Lost, confused, certain...
Not in the right place.
This is not okay.
Show me something, tell me something,
What am I looking at?
I know my mind is made up but you shouldn't stay quiet,
My mind was made up by a different me!
I see you but, I'm still alone
And looking way higher than I should be.
These winks aren't real.
This comfort... only temporary.
Who are you and when did you do this?
Do I know you?
How much more of this?
Are we slowing down?
We must be heading somewhere, what's YOUR goal?
And do I know my own?
Tell me, stranger.
Do I know you?
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 8:49 AM UTC
This is what it's like
To wake up from fake, long sleep.
Would not recommend.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 5:55 AM UTC
You shake and you shiver and cry out for me
As you caress my neck with your lips.
You melt into me like the snow in the spring
And my shoulders can feel your snow's drips
Then the clouds open up and present their remorse
Recreating your tears with their rain.
Like bullets the first drops hail down on our heads
And commence their percussive refrain.
I pat your back gently and tell you with care
There need not be a reason for tears.
But the patter of water in puddles is loud
And I say only words you can't hear.
Bam! It hits me! They're fake! I know why you're sad
And the reason you cry is unclear;
You're not sad at all, your snow is not gone:
You cry only crocodile tears.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 12:23 AM UTC
I feel like I am lost
Between thoughts
Between muses
Of better luck, and
Of better luck next time.
The pity that has crowned me
For all to see, and feel,
Comes rightfully,
As I do pity myself,
Like a mouse ought to
In deepest winter.
The mouse, however,
Sleeps through it,
While I turn and toss,
Wrapped in my blanket
And in thoughts of fortune
And in my misfortune.
I cannot complain;
I have known a good life,
A life with luck,
A life with privilege
Compared to the mouse's.
Yet, I still feel lost
Between thoughts
Between muses
Of better luck,
And better luck
Which I wish myself
Next time.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
stop.
who are you?
this is no place for outsiders.
the night is a ravenous creature and the stars
don’t shine for wandering men.
how did you get here?
was it the voices in your head or the paths your wounds have bled?
stay back, it’s not safe.
you underestimate the distances ahead.
your mind will try to trick you but please, be warned.
the lost souls look like trees and the trees like snakes,
it seems you don’t realize what’s at stake
but the moment you step behind these gates…
it is too late to turn back now.
I wish you all the best.
may the darkness turn to light and the light guide you.
may your feet not turn to stone and your story lay at rest.
one day the gravel path will turn to dust.
one day your steel body will turn to rust.
and yet I trust you shall carry on.
you must.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
Can you feel the breath
Leaving your lungs and your lips?
It keeps me alive.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
Under her dark veil she wrung her hands.
"Why are you so pale today?"
"Because I made him drink of stinging grief
Until he got drunk on it.
How can I forget? He staggered out,
His mouth twisted in agony.
I ran down not touching the bannister
And caught up with him at the gate.
I cried: 'A joke!
That's all it was. If you leave, I'll die.'
He smiled calmly and grimly
And told me: 'Don't stand here in the wind.' "
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 12:07 AM UTC
Writing in prose becomes difficult
When swirling around in your head
Are only lines of verse.
It is lucky, then,
That I am a poet.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
Chase these drunken foreigners
Back to their ****** land.
Make sure they don't come back
Lest we cut off their filthy hands.
They walk right through our borders
And set fire to our barns
They **** our farmers' daughters
And they vandalise our farms
They bring their bows and arrows
And roll in their trebuchets
Then they fire off their weapons
And destroy our country's face.
Now go swift and see it done,
Send our armies to the field!
We'll make sure they don't come back again,
We'll show them what we feel.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 1:00 AM UTC
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg Last March,
It's on His Website. We Spent Two
Days Together In Richmond Va. In A Blizzard In 1982
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:45 PM UTC