In this quiet time of night, I lie alone and prey to the bitter pain of
joy's absence. Lost in my mind's shallow thoughts the sharp fragments of
happy memories since shattered prick at the sensitive fringes of my sleep.
Sleep: Nature's sanctuary
A quiet haven, an island set apart
from the daily consciousness of life
where my thoughts may at last run free.
An island with white sandy shores as
far as the eye can see. Blemished only
by my solitary figure walking the blue
And the forests of my paradise, their
deep green density gives substance to
my world. Often I stop to ponder their
far reaching greenness.
The warm subtle breeze carrying the
fragrance of this foliage across my
face, fills my nostrils with the pleasures
And occasionally a gull overhead,
drifting unchallenged on the soft
warm currents of the azure, as free
in his world as I in mine; lends companionship.
All of the sudden in the beat of a heart,
from no where a large black cloud appears
to smother the sun's warm light, turning
the blue sky and green foliage black
and the white sand that I once walked
upon a cold gray.
And just ahead of me lying there in
death's humiliation, my winged companion;
soaked and scorned at the dark water's
This cold room and bed the greatest part of my conscious moment, and the
sound of a distant train bell mocking the destruction of my comfort;
its havoc upon my sleep done it now moves on. Saddened I once again wade
through the shallow bogs of my loneliness, and the pains of memories of
the love and life i'd wasted return. This painful sleepless night a most
cruel retribution for my past. So firmly entrenched it seems I may never
return to my paradise; yet remain in this cold room to suffer the long
The warm sunlight, and gentle caress
of the water's pulse upon the white
And overhead my pure white friend
again drifts on the warm currents of
air, heralding not my return
but praising my presence....
...for my presence alone, gives
life to this warm yet oh so precariously
The white beach with its warm sand
leads me on my journey to the morning,
as I walk the blue water’s edge.
5 years of faded eternity,
a secure mirage of schedules and deadlines--
blurring into one irrepeatable experience,
one pasty mirage that materialized a diploma.
Years staring back, I can see
from this same porch I remember, just home from college #2, staring through eyes unteared hearing a proclaimation of Failure.
"Did you use drugs?" father asked. "LSD? Grass?"
The lie split in half through a comedown from a hazy green laziness. A directionless fog. Explain failure? Why, I saw nothing worth fixing.
What future? What future? Today.
I saw no future within a year, when the dreaded dropout stigma stung all will. My refuse decayed, hardened rough, and shaped in fervent heat underground.
Failure is my forming pressure--
to disbelieve is naive:
Failure exists to transform;
its driving heat must purge
Reflecting luster on unearthed
Materials. Polished from
Adversity, a woman or man
may realize potential more rare.
I chased my tail back
to a place I was fool enough
to leave--I received a degree
conceived from restlessness,
grown from focus,
a claiming of self
I now know exists.
Blood rushes to your head
And your face is turning red
And every word that you said
Has a double meaning
But no one can see it
And they sit in the seats
As you stand on the stage
Just performing a play
But it's real everyday
and they just applaud
Say, "you act so damn well for your age"
And you reply “yeah I know”
But you're spitting with rage.
You stick to the script
And say thanks for coming out
And you cry on the inside
But don't make a sound
Because whenever you do
Sees it as a show
You're trying to rehearse
And in each verse
Cries the pain
That you don't deserve,
But you land face first
At the bottom of the pit
And you cry, and you cry
Like the other kids
When they saw you on stage
And they watched you perform
While you cried
While you screamed
You wish you'd never been born.
Only you know
That after the show
Was when the acting began
And when you really performed.
This one time, in biology, we learned how to take samples of fish in water, I don't like fish
And I don't like this feeling of churning up old stuff
You had to scrape the bottom ten times and then take a step and repeat
Going back over the things that happened between me and you is the very same
My stomach churns like the water in that lake
And I'm a little fish getting lost in the chaos, finally to be trapped in the net
And all the dirt, the mess and the muck, that's
Those days, after you left, where everything was dark again
Like that one time, not in biology, I felt that I was stuck down a well, and I was clawing at the mud but I couldn't get out
And in Chemistry, I got some acid on my skin
And I let it burn
Because it was nice to feel something else
Other than the murky, brown mess
And now, I'm that little fish, churned up and confused, waiting for the water to settle so I can swim away
They say you can't swim in the same river twice because every second it's changing
And reliving this and reliving us is a little different each time as it gets further, more distant from the first time
I hope that the little fish keeps swimming til she finds the ocean, I don't think the little fish could cope being churned up and caught just one more time
Such nudity and passion,
intricate pictures we cannot imagine
Devoid of self, utter surrender
plunge into the streams of your soul
Finding the hot wires,
forming strings so we can find home
Not having a memory of what it means to be alone
Ode, to you, Love I say
It is not so much the words posted, but the context condensed
How you unwrap the figures textual 'til they make sense
It is not so much the touching and cuddling
but the invisible electricty of extrasensory connecting
It is not so much the breath on my neck as you reach in to kiss me
But the etheric messages of wind telling me you miss me
We have had a try to attempt to twist this style
To find the spiraling curls in prose
To dissect the detailed aerial strips of the scent of a rose
Ode, to you, Love I say
Poetry is forever
pottery forms artifacts of clay but do they stay?
This sweet ode paints a picture that will remain
in the drawers of eternity...
I cannot lie, it has been something of a frailty
my pursuits of love have quieted my frivolity
I have since been calm, playing an instrument imaginary
Waiting for a tone that will help me find my tune
You are that song that ends too soon
Ode, to you, Love I say
Just echoes and epiphanies
voices and mellow claps singing into me:
Ode, to you, Love I say
on this day a heart will not break
but will be strong and find its way.
Out of breath and sweaty
You turn as you roll off me
The barest hint of a question
Forming behind those eyes
You've been here before
A hundred moments to shrug your shoulders
As if to say
Whatever, who cares anyway?
Lips pursed just so
Whisper shocked suprise
Instead of the usual "I should go..."
Demurely ask "Can I stay?"
Suddenly start to cry
And our hearts break as I reach out to you
Cause you start to say you love me
I interupt abrubtley
My thoughts are of someone else
But I guess you'll do
Freedom is a myth.
There is no time,
and no society
where it can be real.
And I can offer proof...
with actions comes
an ethical lifeline
which ties you to
resting on it's pulse.
I see the reason,
I see the logic,
the neatened box in
which our world is
I crave release.
I crave a freedom
to break the bonds of
and be me.
Be mad without the fear
and be happy
and be free
and to not be scared.
To still feel safe
because I don't,
and I really rarely
I am yearning...
for an impossible dream.
To have a day,
which I don't calculate,
and wait in fear of
And that is what it'll stay...
And hauntingly wonderful one
I wish I could forget you, leave behind the memories like you left me, but I can’t. You’re in the air I breathe, cutting up my lungs like pieces of glass and vodka drank all too quickly. Your scent is in my clothes and on my bed, snaking your way into my dreams at night. You’re in the coffee that I drink after sleepless nights; bitter and cold on my tongue but with the possibility of delicious warmth. You’re in the paths that I trudge down every day, reminding me of the times we spent there and the feelings that are now lost forever. I hate that you left me like this. All of these empty promises and a void so large no one could dream of filling it. You must not have ever loved me, because if you had it would have been impossible to just leave like you did, taking all of my heart with you. Packing it away in your suitcase along with the shirt I gave you and the books I’d lent. What did you do with the pictures of us? Would you try to forget and leave them in their frames, or did they not mean enough to you to even worry about and were thrown carelessly in the bottom of your bag? I hate the gaps you left in me. I’m broken and damaged now and you left with the cure to fixing me. This lovesick pain is getting tiresome and I hate that it isn’t wearing on you too. I thought I was someone you couldn’t live without. You sure as hell were to me. And what’s saddest of all is that if you came back now, I would run and throw my arms around you. Because I’ve already fallen as far as I can, there’s no need for me to be cautious now for I can’t slip farther down than I have. I would love to be someone that you need. Someone you can’t live without. I would be honoured to be the person you look at, the way that I looked at you. But I was just a passing spark for you, and you were my light. Just take back the memories like you took back everything else.
We should of heard
your cries for help
Walking about so wounded
You cries for mercy
They were caught up
in their own strife
for one minute
How you were coping
You lay in the gutter
hungry and homeless
Did they feed you
or give you a place
to rest your head...
They hid from you
afraid of Your fowl
They were unaware
Of just how vulnerable
You were .....
Now they are
acting as if care
but only because, they have too.......
A t least you are now safe ....
About time too.............
In reading an interesting book today
I came across a line that gave me pause
"Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
I've always taken secret pleasure in being somewhat different
Even odd some may say (as most archaeologist tend to be)
But in that sentence from the book
I stopped to give it thought and came away with something
I would have never considered till this day
I wouldn't mind being just like the Joneses
A happy family just down the way
Right down to the mini van and Mr Jones and his golf shirt tan
With creased khaki shorts and socks in loafers
I would gladly give up my worn faded jeans work boots and untucked
Neal T-shirt covering my boot lace belt and trim my hair
To be exactly happy like the happy Jones family down the way