Archive for January, 2015

A Birthday poem…

Posted: January 31, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , ,

The older I get,
The bigger the dissonance
Between me and the rest of my generation.
But I am walking my path steadily,
Though it is oft lonely, bumpy,
Only me under open skies:
Freckled celestial pinholes
Or torrential downpour.
I still am convinced that it is my course
And I press on with great force.


I think religion is a bad word
If it is something you are forcing;
Pushing, peddling like a drug.
It is fine to have, and fine to believe in,
Maybe you have a prescription,
Maybe it benefits you, and that is fine.

And I have been a sheep in the fold,
Long ago,
But I traded my wool, three bags full
And now stand, sheared, apart,
No faith in my heart.
And nobody knows what to say to me
As if I am no longer myself
No respect for the grave matter of my change,
You think I lost my grey matter when I rearranged
My lifestyle to no longer include your god.
You point out all these positive things about your beliefs;
Make it sound like a country club.
You list all these perks
And it irks me to hear you try to sell your religion like a salesman,
Like a telemarketer with a “special offer”,
As if it is as easy as 1-2-3.
Just sign on the dotted line.

Trying to save me from Hell,
You tell me all these benefits could be mine,
Why do I decline your offers to go to church,
To sit in the pews,
Why do I refuse to try?

And it pains me to see
You reduce your faith to
Something that can be sold
Like a vacuum cleaner,
Door to door, nothing more than a ware
To trade for one’s current state.
All of these selling points, though, I know them.
Have you forgotten I was like you?
Do you think that I’m
Simply too brainwashed or stupid to remember?
Do you honestly think that I would have left the fold,
Naked and cold,
Simply because a little doubt took hold?
No, it is insulting that you would consider my loss,
The death of my faith
To be something without any weight.

3 a.m. Candor

Posted: January 22, 2015 in poetry, writing
Tags: , , ,

There are confessions
You dare not speak sober;
Thoughts you only voice
Pulled over on the highway’s shoulder,
All the weight on your shoulders
Too much….

….Much too much
To hold back.

Something untitled

Posted: January 20, 2015 in poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

I walk on the Earth with my feet bare
And my ears open
And my eyes closed
And I think to myself that I love her more than her inhabitants.
Except for some.
Those young at heart, with the love of Earth so few today find time for.
Those with flowers in their hair.

But the hippies are dying, I think.

It has been decades since Woodstock and Leary and Ralph Waldo Emerson.
It has been a lifetime since protests were truly peaceful.
It has been forever since the peace sign was political.

“The hippies are dying,” I whisper to the wind as she ripples a pond and musses my hair.
To Mother Earth under my toes.
And I open my eyes to look at the concrete and asphalt and skyscrapers
Erected like trophies that money won for conquering nature.
I see the oil spilt on ground,
Hurting the life around it like a poltergeist.
Because we dig it up and do not think why it was buried deep to begin with.

“The hippies are dying,” I choke out,
Cold despite the pierced ozone and slushy ice caps.
Goosebumps rise on my skin at the realization
That the land has been leveled and smoothed.
Humans can’t be bothered to adapt their steps to the land;
The land must be adapted to us.
Our shoes and our wheels and our buildings.
And we rape the land
And reap the profit
And call it “getting by”.

The Hippies are dying,” I sob, tears dammed up in my eyes.
I see the weeds push up through cement cracks and feel compassion for their struggle.
I weep for the death of a culture that has been reduced to a stereotype of Volkswagons
And The Beatles
And weed.
I weep for the forgotten harmony we humans strove to share with our world.

And the hippies are dying, dammit.
They are tired.
They have lived full,
And they are lying down
To be in holes in the ground
And we have not listened.

I wrote this upon the passing of one of my dear, influential college professors a while back.

I can explain addiction.
See, we all have this shared affliction; infliction
Of living incompletely,
Completely absorbed with interaction,
Infractions are nothing to us
If we go long enough uncaught,
Because we were always taught
That rules are meant to be bent
Or broken.

We have learned to be society,
Feigning propriety,
Varieties of sobriety fall quietly to shadows,
Undeniably inferior to the surges of feelings widening the chasm between what we are
And what we do.

We have learned to be society,
Been instructed how hard to try,
When to admit, when to deny,
And when it’s ok to have to rely on others,
Whom to call brothers.

Directed through shortcuts at every possible turn,
And convinced we could never possibly earn
Enough trust to refrain from putting promises and rules on paper.
Or on screens.
We’ve forgotten what it means
To be human.
We’ve forgotten how,
We neglect to be.
But we are, and it eats at us,
Bite-sized holes in our sanity,
Our welfare momentarily
Tabled whilst we scramble to fill them with substance,
Any kind of addiction.
Anything to make us feel
Whatever feeling we lack,
Even if that feeling is nothing at all.

Loose ends make awkward friends,
Don’t I know it.
I’ve never wished you anything but happiness,
But sometimes I wonder
Why you were ever happy with me
Staring back from just inches away

But you don’t just feel a person
Like we felt
Each other out.
And I’ve got no reason to feel slighted,
But every time I think of you,
I remember nights…

Awkward smiles across the room
Sitting in elevators at night, out of the cold
Watching the darkness swallow your bright eyes
Awkward good bye kiss as I left on a winter morning
All good,
All poetically beautiful,
All sublime.

A cup full of sake and a heart full of fear
Is what made us change our minds on life.

But you don’t just lose a person
Like we lost each other.
And there’s no chance of feeling again
The hurt I felt…

Walking alone at night
Feeling avoided and ignored
Watching your gaze evade my direction
Knowing that fear ruined what could have been
All sad,
All excruciating but endurable,
All mistakes.

One more cup of sake, a heart defeated by fear
Won’t make up for those moments of life
Halted by cowardice, and still I’d kiss
You again if I thought it would have meant anything.

Originally titled “Cups full of Sake”, this is an older piece, but a personal favorite of mine.

Old wounds
open like firecrackers
in church. 
Explosive untouchable smoke-making demons 
of forgotten torment,
squelched out with 
years of 
scrubbing clean in showers,
ridding the riddled 
of humor,
lest the distance shorten
between synapses and
Ya dig?

Pain, bitches.

Slice me open, 
throat to womanly parts,
and you could never
the agony. 
Lions of shadows 
play out scenes in
time-lapse like
flowers growing backwards,
decintigrating back to
Too-hot sunshine
melting earthworms in
their belly-tracks. 
Phantom pains of 
a choice organ,
squeezing like sobs and dry heaves
to feel
remnants of


Posted: January 18, 2015 in poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , ,

They say freedom’s just another word
For nothing left to lose.
I’ve not got much, But my final loss would be
The greatest of all.
I’ve got the internalized manifestation of a four-letter word slithering in my chest,
Winding and contracting around my lungs,
Its sole purpose seemingly to destroy my soul.
It leaks venom in my veins,
Sheds its skin in my brain
And intrudes on every train
Of thought that I have.


Posted: January 18, 2015 in poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

Keeping sight indifferent to the
Turntable trials and
Scorched flower gardens in my memories,
I hum the lullabies
Children dream of.

Now I lay me down to sleep, pray the Lord my soul to keep…

Waltzes through ashes, bare feet and lashes coated
In the residue of burnt up chances,
Smoke falling into lungs.
Coffee-chocolate mornings
Drowned in tears so bitter
They dried before they were cried.

If I die before I wake, I pray for God my soul to take…

Belief is the greatest lie, when hearts lie
Open to the elements as babes in baskets,
Newborn newspapers narrowed
To a paragraph about a life
Which ended

When she lit the match,
Laid down
And locked her self inside the casket.


Posted: January 17, 2015 in writing
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Rationalized away,
These bright, spectrum-colored feelings are
Capable of blinding superegos.
Institutionalize my thoughts, and you will find
A religion of worshipping Aphrodite after Adonis after Aphrodite…
The want swallowing up shorelines like tides of
Once-shallow outlooks.

Cry for my soul;
It will not erase a bit of this coal in my heart.
My tabula is not rasa,
My nature is not animalistic;
It is like light,
Split into factions called colors and shades and hues,
Eaten by onlookers,
Kept quiet by darkness.

And such darkness!
Fear, so oppressive it defies true love’s
Hazardous occupation in
Family circles.

Straight to hell