she's convincing me to run away with her to a wasteland, above the clouds
a paradise where no one ever comes down
but they're holding so tight, singing 'I'll never let you go'
while she's on the other end, the voice in my head, saying just let go, be free, let your demons rest
but I'm remembering bright eyes and the shine of the moon on ocean waters
and I don't get how 5 months ago
everything was more than fine
I'm lightheaded now, delusional and untrustworthy to open my mouth
I'm afraid if I try to speak, all my secrets will spill out and I won't be able to stop myself from showing you my naked, wrecked mine
i love you... i do
so what am i to do???
i know you love me to,
so why does this have to be
i have your heart, and
you have mine to... i want
you to be mine all the time...
but sometimes i feel like you've
left me behind...
I'm here, your there.. i feel
so alone, and even though we
share the same sky, stars and moon..
i still feel so alone...
i love you- i do!
so tell me what am i to
do!? i want you all the time...
but, somehow i feel like you've
left me behind...
Good Morning Jehovah
You are always on my mind
You are this Poets rhyme
Your love is always on time
Today is all Yours!
I am all heart and ears
Tell me what all you want me
To know I will take note
Jehovah I will take hold
Your love of one of a kind
A love of everlasting
You hung the glowing moon last night
To give my poor heart rest
You pulled down the shade of my blues
Then you pulled up the shade in streamed of light
Good Morning Jehovah
You make my heart sing a new song
I give You my best and that would be all of me
I close myself to Your Inner Voice of peace
Your love has always been true to me
If I tread alone and make a poor choice
You Jehovah open my mind and clean my ways another time
My eyes may not see what is in front of me at times
But you are their to help me along the way
Your love is like no other
When I think of you all my pains of life goes away
Good Morning Jehovah
You are that new song that plays in my heart
He caught me by surprise
I never expected to blush
when an abrasive, goth dude
said my ass was cute
His clothes are all black,
as black as his hair,
and his heels are as high
as the moon in the sky
He is a criminal
and I am terrified
but more so of how hot
he looks when he talks
He has a beautiful face
so perfect in all proportions
and I am sure that I may
be turning very gay
He looks hot as a woman too
and my cheeks flush when he
dances with that sass
I have a boner thanks to his ass
He is so funny
not in the usual way
but it's funny how things got
when I feel in love with the guy from the donut shop.
Inspired by Vee's fanfic titled 1994 where Levi is this goth dude who is a cross dresser and Eren and him fall in love and it's so fucking unexpected and real you just have too many feelings until you stop breathing.
It's extremely exciting and very sexy. And funny too.
And we witnessed the brilliance of man's folly,
Every note falling in deciduous perfection;
Even prayers can be lost.
The stars flashed on,
The sun was nowhere to be found, and
And the moon belched like a drunken pirate,
Bending the trees and sending their leaves
Skyward, off to wherever they go.
There was a whisper
Between the blades of grass
We laid on.
There was a worry
Clouding over you
That told me there
Was to be more.
Candy cane fragrance
With a dash of cinnamon salt.
Grinning through the darkness,
We touched palms like children,
Caught in that blue jay dance.
Morning came like mist over a hill.
Our eyes fluttered open and close.
She rose first, then I rose with her.
We met by the window and looked down on the street,
Both of us feeling the fleeting of a feeling.
Secondary rituals over coffee and pastries.
The sun came through that café window like a shotgun blast.
And when she paid and left,
A kiss on the cheek for cordiality,
She dropped a note that read "Until next time."
When you don't see another for some time,
You wonder what they came to be.
A periwinkle whore of 5 cents a pound,
Or a river lady loon that sang without a sound?
The maze has many turns, until you reach the end.
Under your bed,
Their color's shining
Ox blood purple and red.
They told me your name.
They scribbled your address.
They want what you have.
They're wondering why your'e so stressed.
When she came by the place again,
I wasn't home, so she dropped me another note.
This one had only one word:
I can't lie.
I was quite
I thought she
Less to say.
Two days past.
A knock on my door.
Moon light's middle finger
Stretched into my
Living room window.
My couch held her like an egg in a carton.
Toad colored hat latched around her head.
Hair covering her eyes, her mouth, her broken nose.
She wore orange flip flops, wiggling her toes.
A zit planted in the middle of her forehead like white rose.
She asked why I hadn't called her.
I told her that I didn't have a number.
She talked about her soon to be dead father.
I sat down to listen, thinking of my forgotten brother.
We talked with a space between us for a long time.
When she began to cry, she came to me,
Like a bee to a flower or a fly to fresh shit.
I felt her hand on my chest and her breath in my left ear;
There's no guilt like the wicked
And there's no faith like the religious kind.
Hand in a hold.
Love is a recyclable mold.
The tattered priest protects the walls
Of his splintered sanctuary.
Every dream had
Is another man's
Oh my sins, my sins,
Where should I begin?
When you're born to lose,
There's no thought to win.
6 months past
And still, she came.
Our love for one another
Was a knot
I couldn't untie.
A year past
And the stars and the moon
Were a cure that
Blanketed our child, our family.
Living our days out,
Mixing poison and penalty,
Running from a life
That showed any shred of reality.
Buried side by side
Underneath a bent orange tree,
I died one day,
She dying the other.
We use the leaves of Fall
And the blossoming buds of Spring
To reach for.
When I say the maze is long
And that the hours are heavy,
I meant not for your blankets to fall cold
Or for your room to awash with darkness.
She came to me that day,
Just like someone will come for you.
And I had no choice,
But to attune.
My father is standing outside of his second floor walk up in Brewster,
New York wearing a red t-shirt and faded Levis. It is July 1979, he has
just gotten home from work and he is waiting for my mother, who any
minute now will materialize out of the mid-summer twilight, cruising
down Magnolia Avenue on her purple bicycle. Down the block someone
is blaring Donna Summer from the stereo of a white Camaro, and as
the afternoon sky grows gradually deep with the anticipation of stars,
my father is realizing that he is love, that perhaps when my mother
arrives she will climb the dimly lit stairs to his tiny apartment and
never leave. Slowly now, the neon of the Texaco station flickers on
and the street lamps, here and there, go orange with celebration.
There is something in the way the dusk lingers over the street corner
that makes my father feel vulnerable, his heart buoyant with the
tensions between nostalgia and hope. Slowly now she appears, like an
apparition out of the atmosphere, nineteen years old, her feet riding
the breaks down the crest of the concrete hill, her red hair stirring
slightly in the remains of the humid breeze. My father swallows hard;
she will come up to his tiny room, and she will love him, and she will
stay, maybe, he thinks, forever.
It is nighttime now, and my father is hunched over a table rolling a
joint on a spread out page of newspaper. My mother is washing the
dishes and humming along with the record player. Outside the night is
quiet, save for the hushing of poplar leaves and the quarter-hourly
rattling of the Metro-North. Sitting on the couch they will kiss each
other and laugh, and talk about the small moments, of no consequence
that made up their respective days. Moderately stoned, and strangely
happy, my father will walk to the Texaco station and buy a six-pack of
Budweiser cans while my mother wraps herself in an afghan, watching
the Red Sox through the static of his little television set. From the
street my father is able to see the lights on inside his apartment, and he
will pause, letting the eucalyptus fill his lungs. He is thinking that
maybe this version of events is okay – he can marry the girl, and in a
few years my sister will be born, and in a few more, me. The six-pack
weighs down his arm as he watches the moon shine above his rooftop,
perfectly round, like a magnificent hole cut into the sky.
I read once that astronauts returning from outer space are prone to
a deep and despondent depression. What is it about hours spent
orbiting the stratosphere that wrecks such havoc on the heart? While
it must be trivial to be standing in line at the supermarket after
spending months amongst the stars – the sadness is greater than that,
more subtle and permanent. Carl Sagan said that the greatest
revelation in the age of space exploration is the image of Earth as
finite and lonely, somehow vulnerable. Last June, driving home from
the Gilbert’s dinner party, you described our marriage as a satellite
that we were both floating helplessly away from, each caught in the
gravitational pull of separate galaxies. We had been bickering all
evening, much to the discomfort of the other guests; seven years, and
our love was beginning to quiet away. According to rock lore, the
Elton John song Rocket Man was written about astronauts no longer
being thought of as heroes, but as average Joes. Bernie Taupin came
up with I miss the Earth so much, I miss my wife while on a motorway
in Britain, and had to repeat it to himself for two hours so he wouldn’t
forget. When I hear this song now I think of you hurtling away from
our fuselage, a white vapor trail tapering off into the night. Left to my
science and speculations, I charted a new course, mapping
constellations across the kitchen floor. When I close my eyes the sigh
of compressors sounds like a song, with my hand over my stomach I
dance alone in small concentric circles. In space astronauts complain
of a nagging isolation, one that persists upon coming home; when the
fabled vastness of space offers less meaning than the gas station on
the corner, a reconciliation must be made. I think of our marriage as
time spent in space, as though the despondence through which I now
tend to daily errands reflects a return to normalcy. For example, if I
am sitting in a coffee shop doing a crossword puzzle, I will suddenly
remember the weightless love we made and my heart will emanate a
low homing signal, leaking into the atmosphere, desperate for your
response. And other times, driving to work in the morning, I imagine
you coming back, flying slowly over the suburbs in the blue light of a
winter predawn. This is the loneliness of the astronaut – it begins at a
molecular level and leaves us devoutly desolate. In my sleep, I still see
Cape Canaveral falling away behind us, and I wake remembering your
voice through radio static, your naked breasts in starlight, the tinniest
moon rocks in the palm of your hand.
And i wonder as i look at the moon
do you think of me as much as i do of you
and could you ever comprehend
how much i want
to be in your arms
like i was
The Island Moorea,
In the heat, the sun,
The rhythm of my footfalls
crunching loose gravel road,
The swish of pack swaying
in consort to my measured pace.
Breeze pushing branches of Palm,
Ocean waves breeching shore line long.
Island vehicles passing, occupant's laughing,
a man laboring under large pack, alone walking,
Who could have been freely riding.
Something unthinkable to Island Folk,
in hot tropical places.
Passed along the way several humble homes,
Greetings exchanged with smiling people there.
Not long afterwards, new sound approaching,
crunching gravel, rolling up behind me.
A lovely young girl, perhaps still a teen,
long brown naked legs peddling a bike.
Hair jet black, long to her waist, wearing
a sarong, split up the side,
Shoulders bare and brown.
Dark eyes of wonder, sparkling of youth.
A radiant smile adorning her splendid face.
We went for a time at my even pace,
looking and smiling each in our place.
"Hello there" I said, she giggled, beamed
even bigger. Perfect teeth displayed.
"Why you walk?" She asked in puzzlement.
"To get to where I'm going". I replied
This response producing a pleasant laugh
from the girl. In which I too joined in.
"You go One Chicken?" She asked
I stopped then and turned to her.
"Where is One Chicken?" I questioned
with a grin.
She raised her graceful arm,
one finger pointing up the road.
"One Chicken there." she informed.
It was a store/bar, sort of place,
In the very midst of nowhere.
Indeed more than merely one chicken roamed,
Many chickens were and a pig or two, as well.
All mingling free and doing their thing.
We entered from out of the bright daylight,
into the deepest of darks,
Like in a movie theater you arriving late.
Eyes adjusting slowly to what lay ahead.
A few Island Beers later,
I had acquired several new friends,
The girl my invitation to the party of
already happy people a little drunk on beer.
The Music was mostly of French persuasion,
With a bit of Bob Dylan thrown in.
The Beatles also had a tune or two.
The Liverpool beat resounding down Tahiti way.
Before the light did fail, I shouldered my pack
and walked some distance from Chickens and Pigs.
Found the beach, hung my Hammock for the night.
Built a small fire and opened a can of Spam.
She appeared again about ten,
looking beautiful in the new moon light.
She had washed her hair,
still damp and smelled fresh of Lilacs,
Or some such aromatic scent.
We did not speak, no words were needed,
Made love on the sand, 'till the retreat of the
tide and sand crabs did come out, in their
eerie numbers, to eat what was at hand.
I suppose even us if we let them.
We retired then both to my hammock,
A pretty neat trick if you can swing it.
And we did.
She was so child like and yet,
very much a woman grown.
There was no pretense shown,
no false inhibitions rendered.
These were not limitations of her culture.
A people that live by their emotional impulses.
An open and free spirited people living
passionately within each minute.
It all felt more akin to a dream than real,
All around me there was beauty,
Loving and being loved without hurry,
Free of guilt or even a single expectation.
Living in that wondrous moment,
of uncomplicated human splendor.
Like some Garden of Eden surrender.
In the morning we swam in the sea,
frolicked like kids having a day at the beach.
Made love in the sand, I dozed in the sun.
Upon my awaking she was gone.
I waited an hour or two, packed up my camp,
shouldered my load and returned to the road.
A few minutes later, again I heard the now
familiar crunch of rubber tires,
rolling road surface and there she was,
a straw basket in her Bike's basket,
A huge smile on her unforgettable beautiful face.
We sat in a grove of trees,
among birds singing, insight of the sea,
Upon a Palm log and ate fresh bread and
fruit, drank strong black coffee (French Roast
I presume,) nibbling some marvelous cheese.
We tried to talk, but she understood little of
what I tried to say, my French was nearly
nonexistent, only adding to confusions sake .
She leaned her head on my shoulder,
the way lover's do and tenderly held
my hand within her two,
As if not wanting to let go,
Those gestures said all there was to say,
And we savored each silent moment.
We parted there, she on blue, rusty bike
and me on "shanks mare",
Off in two different directions,
Each out into the depths of our own lives,
Gone just like that. . . And yet,
Indelible, never to be forgotten or replaced.
Moorea do yet visit me, in dreams as real as can be. She never
grows old, nor does the beauty we shared for that one brief moment
in time immortal.
Someplace among the Islands of Tahiti there is a woman in her late fifties,
most likely a Mother, even by now a Grandmother. I hope she recalls as
fondly the American blond man with the big Orange Backpack, that in 1972
she meet upon the road, near "One Chicken" and loved freely and completely
for two days and a night, as that man does so fondly remember her.
I'm no poet, you all are poets. I'm just an old guy with memories and
little stories to tell. Thanks for letting me share.
Two rain drops
Landed on your
After a long time
They had gathered
To break free
And take release
Under the tender
On the way down
When lying next to you
You hold up my hand
Far above the earth
Of our bodies
As if it were all the
Stretching fingers of the stars
Into my hand you draw a moon
With the smooth tip of your finger
As if to tell me that all I do
Is caught and reflected
In the silver of your smile
When our abbs
And our bodies
Tight like fault
Lines before an earthquake
And we sweat boulders
Like all the mountains
That have ever fallen into
The ocean trying
To fill the waves
Each of these acts of devotion
Return our love back as sand
Washed up on a familiar shore
These tiny gifts I will gather
Until the wind
Decides it will no longer carry us
And the moon gives up
Her guarded distance
To come lay her face
Against the deep