"northbound" poems
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon
in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern
debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and ************ our fantasy
where we want to be taken
knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)
will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag
we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching
besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)
asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one
tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction
could be northbound could be southbound
hell could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound
cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it
too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
There is a stranger sleeping on your floor
but you wanted an artist.
Beautiful things aren't easy.
I am tamed, comfortable.
You are wild. Smoke slips over my nose
when I think of you.
Alcoholic sweat, fingers down my throat
and I am North,
northbound.
Ivy League meets the Yellow Rose.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:09 AM UTC
Colossal grey feet stride forth, Northbound,
Conquering the jungle’s labyrinth,
Leading her herd.
A young boy, whose name means Enlightenment,
Sits in awe, quiet and close,
Watching her. Each step, gracefully slow
But deliberate.
She has much to teach me, Ahren wonders,
*This holy beast, an animalistic embodiment of
The perfect disciple and
My own Spirit guide.*
He walks in silence, hidden in the endless green.
Two dozen female elephants follow
Their master obediently
And loyally.
Hearing her call, they destroy any and all
Which stands in their way, trusting the leadership
Of the matriarch.
She knows the way, has travelled this path
Many times before, recalling past dangers, never
Treading twice.
An unexplainable knowing is
Felt by all her kind.
Tiny eyes fill with wisdom of all she has seen,
While enormous ears listen intently,
Unselfish and kind,
Hearing always the messages
Of their family.
Ahren observes this animal on his path towards
Understanding. She is gentle, yet fears nothing, save
The pain of others.
*I must learn to see through the eyes of Spirit,
And listen more than I speak, moving carefully
Down the path.
In this life it is my task to warn others of dangers encountered,
To overcome any obstacles received on my Human journey,
Heeding my master’s call.*
He watches as the herd reaches a clearing.
They form a circle, surrounding the bones of
A fallen family member.
The vibratory funeral call sounds faintly.
Using her trunk, the matriarch pats the carcass,
Quietly saying goodbye.
Ahren cries with the elephants, feeling the loss
As if it was his own.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
My mother recently took me to another doctor
she said, ‘her condition is becoming outrageous ,
she hasn’t laughed in a year, avoids any talking,
never leaves the house until the night draws in. ’
And I think the sun should rather concern her.
Burning things don’t make good companions.
Bought a ticket for a train, northbound at night,
my eyes hurt from the condolences of daylight.
Went back south in September, I surrendered,
had to promise to be good again and presentable.
Indifferent on life, did I suffer from depression?
It’s not been an illness but a philosophic decision.
One Sunday, it was quiet during breakfast time,
somebody from town recently took their life.
Rised brows behind the newspaper’s edges,
secretly, I admire the courage and recklessness.
But I act eager and am polite with relatives,
at holiday occasions I behave and give kisses
until one proposes a toast to life being a gift.
I say nothing in exchange, I feel guilty to exist.
It all changed one day, when I found me a lover.
He sins for amusement while I sin to self punish.
I love that he’s mortal, of a perishable texture,
hope to be buried, rot with him in the graveyard.
We agree on senselessness without any pity,
he watches me fail life and thinks it’s poetic.
We can’t hurt since there’s nothing to heal from.
A physical love wich in it’s essence is platonic.
Feb 9, 2022
Feb 9, 2022 at 5:54 PM UTC
steel is what controls me,
steel emotions wrapped in spikes,
steel skin holding you back
steel eye hiding my vision
but I'm growing tired of steel
I'm angry at its coldness, the grey flesh and cold heart
the agony of never being warm,
my friends are the same,
we draw our time from the fix,
lets melt ourselves down
I'm braking free
me and my barbed wire birds
I'm done sitting on the fence of angst but not being sure
if I can climb over
I'm done being a nothing following the crowd between rows
of steel and barbed wire
I'm done dancing between laser beams
and nightmare filled dreams
I'm taking my heart in my hands and running ,
Ill treat it like water slipping through my fingers and the only way to survive is by running faster.
so much faster.
Ill not let my heart slip through my fingers as my wings begin to spread me and my pack
of barbed wire birds,
our wings are made of corrugated iron folded to points
and the motion of flying stings my soul
but ill fly
you'll watch me glide
we will dive of the edge our hearts in hands
god
you'll see me fly, broken bleats from broken wings
bound together with the lust for more then to feel steel against my skin
because I'm flying northbound for warmer skies
lets glide past the the equator and through the tropics
I want to feel the heat that would melt a man
we are the hearts
we are the gods
the deity's of my minds
ill build shrines to myself just to scream
WE ARE THE HEARTS
my soul beats free as my barbed wire wings
no longer am i wrapped in steel
Ill take you with me, swap your heart for mine
scream like banshees
a technicolor passion drives me forwards
we will lay down ourselves to show you
as you sit waltzing through your strip wire fences
Ill turn them to wings ill float so high above you..
Ill scream at the 5 am light and bring up the sun
the world is yours
I am no longer a sheep
guided by lack of sleep
we are a pack
guided by our hearts
by our love
powered by our bleeding
battered
damaged
broken
barbed wire wings
L.G
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Have you ever been impacted by the feminine vocals of this plight of legalistic acquittal?
Let us travel northbound along those east coast beeches where the historical presence is tangible and innocent sexuality is exposed in oyster-bars of cobbled awareness.
Acknowledge the fragrance of the hanging-basket in English country gardens, where nectar is extracted by nocturnal mammals.
Do you have any suggestions about the outcome?
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
The rain came down.
I sat on the doorstep,
eating tinned peaches,
and the rain fell.
Walking out, into the city,
life falls in one-two beats;
being nothing and comfortable,
the architecture stows straight lips,
moves on, the rain falls.
Freight rolls, wet tracks northbound,
over-bridges exuding fine china,
two fishermen idle away remaining hours;
concrete bunches the rain into shallows.
How hollow the sea, that home,
the crooked lines of the inland peninsula;
how strange, this routine, in
how so very full of emptiness I have become,
like the rain, having fallen upon ebbing tides.
The rain no longer falls.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
Lavender parted by blunt wind:
the unkempt morning hair
of a park's running path.
Pale-green grass crawls up everywhere
in tufts like a thousand lost toupées.
In spring
cars, northbound from San Diego,
packed with kids and camping tools
or slimmer businessmen,
get full view of it:
a transient glance
between La Jolla and Los Angeles,
a moment of flashing color amid asphalt miles.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Westerly flows on
a northbound
express..
Trembling wasteland
in the dreams of
her dress...
Southerly tides
in East Michigan’s
winter...
cascading skies
under a buried
splinter...
Destiny’s heartland
in the middle of
nowhere...
condoms and fish gear
on a diet of
Lite Beer...
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 6:15 AM UTC
i hear the cranes again
riding the thermals upward
this warming morning
calling and circling, they
fall into the long v shape
an arrow swiftly northbound
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
Oh old days of past lives lived -
West coast ridin’
Thumbin’ ‘bout the coast -
San Diego up to L.A. -
Zoomin’ through Big Sur with strange friends,
Stranger than strangeness itself.
Arrive Santa Cruz,
Cops called,
No transients allowed,
Caravan keep tumblin’ northbound -
San Francisco Bay,
Oh, that Oakland scene
With Park Prophets
And worn-out crack minds
Panhandling supermarkets
Begging coins for fire -
The Sun isn’t enough -
Old man needing dirt
Paid with by pity,
Smoking up the score
Singing little ditties
On Piano, beating keys
loud, Loud, LOUD
until Cops called
by neighbors afraid of God,
claiming Jesus freaks of being demons,
Oh old days of past lives lived -
Walking Telegraph to Berkeley
In the rain Rain RAIN,
Stolen bicycle,
Making friends, People’s Park
No more noise -
Just rain fallin’ fallin’ fallin’
And in the rain, I do miss those lives -
Those faces. And I know, forever I will. Forever I will. Forever I will.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
This happy mind
Set high up in the sky
An elevation conquered through such smiles
These well-embarked nights
Too sweet like sugared lime
We're gallivanting urban streets for miles
This life is gold
Wrapped memories in foil
To save, refrigerate, and sit and wonder
Street light, lightning poles
Electrified shoe soles
Northbound on a bridge, we stand and ponder
This city street
The trees have lost their leaves
But warm food paired with milkshakes stifles chills
Each touch ignites the breeze
Bad jokes, good laughs with ease
Casting spells unknown through each unopened thrill
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
The Catalyst to the endless torture of my mind.
It lurks beyond the twilight waiting for the starry skies and droopy eyes to kick in and tap me out of the match of heavy weight limbs and and light weight bed sheets.
It whispers and creeps under my pillow humming endless tunes and catch phrases to remind me of the day i had laid to rest. Initiating the hours yet to come.
And I can hear the clock in the adjacent room tick tick tocking, ghosts walking. Dancing to the creeks in the floor board. Celebrating this monster that has grabbed hold of my shaking knees and restless fingertips itching for dreams or nightmares. Which ever comes first.
Just end this weight on my shoulders and the gruesome way my body aches with discomfort wrapped in fleece and cotton blends of linen on clouds. End the attack and bring sand to my eyes so I can allow my pupils to dilate with the light of the sun versus the stars and car alarms at 4am.
Bring me the horizon where the light kisses the earth and heads northbound like a swimmer coming up for air. End the way I crave unconscious states on made up highways and turnpikes in cars I cant drive in real life. Bring me the subconscious wishes from my heart and mind.
Open my heart and I wont mind if the truth spills over to cover lies. End this madness a hater cant bear.
End this unavoidable courtship with insomnia and let me sleep.
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 1:42 PM UTC
The wrinkled man who shrugged off my laments
Disregarded despondence
Left me lonesome on a freezing night
Waiting for the next northbound
But he's no friend of mine
The lady in blue who
Always knew better
Knew the truths and
She didn't need any **** suggestions
But she's no friend of mine
God watched from his stone steeple
Admired the downward spiral
Like rock 'em sock 'em robots
Eagerly trying to decapitate themselves
But he's no friend of mine
How could I be fooled by poorly constructed word
Let me taste empathy
And to think that I almost durst to think
That I wasn't alone
But they're no friends of mine
The bedsheets ensnare me in a morning haze
gives me a newfound appreciation for my Blank walls and ceiling
I admire them
Illuminated by the slightest amount of light to make them visible
Peering through my blinds like a peeping Tom
Yes, quite a good friend of mine.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:27 AM UTC
Northbound sittin on a southbound train
No money in your pocket and youre left sittin in the rain
Two way ticket down a one way track
Don’t know where youre headed but you know you aint comin back
It feels like ive reached the bottom but its
Still a long way down
So I ask, the bartender
To pour me another round
Stars don’t have to fall for you to know that its night
Whats left is all you’ve got when youre all out of the right
Started at the ending don’t know where to begin
And so it goes, no one knows about the shape I'm in
It feels like ive reached the bottom but its
Still a long way down
So I ask, the bartender
To pour me another round
(CJM 2013)
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
Inspired by Allen Ginsberg’s Love Returned.
Tonight, there will be no merging onto
The wireless info web highway-
She returns, with smiles,
From thousands of miles,
To honor unresolved promise.
No longer anonymous, humming
My love song to someone in particular.
I weave my way across the margins,
Through a web of puddles and pebbles,
As puzzle pieces of sensual treble resonate,
Drizzle amiably down on my burgundy umbrella.
And she evolves, a silent tempest
That swells in the warmth of the night.
Is it the unaffected loyalty,
Or the sweetness of her smell?
The strength of her autonomy,
Or the completeness of our honesty?
As we peel away protective layers,
I hope that we remain,
Two connoisseurs of romance,
Who continue to slow dance.
Staying learned and childlike,
Earnest and mild, like
Students of truth.
From the thoughtful naiveté
Of maturing youth,
I offer my blessings to her.
It’s fitting that she, lovely
As a coveted Viyella,
Seems free of material expectations,
Or ring-around-the-rosy words.
So all that’s left to do-
Make our cozy escape, and find rest
Inside this departing Acela.
Calmed by the self-propelled motion
Of our northbound locomotive,
I consider a future inside fifty-two sunsets,
And finally set my sights upon
A sound, stone bridge.
It’s as though her auburn words,
Along with the acute angles of her smile,
Are anticipating my every beat.
I wonder if she knows that
Her eyes, a mélange of the
Steel blue Merrimack, below
A tall granite overpass, loom
Over these familiar train tracks,
A painted Methuen sunset.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC
Where the earth and sky become one ..Along the banded fusion of physical constraint
Indigo blues transformed into burnt orange
The tail of the galaxy commands this mountain-
sky , celestial offerings fall over Alabama-
in the shaded oeuvre of "The Apportioner " on this night ..
Meandering streams etch Cherokee hillsides ,
early evening fires conceal the nearby forested seas
The Crescent Moons luminosity glistens her summits northbound , released-
into the frigid voids of angered scope
Mans vista looms cold , blind and silent , nocturnal fauna return
to their Appalachian precipice to guard these ancient
storytellers ..
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
The Sea-Road to Constantinople
For Tod on his Birthday
A coastal lugger wallows in the waves
Almost adrift in its poor steerageway
Slow-yawing northeast from the blue Aegean
Into the soft-murmuring Marmara.
Athens is in the past, and soon, ahead,
Constantinople’s walls will catch the dawn.
Our sticks, our packs, a space upon the deck
A book of verse, a cup, a spoon, a bowl,
Some prayers the priest was pleased to copy out
For us poor pilgrims who with weary feet
Were pleased to board a northbound boat at last
And rest through sunlit days with pipes alight
And words and prayers afloat among the sails,
Among the gulls that circle ‘round the mast.
All travelers pray for their hearts’ desires
To wait for them ashore at journey’s end;
For us, ours is to serve the Emperor -
A little further, there beyond the stars.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
I Wish I Was a Headlight on a Northbound Train in Wintet
When it surely would be snowing
Thick, white drifts of ice and snow
Carried on the howling wind
Makes it look like snow-white curtains ebb and flick like curtains do
Visibility, non-existent, that's how dangerous it is...
Thus it is tonight - the height of Winter - that I live a life with meaning
Because now I have a purpose and my purpose is real simple
I'm to do what fates have fated
Let my light shine through the night
And I cut through icy curtains like a heated blistering knife
And I feel the train push forward
And I know that all the life
Which is carried on my train
Is deep in sleep this night.
Though they might not ever say it no they might not even think it Still! the fact remains that I yes I and the light which I shine throug the night
That cuts a hole through thick white snow
And lets the men who are in charge
They see because of me this night
Thus it is that now I find
I have a purpose in this life
And this purpose has much meaning.
Much more meaning then I have
Living life as anything but-
- A headlight on a Northbound train which cuts right through the falling snow and keeps my passengers alive.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
It was in the gray fall clouds that I met her. My hands
quivering as my nerves were shot with lightning
and out to the world around me.
My northbound hair done neat and tidy, her hands
were colder than the breeze encompassing us. It was
the start to an age eclipsing seasons. But
like all else, everything ends. The crisp leaves
and our optimistic qualities fell at equal rate. Winter
came around and stomped out all the seedlings
too undeveloped to withstand it. For all of our journey,
good and bad, went out the door. And this
cold and bleak finale consisted of screams
and shells of what once stood in it's place.
After tears evaporated, so too did all we stood for.
A monstrous, cyclical, almost-love.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
Anchormen every morning
Famed KC's three-sided hub.
Traffic northbound,
Southbound,
Eastbound,
Westbound.
Honks and blinkers all resound
In one ear and out the other,
Distant memories of highways
I'd never traveled nor cared about.
Now you've brought them meaning
I've passed over every road
Racing to you
Then cruising and dreading visits' endings.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
So they say I am a man today,
Way past twenty-one.
I've seen my days of anguish,
Had my share of fun.
I've been a doggy on a ladder.
I've been a monkey on a string.
Seen big business go down,
Seen how a prince becomes king.
Now I know its a cliche',
But I don't know who I am.
It doesn't really matter none,
Any day I'll make my stand.
I look you straight in the eye,
Let you know I'm still alive.
Pull back your chair girl
And walk this way.
I'm a man today hey hey.
They built Fort Green in Brooklyn
On a pile of prisoner's bones.
Stand still, listen closely, you can
Still hear those old bones moan.
I'm a man that likes these old stories
Likes to sing them from a stage.
On the side I do some honest work
For little to no wage.
I've been lonely on the train tracks,
And I've made a little love
And there even was a time
When I spoke to God above.
I look you straight in the eye,
Let you know I'm still alive.
Pull back your chair girl
And walk this way.
I'm a man today hey hey.
I wish I was a headlight,
On a Northbound train.
I wish there were a warrior's blood
Running through my veins.
But Shame sits on my shoulder
And He whispers in my ear.
He says you never really knew her
She isn't worth your tears.
I wish there was a woman
Who only knew my name,
A child to tend the fire and burn
The whole world in one flame.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Thick fog breaks across West Point Lake ...
Bass boats and crappie fishermen , tour boats and skiers
skim across her blue looking glass , Wood Ducks test the skies
northbound up the Chattahoochee River , bank anglers anchor poles
along her fortified edges .. White granite boulders visible from the mid-line .. Indigo hope and dreams as starlings silhouette her morning miracle , shad minnows skim the blue mirror , visiting gulls feast along quiet shoreline . A tall Georgia Pine mirage forms in tranquil coves , early day crows call hysterically from the hardwood thickets .. Turtles occupy muddy banks , Whitetails quietly graze worked fields , dragonflies and monarchs incessantly toil beneath the strengthening heat of Summer , baldfaced hornets fortify their paper rampart high atop a lone River Birch ...
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
Our destination is not northbound, as we hasten through those dreary woodlands where teardrops explode like incendiary regrets into deep puddles of misplaced trust and the awareness of lost opportunity.
You presume to be a pupil of the teachings of Horus.
I can see those excavations within the darkened cavities of your eyes.
The evidence of hieroglyphic ambiguity has unfolded her rich deposit of convenient and tidal avoidance.
Therefore, let us swim to Kepler and ride those sonic ripples beyond the unraveled and ancient texts of Nekhen.
The harlot has spread her wings, and the nerves twitch inside our optic vulnerability at the power of her seductive prowess.
As it is possible to have sight without vision, I express my animistic gratitude to the cosmos, where detachment from the socket of Atum is connection to infinity.
The writing is on the wall.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC