word |wərd|
noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.
One
Choice
Word
From the right person
A bullet from a gun
Stripping all sense of rationality
Motivation
Confidence
From whatever place of strength.
You may have kept them fresh and handy
Polished, practiced and preened
Tossing them onto the slag heap
Of rusty useless, discarded tools.
Melted down to the basic core
Insecurity
Doubt
Fear.
Word, sentence, paragraphs, diatribes, rants,
Arguments, encyclopedic extrapolation,
Lectures, advice, tirades, opinion, suggestion,
Observation, invective, verbosity, attacks,
Discourse, conversation, judgment, perspective,
View, critique, review, denunciation, reproach,
Castigation, gossip, praise, vituperation, guidance,
Recommendation, notice
The unmarriable
Abyss
Between
Now and never
Then and when.
Paper cuts
From scarlet lips
The chill slap of reality's nonchalance
Blood letting
The slow death of disappointment
Deep holes
Dug
Deeper
One word
At a time.
Disappearing
Makes the most sense
Embracing the nothingness
Has never been easier
"Clouds are illusion
The sky is your essence"
BULLSHIT!
This rain is wet
And cold
The roof leaks
Onto the page
Shorting out
Any charge
That kept power
Flowing
Zap
Sizzle
Of
Shattered
Mirrors
Lightning
Struck.
The cycle spins
Big efforts
Scraped from the charred remains
Of an ancient sensibility
Pulled squirming by its short-hairs
From what is left of one’s self-respect.
Just another day at the salt mines.
~ May 11, 2011 Wilmington, DE
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
SOMETHING TINY
There is a tiny creature
I carry with me
Always
Just beneath my skin.
She moves through me
Of her own volition
Sometimes poised just below my eyebrow
Creating foggy moist heat
Blurring my vision
Pulling my line of sight
Away from whatever
Captured
My attention.
Occasionally, she burrows
Beneath my skin
On the back of my hand
Guiding my touch
Over softer moments
Or forcing action
From my palm
The slapping sound
Waking waves
Of warm ecstatic
Contact.
Knowing
What works.
Giving in
To the near
Stopping
Of time.
Then there are moments
When her magnificent weightlessness
All 97 pounds of her
Pulsates
Beneath my chest
And I want someone to reach
Deep inside of me
Pull her out
For all to see
As I carry her
Over my broad shoulder
To a safer place
Where tears
Embolden
Her freedom
And nourish
My racing spirit
As I kiss them
From her eyes.
~ for Tiny J, dark Tinkerbell ever flitting around my heart.
August 1, 2011, Big Bear City, C
I carry with me
Always
Just beneath my skin.
She moves through me
Of her own volition
Sometimes poised just below my eyebrow
Creating foggy moist heat
Blurring my vision
Pulling my line of sight
Away from whatever
Captured
My attention.
Occasionally, she burrows
Beneath my skin
On the back of my hand
Guiding my touch
Over softer moments
Or forcing action
From my palm
The slapping sound
Waking waves
Of warm ecstatic
Contact.
Knowing
What works.
Giving in
To the near
Stopping
Of time.
Then there are moments
When her magnificent weightlessness
All 97 pounds of her
Pulsates
Beneath my chest
And I want someone to reach
Deep inside of me
Pull her out
For all to see
As I carry her
Over my broad shoulder
To a safer place
Where tears
Embolden
Her freedom
And nourish
My racing spirit
As I kiss them
From her eyes.
~ for Tiny J, dark Tinkerbell ever flitting around my heart.
August 1, 2011, Big Bear City, C
FLIPPING THE HOURGLASS
Once I wrote,
‘Soul mates are a dime a dozen’
She thought I was being cute.
Now, I wait with 47 cents
On the table in front of me
Alone
The phone
Staring a hole in my discontent.
Three hundred pages
Of correspondence later
Pointed texts, endless letters,
Ribald transcriptions of phone sex
Chats
Exposure
Healing
Laughter
Angst
Learning
Shared perspective
Mystic longing
Gathering dust motes
Embellishing
The memory of
Yearning
With unneeded questions
The currency of unrequited
Co-existence.
Someday
Our story will be told
For now
I cling to it
With the fingers
Of a madman
Clawing at it’s radiant
Fuzziness
Desperate
For the sand
To not slip my grasp.
~ for Cami, August 1, 2011 - Big Bear City, 2 a.m.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
EPICENE SCENE
Quite taken by women who go by guys names
Not a conscious decision but a trend I can claim
Feminine handles are lovely and fine
Fall for the Susies, and some Carolines
The Mollys, and Marys, and Guens I adore
of course, there's Michelle, and Danielle and lots more,
The Lisas, the Lizzys, the Lizas and Vals
and the Cindys, the Barbs, I like all of those gals
There's Sallys, the Charlenes, the Colleens and Beths,
The Jens and the Annies and all of the rest
But there’s something intriguing
Bout the Martis and Sams
The Rickies, the Bobbis, the Kellys, hot damn
A Casey, A Tracy, A Stacy or two
There’s Teri and Jeri and Jamie and Drew
A Leslie, a Billie, a Robyn and Jo
Carrie, and Taylor and Pat, don't ya know.
An Alex, a Jordan, a Toni and Kris
A Dusty, a Niki and one named Frances
There's Lynn and there's Sandy and when Sunny gets blue
There's Ashley and Ali and maybe you too.
And even though spellings aren’t always the same
I’m somewhat intrigued by an epicene name.
Not a conscious decision but a trend I can claim
Feminine handles are lovely and fine
Fall for the Susies, and some Carolines
The Mollys, and Marys, and Guens I adore
of course, there's Michelle, and Danielle and lots more,
The Lisas, the Lizzys, the Lizas and Vals
and the Cindys, the Barbs, I like all of those gals
There's Sallys, the Charlenes, the Colleens and Beths,
The Jens and the Annies and all of the rest
But there’s something intriguing
Bout the Martis and Sams
The Rickies, the Bobbis, the Kellys, hot damn
A Casey, A Tracy, A Stacy or two
There’s Teri and Jeri and Jamie and Drew
A Leslie, a Billie, a Robyn and Jo
Carrie, and Taylor and Pat, don't ya know.
An Alex, a Jordan, a Toni and Kris
A Dusty, a Niki and one named Frances
There's Lynn and there's Sandy and when Sunny gets blue
There's Ashley and Ali and maybe you too.
And even though spellings aren’t always the same
I’m somewhat intrigued by an epicene name.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
INCAPACITATED
word |wərd|
noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.
One
Choice
Word
From the right person
A bullet from a gun
Stripping all sense of rationality
Motivation
Confidence
From whatever place of strength
You may have kept them fresh and handy
Polished, practiced and preened
Tossing them onto the slag heap
Of rusty useless, disgarded tools.
Melted down to the basic core
Insecurity
Doubt
Fear.
Word, sentence, paragraphs, diatribes, rants,
arguments, encyclopaedic extrapolation,
lectures, advice, tirades, opinion, suggestion,
observation, invective, verbosity, attacks,
discourse, conversation, judgement, perspective,
view, critique, review, denunciation, reproach,
castigation, gossip, praise, vituperation, guidance,
recommendation, notice
the unmarriable
abyss
between
now and never
then and when.
paper cuts
from scarlet lips
the chill slap of reality's nonchalance
blood letting
the slow death of disappointment
deep holes
dug
deeper
one word
at a time.
The cycle spins
Big efforts
Scraped from the charred remains
Of an ancient sensibility
Pulled squirming by its short-hairs
From what is left of one’s self-respect.
Just another day at the salt mines.
~ May 11, 2011 Wilmington, DE
noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.
One
Choice
Word
From the right person
A bullet from a gun
Stripping all sense of rationality
Motivation
Confidence
From whatever place of strength
You may have kept them fresh and handy
Polished, practiced and preened
Tossing them onto the slag heap
Of rusty useless, disgarded tools.
Melted down to the basic core
Insecurity
Doubt
Fear.
Word, sentence, paragraphs, diatribes, rants,
arguments, encyclopaedic extrapolation,
lectures, advice, tirades, opinion, suggestion,
observation, invective, verbosity, attacks,
discourse, conversation, judgement, perspective,
view, critique, review, denunciation, reproach,
castigation, gossip, praise, vituperation, guidance,
recommendation, notice
the unmarriable
abyss
between
now and never
then and when.
paper cuts
from scarlet lips
the chill slap of reality's nonchalance
blood letting
the slow death of disappointment
deep holes
dug
deeper
one word
at a time.
The cycle spins
Big efforts
Scraped from the charred remains
Of an ancient sensibility
Pulled squirming by its short-hairs
From what is left of one’s self-respect.
Just another day at the salt mines.
~ May 11, 2011 Wilmington, DE
Saturday, January 8, 2011
THE GHOST OF US (REVISITED)
The Ghost of us it haunts me still
When we’re together or apart
It shadows me against my will
The Ghost of us lives in my heart
No matter what I try to do
It rattles chains that sound your name
I wake and think of only you
The Ghost of us inside my brain
It pulls away and then returns
It tears apart then gathers trust
It grants a kiss for three it’s spurned
It tempts with bliss, this Ghost of us.
And no matter how I might
Try to forget, distract my mind
It keeps me up all through the night
This Ghost I cannot leave behind
No matter how you treated me
And found another in my stead
I close my eyes and all I see
This Ghost of us inside my head
It laughs and loves and teaches things
It compliments and raises toasts
It’s flowers, food, and sex and wings
It is a most seductive ghost
A rose, a song, some poetry
A glance, some secret confidence
A smile, a touch, a hand on knee
This Ghost of us is all we miss
The Ghost of us it haunts me still
When we’re together or apart
It shadows me against my will
The Ghost of us who owns my heart
Though I forgive I can’t forget
and every time the Ghost arrives
I pray that peace will find me yet
But until then the Ghost survives
So still this Ghost it preys on me
Whenever its foul games commence
It nibbles at my flesh in need
And never will be recompensed.
- David Crosby once wrote a song called, "Song No Words (Tree With No Leaves)" and while that song is more beautiful and hopeful and sounds like a summer drive near Muir Woods, the title suddenly seems naked and exposed and sad, like I felt when I wrote this. Most of the above is from 2007, the last few stanzas revitalized after a particularly stale bit of retrospection in early 2011. This one is for the Boris in all of us.
When we’re together or apart
It shadows me against my will
The Ghost of us lives in my heart
No matter what I try to do
It rattles chains that sound your name
I wake and think of only you
The Ghost of us inside my brain
It pulls away and then returns
It tears apart then gathers trust
It grants a kiss for three it’s spurned
It tempts with bliss, this Ghost of us.
And no matter how I might
Try to forget, distract my mind
It keeps me up all through the night
This Ghost I cannot leave behind
No matter how you treated me
And found another in my stead
I close my eyes and all I see
This Ghost of us inside my head
It laughs and loves and teaches things
It compliments and raises toasts
It’s flowers, food, and sex and wings
It is a most seductive ghost
A rose, a song, some poetry
A glance, some secret confidence
A smile, a touch, a hand on knee
This Ghost of us is all we miss
The Ghost of us it haunts me still
When we’re together or apart
It shadows me against my will
The Ghost of us who owns my heart
Though I forgive I can’t forget
and every time the Ghost arrives
I pray that peace will find me yet
But until then the Ghost survives
So still this Ghost it preys on me
Whenever its foul games commence
It nibbles at my flesh in need
And never will be recompensed.
- David Crosby once wrote a song called, "Song No Words (Tree With No Leaves)" and while that song is more beautiful and hopeful and sounds like a summer drive near Muir Woods, the title suddenly seems naked and exposed and sad, like I felt when I wrote this. Most of the above is from 2007, the last few stanzas revitalized after a particularly stale bit of retrospection in early 2011. This one is for the Boris in all of us.
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