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 Jul 2016 Brother Jimmy
Torin
Guitar
 Jul 2016 Brother Jimmy
Torin
I've forgotten how she feels under my hands
The way glorious music came forth as my fingers touched her neck
I held her in my lap and every note was right
She spoke to me so beautifully

The shape of her body
The way my voice danced around her
A song I had to sing
And I was happy

I haven't felt her in forever
But I still listen
Maybe such dulcet notes alive
Still strive to grace my life

Maybe life is not a game
But I play
And I'll play

I've forget the way frets make me lose all worry
I can hold her in such a way that makes a meaningful chord
Finding balance in her scales
And knowing harmony

The shape of her body
The sound of love and loss
A song I have to sing
And I'll know peace

Maybe life is just music
But I play
And I'll play
I wish he'd turn my water to wine
and give me some fish,
with bread,
I could dine like a King.

I got nothing between here and
the Devil of the track that I took,
look at me
see poverty,

honesty may be the best policy
but I missed the installments.

The undertaker makes no fuss,
sour **** won't bury me
unless
I cross his palm with coin
of the realm.

I laugh, but
he's the captain at the helm
and
I'm a drowning failure.

Are you quick on the draw
or a raw kid?

I wander and really don't care
poetry's where you find it,

mind it
sometimes bites, but
mostly it just kisses
your lips.
I'll toll the bells in your return-
you've come back empty handed,
without any stories
to tell me.

I'll lie awake tonight again,
and you'll have nothing to tell me.
No happily-ever-after, no stories of heroes and queens.

I'll wait and want to be tangled in narration,
and dialogue and maybe finally
slumber might find me
and take me in.

And you'll tell me that you're sorry,
that you owe me histories and narratives,
that my eyes won't rest
and it's all you're fault.

But oh my dear,
all I wanted was for you to know
your homecoming
was my most favourite story
yet.
Struggling
He was the one person
who held storms in his fingertips,
and still touched you with the softness
of rain in springtime.
But you only felt thunder.
The way I'm going now,
I'd probably crash into your living room:
tearing apart the art-deco set up
with my red car,
mashing art and steel into a subculture
of hate, and the unrequitedness of love.

Baby,
I'm rocketfuel and bedding-
I'm churning up the cotton into kindling
and I'm burning so bright
I don't think I'll be able to top this.
I won't be able to top this.

I'm swallowing air and the sea,
the sea can wait a little while,
I'm yelling so hard at the waves my
throat has more salt than your tears,
listen

you don't need conch shells to hear
me pleading for you; strumming six songs a second
and wailing into a chorus of
"I'm sorry" and "I love you";

it almost sounds like

I'm apologising.
Crash and burn.
Past tense.
Here lies my dog, motionless in his kennel
unable to wag his tail as he always did.
Yesterday when I saw him, curling helpless on his mat
he still wagged his tail and from him arose
a faint tremolo of love
punctuated by gutturals of pain.
At some bleak hour of the night,
the last ember of life died down
and his supple body turned stiff and stark.

Now he lies straight and majestic in death
leaving a track record  of love
far difficult to break,
- a love no vessel can hold
or equated with what we humans feel.

Speechless as I stand, memories churn within.
He came to us - too young to be weaned,
a glossy black puppy with tawny gleaming eyes.
His short, sturdy limbs, large drooping ears,
slender waist and elongated frame
well proclaimed his pedigree aloud
So full of mischief, he capered and hopped,
like a new born calf, always up on his heels.
Sniffing with moist nose, he dug and dug
as if unearthing a treasure trove
buried deep beneath the soil.
With alert vigil, he guarded our home,
barking at strangers and driving rodents away
He expected nothing in turn but love.
His loyalty as we deem was never servile.
Never was he on chains to be hauled like cattle.
He enjoyed sauntering through the courtyard
giving company as we took our evening rounds.
He gloated rubbing his body over our knee
and sat content as our stroking fingers ran all around
Licking our feet and arms,
what he conveyed in inarticulate words
could be deciphered thus -
‘I love you, love you true’  

Like the bouncing ball, he often played with
our hearts made to bounce up in love
and our hands fold in benison
for a comrade who departs,
valiant in life and loyal to the core
hoping to meet him anon
on the far green meadows of bliss,
still wagging his tail, avowing a bond
too strong to be snapped or splintered.
For long, my house has been lying deserted
My gate has not been opened wide to let in anyone
No guest has so far come to visit me
Tired of distant wanderings
I have come here to listen to the beat of silence
Occasionally broken by the sound
Of birds' laughing wings overhead
Here I have brooding shadows for company
Hermit like I wrap myself in my solitude

Now abruptly when you announce your arrival
I feel excited and equally perplexed
What shall I serve you? I am at a loss
My hearth has not been lighted for long
And my kitchen pots remain empty
I know I should serve you
Something chilled or warm
In my menu, I have a simple surprise
But not of the edible kind
Nor delectable to your palate
But as I have known you since long
I hope it will appease you

In poetry’s platter
I shall serve my thoughts warm,
Garnered in the lonely hours
Of my solitude!

The only dish I have!
 Jul 2016 Brother Jimmy
Slur pee
A gentle touch
That wind blows off.

A piece of dust,
A flake of rust.

A scornful lover's kiss,
Bitter and hard to miss.

A fly on a white wall,
In a room full of frogs.

A crumb, an ant
A shard of glass.

This is all that I have,
This is all that I am.

Roughly,

Nothing.

-SLuR
 Jul 2016 Brother Jimmy
Slur pee
I know that tomato tomato
Probably only works when speaking,
And you probably read that as tomato tomato
Instead of tomato tomato.
But, the point is you make my mind
Feel like mashed potatoes
Or is it potatoes?
And I don't know how
To describe it
Almost like my heart was hit with a seismic-
Wave. It makes me quiver, makes me shake
Makes me feel so pathetic and lame.
I can't find light inside your days
And time on me, you'd never waste.
But with haste, I'd give you all that you could take
I'd be the resource for your flame
Eat away, all you need to sate
In your emotions I shall bathe;
I like to call it love, while you prefer
To claim it's hate.

But you know,
Tomato tomato...
 Jul 2016 Brother Jimmy
Slur pee
My words come out all slurred, blurred, and censored. My heart has a faulty bad juju sensor. My nerves are practicing voodoo, got me all wrapped up in hoodoo. Always asking 'how do you do?' As if you'd ask me too. My world is red, my world is blue. My vision is all kinds of skewed. Skewer me, skewer you. Skewered life 'cause it leaves us *******. Who needs to hear another boohoo? I'll kiss my own **** boo boos. Satan's calling me like 'yoohoo' I'll ignore him like you do me, all passionless and angry. I'm a dead fish in a dead sea just practicing my moaning, for when I'm see-through and lonely. Haunting the world as it's revolving, and it's kind of revolting- knowing life goes on, as you're decomposing. I'm shedding, I'm molting; these feelings of chicken skin and insects. It was really salmonella and pests, and I guess, what the point I'm really trying to get to is nothing, oh and *******.
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