through the dark city,
over the cracked old streets,
and sidewalks strewn with
cobblestone dreams, in the
stained glass windows, pretty
faces gaze out upon the
masses, gravely watchful,
piercing blue eyes, following
every step, as her delicate hands
busily tracing the tender flowers,
dried in the summer sun, down the lane,
a lustful illusion of divine whore,
spreading her wings across the sidewalk
marketplace, ferrying lost souls to
a lush hereafter with bottle of
moonshine and a kiss, liquor on her
breath, sending
away the doldrums with a
wink and a smile,
just in time for the evening storms
to wash away the cobwebs, sweet tendrils
hanging about the mind,
now a prison of imagination,
gracefully strolling along,
on the broken streets,
till the city swallows her
whole.
through the dark city,
over the cracked old streets,
and sidewalks strewn with
cobblestone dreams, in the
stained glass windows, pretty
faces gaze out upon the
masses, gravely watchful,
piercing blue eyes, following
every step, as her delicate hands
busily tracing the tender flowers,
dried in the summer sun, down the lane,
a lustful illusion of divine whore,
spreading her wings across the sidewalk
marketplace, ferrying lost souls to
a lush hereafter with bottle of
moonshine and a kiss, liquor on her
breath, sending
away the doldrums with a
wink and a smile,
just in time for the evening storms
to wash away the cobwebs, sweet tendrils
hanging about the mind,
now a prison of imagination,
gracefully strolling along,
on the broken streets,
till the city swallows her
whole.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Colors of God
The green of the deep forest,
blue of the darkest sky,
and the deep orange of a dying fire,
these visions come in the black
of night, when the yellow moon
shines through skeletal finger-like
clouds, as if grasping for something
more, madly, desperately,
waiting
for the thunder to reign, and white
lightning to crash upon the heads of the
holy, enlightened only by hollow words,
greyed around the edges of red lips,
sold on the cheap, for the touch of
ruddy-pink skin, all for a taste
of forbidden fruit,
seen down the kaleidoscope of humanity,
all the colors of god,
we have yet to see.
blue of the darkest sky,
and the deep orange of a dying fire,
these visions come in the black
of night, when the yellow moon
shines through skeletal finger-like
clouds, as if grasping for something
more, madly, desperately,
waiting
for the thunder to reign, and white
lightning to crash upon the heads of the
holy, enlightened only by hollow words,
greyed around the edges of red lips,
sold on the cheap, for the touch of
ruddy-pink skin, all for a taste
of forbidden fruit,
seen down the kaleidoscope of humanity,
all the colors of god,
we have yet to see.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Aug. 14th
"To do no harm."
That's been the motto for the life model I've tried emulate for the majority of my soon-to-be 36 years on this tiny planet. It's a model that makes sense; take what you can get without harming others, take care of family, friends and lovers as best you can, and depart this plane of existence in the karmic black, because positive credit likely makes for an easier transition on the other side.
For the most part I have succeeded in living this way, but I am not perfect. There have been many times when I have failed miserably as a family member, friend, and lover. I take all of these failures to heart, and try my damnedest to learn from them so I don't keep repeating the same mistakes. In this arena I have also failed quite often.
I can only hope that the people I have mistreated in the course of events can look at the whole of our family/friendship/relationship and see that I have tried to be a decent and caring person and will somehow forgive my transgressions.
What's all this rambling about you say? Well I recently heard from some friends who know, that I have been written about on a certain blog in a negative fashion. I'll just say it; this person happens to be an ex-girlfriend, and despite everything, someone that I still care very much for. I've heard that she claims that I have ruined part of her life, that I caused her to become alienated from shared friends, and that she is still angry about how things between us turned out.
I didn't know she had a blog before finding out, and I don't intend to read it now that I know. I'm not angry about the blog more than I am sad that anything that happened between us is still an issue. From what I've heard, she is quite happy with the new life that she shares with her boyfriend - and I say cheers to that! Everyone deserves to be happy, and there's not many more deserving than her. I guess I'm just confused how I am responsible for the dwindling of her pool of friends.
I can alienate just about anyone, I talk smack, I live life pretty much the way I want to, and I have a darker side that shouldn't be revealed to many - but I've never asked anyone to take sides in my favor. Nobody I've talked to amongst our shared friends has ever said anything negative about her to my knowledge, and still maintains friendships with her - as it should be. "Do no harm" - that's the motto I've tried to remember - especially with the breaking of a relationship.
"Do no harm" also applies to yourself. The self-inflicted emotional damage one can do to you by holding onto anger from the past is simply not worth it in my mind. I sincerely hope that she will be able move beyond these angry feelings towards me, and other friends that have been affected. Healing our relationship will likely never happen, but it'd be a shame if she let that stop her from healing the friendships that have been strained over the months. Forgive them, and forget about me - that's the only unsolicited advice I can give.
Life can offer the most glorious and greatest gifts, and still deliver the harshest and most painful lessons. All we can do while we're here is try to enjoy the best moments, make it through the bad ones, and at the end of the day - try to do no harm.
That's been the motto for the life model I've tried emulate for the majority of my soon-to-be 36 years on this tiny planet. It's a model that makes sense; take what you can get without harming others, take care of family, friends and lovers as best you can, and depart this plane of existence in the karmic black, because positive credit likely makes for an easier transition on the other side.
For the most part I have succeeded in living this way, but I am not perfect. There have been many times when I have failed miserably as a family member, friend, and lover. I take all of these failures to heart, and try my damnedest to learn from them so I don't keep repeating the same mistakes. In this arena I have also failed quite often.
I can only hope that the people I have mistreated in the course of events can look at the whole of our family/friendship/relationship and see that I have tried to be a decent and caring person and will somehow forgive my transgressions.
What's all this rambling about you say? Well I recently heard from some friends who know, that I have been written about on a certain blog in a negative fashion. I'll just say it; this person happens to be an ex-girlfriend, and despite everything, someone that I still care very much for. I've heard that she claims that I have ruined part of her life, that I caused her to become alienated from shared friends, and that she is still angry about how things between us turned out.
I didn't know she had a blog before finding out, and I don't intend to read it now that I know. I'm not angry about the blog more than I am sad that anything that happened between us is still an issue. From what I've heard, she is quite happy with the new life that she shares with her boyfriend - and I say cheers to that! Everyone deserves to be happy, and there's not many more deserving than her. I guess I'm just confused how I am responsible for the dwindling of her pool of friends.
I can alienate just about anyone, I talk smack, I live life pretty much the way I want to, and I have a darker side that shouldn't be revealed to many - but I've never asked anyone to take sides in my favor. Nobody I've talked to amongst our shared friends has ever said anything negative about her to my knowledge, and still maintains friendships with her - as it should be. "Do no harm" - that's the motto I've tried to remember - especially with the breaking of a relationship.
"Do no harm" also applies to yourself. The self-inflicted emotional damage one can do to you by holding onto anger from the past is simply not worth it in my mind. I sincerely hope that she will be able move beyond these angry feelings towards me, and other friends that have been affected. Healing our relationship will likely never happen, but it'd be a shame if she let that stop her from healing the friendships that have been strained over the months. Forgive them, and forget about me - that's the only unsolicited advice I can give.
Life can offer the most glorious and greatest gifts, and still deliver the harshest and most painful lessons. All we can do while we're here is try to enjoy the best moments, make it through the bad ones, and at the end of the day - try to do no harm.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Summer Blues
On the edge of reason,
painted across the morning sky,
a leftover star, pining away,
burning itself out towards
the amber heavens, desperately
wishing to fall to earth, to land
in anothers arms,
while the summer blues reign,
lost in the doldrums of the harvest
moon, yet
the timing is still off-kilter,
and lovers below, cast desires
upward, towards the chaos of the
night sky, waiting for their own
wishes to come true, as the star
takes it all to heart,
burning away, to the sight of no-one,
as always a slave,
to the drumbeat of time.
painted across the morning sky,
a leftover star, pining away,
burning itself out towards
the amber heavens, desperately
wishing to fall to earth, to land
in anothers arms,
while the summer blues reign,
lost in the doldrums of the harvest
moon, yet
the timing is still off-kilter,
and lovers below, cast desires
upward, towards the chaos of the
night sky, waiting for their own
wishes to come true, as the star
takes it all to heart,
burning away, to the sight of no-one,
as always a slave,
to the drumbeat of time.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
A Rich Man
Move o'er me flash of gray,
Swiftly
along the crumbling sidewalks,
like a reaper, bony hands extended
deftly plucking gullible souls,
from dark corners and back-alleys,
the watchful ones,
will be the last to fall,
O' scythe, pass over me,
even as the blood of innocents
drips in my cup,
travel further towards the
gathering storm, cleanse your blade
in the great flood,
"I am king!" Or so I said,
but that pretence is gone now,
replaced with icy dread,
and the choice is clear,
no prince can become a pauper,
but one can reign in the
fires of hell.
Swiftly
along the crumbling sidewalks,
like a reaper, bony hands extended
deftly plucking gullible souls,
from dark corners and back-alleys,
the watchful ones,
will be the last to fall,
O' scythe, pass over me,
even as the blood of innocents
drips in my cup,
travel further towards the
gathering storm, cleanse your blade
in the great flood,
"I am king!" Or so I said,
but that pretence is gone now,
replaced with icy dread,
and the choice is clear,
no prince can become a pauper,
but one can reign in the
fires of hell.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Nine
Tired
Head rested
upon old stained
pillow, eyes full of
dark-blue morning mist, when
the moon is slowly dying while
rosy dawn reclined, still amidst warm
slumber, the bed remains cold comfort again,
ensnared in the silky web of time, while
the spider spins fate in a thousand mirrors, tarnished
by abandonded hopes and splintered dreams, in the
silent room, turning away from that empty
spot, averting a lonely gaze, fixed
now, spent on cracked plaster
painted by the hint
of sweet sunrise,
and honeyed
words.
Head rested
upon old stained
pillow, eyes full of
dark-blue morning mist, when
the moon is slowly dying while
rosy dawn reclined, still amidst warm
slumber, the bed remains cold comfort again,
ensnared in the silky web of time, while
the spider spins fate in a thousand mirrors, tarnished
by abandonded hopes and splintered dreams, in the
silent room, turning away from that empty
spot, averting a lonely gaze, fixed
now, spent on cracked plaster
painted by the hint
of sweet sunrise,
and honeyed
words.
July 9th
Wow, this year is flying by...I can't believe my son will be 14 tomorrow July 10th. I'm also observing the 4th anniversary of my daughter's death July 15th. It's going to be a week a major peaks and valleys, a week of happiness and sorrow, but more importantly a week that ends with a limbs and sanity intact.
Since I don't believe in any kind of religion per se, it's difficult to use the word prayer in that context. But I am
'praying" for the strength to see this week through without having to resort to all the old tried and false methods of coping. Let's just say that I will.
Since I don't believe in any kind of religion per se, it's difficult to use the word prayer in that context. But I am
'praying" for the strength to see this week through without having to resort to all the old tried and false methods of coping. Let's just say that I will.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Church Bells
Lost in the cotton clouds,
Painted by dying flames
Embers in west, softened by
the humid streets,
The church bells, ringing true,
Filling the air with dulcet tones,
Lonely atop the old stone tower,
Carved by strong hands,
the hopes of an young man,
with an ancient heart,
looking desperately o'er the rooftops
for the life he used to know,
when firmament of body and soul
was so much clearer, now bent and
Broken like a casualty of war,
somewhere amongst the people,
crawling below like so many ants,
a fate shall be matched,
whether it be one or a hundred years,
those pale blue eyes
will know themselves once again.
Painted by dying flames
Embers in west, softened by
the humid streets,
The church bells, ringing true,
Filling the air with dulcet tones,
Lonely atop the old stone tower,
Carved by strong hands,
the hopes of an young man,
with an ancient heart,
looking desperately o'er the rooftops
for the life he used to know,
when firmament of body and soul
was so much clearer, now bent and
Broken like a casualty of war,
somewhere amongst the people,
crawling below like so many ants,
a fate shall be matched,
whether it be one or a hundred years,
those pale blue eyes
will know themselves once again.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Parchment
When the midnight sun shines,
against the pale backdrop
of the milky white hills,
you'll find me, treading softly
on lucid dreams and the
pinhole stars on the horizon,
keeping an earnest gaze, not stolidly
for I'm forever licking wounds
of times less grand, and tracing
the little roadmap of scars,
on the old skin I left behind,
every one a reminder of a younger age,
Now blood-stained parchment,
opened veins of hope, now sealed
with a purpose for the future,
now, again, and forever,
the pathway is clear, if only
I can find it.
against the pale backdrop
of the milky white hills,
you'll find me, treading softly
on lucid dreams and the
pinhole stars on the horizon,
keeping an earnest gaze, not stolidly
for I'm forever licking wounds
of times less grand, and tracing
the little roadmap of scars,
on the old skin I left behind,
every one a reminder of a younger age,
Now blood-stained parchment,
opened veins of hope, now sealed
with a purpose for the future,
now, again, and forever,
the pathway is clear, if only
I can find it.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Plastic Heaven
She never walks through that door,
No matter where it may be,
The depths of hell, to the
Precipice of heaven,
That person never resembles, the
Creation of the mind,
Even under the neon skies,
Those features are never lost,
Only disappointment reigns supreme,
Confidence disappears every time,
A slight glance reveals another,
Waiting for that message,
One that reveals everything but,
What you truly desire,
At the end of the day,
Its only a dream,
And where its best to stay.
No matter where it may be,
The depths of hell, to the
Precipice of heaven,
That person never resembles, the
Creation of the mind,
Even under the neon skies,
Those features are never lost,
Only disappointment reigns supreme,
Confidence disappears every time,
A slight glance reveals another,
Waiting for that message,
One that reveals everything but,
What you truly desire,
At the end of the day,
Its only a dream,
And where its best to stay.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Mermaid
The illusionist spreads his wings,
Lustful benediction
And the beauty of sedition,
On that orange flame sunrise,
my love was decided,
my love was derided,
I, Held upside down, by her pale
hands, strong with years of wringing,
And soon the crimson clouds,
covered the sky, tied by crescent
moons, and the stars
bled from my wrists,
Selfishly I wanted her,
at my own pace,
and yet the sun still rises,
while the yearning never ceases,
Benediction to sedition, truth
over hope, reality at the most pure,
an antidote for the masses,
still I reject the dawn,
an embrace the night.
Lustful benediction
And the beauty of sedition,
On that orange flame sunrise,
my love was decided,
my love was derided,
I, Held upside down, by her pale
hands, strong with years of wringing,
And soon the crimson clouds,
covered the sky, tied by crescent
moons, and the stars
bled from my wrists,
Selfishly I wanted her,
at my own pace,
and yet the sun still rises,
while the yearning never ceases,
Benediction to sedition, truth
over hope, reality at the most pure,
an antidote for the masses,
still I reject the dawn,
an embrace the night.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
June 19th
It has come to my attention finally over the years that I am very much the shell of someone I thought I used to be. How can someone say that? What does that truly mean? The shell of someone you thought you were...Well the way I can attempt to describe it is - I was never really myself in the first place.
I have never allowed myself the luxury of enjoying the gifts that I possess; this is not to say that I am better or more capable in any area or another over anybody - what is means is accepting my own person for who they are without fear of reprisal, humiliation, rejection or anger at what I think I ought to become or should be to satisfy others.
We all share a certain malady - no matter how prosperous or poor we are, no matter how self-assured or self-hating we are. The malady I am referring to is self-denial. It is a warm and comfortable place for all of us. Some overcome this sickness with sheer willpower and over the course of years and years of failing and trying again until they're able to finally discover a treatment for this disease - love of self. The love of self is not a cure for the disease, but rather a way to cope with the everyday pressures of trying to be someone else.
Now, the love of one's self may seem to many as a selfish or narcissistic notion, but it is not; rather it is the most selfless action a reasonable human being can take. Think about it this way, in your own experiences in life: when are the worst times (barring the untimely death of a loved one, and/or physical and emotional abuse from others) in your life most likely to occur? Usually these bad times or bad luck if you wish to refer to it as such, occur when we are at a level of self-hatred or self-denial.
It is during these times when we allow ourselves to engage in behavior that we would normally avoid - name your inner-demon - it will exist in you as well as others. In my opinion, it is impossible to truly love anyone - platonically, romantically, or in the general spirit of human kindness, unless you also truly love yourself.
It is this enduring battle that exists in all of us, including the very best of us. No one in the world is immune to this disease. All we can do as rational beings is to accept ourselves for who we are. Through the love of self, your true face can appear - we all wear masks to cover up the blemishes, the pockmarks and the self-perceived cavities in our souls. It is through the windows of our minds, our very own eyes, how we perceive what we believe to be reality. Looking outwardly from inside we learn much about the world around us, but very little about what happens inside.
I am certainly not preaching new-age garbage or religious gobbledygook - this is common sense. Common sense may appear to be in short supply for many of us in the human race, but it is not. It is the illusion of what we perceive to be reality that poisons the purity of common sense. Love of self can reassure us of the decisions we make, it can reinforce what we know to be right and true in our lives.
Once that feat - and it most certainly gargantuan - is accomplished, then we can begin to "be ourselves" around the ones we care about, we can show love, compassion, and understanding without having the burden of unduly worrying about how it appears to others around us. I am not advocating do whatever you heart/mind desires at any given moment - that is anarchy, and also another form of self-hatred. I am advocating the acceptance of self - for better or worse (it is to be hoped the former).
All that being written - I am as far away from that goal as the Earth from the Sun. But the realization of this idea has brought me closer to that goal than before. Here's hoping that anyone who may read this is closer to that goal or at least on the right pathway to get there.
I have never allowed myself the luxury of enjoying the gifts that I possess; this is not to say that I am better or more capable in any area or another over anybody - what is means is accepting my own person for who they are without fear of reprisal, humiliation, rejection or anger at what I think I ought to become or should be to satisfy others.
We all share a certain malady - no matter how prosperous or poor we are, no matter how self-assured or self-hating we are. The malady I am referring to is self-denial. It is a warm and comfortable place for all of us. Some overcome this sickness with sheer willpower and over the course of years and years of failing and trying again until they're able to finally discover a treatment for this disease - love of self. The love of self is not a cure for the disease, but rather a way to cope with the everyday pressures of trying to be someone else.
Now, the love of one's self may seem to many as a selfish or narcissistic notion, but it is not; rather it is the most selfless action a reasonable human being can take. Think about it this way, in your own experiences in life: when are the worst times (barring the untimely death of a loved one, and/or physical and emotional abuse from others) in your life most likely to occur? Usually these bad times or bad luck if you wish to refer to it as such, occur when we are at a level of self-hatred or self-denial.
It is during these times when we allow ourselves to engage in behavior that we would normally avoid - name your inner-demon - it will exist in you as well as others. In my opinion, it is impossible to truly love anyone - platonically, romantically, or in the general spirit of human kindness, unless you also truly love yourself.
It is this enduring battle that exists in all of us, including the very best of us. No one in the world is immune to this disease. All we can do as rational beings is to accept ourselves for who we are. Through the love of self, your true face can appear - we all wear masks to cover up the blemishes, the pockmarks and the self-perceived cavities in our souls. It is through the windows of our minds, our very own eyes, how we perceive what we believe to be reality. Looking outwardly from inside we learn much about the world around us, but very little about what happens inside.
I am certainly not preaching new-age garbage or religious gobbledygook - this is common sense. Common sense may appear to be in short supply for many of us in the human race, but it is not. It is the illusion of what we perceive to be reality that poisons the purity of common sense. Love of self can reassure us of the decisions we make, it can reinforce what we know to be right and true in our lives.
Once that feat - and it most certainly gargantuan - is accomplished, then we can begin to "be ourselves" around the ones we care about, we can show love, compassion, and understanding without having the burden of unduly worrying about how it appears to others around us. I am not advocating do whatever you heart/mind desires at any given moment - that is anarchy, and also another form of self-hatred. I am advocating the acceptance of self - for better or worse (it is to be hoped the former).
All that being written - I am as far away from that goal as the Earth from the Sun. But the realization of this idea has brought me closer to that goal than before. Here's hoping that anyone who may read this is closer to that goal or at least on the right pathway to get there.
Friday, June 10, 2011
June 9th
Gonna take it easy today, I work early tomorrow morning and I've been doing a lot of things that I shouldn't be drinking-wise. Very down so far today, and I'm hoping to turn it around before tha day is over. Writing has been going alright -though it's nothhing I'd consider some of my better work. To put it simply, I'm in the type of mood where I just don't care about anything. Let's change it!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Elusive
Tear on the hearstrings
O' goddess of fate,
Rip away the years,
long spent in
the temple of another's
love that will never be,
no water into wine, this
altar will forever be
stained with the blood
of sacrifices untold,
while the battle rages
inside the heart,
desperately fighting
an illusion of reality,
yet still the river runs deep,
from now until the seas boil,
and the skies reign with fire,
the truth will remain
forever unscathed.
O' goddess of fate,
Rip away the years,
long spent in
the temple of another's
love that will never be,
no water into wine, this
altar will forever be
stained with the blood
of sacrifices untold,
while the battle rages
inside the heart,
desperately fighting
an illusion of reality,
yet still the river runs deep,
from now until the seas boil,
and the skies reign with fire,
the truth will remain
forever unscathed.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Ode to Bus Stop Cat
O' bus stop cat, how willingly
you throw yourself upon my feet,
with yellow eyes a' glinting,
soft white belly exposed with the
expectations of some selfelss
offering!
Nay, he demands it! When the morsel
doth not come forthwith, behind his smooth
pads, pinkish and unthreatening,
five tiny raptor-like razors, become
unleashed in a rabid fury, although in
his heart of hearts it's all for show,
for bus stop cat cares not for you,
The clouds may burst and the sky may
fall, but on to the next lover he will
roam - indifferently as always -
for the next best thing.
you throw yourself upon my feet,
with yellow eyes a' glinting,
soft white belly exposed with the
expectations of some selfelss
offering!
Nay, he demands it! When the morsel
doth not come forthwith, behind his smooth
pads, pinkish and unthreatening,
five tiny raptor-like razors, become
unleashed in a rabid fury, although in
his heart of hearts it's all for show,
for bus stop cat cares not for you,
The clouds may burst and the sky may
fall, but on to the next lover he will
roam - indifferently as always -
for the next best thing.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Afternoon Storms
The gentle breeze,
rustles through the trees,
along the ground old
leaves, crumpled papers,
freshly cut grass clippings all
toiling along with wind,
creating a symphony of the city,
little sounds, each from
different places, all a
part of someone, dreams
attached to every one,
then single drop of rain,
begets another and another
until the pale concrete
turns black like the night sky,
washing away the day's work,
that smell of a wet sidewalk,
after a warm day, fills the senses
with new, a new chance, a clean slate,
the power of each drop,
splashing against the face of the
downtrodden, stay here now,
under the torrent, under the thunder,
crashing like a thousand shields
stare into the lightning, into the
eyes of Zeus, and the fear
dissolves as the storm passes on,
and all that's left is a
clear mind drying in the sun.
rustles through the trees,
along the ground old
leaves, crumpled papers,
freshly cut grass clippings all
toiling along with wind,
creating a symphony of the city,
little sounds, each from
different places, all a
part of someone, dreams
attached to every one,
then single drop of rain,
begets another and another
until the pale concrete
turns black like the night sky,
washing away the day's work,
that smell of a wet sidewalk,
after a warm day, fills the senses
with new, a new chance, a clean slate,
the power of each drop,
splashing against the face of the
downtrodden, stay here now,
under the torrent, under the thunder,
crashing like a thousand shields
stare into the lightning, into the
eyes of Zeus, and the fear
dissolves as the storm passes on,
and all that's left is a
clear mind drying in the sun.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Fertile
The spring rain, ever-present
in the dark storms of the mind,
melting away the squalid memories
of lost love and a forlorn heart,
flooding the desolate plains,
bringing life to the
delicate saplings of hope,
just now pushing through
the fertile soil,
like a newborn child,
learning to walk for the
first time, modest victories,
yet a break in the clouds
to reveal the sun, glowing
like a god's eye,
purging regret,
and bringing the new day.
in the dark storms of the mind,
melting away the squalid memories
of lost love and a forlorn heart,
flooding the desolate plains,
bringing life to the
delicate saplings of hope,
just now pushing through
the fertile soil,
like a newborn child,
learning to walk for the
first time, modest victories,
yet a break in the clouds
to reveal the sun, glowing
like a god's eye,
purging regret,
and bringing the new day.
June 5th
Another day, another instance of letting down friends. On the plus side, I did spend the entire week eating healthy, and not drinking heavily. My very life actually depends on me doing the right thing and choosing not to binge every single fucking night on alcohol. I've grown to enjoy low-sodium foods, so that's not all bad - it's just going to be a constant battle to stay away from the places I like where the alcohol flows and the girls flock like the salmon of Capastrano. *cough*
Yes, shenaniganz are my thing but I will have to learn to limit them for the time being and discover new pursuits that will be good for my body and soul.
Yes, shenaniganz are my thing but I will have to learn to limit them for the time being and discover new pursuits that will be good for my body and soul.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Blur
Grinding away on the
Mortar and pestle, as
The clock spins a tune,
Like a blur, one moment
There, the next she is
Gone
Daylight wanes, tired eyes
Fall like curtains,
Still there in the longing
Hours, yet remaining
She gazes past him
Towards some distant future,
Here he sits, unrequited,
Trying to remember how to
Forget, the blur now stretching
Across time itself,
But in his heart,
He still feels the same.
Mortar and pestle, as
The clock spins a tune,
Like a blur, one moment
There, the next she is
Gone
Daylight wanes, tired eyes
Fall like curtains,
Still there in the longing
Hours, yet remaining
She gazes past him
Towards some distant future,
Here he sits, unrequited,
Trying to remember how to
Forget, the blur now stretching
Across time itself,
But in his heart,
He still feels the same.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
May 18th
Haha! Looking at my last post is actually quite amusing - and I can see that at least two other people did as well. Who doesn't want to do a little drunk writing in the middle of the night? It's awesomesauce!
May 18th
The desire to give up sometimes is very strong. But the will to persevere and grow even stronger is too powerful. Someday, I'll look back on these days as some of the best and worst of my life. Second-guessing myself is the worst outcome I can imagine anymore. To shoulder the burden and care for others - that's the true test of who we are. I believe in hope, and that hope is enough to see me through any situation. I believe that someday, I"ll pass down what I know to be true in a positive way. Until then...I won't abandon all hope just yet.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Icy
In the fabric of my dreams,
where the stars are scattered,
upon the ground like an open
prarie under the pale black sky,
I find you in the shadows,
and we come together,
under the pounding of the warm
rain, two bodies enclosed in the
balmy mist, lips pressed into one
embrace, as I take the cool moon,
and caress the small of your
back, evoking delicate gasps,
in a silky tangle of arms
and legs, and we sink down into
the land, soft like ripened fruit,
holding tight, two bodies collapsed
in the starlight gaze,
now bright as a thousand suns,
and you slip away from me,
like smoke through my fingers,
I see only your eyes now,
as I open my eyes,
awakened to the
beating of a lonely heart.
where the stars are scattered,
upon the ground like an open
prarie under the pale black sky,
I find you in the shadows,
and we come together,
under the pounding of the warm
rain, two bodies enclosed in the
balmy mist, lips pressed into one
embrace, as I take the cool moon,
and caress the small of your
back, evoking delicate gasps,
in a silky tangle of arms
and legs, and we sink down into
the land, soft like ripened fruit,
holding tight, two bodies collapsed
in the starlight gaze,
now bright as a thousand suns,
and you slip away from me,
like smoke through my fingers,
I see only your eyes now,
as I open my eyes,
awakened to the
beating of a lonely heart.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Churning Minds (at the bar)
It's hot inside my head
Staring out at the world
From behind dirty windows
Stained glass eyes
Holding in the flames
One little thought
Stifled, no longer the
Enemy
Shattering the moment
Then splintered apart like
An ice-covered river
Water rushing through
Filling up every crevice
Drowning out
The crackling of the fire
Static now
A shell of their former
Self
Cleansed from poison skies
Yet still overcast
Waiting for the seasons
To blacken windows
Now repaired
As the days pass by
Flowing like the wind
Meandering sunbeams play
Like tiny needles
Sewing fate
Caressing the embers
Just a faint glow to
Warm the heart
And remind me
Of the churning mind
making my head hot.
Staring out at the world
From behind dirty windows
Stained glass eyes
Holding in the flames
One little thought
Stifled, no longer the
Enemy
Shattering the moment
Then splintered apart like
An ice-covered river
Water rushing through
Filling up every crevice
Drowning out
The crackling of the fire
Static now
A shell of their former
Self
Cleansed from poison skies
Yet still overcast
Waiting for the seasons
To blacken windows
Now repaired
As the days pass by
Flowing like the wind
Meandering sunbeams play
Like tiny needles
Sewing fate
Caressing the embers
Just a faint glow to
Warm the heart
And remind me
Of the churning mind
making my head hot.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Three times a Year
That funeral hymn,
Ehcoing
Hymn so slow,
Consecrated under the
Shadows of a tomb,
Funeral hymn,
Played by heartstings,
On a red lyre,
While the old trees creak,
Fall leaves, cast upon
Gravestones whithered
By the wind and tears,
Shallow hymn,
By the sweat of the brow
Three holes dug,
I fell into one!
O' funeral hymn, steeped
In woe and regret,
Under the ground,
Enclosed in the soil,
Still I faintly hear,
That funeral hymn,
Three times a year.
Ehcoing
Hymn so slow,
Consecrated under the
Shadows of a tomb,
Funeral hymn,
Played by heartstings,
On a red lyre,
While the old trees creak,
Fall leaves, cast upon
Gravestones whithered
By the wind and tears,
Shallow hymn,
By the sweat of the brow
Three holes dug,
I fell into one!
O' funeral hymn, steeped
In woe and regret,
Under the ground,
Enclosed in the soil,
Still I faintly hear,
That funeral hymn,
Three times a year.
Two for the Road
Mid-day, and all is well,
Two for the road,
And on my way.
Set unto the golden sands,
Darkly lit, the latern wanes,
Against the twilight sun.
The highway never curved,
And yet the moon glints,
Like a scythe in the night sky.
Out of the swirling darkness,
Mile post 62,
Windows open to hot summer's breath.
The desert reveals an ocean
Of senses, reflected in those
Mirror's of the soul.
The road seems endless,
Like a child's mind,
And I'm not sleeping just yet.
With a cool glow on the dash,
And the smell of sage in her hair,
We could drive forever.
Moon as my scythe,
You as my harvest,
Two for the road.
Two for the road,
And on my way.
Set unto the golden sands,
Darkly lit, the latern wanes,
Against the twilight sun.
The highway never curved,
And yet the moon glints,
Like a scythe in the night sky.
Out of the swirling darkness,
Mile post 62,
Windows open to hot summer's breath.
The desert reveals an ocean
Of senses, reflected in those
Mirror's of the soul.
The road seems endless,
Like a child's mind,
And I'm not sleeping just yet.
With a cool glow on the dash,
And the smell of sage in her hair,
We could drive forever.
Moon as my scythe,
You as my harvest,
Two for the road.
May 9th
So it's Monday...Mother's Day was quite strange for me. For one, it's the first MD without having an mom to kick around, for two, I found myself oddly moving between missing her and feeling absolutely nothing. I'd say it was about 75-25 feeling nothing at all. Feeling flatter than an overdone pancake is not unsusual, but I did expect to have a little extra going on between the ears considering the hallmark holiday that it is...
That feeling has overlapped into today. I could be thrown from the top of a building and not barely manage a yawn. I guess that's just how some days are. On the major plus-side, the film we wrrapped up two weeks ago is in the final editing stages, and we've even settled on a date for the release party. Fuckin A, I say. And so I do.
That feeling has overlapped into today. I could be thrown from the top of a building and not barely manage a yawn. I guess that's just how some days are. On the major plus-side, the film we wrrapped up two weeks ago is in the final editing stages, and we've even settled on a date for the release party. Fuckin A, I say. And so I do.
Friday, May 6, 2011
One Breath
Lost in the mist,
among the sticky brambles
and mossy thickets,
not quite alone,
for the land was alive,
the blazing sun,
tears away the morning veil,
and lustful nature,
bares her gentle breast,
soft as the dandelion's kiss,
the earth exhales,
while meadows bask in the
radiance of summer's eyes,
we embrace in the shadows
of the ancient oak,
tracing the stillness of the air,
while the wispy clouds dream,
of lands far away,
fallen into sleep, one breath
at a time, rhythmic with the
swaying branches,
grasping for a new day,
and holding out hope.
among the sticky brambles
and mossy thickets,
not quite alone,
for the land was alive,
the blazing sun,
tears away the morning veil,
and lustful nature,
bares her gentle breast,
soft as the dandelion's kiss,
the earth exhales,
while meadows bask in the
radiance of summer's eyes,
we embrace in the shadows
of the ancient oak,
tracing the stillness of the air,
while the wispy clouds dream,
of lands far away,
fallen into sleep, one breath
at a time, rhythmic with the
swaying branches,
grasping for a new day,
and holding out hope.
Friday, April 29, 2011
April 29th Part Deux
This is my blog. I don't apologize for ANYTHING written on this site. If anyone is offended, or disagrees with me - I don't care. The views expressed here are my own; nobody else has influenced them - and they are merely opinions or poetry. OPINIONS or POETRY. That is all. You can leave comments (good or bad)if you so desire, I won't hide them.
Broken Thoughts
The sun rises on the cold morning,
Warming the bones,
And the evening skin,
While the hustle and bustle,
Plays a sad tune,
There is that reminder,
The fire in the eastern sky,
Some things can be new,
Even broken thoughts,
Shattered in the mirror,
Reflecting reality in
Every splitered shard,
Will be mended,
By dawn's gentle embrace.
Warming the bones,
And the evening skin,
While the hustle and bustle,
Plays a sad tune,
There is that reminder,
The fire in the eastern sky,
Some things can be new,
Even broken thoughts,
Shattered in the mirror,
Reflecting reality in
Every splitered shard,
Will be mended,
By dawn's gentle embrace.
April 29th
Well it's been a mixed bag of a week - Wednesday was a fantastic day off, full of food carts and Johnny Cash cover bands. The rest was just, meh I suppose. Not too up, not too down, and yet definitely not quite right.
One relationships ended, and one changed forever in the last week. The one that ended was someone that I consider to be like my sister (if I had one). That relationship was damaged early and often by me, and it's not really that surprising that its over. It's still saddening to me nonetheless.
The second relationship was with my girlfriend, who despite much of my craziness harbored feelings for me for a time, despite the fact that I did a bad job of returning the same feelings. We are still friends however, and its probably a sign that we would not have worked out in the long-term anyway.
The failure of two relationships in the past week has me thinking about how many other friends or potential more serious relationships I am in danger (if at all) of losing. Friends were not something I had many of as a child growing up; mostly I kept to myself and remained the dark, quiet strange kid in the back, out of view of others. In high school, I opened up more, but by then it was too late with the people I went to school with for most of my life - you get labled easily when that happens.
Getting married and having kids when I was still a teenager was something that I would never want to change. I have two wonderful children (my daughter died in 2007), and my ex-wife is still a wonderful person, and someone I've been privaleged to know. The marriage failed for a myriad of reasons, but its safe to say the majority was my fault.
After that I entered into the relationship that's taught me the most about who I am and how to deal with any future intimate relationships. This woman is a really cool person, and I wish her well - but we were the worst possible mix of lonliness, insanity, and desperation that there could be. We fell for each other in a work environment (bad idea), planned to move in together while we were still in already established relationships (bad idea), and I was still in the midst of the grieving process over my daughter (strike three!). We had some really great times and some really HORRIBLE times together. This is the first relationship however, where I didn't feel completely responsible for its failure. There was plenty of "blame" to go around, and I feel equally responsible - which is healthy.
Since then, I've really tried learn how to be a "single" person for the first time in my life. I realize that I don't enjoy the single lifestyle as much as I thought I would all these years. Don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed the freedom to do what I want, when I want (for the most part), but I genuinely miss sharing myself with someone else and having the same gift given to me. Shared experiences are great with friends, and can be magical, romantic, and life-changing with someone who you love (or growing to love). I already knew this about myself somehow, but being single has driven home this point.
The difference for me now, is that while I do want to have a serious relationship, I am not interested in "forcing" it to happen. I don't want a relationship just for the sake of one. I'm willing to step back, not persue dead-ends, and let "nature take it's course" as it were. Getting to know someone in the long-term is the most important thing. The temptation to hurry things or settle for something else is strong, but that won't happen to me again. Life is too short for that bullshit. Of course, this all sounds good on paper - but something tells me that these gray hairs that I've acquired are good for more than just looking mature - gotta act the part now.
One relationships ended, and one changed forever in the last week. The one that ended was someone that I consider to be like my sister (if I had one). That relationship was damaged early and often by me, and it's not really that surprising that its over. It's still saddening to me nonetheless.
The second relationship was with my girlfriend, who despite much of my craziness harbored feelings for me for a time, despite the fact that I did a bad job of returning the same feelings. We are still friends however, and its probably a sign that we would not have worked out in the long-term anyway.
The failure of two relationships in the past week has me thinking about how many other friends or potential more serious relationships I am in danger (if at all) of losing. Friends were not something I had many of as a child growing up; mostly I kept to myself and remained the dark, quiet strange kid in the back, out of view of others. In high school, I opened up more, but by then it was too late with the people I went to school with for most of my life - you get labled easily when that happens.
Getting married and having kids when I was still a teenager was something that I would never want to change. I have two wonderful children (my daughter died in 2007), and my ex-wife is still a wonderful person, and someone I've been privaleged to know. The marriage failed for a myriad of reasons, but its safe to say the majority was my fault.
After that I entered into the relationship that's taught me the most about who I am and how to deal with any future intimate relationships. This woman is a really cool person, and I wish her well - but we were the worst possible mix of lonliness, insanity, and desperation that there could be. We fell for each other in a work environment (bad idea), planned to move in together while we were still in already established relationships (bad idea), and I was still in the midst of the grieving process over my daughter (strike three!). We had some really great times and some really HORRIBLE times together. This is the first relationship however, where I didn't feel completely responsible for its failure. There was plenty of "blame" to go around, and I feel equally responsible - which is healthy.
Since then, I've really tried learn how to be a "single" person for the first time in my life. I realize that I don't enjoy the single lifestyle as much as I thought I would all these years. Don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed the freedom to do what I want, when I want (for the most part), but I genuinely miss sharing myself with someone else and having the same gift given to me. Shared experiences are great with friends, and can be magical, romantic, and life-changing with someone who you love (or growing to love). I already knew this about myself somehow, but being single has driven home this point.
The difference for me now, is that while I do want to have a serious relationship, I am not interested in "forcing" it to happen. I don't want a relationship just for the sake of one. I'm willing to step back, not persue dead-ends, and let "nature take it's course" as it were. Getting to know someone in the long-term is the most important thing. The temptation to hurry things or settle for something else is strong, but that won't happen to me again. Life is too short for that bullshit. Of course, this all sounds good on paper - but something tells me that these gray hairs that I've acquired are good for more than just looking mature - gotta act the part now.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Slippery
My morning breeze,
A kiss in the wake,
Trembling at the touch,
And burning in the sun,
Sensing, the curves of,
Supple skin,
Not lined by pink ribbons,
Unable to clench fists,
With one hand outstreched,
I seperate the moon from the
From the tendons of the Earth
Away from the grey skies,
While slippery words,
Slide past wet lips,
Wielding rumors of the night, but
Sweaty embraces, and the feel of
Skin dominates the mind,
As the cool Spring air,
Reaches worn out bodies,
Asleep in jellied arms.
Dreaming of hot Summer days...
A kiss in the wake,
Trembling at the touch,
And burning in the sun,
Sensing, the curves of,
Supple skin,
Not lined by pink ribbons,
Unable to clench fists,
With one hand outstreched,
I seperate the moon from the
From the tendons of the Earth
Away from the grey skies,
While slippery words,
Slide past wet lips,
Wielding rumors of the night, but
Sweaty embraces, and the feel of
Skin dominates the mind,
As the cool Spring air,
Reaches worn out bodies,
Asleep in jellied arms.
Dreaming of hot Summer days...
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
April 19th
It's very interesting to look back at some of the writing that I've done. Some of it, I can read and not cringe with embarassment, but some I read a few lines and I regret ever posting. Perhaps it's some kind of therapy to do so anyway. The writing I can't stand are the ones where I stuff every last bit of imagery into the poem to the point where it makes no sense. The one I did last night felt quite forced and without direction, mainly because I was at work while I was doing it, but also I had no theme or guidance. When I feel I've written something worthwhile, its after I've had a phrase or certain words come to mind. When I do that, the writing come very easily, and nothing is forced. It only takes a hint of some theme or direction to come up with something good - even a title helps sometimes, although I feel better when I can weave a line in the middle of it all...anyway, here's hoping I think of more soon!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Tame
Against the shadows of the bloodless moon,
when we journeyed across the silver seas,
and she arose from the ocean, in the cold
morning air, to quell the thirsty heart,
And the newborn sun, did not shy away
from the center of Neptune's fury,
so I remembered her as she was then,
now ages ago, as old as the stars
we were no strangers to fray,
hunting the dawn from the edges
of our minds, while the blue
mountains, creaked and groaned in
an ectasy of the gods desire, the lighting
played against her sapphire gaze, two eyes
at one with mine, sparkling with immortal
flames
and we fell into the dark chasm of love
Those days are no more, fallen into disrepair,
like some cobble street from ancient times,
now only the desert hides the secrets
of sordid treasures spent on the crash of
swords and the flash of cannon,
I remember sometimes, those eyes in the dark,
piercing into the fabric of the mind,
saving me from the wreckage of despair,
long ago when the Earth was new,
and the rain fell with intent
washing away the stains
of regret.
when we journeyed across the silver seas,
and she arose from the ocean, in the cold
morning air, to quell the thirsty heart,
And the newborn sun, did not shy away
from the center of Neptune's fury,
so I remembered her as she was then,
now ages ago, as old as the stars
we were no strangers to fray,
hunting the dawn from the edges
of our minds, while the blue
mountains, creaked and groaned in
an ectasy of the gods desire, the lighting
played against her sapphire gaze, two eyes
at one with mine, sparkling with immortal
flames
and we fell into the dark chasm of love
Those days are no more, fallen into disrepair,
like some cobble street from ancient times,
now only the desert hides the secrets
of sordid treasures spent on the crash of
swords and the flash of cannon,
I remember sometimes, those eyes in the dark,
piercing into the fabric of the mind,
saving me from the wreckage of despair,
long ago when the Earth was new,
and the rain fell with intent
washing away the stains
of regret.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
April 12th
I haven't this snarky and mean in quite a long time. Don't know why this is - perhaps it's because the weather is so beautiful, and I want to keep everyone down in my hell when it rains. I'm sure it will pass soon enough after I become used to all the shiny happy people, and I rejoin their ranks. I find that occasional depression makes for quite good writing, so maybe over the next week or so I'll be able to take advantage of that.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Shedding
The course ridges of dead skin,
gray, pale, flaying and singed with
regret,
just out of reach, grasping
for relief - cool water in the cruel desert,
searching for that feeling remembered,
long ago when time seemed sweet,
like honey, but now crystallized,
a sensation of desire,
to shed your skin,
at the tip of the skull it begins,
flashing fire in every vein,
stripping away past the nose,
and your shoulders, worn with burdens
down past your soft belly, longing for touch,
sliding and squirming out, like a snake
inching past the knees and finally the toes,
as the sun rose, a new soul gleaming in the dawn
new life, at the cost of old demons,
who once ruled the night -
while you now rule the day.
gray, pale, flaying and singed with
regret,
just out of reach, grasping
for relief - cool water in the cruel desert,
searching for that feeling remembered,
long ago when time seemed sweet,
like honey, but now crystallized,
a sensation of desire,
to shed your skin,
at the tip of the skull it begins,
flashing fire in every vein,
stripping away past the nose,
and your shoulders, worn with burdens
down past your soft belly, longing for touch,
sliding and squirming out, like a snake
inching past the knees and finally the toes,
as the sun rose, a new soul gleaming in the dawn
new life, at the cost of old demons,
who once ruled the night -
while you now rule the day.
April 11th
I have been going through a MAJOR case of writers block. Unable to find inspiration, unable to just sit down and write, it's really been bothering me to leave my blog in such disarray. I think I've been able to get a few ideas over the last few days, and I am going to try and give it another go.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Still Here
As another drink slides lazily down
the back of my parched throat,
her face returns to the front, now
burned into the edges of my mind,
like staring into a hundred-thousand suns,
the walls of reality are jagged, and perception
is wasted on the meek,
time runs together like mollasses
while sitting at the bar, and the music flows
on the tip of our tongue,
the bartender pours another glass,
and the eyes follow my every move
unaware that I do the same,
in the silence of the night, my
afterglow, a dying ember
held in my scarred hands, does not burn
instead shines like amber in the moonlight
and reminds me
she reminds me
please remind me
of why I'm still here.
the back of my parched throat,
her face returns to the front, now
burned into the edges of my mind,
like staring into a hundred-thousand suns,
the walls of reality are jagged, and perception
is wasted on the meek,
time runs together like mollasses
while sitting at the bar, and the music flows
on the tip of our tongue,
the bartender pours another glass,
and the eyes follow my every move
unaware that I do the same,
in the silence of the night, my
afterglow, a dying ember
held in my scarred hands, does not burn
instead shines like amber in the moonlight
and reminds me
she reminds me
please remind me
of why I'm still here.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Night of the Poet
Dreamily aware of the full moon,
peering out of the window of a tavern,
as the light drips away from the stars,
falling like raindrops, and inside the
wooden tables, wet with with ale, and the air,
full of smoke-filled lust, betrayed her hazel eyes,
as he ran his fingers through her brown hair,
she traded vows for poems,
and the earth shook with fire below,
and the black walls of the tavern bled,
because this was the night of the poet,
a grand story spoken through honeyed lips,
and frothy steins, clanking all the while,
to the unearthly din,
until his feet found the way,
through the morning dew,
to the village road snaking
along the river's edge,
as the dawn shewed her rosy face,
the poet slept while the willows wept,
waiting for the night to return again.
peering out of the window of a tavern,
as the light drips away from the stars,
falling like raindrops, and inside the
wooden tables, wet with with ale, and the air,
full of smoke-filled lust, betrayed her hazel eyes,
as he ran his fingers through her brown hair,
she traded vows for poems,
and the earth shook with fire below,
and the black walls of the tavern bled,
because this was the night of the poet,
a grand story spoken through honeyed lips,
and frothy steins, clanking all the while,
to the unearthly din,
until his feet found the way,
through the morning dew,
to the village road snaking
along the river's edge,
as the dawn shewed her rosy face,
the poet slept while the willows wept,
waiting for the night to return again.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Oranges
Neon fingers touching black canvas,
against gods eyes, swirling about
the sun,
falling like snow, resting upon,
her pale skin, shining like
a sliver of the moon,
On the snowy meadow,
the ice melts beneath her tiny feet,
crunching along two by two,
while the beast lies in wait,
baring yellow fangs, fire
in the belly, drawn by her
scent, and cut into his mind,
like a chisel, Venus in the
moonlight,
snatched up at the final moment,
taken away to the ancient
mountains, as a white queen to
a bloody king,
drinking cups of crimson desire,
till the spring comes,
and rosy dawn bares her breast
to the bleary-eyed masses
once again.
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against gods eyes, swirling about
the sun,
falling like snow, resting upon,
her pale skin, shining like
a sliver of the moon,
On the snowy meadow,
the ice melts beneath her tiny feet,
crunching along two by two,
while the beast lies in wait,
baring yellow fangs, fire
in the belly, drawn by her
scent, and cut into his mind,
like a chisel, Venus in the
moonlight,
snatched up at the final moment,
taken away to the ancient
mountains, as a white queen to
a bloody king,
drinking cups of crimson desire,
till the spring comes,
and rosy dawn bares her breast
to the bleary-eyed masses
once again.
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March 2nd
A day like any other, nothing much going except that I am writing for another blog now: http://paranormalpdx.wordpress.com/ This is the paranormal group that I am a part of now - and I'm pretty excited about where we can go with this group. In addition to writing for the POPS blog, I am also a case manager for the inner city Portland area for future paranormal investigations. I really need to get out there and pound the pavement on my days off so we can get more investigations as soon as possible - I can't wait till our next one :)
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Skulduggery
A taxi cab, and I, wilting
in the black vinyl seat, torn,
wasting away, like a corpse
not yet discovered,
one day gone, feasting
on the fumes of the hatter,
dripping yellow glue on my
tongue,
Ah, the sickness of this city,
we've all been sorted,
like tasty little candies,
unaware of the children, with
grubby sausage hands, grasping
to expose us to the heavens,
tearing and tossing us into the
sky like the green grass,
only to settle again on the
fragments of a pure mind
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in the black vinyl seat, torn,
wasting away, like a corpse
not yet discovered,
one day gone, feasting
on the fumes of the hatter,
dripping yellow glue on my
tongue,
Ah, the sickness of this city,
we've all been sorted,
like tasty little candies,
unaware of the children, with
grubby sausage hands, grasping
to expose us to the heavens,
tearing and tossing us into the
sky like the green grass,
only to settle again on the
fragments of a pure mind
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Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Schism
Grey skies, driven close by
dark clouds unseen,
I see them in the
reflection of her eyes,
flat and smooth, like
a mirror, gazing deeply
into swirling thoughts,
flitting about like
snowflakes on a winter's
morning, deftly avoiding,
the bonfires on the
shoreline, sometimes drenched
with blood, the green grass,
covered in white, but speckled
with little reminders of
the past, along the water,
grasping, cupping embracing,
but still thirsty for more,
praying for the spring,
yet dying in the summer..
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dark clouds unseen,
I see them in the
reflection of her eyes,
flat and smooth, like
a mirror, gazing deeply
into swirling thoughts,
flitting about like
snowflakes on a winter's
morning, deftly avoiding,
the bonfires on the
shoreline, sometimes drenched
with blood, the green grass,
covered in white, but speckled
with little reminders of
the past, along the water,
grasping, cupping embracing,
but still thirsty for more,
praying for the spring,
yet dying in the summer..
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Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Feb. 21st
It's been an interesting week...a new job, and a new point of view...nothing is certain except surviving...nothing is true, except for my feelings, which seem to be solidifying in uncertain ways...I am at once happy and afraid of what the future holds...confidence is a fickle mistress...hopefully she returns forthwith..
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Monday, February 14, 2011
Feb. 14th
Life is a strange and cruel mistress,
like a dying tree, it looks as though
the outside is solid, even while the
interior is but hollow,
But therein lies the riddle trunks can
be fertile,
crystalline in the middle of
inevitable death,
defying all that makes sense,
such is the beauty of
free will, and the strength
to carry on
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like a dying tree, it looks as though
the outside is solid, even while the
interior is but hollow,
But therein lies the riddle trunks can
be fertile,
crystalline in the middle of
inevitable death,
defying all that makes sense,
such is the beauty of
free will, and the strength
to carry on
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On Valentine's Day
Break through disparate desires,
wade against the stream of time,
search every corner of this
blue jewel, the sea to the sky,
and the barren wastelands of a
splintered heart, to mend the soul
torn and tattered, like an old sail,
no longer replete by her touch,
yet driven, by a fire in the belly,
no quarter given or asked for,
hope springs eternal, like an ancient geyser
cooling sordid sorrow
to quench that thirst,
someone will dance with you again,
and two souls will be bound together,
round and round the flames,
flitting about the ashes, until the two
rise as one,
with no fear of the night,
in each other's arms, softly
dreaming of the dawn again
wade against the stream of time,
search every corner of this
blue jewel, the sea to the sky,
and the barren wastelands of a
splintered heart, to mend the soul
torn and tattered, like an old sail,
no longer replete by her touch,
yet driven, by a fire in the belly,
no quarter given or asked for,
hope springs eternal, like an ancient geyser
cooling sordid sorrow
to quench that thirst,
someone will dance with you again,
and two souls will be bound together,
round and round the flames,
flitting about the ashes, until the two
rise as one,
with no fear of the night,
in each other's arms, softly
dreaming of the dawn again
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Feb. 13th
So a new day, and a new relationship in my life has begun. Her name is Jess, and we have been seeing each other off and on for the last several months, until recently when it has become more and more regular.
I am very happy, and I feel like I have the chance to actually enjoy a healthy relationship with her. After mucking things up so badly in the past with other women, it feels serendipitous this time to be able to share my life with someone so amazing.
On another note, it appears as though I will be employed fairly soon - I've been offered a part-time job as a concierge/valet at a really nice hotel here on Portland called Hotel 50. The tips are supposed to be awesome, even if the wage isn't - so its perfect for me: money coming in, and still plenty of time to write!
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Monday, February 7, 2011
Malibu
The cracked old streets
less inviting under the
gray skies,
cold stares inside warm cars
as the wheels turn like
gears in the head
The machine, not well-oiled,
and rusted at the core, still
taking turns, ready to crash,
seemingly against the wind,
as the meshing of humanity
collides like a 10 car
pile-up
Pay attention to the
proles, you engines of the
economy,
Before your streets run
red instead of black
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less inviting under the
gray skies,
cold stares inside warm cars
as the wheels turn like
gears in the head
The machine, not well-oiled,
and rusted at the core, still
taking turns, ready to crash,
seemingly against the wind,
as the meshing of humanity
collides like a 10 car
pile-up
Pay attention to the
proles, you engines of the
economy,
Before your streets run
red instead of black
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Thursday, February 3, 2011
Red Ribbons
Porcelain fingers, interlocking
seemingly frozen, by the harsh glare
of crystalline fear, the unknown
darkness in the center of the chest,
like some great chasm in the earth,
jagged edges, on a slippery slope,
tearing the flesh, but not the mind,
always on the prowl, lust and greed,
overcome by the fire in her heart,
a vision of desire, golden locks,
dancing in the summer wind, reaching
out to save him from the bottomless
pit, and the monster, the fool with
gaping pleading jaws, lined with
the broken bones of those who
came before, his bleeding hands,
scrambling for hers, porcelain, like sunshine after the monsoon, agleam,
buried eyes, taken from the stars, a gift
learned, baleful, indestructible, love
in the edges of the forest, not on
the edge of a sword, with a reflection
of fate, not sullied by deeds of the
past, rescued from that life again,
he stays the hand, no red ribbons
on the temple, firm as the body,
now placed on a path of riches,
by friendship and golden promise,
true wealth in her eyes, not spun
like wool, but leavened by heartache,
at the end of this dream, she waits
in the night, and they collapse
together, like two great armies,
into arms, not used for pain, but
melded together by soft skin,
down again, to the rising of the
blazing morning,
One more day, one more breath,
one more kiss
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seemingly frozen, by the harsh glare
of crystalline fear, the unknown
darkness in the center of the chest,
like some great chasm in the earth,
jagged edges, on a slippery slope,
tearing the flesh, but not the mind,
always on the prowl, lust and greed,
overcome by the fire in her heart,
a vision of desire, golden locks,
dancing in the summer wind, reaching
out to save him from the bottomless
pit, and the monster, the fool with
gaping pleading jaws, lined with
the broken bones of those who
came before, his bleeding hands,
scrambling for hers, porcelain, like sunshine after the monsoon, agleam,
buried eyes, taken from the stars, a gift
learned, baleful, indestructible, love
in the edges of the forest, not on
the edge of a sword, with a reflection
of fate, not sullied by deeds of the
past, rescued from that life again,
he stays the hand, no red ribbons
on the temple, firm as the body,
now placed on a path of riches,
by friendship and golden promise,
true wealth in her eyes, not spun
like wool, but leavened by heartache,
at the end of this dream, she waits
in the night, and they collapse
together, like two great armies,
into arms, not used for pain, but
melded together by soft skin,
down again, to the rising of the
blazing morning,
One more day, one more breath,
one more kiss
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Feb. 2nd
What a strange day, or even week for that matter. I went to an advance screening of this god awful movie "Sanctum". Luckily for me it was free and completely ridiculous, bringing about much snickering and giggling from my cohorts from Yelp Anna B. and Ana M. I attempted to inspire sarcastic applause at the end of the movie, but to no avail - I guess it really was that damn bad!
Beyond that, I've been working on simply being happy while remaining single. It's not easy when you're an old man like me (35) but it isn't half-bad for the most part - even when you see your ex with someone else like I did at the movie. I can't lie and say that I do not miss that person somewhat, but then I go back to thinking just how much we used to fight, and how unhappy we both were overall, despite the good times, and how happy I am right now to get a second chance with someone else - whoever that person ends up being, it won't be rushed.
Have some really good ideas for a short novel right now - I've even begun to write character sketches for them. More to come on that, as I decide to get more organized! Go Packers!!!!
Beyond that, I've been working on simply being happy while remaining single. It's not easy when you're an old man like me (35) but it isn't half-bad for the most part - even when you see your ex with someone else like I did at the movie. I can't lie and say that I do not miss that person somewhat, but then I go back to thinking just how much we used to fight, and how unhappy we both were overall, despite the good times, and how happy I am right now to get a second chance with someone else - whoever that person ends up being, it won't be rushed.
Have some really good ideas for a short novel right now - I've even begun to write character sketches for them. More to come on that, as I decide to get more organized! Go Packers!!!!
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Those Holy Bones!
Those holy bones!
Bleached in fiery holes,
drenched in days of old,
like a bee in a rose,
they deal a deadly blow!
Bleached in fiery holes,
drenched in days of old,
like a bee in a rose,
they deal a deadly blow!
Those holy bones!
Bleached in fiery holes,
made anew, into a flute,
like the hymnal scales,
into the fire you'll go!
Those holy bones!
Bleached in fiery holes,
knitted together, bile and leather
like bread in the oven,
your soul will surely glow!
Those holy bones!
Bleached in fiery holes,
In the drum lines they roll
like birds of a feather,
in the ancient hippo-drome
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The Vagrant
The bedraggled wanderer, raised on the
old roads, at home under the trees, gaunt branches
and ashy moon, in the darkness of the night,
the stars aligned to conspire against fate,
in perfect harmony, the wind whispers of
love lost, in the wars when Ares danced
with glee upon the shoulders of warriors and angels,
The itinerant soul, still not gray
broken down by the falsehoods of men,
and the swill of the tavern's lust,
longing for the day when he could
gently take her in his arms again,
under the midnight sun, in the north,
far away into the wispy clouds, on top
of blue mountains, and green forests,
until the world appeared to be nothing but
and ember in the fire of the mind's eye, then
reunited, to a homestead in the delicate
tendrils of the Milky Way
And the city-states will crumble away, the
myriad towns and villages choked
with the vines and weeds of the
Mother's rage, against the madness of time
two colors coiled to become one,
and the sun will rise on a whim,
The bedraggled vagrant will awaken to swaying
of the ancient trees, no longer safe in the
black cloak of sleep,
only to walk the same path again
old roads, at home under the trees, gaunt branches
and ashy moon, in the darkness of the night,
the stars aligned to conspire against fate,
in perfect harmony, the wind whispers of
love lost, in the wars when Ares danced
with glee upon the shoulders of warriors and angels,
The itinerant soul, still not gray
broken down by the falsehoods of men,
and the swill of the tavern's lust,
longing for the day when he could
gently take her in his arms again,
under the midnight sun, in the north,
far away into the wispy clouds, on top
of blue mountains, and green forests,
until the world appeared to be nothing but
and ember in the fire of the mind's eye, then
reunited, to a homestead in the delicate
tendrils of the Milky Way
And the city-states will crumble away, the
myriad towns and villages choked
with the vines and weeds of the
Mother's rage, against the madness of time
two colors coiled to become one,
and the sun will rise on a whim,
The bedraggled vagrant will awaken to swaying
of the ancient trees, no longer safe in the
black cloak of sleep,
only to walk the same path again
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Jan. 27th
Today I am actually forcing myself to sit down and write what will be a first draft of my "bio". Many places that I've wanted to submit my writing require that a bio be added with the submission to be considered. It's not as easy as it sounds - for me especially, because I dislike talking about myself. I really do not know what it will look like yet; should I just concentrate on giving a broad overview of who I am, or do I let them see what a weirdo I can be :) I hope the answer will come to me as I write...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monologues
Stranded again at the edge of the earth,
into heavy sighs and colored skies
On the island, the customs wave,
like fields of grain, winter wheat,
against the setting sun
Pockmarked intentions, lining the village
along the roads great crowds of fools,
cheering the burning of sage
Falling apart at the seams, the scarecrow,
in the tiny garden, as
greedy, stabbing mouths devour
humanity itself, a puddle at best
As the pea-soup fog lifted, the bones
were all that was left behind,
a grim reminder of days to come
into heavy sighs and colored skies
On the island, the customs wave,
like fields of grain, winter wheat,
against the setting sun
Pockmarked intentions, lining the village
along the roads great crowds of fools,
cheering the burning of sage
Falling apart at the seams, the scarecrow,
in the tiny garden, as
greedy, stabbing mouths devour
humanity itself, a puddle at best
As the pea-soup fog lifted, the bones
were all that was left behind,
a grim reminder of days to come
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Thursday, January 20, 2011
Rage
The sky disintegrates in to the palm of your hand,
lifting our spirits like pillars,
to hold up the pale moon, gaudily echoed
in the music of the village below.
Hold on to the morning winds,
eroding resolve like the ocean
to the shore, courageous and true,
the guardians of the dawn, stay the water.
Blood shines black against the mirror,
Blood flows under the skin of the Earth,
Blood betrays the pathway concealed,
and trickles to the center of humanity.
Caress her rosy features, pithy speeches
and feckless love in the clouds,
causing a great storm, and lighting
such is the rage of the gods -
and the sky fell apart in your hands
lifting our spirits like pillars,
to hold up the pale moon, gaudily echoed
in the music of the village below.
Hold on to the morning winds,
eroding resolve like the ocean
to the shore, courageous and true,
the guardians of the dawn, stay the water.
Blood shines black against the mirror,
Blood flows under the skin of the Earth,
Blood betrays the pathway concealed,
and trickles to the center of humanity.
Caress her rosy features, pithy speeches
and feckless love in the clouds,
causing a great storm, and lighting
such is the rage of the gods -
and the sky fell apart in your hands
Jan. 20th
As self-doubt and procrastination creeps in, I have to remind myself just what it is that I am trying to accomplish - not only with this blog, but in everything I do in life. It has been very easy lately to be consumed with the idea of falling into past behaviors that are quite self-destructive. I do not want to end up in those dark places again. I do know that whenever I start to feel that way, I take comfort in the fact that I do have friends in my life that mean a great deal to me - I believe now, more than ever, that the power of such friendships can pick me up even out of the lowest valleys. I am honored to have such people that I care about, and they will be an inspiration to me now and in the future...
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Neon Lullaby
Late nights crossing the
rusty old bridge,
addled humanity scrambling
along every boardwalk,
every nook and cranny,
filled with eyes
And the neon lights,
blinded our gaze, concealing
the horror's within the heart
of our tainted city
Footsteps softly heard,
around broken street corners,
shattered glass, like so many
dreams, strewn across pathways
where children tread
Breathing in against the stillness
of the night, tracing the lines of
billboards, painted with colors of
promises that cannot be kept
And the murals weep bitterly,
tears of blood as they are
witness - etched by the years
gone by, and those who have
departed
When the morning comes, and the rain
washed away the stains
of the night, the city is revived,
bright as the sun, gleaming off
dark glass towers, reflecting
impossible dreams into the eyes of
a thousand souls,
keeping us alive for one more day
rusty old bridge,
addled humanity scrambling
along every boardwalk,
every nook and cranny,
filled with eyes
And the neon lights,
blinded our gaze, concealing
the horror's within the heart
of our tainted city
Footsteps softly heard,
around broken street corners,
shattered glass, like so many
dreams, strewn across pathways
where children tread
Breathing in against the stillness
of the night, tracing the lines of
billboards, painted with colors of
promises that cannot be kept
And the murals weep bitterly,
tears of blood as they are
witness - etched by the years
gone by, and those who have
departed
When the morning comes, and the rain
washed away the stains
of the night, the city is revived,
bright as the sun, gleaming off
dark glass towers, reflecting
impossible dreams into the eyes of
a thousand souls,
keeping us alive for one more day
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Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Sunbeams
Melting the ice coating your
flaming heart
One night with you,
worth ten thousand nights
flaming heart
One night with you,
worth ten thousand nights
Alone on your cloud in the sky
where tears turn into shooting stars
and the gods fear to tread
you're somebody
As the sunbeams rain on diamond shores
splintering thoughts into light
He remembered the last call
and Amber waves on the horizon
Secluded in the rocky hills,
of her intentions,
a place no one can reach!
O' come down from your steely
convictions
Down into his waiting arms,
along the river banks of a river
known as Serenity
In the eyes of sweet sin
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Jan. 11th
It's hard to believe that this Thursday the 13th would have been my daughter's (Alora Jean Marshall)16th birthday. It's really difficult to think about, and in fact I have been engaging in heavy doses of self-medication in an attempt to overcome those melancholy feelings. I realize that she does not want me to do these things, but for now it is what it is. Since she died almost 4 years ago, every year has become just a little bit easier to live overall, but on these anniversaries it still hasn't gotten that way. One problem that I run into quite frequently is that most people have no idea how it feels to lose a young child (which is a good thing) and whenever I mention something about it, most also have no idea what to say, and I find that I am the one comforting them instead of vice-versa. I will keep on moving, and I will celebrate her birthday, as I have done and always will do - but I am ready for this anniversary to be over with.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Sparks
Awake in your eyes,
burning like a thousand stars
alone in your arms
unable to escape your embrace
you, my love, a slave to mine
Natural, like the dawn
An inescapable fate,
a talent unknown to me
Once again drawn towards your flame,
in the ashes we rise
Past the point of no return,
at the median
of her heart I feel at home
A new frontier,
in the ocean sorrows
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
burning like a thousand stars
alone in your arms
unable to escape your embrace
you, my love, a slave to mine
Natural, like the dawn
An inescapable fate,
a talent unknown to me
Once again drawn towards your flame,
in the ashes we rise
Past the point of no return,
at the median
of her heart I feel at home
A new frontier,
in the ocean sorrows
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Saturday, January 8, 2011
For Old Times' Sake
Serve the kings the bottom of the barrel,
at the peasants feet they plead
With a heart full of lust,
and belly full of hunger
Unseemly, ungainly, unwanted
feelings pouring from the fountain,ÊÈÉ
of her eyes
From the center of the forehead
a stream of black consciousness
And lighting exploded across
the glory in her sky
With a hurricane force wind,
he fell at the edges of her lake
like a ripple of the mind
Joined together by an infants dreams
a spiral in the darkness of hopelessness
like the edge of the abyss
One more kiss, on fire
a taste of this body
for old times' sake
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at the peasants feet they plead
With a heart full of lust,
and belly full of hunger
Unseemly, ungainly, unwanted
feelings pouring from the fountain,ÊÈÉ
of her eyes
From the center of the forehead
a stream of black consciousness
And lighting exploded across
the glory in her sky
With a hurricane force wind,
he fell at the edges of her lake
like a ripple of the mind
Joined together by an infants dreams
a spiral in the darkness of hopelessness
like the edge of the abyss
One more kiss, on fire
a taste of this body
for old times' sake
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Lost Faith
Torn away by the autumn wind,
dragged down into the sparkling green meadows,
as the moon and the beasts devour
the bread of dark auras,
tinged with the pain,
of the departed ones
With claws and fangs at the ready, the harlots
scan the empty horizon for new meat
all the talent in the orbit of the sun
fear and lust abound,
like red roses in the springtime
fermented love, tangled in shining hair
Now locked away in the silver season,
a thousand eyes burn a hole into a single point,
lost in the tide of the dark water,
like some ancient demon,
dribbling sacred oaths,
and terrible retribution
Etched upon the eyelids of the old soldier
the bloodbath of humanity,
like a summer romance, swiftly dying
as the evening sun sets into the foothills,
the stars smile down upon us,
a mother to our child
dragged down into the sparkling green meadows,
as the moon and the beasts devour
the bread of dark auras,
tinged with the pain,
of the departed ones
With claws and fangs at the ready, the harlots
scan the empty horizon for new meat
all the talent in the orbit of the sun
fear and lust abound,
like red roses in the springtime
fermented love, tangled in shining hair
Now locked away in the silver season,
a thousand eyes burn a hole into a single point,
lost in the tide of the dark water,
like some ancient demon,
dribbling sacred oaths,
and terrible retribution
Etched upon the eyelids of the old soldier
the bloodbath of humanity,
like a summer romance, swiftly dying
as the evening sun sets into the foothills,
the stars smile down upon us,
a mother to our child
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Jan. 4th
I was writing something in a Facebook message to a friend of mine about the idea of 2011 being a year of getting things done. I said something to the effect of: "lets make 2011 the year of will do instead of hope to." I think that idea is the basis for success during the coming year for me. I've always been good at hoping for the best and expecting the worst, but there's a good chance that by the end of this year, I will rename 2011 the have done year instead maybe next year...
Monday, January 3, 2011
The Magpie
O, hammer away at the frozen heart
with picks and shovels and filthy hands
grasping and clawing for sweet redemption
feeling about the chest, for some shiny trinket,
before the magpie takes it away
full mouths gasping for breath, in plain desperation,
like an unquenchable thirst
O, stagger along, through the fire and the dust,
another blue sky
convulsing and wretched, pulling on the tendons
the delicate drapery of insanity, carefully arranged
on the windows of a swollen brain,
like a dagger on the night sky
O, peer at the girls with starving eyes, from inside
the old abbey, never ceasing to desire
frantically resisting, the curvature
of their red satin lips
aged and diminished by the relentless hourglass
the wrinkled monk pounds with clenched fists
and gnawing teeth, at the edges of dawn
O, dance for me one time, shooting stars of the Nile
an performance fit only for the Pharaoh,
at home under the Great Pyramids, golden sands
reaching until the horizon ends, shining like
the ocean at sunset, dreaming of the icy moon
resting in my goblet, and the world in her hands
with picks and shovels and filthy hands
grasping and clawing for sweet redemption
feeling about the chest, for some shiny trinket,
before the magpie takes it away
full mouths gasping for breath, in plain desperation,
like an unquenchable thirst
O, stagger along, through the fire and the dust,
another blue sky
convulsing and wretched, pulling on the tendons
the delicate drapery of insanity, carefully arranged
on the windows of a swollen brain,
like a dagger on the night sky
O, peer at the girls with starving eyes, from inside
the old abbey, never ceasing to desire
frantically resisting, the curvature
of their red satin lips
aged and diminished by the relentless hourglass
the wrinkled monk pounds with clenched fists
and gnawing teeth, at the edges of dawn
O, dance for me one time, shooting stars of the Nile
an performance fit only for the Pharaoh,
at home under the Great Pyramids, golden sands
reaching until the horizon ends, shining like
the ocean at sunset, dreaming of the icy moon
resting in my goblet, and the world in her hands
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