The Tuner's Turn
he's tuned them all it seems
most of the 12,5oo different brands
he has tuned them even in his dreams
in damp basements and smoky band stands
Ballwin, Steinway, Schimmel and Mason
the very best there is to offer
Irving Strausser is the one to hasten
he is the master you want to proffer
a fine tinkler of the ivory in his own right
but never really ever given the chance
he practiced until dawn's early light
the best was a Holiday Inn wedding dance
he was in attendance that special night
at the Radio City Music Hall
he came to see the maestro's delight
but alas had tripped and fallen against the wall
the audience was antsy whistling and clapping hands
the producers were anxious not knowing where
they spotted Irving in the aisle hearing the demands
they begged him play they were in despair
he shook his head saying no certainly not me
I am just a tuner an amateur at best
they begged and pleaded for his sympathy
and well you can guess the rest
he finally took the stage the crowd settled in
he graciously bowed his head and explained the situation
after a few nervous moments he finally did begin
he played oh did he play to a standing ovation
his fingers flew over the keys like magic
this was the tuner's turn to take his place
some of the audience may forget his name
but they will always remember his face
today, you questioned me why i can't believe that i am vital to any equation
but that's just the thing, i need other people to validate that i am important
because i can’t do it for myself, i'm nineteen and already breaking down into
the components that created me, the dirt that failed to turn into a garden
weeds entangle around my body and dogs chew at my skin with knife like teeth
shooting up nirvana into my brain like opiates and spitting out black tar-like goo
it only looks black because my eyes are closed, i can't see how red the water is getting
how i'm this backwards concept of happy yet sorry for how i came out is beyond me
my understandings is this, life isn't something to be romanticized nor to be loathed
don't have feelings, any at all, and you'll do just fine in this narcisstic society
Her own desire led her astray,
a smile from him was enough to ignite the fire.
The serpent wrapped itself around her neck. She couldn't run away,
She thought they were the enemy, she found her society so dire.
"Why linger here? Why turn another page?" She though to herself.
She walked to where she first died,
and there she commited suicide.
cool to the touch
as i allow
to trail down
of your cool skin;
almost like porcelain
to the touch,
you calmed me,
just being in the same vicinity as you
made me suddenly feel
overcome with a sense
and because of this,
i couldn't get enough of you;
i had never in my life
seen anything i regarded
as remotely close to
as beautiful as you were,
causing me place you
on the highest of pedestals,
an insurmountable target
with which i used
every other person;
and none of them did
you complemented a room
made me have to compliment you
for i have nor once
come across something
an untainted work of art
that i fear
will leave my life
sooner than i'd like,
by a stroke
of awful luck
you'd been dropped
many a time
by undeserving people
that didn't recognize
the priceless masterpiece
they once had
to call their own,
to pick up the shattered pieces of yourself
and put them all back together
and while there are scars,
permanent indents and grooves
endlessly reminiscing previous pain,
i am not deterred in my quest
to show the whole world
what a magnificent specimen you are.
and because of this,
i vow to cradle you,
to protect you,
and to love you
and i'll hope, every week,
that you like the flowers
i got for you to hold
(they glimmer well
with the hint of your eyes)
when the light
from the early morning sun
illuminates every corner
of those daisies,
and more importantly,
the beautiful vaselike angel
as if she's the only thing
keeping them from
the rest of the world;
the parts of reality
that don't notice,
that don't realize
and the simple beauty
inside of both of them;
which is why, darling
with your broken past
you fear falling apart
but i promise
to keep you safe
your my work of heart.
Long before Horus' exposure on its trunk
and the nailing of Jesus upon its grain,
rings have been added within the Tree
while people proclaim to hold the key
of salvation, a continually borrowed mythology
swallowed; a powerful sleeping pill
pulling the masses into slumber,
away from the obvious truth
that such supposed salvation
is a ticket far too easy to obtain,
a discriminatory damnation of souls
so blindingly righteous,
even the most vengeful, maniacal deity
would draw the line there.
So many people hand-out the easy tickets,
cut and light the tree --
a hypodermic injection of selfish memories
mixed into mortar for temples designated as sacred,
but the elements are desecrated by swirling sewers,
by shears amputating roots from the sky.
Too many people preach, judicate, proclamate,
hold signs pointing towards a cheap, polystyrene heaven,
while only a few walk the narrow path,
live the sacrifice because it feels right.
Again and again,
the ticket isn't so easy,
we must put aside our slumber-crutches,
stop watching the few carry the rest
upon their backs until bones creak and groan
from the weight of people waiting for salvation
to be handed to them.
27 years, a branch in the road, 46664 etched into its bark.
The forked doors opened,
a living, breathing gospel
brought down fences,
and even then the wood was made into crutches
for people to say,
"M will fix it, M will do this, M will do that,
M will save us, just wait and see."
But M is finally free, yes, he is free!
Free, but not lost to us,
always surviving as spirit-seeds.
We must no longer lean upon crutches,
instead purge the pill from our blood
and awaken into gardeners who water the seeds
within the soil of our souls,
before the vision withers completely,
and we remain only as husks
waiting to be hydrated by watering cans
held in hands too weak to lift the weight....
held in our own hands all along,
held in our hands all along.
December 7th/8th, 2013
Society made me.
Society made me who I am.
They made me do it.
I did as they told me to do.
Was I busty enough?
Was I sexy enough?
I had to show them how it's done.
I had to be worthless
to be worth someone's time.
I had to do all of those things
so they would like me.
But they didn't,
they never did.
They are ripping my clothes off,
trying to take what is left of me.
There's so little left.
I barely see it anymore.
No rays of light,
It's worse when they aren't here.
When I look in the mirror,
I'm not there.
I don't think I'm here either.
I seek temporary comfort,
cold and lifeless.
Oh you don't want to know.
I should get help,
but there's no reason to anymore.
I don't need help.
I am awake in this nightmare,
and nothing will get me out.
It is my burden to carry with me.
I'll be loved,
just not now.
I want to feel beautiful.
I don't want to be another object.
I want to break my walls that I am trapped in.
I just can't.
I'm not strong enough.
I let it all come down upon me.
I have no anchor.
Society made me.
Society made me who I am.
"I'm fine." is her response.
but, she isn't. she's just hoping to convince herself that she is, when she smiles and tells them she's fine. Just to ease her little mind, she's puts on a mask. She folds up all of her problems and disappointments and shoves them away. Just for the day. Thinking maybe, just for now, she could be happy. Thinking if she forces that fake smile, it would one day become genuine. a real smile. A genuinely happy smile. That's all she ever wanted. But the thing is, nobody knows. nobody knows who she is inside, or how hard it is for her. Not her parents, not her best friend. Because she wears a disguise. And because if they knew, they'd say she's exaggerating. She wants attention. She's just having a bad day. well the bad day turned into a bad night. A bad week. A bad month. A bad year. But she doesn't want a bad life. She doesn't try to make herself miserable. She tries really hard to be happy. Sometimes too hard. She's learned not to expect anything from anyone, because with great expectation comes great disappointment. So much disappointment. Enough to make her sadness turn into emptiness. she's rather be sad than empty.