I slept and dreamt one night,
What if I travelled back in time?
All the mysteries, all those historical moments
Can all be solved and relived.
How special wouldn’t that be?
What if I travelled back in time,
And met Shakespeare, Leonardo,
Galileo Galilei and the Emperor of China?
They’d teach me a lot of things.
What if I travelled back in time
And get to play with dinosaurs,
Climb the brachiosaurus, play tag with the T-Rex
And take a ‘magic carpet ride’ with Pterosaurs?
I could also follow Christopher Columbus on his trips
And come home with some souvenirs for my friends.
I could live in every dynasty of every country,
And see the world so many years ago
The sands of time slowly carried away by the wind
Once they’ve left, it’s just a memory, etched into our minds.
What if I travelled back in time,
And change all my test answers? I’ll be the smartest boy on Earth!
It’s all too simple, because I know what’s to happen.
But all these things will happen only in my wildest dreams. They couldn’t possibly come true right?
And I just fall back asleep and wonder,
What if I could REALLY travel back in time?

I amble onto bed, so tired, so sleepy
And fall into a deep slumber.
I hear a sound, something’s moving in my room.
My back just springs upright and time seems to stop still
As my ears strain to hear the slightest,
Littlest, clue
To find who’s that,
In that blue hat,
Moving around my room?
He moves closer and closer and I **** in my breath
And shut tight my eyes, not wanting to see the rest
I feel a tug on my blankets and they’re finally pulled away,
So I am about to scream before I realise,
I hear a soft, ringing bell…
“So I hear you’ve been dreaming about travelling back in time lately. Would you like to try?”
I’m a little bit afraid,
Anxious to go time travelling at this time of night.
What if all this is just a dream?
But the blue hat man reaches out to me and touches my cold hand.
It’s real, I think.
He winks at me and tells me to get ready because we’re going
Going, going, going, going, going, going, going,
To time travel!
I shut my eyes, a little more tight
And take a deep breath
And I feel we’ve landed somewhere,
I open my eyes slowly, anxious to see
And I discover sand dunes, all around me
But that wasn’t the main attraction
I sought for.
There were Pyramids and Egyptians being treated
Like dogs by other Egyptians, smug and arrogant
And cold-hearted, in this simmering heat.
They work to bring brick by brick
To the great structures
And that’s why they stand
To this very day.
Then the blue hat guy brings me to Ancient China,
All the guys had long hair,
Braided and shiny, beautiful and neat, with so much grace and poise
In their firm steps.
The Emperor stands tall and mighty
But he’s a little strange.
He doesn’t seem to blink at all, or talk.
The only thing he does is stand there. And breathe.
Yet I feel an air of supremacy when I gaze upon his
Yellow robes, intricately embroidered with dragons,
A sign that a mastery hand, skilled with needles and threads,
Made its mark across the yellow silk
And left two intertwined dragons in a jovial dance.
The blue hat guys holds my hands again
And squeeze them hard, to tell me
We’re jumping through time, how wondrous
This act, jumping through places
Through time and space
But we’re all the same, because all these
Things, can be found on Earth
And in our hearts and memories, which will last
Through the waves of time, even if the waves always crash on the shores.

I prepared myself,
The Final Jump,
After going jumping through the time of all civilisation, also
Back to the time of the dinosaurs.
I’m going back home, my own time,
The present, where here is now and now is here.
The blue hat guy lets go of my hand and
Gives me one last wink,
“Keep on dreaming and never forget
This magical adventure that we had!”
And he just disappears.
I’m back in my own bed and comfy and warm,
Blanket pulled up to my chin and I smile
As I close my eyes, I ponder once more,
Did I just travel through time and space
With a guy in a blue hat?
Or was that just another dream I had?

Wanted to get drunk today.
WANTED TO WRITE TEN POEMS.
None of this happened, but the postman brought letters.
I opened them.

Skin felt absent on the occipital lobe.
Where amber, silica, sconce, crackle, glass exploded.
Lifted pillow 'bove my head.
Gravity took its power. Hold, sand shard dust and vase piece,
in my bed.

Wanted to sit in the park.
WANTED TO MAKE TEN ******* POEMS.
Needed a six foot tall model by my side,
in the windy park in the sunlight.

Children needed to dance around.
Wanted to see them puke up happiness.

On swingsets/marygorounds.

Wanted to be their fathers.
WANTED TO BEAT UP THEIR FATHERS POEMS.
Wanted to the cops to catch me.
Slaughter pigs, drink their blood.

Wanted lost in wanting.
WANTED TO BE BETWEEN HER LONG SOOTHING POEMS.
Wanted to clutch pretty.
Needed something like love...

or like drunk.

Needed to buy a forty today.
NEEDED TO COUGH UP WORD THROAT.
80 will do. If you have the proof
This didn’t happen. Instead,

I
Sat
Inside
And
Choked
On
My
Own
Enunciated
Emaciated
Words.

The poems never come out right anyways.

It was the time of summer where every kid had silently realized that it was ending,
No longer halfway through, no longer half full
Leaking and spilling out,
like the gas in my twenty two year old car
We couldn’t stop it,
And the moments of high school summertime
The moments that supposedly turn into stories we tell forever
Hadn’t seemed to have happened.

Both of us on the swing lazily swung
Dizzily from side to side.
Climbing forward, falling in reverse
Our combined bodyweight shifting back and forth
Tanned legs kicking up in an attempt at unison on every backwards glide.
Gravity hung us there,
Pulling the swing toward the ground no matter the rotation.

I sat on top.
I wore bleached shorts and bleached hair.
I worried that gravity or more so my value to it
would crush him.


At the same time, I felt unbelievably small.


The air pressed in on me from all angles,
it touched my bare legs
it easily waffled my shirt.

“Mel, if you were squishing me, I would let you know”,
he assured with a cocky tone of his very own that somehow made me feel special.
I couldn’t help but think he was only trying to be tough
Attempting to let sheer willpower overweigh my well earned quads,
My six foot frame.
The awkward body I never quite grew into
Never knew how to masterfully control
Never knew how to fill.
Though I secretly (wanted to) truly believe him

On this humid night I felt like the ball was in my court,
Like I could do anything and everything.
That nothing could go wrong
That the boy that I was sitting on was genuine
And that I could simply drive off to wherever.

(I had a full tank of gas and enough money to get me to Alabama).

I felt small in this,
in this infinity of possibility all around me.
Like a weight was pushing into me
Putting on pressure that couldn’t be ignored
That shrunk me just enough.
I felt powerless to fate
Powerless to this planet
To this grand, glorified hunk of earth which was so much greater than me
(and surely my insignificant weight anxieties).

I felt like the gas was leaking out faster than I could use it.
I felt like my infinity was disappearing as I swung within it.


Just like that, I let the ball drop and the gas leak out.
We just kept swinging.
Laughing,
Wasting,
Talking,

Dying.

Falling into mortality
Rising from the ashes
Shedding off the cinders
And glowing coals of my rebirth
Scarlet fire feathers
Icy eyes of blues
My beauty, stunning, blinding
In both light and actual measure
My threat level, fatally high
But as easy as I ****, I nurture
As cruel as I am, I’m kind
As strong as I am, I’m gentle
I lift an infant as readily as I carve into flesh
And you’ve not seen kindness
Until you’ve seen me with the injured
Though as cruel and harsh as the oncoming storm,
I’ve got a soft spot for the lost and lonely
The wandering and dreamers
And if you think I’m an enigma
You should meet my friend,
The big bad wolf
3.7.13

A man sat upon a pub stool stroking his
ginger beard while grasping a pint with his
other hand; an elderly gent sat down next to
him; this older man saw the ginger bearded
fellow’s pint was quite ne’r the bottom

A woman with eyes of amber and hair like
chestnut strolled through a vineyard amongst
the ripening grapes full of juice soon to become
wine she clutched a notebook—behind black
covers lay ideas and sketches on how to bring
the world to a more natural state; balancing
the wonders and benefits of technology with
the beauty and sanctity of the natural world

When the ginger bearded man finished
the last bit of his pint another appeared
before him—courtesy of the old man,
“Notice you got the mark of a man accustom
to the seas,” said the old man gesturing to
the black and blue compass rose inscribed
in a ship’s helm, imbedded into the back
of the ginger bearded man’s right hand.

“I have crewed and skippered a many fine
vessel, but I am giving up the sea. I have
one last voyage left in me—to my home.”

“Aye the sea can be cold and harsh,
but she captures me heart. To where
are ye headed for home, there son?”

“’tis not a where, ‘tis a who. Sets of events
have lead to separate from me my wife. I
have been traveling for  five years waiting
to be in her embrace. The force of the sea,
she, is a cruel one for at every tack, or gybe
I am thrown off my course to stranger and
stranger lands… I have gone to the rotunda
of hell and the gates of the so called heaven.
I have struck deals, and  made bets only a
gambling addict would accept. All to just be
with her. I am homesick—she is my home; it
doesn’t matter where—physically—we are
my home is with her. I was told to come to the
clove of Cork and wait, wait for a man, but I
was not told anything about this man only that
I must return him this,” the ginger bearded man
held out a silver pocket watch with a frigate
engraved on the front and two roses sharing a
stem swirling on the back upon themselves.

“Can it be? ‘tis my watch t’at me fat’er gave
me before he died… I lost t’is at sea many a
year ago; it left me heartbroken. For ‘twas me
only lasting memory of him… Come to t’ink
I was told by a beggar in the streets, I do not
remember how long ago, but it has been many
a years, t’at I would meet a man with something
very dear to me, and I would take this man on
a journey, and this man would have the mark
of a sailor. What is ye name? Can it be…?”

“My name is Lysseus dear old man—it seems
the Sea is holding up her bargain—though a
little late... do you have a ship that can fair to
Rome? All across this land, none a skipper will
uptake my plea; they fear the wrath of the sea.
If they have no fear, they claim my home ‘is not
on their routes…’ ‘tis a line I’ve heard too often;
I would purchase a boat, but the sea, she, has
robbed me identity and equity; I’m at her mercy.”

Penny with her rich chestnut hair sat on a fountain
in a piazza—her half empty heart longing to feel
the presence of the Lysseus and stroke his ginger
beard… everyday she would look out at the sea;
where she saw him leave port—five long years ago…

All said she should give up; that he
was dead by now—his ship (what
was left) was found amidst the rocks
of Cape Horn, but she knew there was
hope, she should feel deep inside her
soul he is alive somewhere fighting to
return home. Never would she leave;
never would she abandon her post.
She made that promise five years ago
as he set out on his ‘last’ sail off shore.
And she would be ****** before she
broke her promise—a promise of the
heart; a promise of love. He said, “You
are my lighthouse; your love will guide
me home—keep me from danger. As
long as you remain my lighthouse I will
forever be able to return home—to you.”

Off from Crosshaven the old man took
steadfast Lysseus en route to his home.
Grey Irish skies turned blue as they made
their way out on the Celtic Sea, southeast,
to the Straight of Gibraltar; gentle cold
spray moistened his ginger beard, his
tattooed hands grasped the helm—his
resolute stare kept the two on course.

It was a shame to the old man that this
would be Lysseus’ final voyage—he was
the best crew the man had known; he
was  not sure if it was just the character
of the  fellow or his personal desire to
return  home after five long, salty-cold,
years being a slave to the sea and her
changing whim—never had he seen his
ship sail as fast as he did when Lysseus
was his crew—each sail trimmed perfectly,
easing  the sheets fractions of an inch to
gain just the slightest gain in speed; the
sight warmed the heart of the old man.

The old man mused: maybe this is the
reason the sea has fought so hard and
lied to keep Lysseus from returning
home… she could not bear to lose such
fine a sailor from her expanses—she
is known to be a jealous mistress…

The old man, as he smoked his pipe, sat on
the back pulpit staring at Lysseus’ passion
to return home, as he calls her. But for all
his will and passion the, old man had to
insist for the fellow to rest; otherwise he
would go mad without sleep; reluctantly he
would retire below deck, but the old man
doubted the amount of rest he actually
acquired in those moments out of his sight.

The seas were calm as open water can be,
rolling swells rocked and pushed the vessel
forward. The Straight of Gibraltar opened
up on the horizon like a threshold—a major
land mark for the Lysseus; he was closer to
home than he had been in five long, salty,
years. His limbo was starting to fade, his
heart slowly—for the first time since he left
port—was beginning to feel whole again.
The Mediterranean Sea—his final sea—he
would not miss the gleam of his lighthouse…

The closer they sailed to Rome, he could sense a
change in the water, a change in the weather; clouds
grew darker and bellowed like gluttonous bulbs. As
he feared, the Sea was breaking her promise—she
was not done with him yet. She could not let him
return home—the jealous temptress who has ruined
many a fine men—the least honest of all the elements.

“I see she ain’t done wit’ ye yet,” said
the old man. Surveying the dark, grey,
clouded noon-day sky from the bow pulpit.

“Nothing will keep me from reaching home; even if I
have to swim the final nautical miles. I will not let the
Sea break her deal; I will make her keep at least one of
her deals. My love is stronger than her forces. That I
know for certain. That I know beyond doubt.” Such
cried Lysseus out to the darkening sea and old man.

As if on cue—waiting for Lysseus to finish
his soliloquy—the clouds let out a deafening
cacophony of thunder cracks rolling through
the heavens towards their vessel. Lighting
grounded on the horizon around them creating
a cage of light and electricity. The gentle rolling
swells grew in stature with every cracking
second. The bow smacked and dove into on
coming waves; drenching both Lysseus and
the old man; with each flood of water over
the deck. The swells grew to such heights the
horizon transformed into dark clouds and
white peaked waves merging with the sky.

A wave crashed over the windward side of
the ship, the force of it cracked the base at
which the compass stood fastened to the deck
of the cockpit a larger wave hit abeam further
loosening the compass from its purchase; with
the angle of the ship and the rise and fall in the
waves it was all Lysseus could to do hold on
and watch the Sea slowly take the ship’s
navigation instrument into Her dark cold depths…

“Oh why do you curse me you foul tempest?
Cannot you see all I desire is to return to my
home!? I have done all you asked; I have
played all your games and won! now it is my
turn now—time for you to play by my rules!”
Lysseuc beckoned the old man to seek refuge
below deck—he would sail them through the
storm, and assured him the ship would reach
port afloat; for, “I can feel my lighthouse in
the distance; do you hear me Sea? You can
take away our mariner’s compass, but you
cannot take away the compass in my heart;
and the light of my home on shore. Five long
years ago she made a promise to me to be
my lighthouse—to guide me home no matter
what—regardless what you do, Sea, you can
never break her promise—only your, promises.”

As a lighthouse she stood through the weather
of the night—risking pneumonia, for Penny’s
heart told her she could never abandon her
promise as the waters fell flat and the sun peaked
through the storm clouds, a silhouette stretched
in the sunrise light, pointing to her feet. Upon the
bow Lysseus stood, his eyes fixed at the dock
where his lighthouse stood, fixed. Upon the dock
he jumped into the warm, loving, arms of his
home both of their hearts became whole again.

What's a girl with a face to you anyway?
Just another human with the curse of curves?
Someone to be the heroine to your heroics?
A girl you won't write songs about?
Most definitely not the only exception
The liquor to make you love drunk
The one to tell you 'give me love'
Who will say 'kiss me' but only to be loved
Not necessarily a girl to be your everything
Just the one to follow your lightning with thunder
A girl who hoped you see two is better than one
She doesn't want to be a secret valentine
It won't take long for her to fall for you
Cause everyone knows most boys like girls
And she'll take a rocket to the moon
Just to hear a secondhand serenade from you
Don't let me fall and I'll be that girl for you
But not just a girl with a face

I talked to an 77-year-old man who was washing the windows at Pizza Hut today.
He was young and so happy.
He was kind.
And wise.
He was rich.
He had no money.
He had nice eyes.
He was going blind.
He had a beautiful smile.
His teeth were rotten.
His name was Jerome.
And all he wanted to do was help people.
He taught me so much in 6 minutes.

Anglophilia
An early passion
one cannot say
when or why
perhaps his father's admiration
or was it his mother's apprehension
for them

Leaves of sweet ruby tea
hot ginger pasties
glory of candle skinned  ladies
the warm eyes and cold hearts
what lovely cats you have

Avon flows, its quiet cenote waters
surrounding the poetical urns
Cheery children
noses against windows
those of shopkeepers
that smothered
Napoleon

Yes, Avon flows
the timely midnight trains
to a myriad country stations
all the many
noble selfish
ideals
Joy of bright roses
in a small garden below
where the Keats still play
Adam and Eve
and hear the City's pride
its mechanical soul  
sing its hollow lonely tune again
Oh, where did all the angels go?

Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.