"clapton" poems
Bedded soul in the soil
Casket cassette spins
Tears in Heaven
Ripples into waves
I turn my head in the bed I lay
Now I become Death in his name
While Eric Clapton plays
I light travel dark vivaciously
Garnering the souls in the soil
Feb 8, 2022
Feb 8, 2022 at 10:04 PM UTC
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
Cool kid euphoria with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on is what we all are in the basement of the 50’s house.
Our phones blowing up while we sip whiskey and wine.
Trying to get the attention of the cars on the main road
By handstanding and flashing and cheersing our beers
And we receive our victorious honks.
Guitar clock radio with numbers around the fretboard and Sir Paul smiling and crooked, acid-trippin’ guitarist/violinist/celloist looking product of orange and gold look down upon as our patron saints.
Swingin’ low, Sweet Chariot words stares up at me from the 70’s floral carpet.
Ralph Stanley and Eric Clapton singing solos and duets in my head keep me company as the boys play and figure out key changes.
Painted screen hiding the Etta James microphone stands forgotten in the corner—
As I take in the teals and roses and golds.
Give me a heart shaped box where I can store my love
I fly so high in the world above
I’ll come back down eventually.
Lava lamped water stain engulfs the ceiling. As fingers go up frets
And they go down frets
And they go up frets
And they go down frets.
As you don’t enunciate when you sing.
We all mourn our fallen brethren, the base of the telecaster with no strings and no head and it weeps silently from its place on the water pipes, hearing his cousins WAAAIIIIILLLLLL.
As Cool kid euphoria is created with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on in the basement of the 50’s house.
We work all day so we can drink all night
Getting high off the drug that is each other
Chain-smoking Pall Malls like it’s our job
Listening to oldies as we shoot the eight ball in the corner pocket.
Garden tools and Lawn Mower parts as a sweet, creepy décor in the dank basement
As we breathe in mold and dust and cigarette smoke.
We are gloriously young.
So **** off.
We still think we can change the world.
Not through politics or through fear or by means of war
But by doing just enough to get by and loving everybody for who they are, even the parts or religions or particular ways of life we don’t like,
Because people aren’t what they do or what they believe
They’re who they are.
We still think we can change the world
And Maybe one day, we will
But for now
We’ll just be here,
In the basement of the 50’s house with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
I'm a dark and twisted guy
Who wants to shred El Burnside
With a bullet shot by *******
Like Erik Clapton best said it.
I'm on the Dark Side of the Moon
Smoking Pink Floyd listening to Cudders
Smoke anything to hyphen my mood
I'm a conartist who laughs at everyone's misadventures
But cries when something bad happens to my ancestors.
I listen to psychedelic music to put me on the Devil's Swing....so I can let my soul and spirit sleep.
A dose of ecstasy in any given music festival.
Sasquatch! Lollapalooza, a river dressed as an animal.
But I'm acting like a citizen of planet Jupiter.
Because of the way I've been living.......
I can't get any stupider.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
At eight weeks old, she was our newly rescued mixed beagle pup.
Noah named her Daisy. Not a name I would have chosen, but certainly as sweet as
memories of Grandma's homemade molasses
bubbling in the old iron kettle brought out from the smokehouse for only one day each year on a crisp fall morning.
By sixteen weeks it was evident that all involved in the rescue didn't know squat about Beagles. After a frantic thirty seconds on Google, our mistake was quite clear in the form of about five hundred red and black and tan photographs. We were the proud but red-faced and slightly shocked owners of a **** Dog". Yep. And Daisy was her name-o.
Two years and seventy pounds down the road, I sat in my morning solitude spot this day with a good mug and a good book watching the nut hatches, house finch, and Black-capped/Carolina Chickadees tearing that special blend seed up as Daisy patrolled the yard for squirrels with one eye and her nose to the sky watching for the lone and clever Rock Pigeon scout that always precedes the flurry of flying rodents raiding my feeder. I can't help but to smile as Daisy glances at me through the deck door glass to see if I am admiring her skill and diligence. I am.
This being a Sunday before the dreaded M word day, I tend to lounge lazily around the house in my worn Clapton pj bottoms and hol(e)y Langley T-shirt. My shadow follows me from comfort to comfort spot knowing that I leave a trail of odd snacks from my kitchen perch to living room couch to study to lazy bed, and back again. She is showing a bit of winter fat.
To be continued....
r ~ 9Feb14
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Rockout like you scored the winning basket with 1 second left
Rockout like you remember all the secrets you've kept
Rockout like you have a house full of food and nothing but time
Rockout like you can make anything rhyme
Rockout like that cute boy just called you babe
Rockout like he first knew your name
Rockout like you have no shame
Rockout like all the **** you've ever done has passed all the blame
Rockout like you can fit into that one pair of jeans you've had forever
Rockout like all your comebacks to ******* are clever
Rockout like you have the best clothes in school
Rockout like you can break all the rules
Rockout like it's summer all year round
Rockout like you could break the ground
Rockout like you'll die trying
Rockout like you got asked to the biggest party around
Rockout like you said hell no and turned that invitation down
Rockout like rumors don't exist and all people can know about you is what you choose
Rockout like you made it on the 5pm news
Rockout like it was for being awesome
Rockout like you can jam on your axe like clapton
Rockout like your life can't become undone
Rockout like you're hair always falls into place
Rockout like you feel great without makeup caked on your face
Rockout like you did bring **** back
Rockout like you never slack
Rockout like you love someone a lot
Rockout like you and your family never fought
Rockout like you recall all that you've been taught
Rockout like you can say all your thoughts
Rockout like it's all you got
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
When I had my sight on you,
it was as good a currency
I spent on my first dance.
There was an element of reluctance,
my feet glued to the floor,
my body, a deflated balloon
chasing after its soul.
You were more than a plant
draped in petals and perfumed with seasons of romance,
you were a garden of light,
enticing weary butterflies
of this world.
So when I pawned enough courage
to pluck your name out of those ripe lips,
I locked it away
so I could relish rolling my tongue
and tapping my teeth
and watching my spirit twirl to its syllables
saying it as if I were singing.
Driven by madness,
Bewitched with confusion,
Feverish with longing
Come after the quaint question,
“Am I beautiful?”
Or
“Does this dress suit me?”
Or
“How do I look?”
—am I ever worthy to answer such divine a question?
Not that there is a scarcity of vocabulary encased in dictionaries and thesaurus,
but perhaps the definition undermines the word.
For if I could,
if permitted to be brazen
and to be bold
to cross the border
defining our reality,
your beauty
has invented every beautiful thing
known to me.
Every poem,
on paper penned,
on spoken stage, uttered
on music, winged;
Every song on battlefield charged,
until the mind is intoxicated,
into ears poured
—beautiful is not worthy an adjective to sit or stand before your name.
You are to me,
what blues is to King and Clapton,
what a ring is to Sméagol,
what the truth is to Neo,
what sea is to a fish,
perhaps a hiding place
perhaps it is a galaxy of their own,
though in the end,
bare nakedly, you are the meaning.
“Are you beautiful?”
Yes, beyond what my eyes could touch.
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 9:41 PM UTC
Srinu, you demented little kid
To have you in my life i don't know what good things i did!
You can really take a bad song and make it better
We all know how crazy you are about Helter Skelter
You'd make a better actor than the guy who played Bane
I'm telling you, for the music industry, you're the next Kurt Cobain!
Man I'd love to see you perform 'House of the Holy'
I'm pretty sure you'll never leave the guitar, not even for the Cannoli
When you get hyper you remind us all of the Incredible Hulk
You're the happiest kid I've ever seen; you never sulk!
Your moods are unexpected and its types are various
Your crave for those "SUBSTANCES" is hilarious!
I know that Nirvana has made your Chemistry easier
You can now point out Lithium on the Periodic Table at your leisure
That face you make when you play the guitar is that of a Negative Creep
And when you blush you remind me of Meryl Streep
You lucky dog, you share your birthday will George Harrison!
If you were born during World War II, you'd provide awesome entertainment by playing guitar at the garrison
Over the Hills and Far Away is where you'll have your tryst
A Whole Lotta Love is definitely part of your Wishlist
You're way more electrifying than Angus Young
You set the stage on fire with your guitar skills and singing at the top of your lungs
Linkin Park is your childhood and In The End, it does matter
The Caste of Glass that you're building will never shatter
Your love for Jimi Hendrix is stronger than a dose of Purple Haze
Cuz your love for that musician is true and not just a phase
Santana invented the Spiritual ****** which makes us forget all our fears
Eric Clapton breaks me down into a River of Tears
There's something similar between you and Red Hot Chili Peppers
You're both unique - and i can't find anything else to rhyme so here's the closest - Def Leppard
Continue on your musical journey and people will be dying to give you a chance
One day, the music you create, will put us all in a Psychedelic Trance
I know that when you go
You'll either take the Stairway to Heaven or Highway to Hell
I heaven, you'll be Knockin' on their Door,
If Hell, you'll be ringin' Hell's Bells...
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
<•>
the freight of fright (one by one)
you don't see them often
out east,
the coupled cars of trains,
so long, one single train, touching,
two borders of one middle-of-the-country-state,
simultaneous
that said,
rode those couplers once or twice,
even now, sitting free fared on uncut lengths of rebar,
quiet humming on my knees, Clapton's Layla,
heading to a city that claims need for another skyscraper
but the freight train I ride and rode a million passenger miles,
so many miles, I ride now gold free for life,
that of course,
a curse,
an ironic joke
on me
the freight of fright,
of waking up tired,
after just having falling asleep
worthy of only short story nightmares,
alligator eaten dreams,
running from and to
the silver bullet band's lullaby;
*"running against the wind,
a young man,
running against the wind"*
this train, all mind mine,
don't carry no commodities,
no cars or washing machines,
its load is men, mostly me,
carrying grades of fright,
adding on and up a few more rail cars,
in strange cities,
different chemical formulas
but all prime fright, fear,
of waking up, still breathing
guess I can quit here,
no excuse making time to make a tome,
fright comes in small measures,
coupled together, this train,
this tracked, cracked dry riverbed
of a train,
and it goes on bye,
one by one
12:57am
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
If I lose track of the track
play the Beatles,
'Get back'
I'm back on the right track
a dip through the light shack
where I once belonged.
'Lola'
was the King and Queen
sat on turquoise
a harlequin,
chinks in his armour
'Kinks'
in her hair
it's always
'Dead end street'
somewhere.
I lose the plot
quite a lot these days,
the music plays
in stereo
can't get away
nowhere to go
trapped by the ' slow hand'
in
Clapton's Pond.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
Wildflowers traced the road’s edges
and danced to the harmonies of Eric Clapton.
My step-father sang to my mother while I peered out the window.
We were almost home.
My step-father motioned for me to sit up front and grab hold of the wheel.
The power of the vehicle drove through my veins
affecting me like Clapton affected the wildflowers.
A quick **** of the wheel sent my family and I off the road
into a world of slow-motion.
Blank images,
vague sounds,
that’s all I remember.
Until I saw my mother
laying motionless, traced by the wildflowers.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
When he was born his father was drunk,
his mother was doped up.
He was born three months early with double pneumonia,
but he lived.
Growing up, his father would put down the bottle
only to hit him and his mother.
For some reason, he wasn't sure, his sister and brother were spared.
His father died when he was eleven.
His father killed himself with the same pistol he killed two Japanese men with. His mother remarried, with no job, experience, or even a drivers license, she had to remarry quick.
His stepfather put down the bottle only long enough to hit him and his mother. This time, his sister and brother were not spared.
Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, he learned to play while my guitar gently weeps on a third hand guitar his stepfather had spent a fifth of his monthly salary buying.
He made money playing guitar. He wasn't the best, no Eddie Van Halen, no Eric Clapton. He did without the flashy showmanship. He had something called dependability. He was never late for an audition, he never ****** up an audition, he never fought with his band mates.
Driving home from a gig thirteen days after his twenty second birthday, a drunk teenager in a pickup truck plowed into him at an intersection.
He spent 5 weeks in the hospital. Doped up the whole time. When they let him leave, he left with a plate in his head and a monkey on his back.
For three years he lived on the streets. He'd play his guitar on the corner by the CBGBs for change. He'd take that change and buy ****** After three years, exactly three years of this, he realized he could play guitar better sober. He stopped using.
He got an associates degree in English, a concentration in teaching.
He taught English and Beginning Guitar at the same high school he hid his bruises at years earlier. He had favorite students, how could he not? They were always hiding bruises.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
.
Drizzle coated the billboard
sitting on that desolate stretch of highway
waiting for someone to read
or at least hide behind, parked car, back seat
steamed windows, sighs just above a holler,
a collar unbuttoned,
casual abundance with the radio on
seeking a Clapton tune
as nimble fingers
show the difference between a slow hand
and a destined position,
where rain doesn’t matter
because it I just as wet inside
though hotter than an August day,
perspiring in the friction
as love hits the four way flashers
blinkers accelerate, left, right, faster,
names are called, tears are cried
and the road home now beckons . . .
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
"Do you remember the time when we first met? I was wearing a guns and roses t-shirt and you were playing basketball with your friends? Remember how I was walking past the court and got hit by the ball, and you came running towards me, asking me if I was okay? Do you remember how shy you were when our hands touched for the first time? Your cheeks turned into the color of beetroot.
Do you remember how we became friends? I was new to the society in which you were the head? How scared I was when I had to sing for the audition round and you decided to sing along to my favorite song?
Remember how you asked me out? Took me by my hand and intensely gazed into my eyes, as Eric Clapton sang 'wonderful tonight' in the background? Remember how I started laughing and asked you to stop joking around. And then you just kissed me, to stop me from blabbering. I was stunned and shell shocked.
Remember when we got drunk after our first big fight? We said mean words and slept in separate rooms that night. Remember how I later knocked on your door to apologise? We drank the entire bottle of Jim Beam and got sloshed as we listened to Bob Dylan till the wee hours of the morning light.
Remember how it all began?"
I see no recognition in your eyes. I guess the amnesia didn't just take away your memories but it also took away everything that was mine.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
My guru skinnydips in multi-colored waterbeds.
Listen!
A pop festival blows bubbles in free flashbacks.
Dig it, brother!
John Lennon overdoses on the agony of paisley bellbottoms.
Will the Grateful Dead give shotguns with laid back madness?
Eric Clapton quivers in Janis Joplin's windowpane.
Oh, how Timothy Leary plays lead with strung out drug busts!
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
I have failed again
Doomed to live out my existence
In a shell of betrayal and self afflicted heartbreak
Knowing that I wasn't enough for you
Knowing that, despite my problems
Somewhere, two souls meet in infinite embrace
And the sword of jealousy pierces my knotted guts
Every time I hear your name my body shakes
This pain is no longer emotional
It strikes my core and shatters all I have built
My knees weaken and my chest tightens
My head hurts and my tears flow without asking
It happens randomly throughout the day
My collapses are uncontrollable
Stupid things remind me of you
Like bikes, and guitars, and cigarettes
And Law and Order and Friends and Eric Clapton
And pipes and aches and organic food
And kisses and touches and holding you
Mostly holding you with the reassurance of your voice
Saying I will never lose you
And I didn't
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
Between you, me, and everyone in this society
I am not currently smoking leaves or burning trees
But if I was puffing up smoke like the Beatles
Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, and Bob Marley did
Not snorting coke like our former president
But if I lit up at home when I was alone to get ******
If I had a pound or more of natural plant goods
The kind that Mother Nature made with her green wisdom
The kind that help chemo’s patients and other victims
Of social, physical, emotional, and spiritual ailments
It is not the state’s or the patrolmen’s business
They shouldn’t get me locked up then put me on parole
Then on some list so I can’t get government assistance
When I was just trying to ease life’s tension
And I have to mention we need freedom
From prison as a profit type business
Locking up children for drug offenses
Turning young men into harden criminals
While people making a hundred grand or more
Do not get punished for their narcotics store
Cops keep picking on the poor when they should hunt for
White supervisors who run and ruin other people’s lives
Those punk mother ****** telling lies
Using the law to steal other people’s houses and pensions
Making drug offenses look like a pittances
But the poor have poor defenses
And the rich ***** our lives like it is a business
Because it is their business to make money from our suffering
So why don’t they go on a hunt for the white rich ***** punk
And leave the poor *** smoking people alone
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
I torture myself in many ways.
Be it these cigarettes,
that bottle,
those songs,
or your letters.
When the sun goes down
my little sister asks
"Can I see the moon?"
So I hold her hand and take her outside
and sometimes we don't see it
but on nights like tonight
it shines brighter than it should.
Brighter than it has any reason to.
Yet Audrey thinks it's pretty
and I guess that's reason enough.
I remember the night,
when Guardian Angel, My Best friend, The Girl Who Fancies Scared Faces and myself drove up to a moonlit
little place called Sugarloaf Mountain.
And at the top
we drank cheap wine,
smoked cheaper cigarettes
(Hey man, they're all we got)
and each took turns playing a song.
My Guardian Angel started with Neutral Milk Hotel,
then My Best Friend played The White Stripes,
then The Girl Who Fancies Scared Faces played Atmosphere,
and finally I used my turn on Clapton.
We drank more beer
and smoked the last cigarette,
and laughed,
and laughed,
and marveled at how beautiful the moon was and how it doesn't need a reason to shine.
I ended up in My Guardian Angel's bed, after some more cigarettes and beer and ****
We shared kisses and cuddles and laughs and sweat.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
It was quite evident as a teenager , drawing Boston's guitar shaped space ship on the back of an English book , playing the opening riff to Smoke on the Water with a broomstick
Hiding in the closet , listening to Kiss's first album , singing in front of the mirror to REO Speedwagon
Bad Company on the eight track in my '63 Ford Falcon , taking a Guess Who album to show and tell in Kindergarten
Reciting every lyric on Three Dog Night albums , Foreigner turned up so loud that the windows would ratttle !
Learning Free songs note by note on the guitar , playing Born to be Wild like I was on a World Tour
My heroes are Page , Scholz , Perry and Geddy Lee ! Soundgarden , Alice in Chains , Mott the Hoople and Queen
Jimi Hendrix bringing his Strat to life , Eddie's blistering fretwork !
Crosby , Stills and Nash , three part Angelic vocal harmonies , Ronnie James Dio wailing like a banshee !
A Gibson through a Marshall , A Fender through a Vox , a Tele through a Peavey , a Rickenbacker through an Orange !
Jim Morrison turning poetry into song , Elton John baring his soul through the piano
Eddie Vedder in a trance on stage , Anne Wilson crying out in pain , Layne Staley raising the hairs on the back of your neck , the reassuring voices of McCartney and Lennon , every musical note committed to paper by George Harrison
Chris Cornell screaming into the night , the aura of Robert Plant onstage
the sweet guitar work of Eric Clapton , heart wrenching soul of Janis Joplin
The wailing guitar of Robin Trower , the blues power of Rory Gallagher
Siren song of Annie Lennox to the infectious , brilliant lyrics of Tom Petty
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
<tempo>
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
<music stop>
*"THINK I'VE BEEN A-ROUND HERE BEFORE,
-think I've been AROUND here be-fore!"*
*"Now, thinking 'bout it, look around, 'even-with-crowd' it's...
ye-e-a-h-a, -I've been around here before."*
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
*"Came out tonight for some fun, and now I'm drinkin' til I'm done,
yeah, -I've been around here before."*
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-DUN-DUN]
*"You sat down, bought a drink, looked around, hear see me sing-ing...
-feels just like you've been around here be-fore?"*
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
*"On that point, ain't no more, slam one down and there's the door,
yeah, -I know you've been around here before."*
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-DUN-DUN]
*"Think I've been around here before,
-but I ain't comin' here no more!"*
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
"Sweet-thing come on now here's the door..."
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
You tried to fly
Broke the glass
To young to die
you fell
A son of cream
son of music
Son of dreams
First born
These tears
In heaven
Realized fears
What have we lost
Taken from a wingless flight
Playful games turned deadly
We search for a wonderful tonight
Son of Clapton
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
I think of her body,
of her curves
and curls
and I blow a line as long as my finger to think of something else.
Anything else.
I think of Freud and how wrong he was,
I think of Clapton and his false credit,
I think of the ringing in my ears and how I wish it would stop,
anything but her hips and her blonde hair and her fat ***
Help, I've fallen and I can't get up,
and god, it was hard enough to stand up the first time.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
So I’ve been praying a bit as of late.
I’m not a real member of any particular
denomination; at the present time,
I pray to: “to whom it may concern.”
Not sure of his name—
Actually, I suppose it could be a her.
Sorry, Gloria Allred.
Let’s see there’s God,
there’s Buddha,
then there’s obviously Harry Potter.
There’s always Eric Clapton,
especially in the sixties and seventies.
There’s Pablo Escobar’s legend.
There’s Christ the Savior.
My ex calls the mighty one Yahweh.
I might refer to him as Yogi,
or is it yoga?
Wait—I meant Yngwie Malmsteen.
There’s d-lysergic acid, courtesy of Owsley.
Then there’s always Tai Chi.
It’s whatever you want to call it in order to
center yourself in this slightly slanted world.
I need to pick one of the above, because I
really am dragging my feet at this point.
Any one of my friends would agree that the
bottoms of my shoes appear to be charred.
Holy friction burn, Batman!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
In class I’m learning all about
How all these great people
Explained the world,
How their models accounted
For the inexplicable magic
That somehow floats around
The earth.
Emerson had these circles,
He saw them in everything.
The Puritans saw God,
Everywhere,
Joy Harjo had horses.
Oh and Clapton played the blues,
And how can I forget
About Phish and their IT?
Me,
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,
Looking at really hard at fields.
I’m staring at their imperfections,
I’ve been getting down to eye level
With the grass,
Thinking about all of the life,
Right there,
That just grew,
And keeps living,
Just like that.
Those wavering little blades.
I think my meaning of life
Is
You.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 11:40 PM UTC