What can you expect?
We are far, far away
from our potential.
Our goals have been
twisted
into something they weren't.
Our sight is blinded!
The mess we've made,
it's beautiful.
Even so,
I believe that our core
remains the same.
our goals may be
changed
but our intuition,
our feelings and hopes,
they are integral.
Man is unscathed,
unturned by the millennium;
different faces,
the same man.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
It is deafening silence
Beneath the lanky pine shrouded of darkness
And the bed of needles soft under hand,
Snow sits shallow and dulled behind a curtain,
The hushed breath of a boy out of hand,
And the bark rough against back,
And the stick of sap against the palm, and the screech
Of tires far afield, and the breakneck cold
Cries with hidden desires of dark shadows breach
In the low mountains of housed hills where silence holds.
Once when warmth was in the heart
Among the walls solid evergreen held,
As the food hot and the flames low, a boy unfolded
The truth of heart that smoldered in anguished meld,
Rushed and tumbled forced out upon the wold
Of snow. And alone then
In the darkening cold, run by the streets light
And the pavements white with turned ash and the men
Roosting asleep while the barking dog grew trite
Whom echoed among the covered grounds and then
Stumbled on with anxious limb,
Thus feet sting, the glacial frost bitterly bites,
The hooped ring luminescent and hung, the lanky pine
Comforting in its shelter bare of lights,
And there to rest and rebuild new spine.
“He knelt, he wept, he prayed,”
By the hurt of his heart feeble in the dense dark night
And huddled bellow the knotting pine though in the homes,
In the past warmth, in the slow light,
At the loves gracious hold, he wished to roam.
“He knelt” in spindled branches,
“He wept” being cast out, “he prayed” to the hidden gods
That he be found rescued restored to right
Darkness pushed aside by the cars beam and the boy at odds
And the shimmering diamond studded earth and the black white
Into that light of promise
He wished to go but he sits eyes closed to darkness
With out the car which passed and broken he stands.
His heart wrenched breaking him choked by the collar
And up the way whence came to the shattered lands
It is deafening silence,
Reentering in the house torn, in the whirl-
Wind of heated battle, into his room
He crawls, in the slow light of the dreams world.
And he rises with new light arching through the sky.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Among the matted walls
the painted dolls
the cold crashes
timbered against us
fought to constrain us
thought they would rain us
but what fools
among these tools
we are what we are
no bonds
may bound us
no cage constrain
our lives
are open to take flight
to rule the night
we have it inside us
our release
begins not with constraint
our release
is a phantom
our release,
Our Release!
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
There is a place.
It is bright in memory
and living in stride.
When you close your eyes
you are there.
You can reach out
and brush your palms
against the bristle
of a soft stalk.
Lace your fingers into the weave,
twine the bristle around
your index finger,
and rip it from its hold.
You can close your heavy eyelids
and feel the radiance of the sun;
breath in summer, salt, and serenity.
You can watch as the light shifts iridescent,
brushing against the pillowed clouds
and sifting across the ocean.
You can see,
playing among the hills,
homes and lives
all intertwined.
infront of you
you can feel a smile,
a tangible love
hung between you.
Bright as a memory
radiant as the warmth
soft as a bristle.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
I've always wanted to be a southerner
not the "refined" southern
more of that blue grass southern
most of that blue grass southern
are always on their way home
crossing land marks; cumberland gap, georgia river, rocky top
you see that blue grass southern
always has a "baby," a someone
waiting for them
when your that blue grass southern
you have blues that are deep
but your tune is always bright
well with that blue grass southern
your always searching for that simpler
never northern life
so please just give me
more of that blue grass southern
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Upon an island sits my soul.
Floating among the quivering
branches hidden with in the lull
I crouch, still and shivering.
Upon the waves turns my soul.
With cold waters dragging me deep
to a world through a rabbits hole
I flail, thrashing about and weep.
Upon those cufflinks wears my soul.
The jacket turned outward to face
the cold harsh winds taking their toll
I arch, pained and begin to brace.
Within the damp ground rest my soul.
With shelter against the raging
wind theres chance to warm by the coal
I lay, stretched no longer caging.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Cry to the white walls heavy and dead
You linger there between night and day,
A prison now made upon this bed.
Come thrashing harsh, forward raged in red.
Wild men know not their bound, so they
Cry to the white walls heavy and dead.
Quite and subdued, weighed down as lead
Appearance deceives, slowly to fray
A prison now made upon this bed
Voices echo one repeating thread
I hear you. I won't! leave now I pray!
Cry to the white walls heavy and dead
One body two souls suggest to wed
Morphing among, caught between as prey
A prison now made upon this bed
There, through the halls, chime cries of the bled
This soiled earth has driven astray
Cry to the white walls heavy and dead
A prison now made upon this bed.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
How I long for the breath of youth once more
These tiered bones and weary eyes will mend
My bending back produced by years of chore
will bend right back as an unbroken trend.
The lines and wrinkles will begin to fade
My erratic heart will beat strong and true
My calloused hands torn and battered remade
Will lift up boldly into the bright new
I'll be callow naive and ignorant
Brashly pushing forward never looking back
I'll be breaking hearts, my love to be sent
given to those with worth or those who lack
But my weary back will remain thus still
for my youth alluded leaving me chill
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
few moments in life pass us by with such grace and beauty that true happiness is achieved.
A moment so pure no pain or sorrow could reach us,
just one emotion and one alone.
Its presence,
through fleeting,
is more welcome than a thousand perfect sunrises,
more welome than an endless summer,
even more welcome than the love of a lifetime.
Such moments befall us suddenly;
in bed listening to the radiator whine,
sitting on the porch alone with rain slowly pattering on the ground,
laying in the tall grass seeing the wind blow through the branches.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
I see the lights are fading
the dark closing in
I know my heart is aching
and i just cant win
not when I'm the one playing for you
I watch the sun is setting
and you're coming in
I long to hold you close
but you wont let in
not when I'm the one playing for you
but every hour now I move a bit more
and every hour how you can see whats in store
you see the clouds are moving
and were gaining speed
you know whats coming in
yet you don't believe
not when I'm the one playing for you
We keep inching closer in
I start to feel your pull
We see whats heading now
its about to unfold
yes when I'm the one playing with you
you say that loves a game
and its one meant for two
you say theres no way for one
to win or to lose
yes now were the ones playing it through
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC