"glassless" poems
indie music
dancing shoes
indie music
doesn't cure blues
it starts them
indie music in the rain
indie music standing in trains
indie music for the deranged
indie music for the off-genre-ed
indie music for the off-centered
indie music for mis-fits
that aren't actually
misfits
indie music for the masses
indie music with glassless
eyeglasses
indie music for the misunderstood
or maybe that's all music...
indie music
dancing shoes
indie music
inspires blues
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
The sound reaching out to me from the sea
Is not what I desire
Or even want to hear
But still it reaches out to me
Through the open window
Of the high rise building, where I am enclosed in
And trying to live and close
But still the Window remains
A window out to the sea
That I can not close.
Even if I try hard or desire harder
As
The window glass that I broke
The other night
In frenzy of what remains of my desires
Unbroken, unfulfilled.
In the stupor of alcohol induced passion
And the call of the stormy night
The window remains just a window
Nothing more and a lot less
Glassless, desire less and view less
To the open world.
Still I didn't hear the cry
Or the sound of waves
Pounding on the beach, few hundred yards away
Still I let my heart break into pieces
On the breakwater
That walks out
Few hundred yards deeper into the deep sea
And I see
The waves breaking against it
A break out from the prisons of earth
Out to the sea
Try as hard as waves might
Could not stop breakwater from moving in depth
And deeper still
Then Why still
All the time the Sea calls me?
Is it free from stopping, bonding and holding
The Breakwater free from breaking me?
Does it want me to come
Merge in her depths
Just like the path that sinks in her
After few meters of walking along, with me.
Or is it just a sign - an omen
Of my solitude
All alone
Like the sea
Even though Rivers, clouds and the horizon
Sink into her depths and be within.
Why? Why?
She is not with me, now
When she was with me
Long lives ago
("Long time" if you will!)
And she is not coming back to sink
Into my depths of desires, needs
Or in my intense pleasure
Or, my darling,
My watery grave with me.
_______________
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC
Wandering back to Brooklyn to beat against blackened sheets,
the air-conditioning has yet to kick in and thick treacle slides down my back amorously, mimicking your touch.
Your sweet, candied teeth flash when you laugh, mouth spewing suggestions of kisses as we fold into each other on powder blue seats, with no signs of stopping until Seneca Avenue.
We could not keep catching hands over cold brew in sleepy cafés until sunset fell over Starr – I return to familiar aromas in Irish corners,
in a daze of scone and sodabread.
But every so often, I wake from a dream, with an arm gone dead; just like when you would lay there in my nook and watch me glassless as I dissected America.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
Feathered in song, sweet in breath
Sing to me, give grace voice
I need not hear the words
Just let me listen to your tune
Are those mocking words
Falling from your chest
Along tongue, among winds
Dancing through leaves and brush
Come hence, my window frame
I beckon, bribed with treats
A quiet audience, enraptured to you
My eyes closed; your voice is all
Imagination and term of phrase
The notes carry here and there
But never so perfect as where I sit
Hands folded in my lap
Let the notes cascade
Through dim interior sights
Brighten corners, hanging webs
Scare the shadowed bits
But my glassless pane only lead
From hence you flew now flown
The songs now ended, bereft
Sightless eyes, lids sewn shut
Spiders spin brighter anew
Shadows darker carousel down
Unseen by my eye, felt on skin
Such is life, so quiet an end
Come closer, closer now, Friend
Let me hear your sing song breath
Smell mint, wintergreen, and flesh
Grasp your hand, kiss your skin
I'll have your voice, dance
See through your eyes, drink
Hold you close, to cold skin
Give your song, love then live
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
The curve of gain
Re-alters felt
Rhythm like the pounding shout
Shadows swing along the line
Coloring the glassless find
Find me narrow, find me strong
Starlight pouring through the song
Oh silhouette my little blue
Her cast eyes gazing through and through
Show sign omen
Women come
Reap your power
Under realm for wrung
The bridge like water
Swim my heart
Sadly steering back before the start
His footsteps linger long the line
They walk like disappearing time
With each step his nation wept
And branded forces nearly kept
The angel throws her wings to sky
Cloudless wonder from the earthquake eye
Follow sinking follow strong
Find your gilded answer daylight long
And burn the timeless time to come
In this my struggle, weather none
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
In the bleak winter
under hurrying clouds,
the wind blowing, bitter
gusts through trees’ barren boughs.
A small house: Its nooks
in new Gothic style
once housed the old books
of a forgotten king for a while.
It had been a library,
a place filled with words;
now all that here tarries
are the winds and the terns.
Its glassless peaked window
looks out on the sky
to waters that flow
by the small palace hard by.
The window is incised
in stone shaded gold —
a warm tone that belies
its touch that is cold.
The red palace is crowned
in gold and white marble.
They shine out, gowned
in hues that spite winter’s pallor.
Now blue waters and birds
add color to the scene
that fills this blank window
with nature’s stained glass serene.
This house has stood waiting,
empty in wintriest times —
now it’s filled by nature’s painting
brushed in hushed hues divine.
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC
A road trip in late spring
With the street lights flying by
Over my worn out eyes
Lying lazily on the leather door
Forehead against the window
Racing raindrop
Time trials
The radio buzzes a melancholy voice
Low and long
The warmth of your hand on
Mine is all I can concentrate on
I know above the whirling lights
Stands Orion and Ursa Major
Who circle each other
Waiting for an opening
And we’re just driving right through the middle of the conflict
Acting like galaxies aren’t erupting into black holes
And the universe isn’t becoming smaller one star at a time
But even in the coldest part of space
There’d be your hand
You; accented by a melody of color like every time we explore the world around us
Underneath the purple sky with the streetlights turning everything orange like a Halloween night
Underneath a pink sunset where everything was gilded in golds and yellows
Even in pitch darkness with the distant electrical buzzing of the abandoned construction site
Where if any light did show it was through the glassless windows
Distantly they provided no guidance through the maze we were exploring
But still we made our way through
Dodging large holes floors up and climbing questionably safe ladders
We made our way to the roof and lit cigarettes to add our own small light to the firefly buildings in the distance
And that’s where I fell in love with you
You who aren’t my savior or my only hope in this world
But someone who I’ll carry the water for because I know you have the snacks
On whatever hike
On whatever journey
It’ll be us in the same pace
Side by side
And there’d be your hand
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
Dog.
There hasn’t been and never will be anyone like you.
You always seemed so broken, a glassless mirror.
No matter how odd, I still looked into you.
Where you saw tragedy, I saw potential.
Where there was pain, I saw gain.
Words do you little justice,
For what we did, cannot be spoken.
It is true that my lines were too fierce,
That your mind was not oiled enough.
However the joy of inadequacy made it, unique
Or so we thought.
Nights came and went, with your screams at my doorstep.
The illusion of peace was no more, an echo.
You hid and you hit where you could,
This proved to do little good.
If you see me now,
Would you thank or attack me?
I must ask you how,
How were you able to set yourself free?
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC