There were sights seen
That never may have been
For the hours spent last night
Were throats held oh so tight

Lo' mystery if you fade
Leaving far away or into a pile of hay
The world where we eat, were we sleep, where we love
Will wheeze like a dying man's cough

Sure ain't worth a ******* living ****
When roller-coasters outside are still roasting
And everyone around you is still toasting
Left alone with a gun but not a rovin' sun

So sitting back with a belly fully of slack
And minutes seeming like hours while a lover looks sour
Remember or forget
That our time will soon be met

These good times on stagnant cable, TV, and feeling stable
May surely come spit in your eye
The green grass out your door will soon be looking brown'
And the forgetful neighbors you smiled upon
May soon be getting outta' town

And the lost that are thrown unto streets they never knew
Will soon be seeing the torrents of an unseen ocean's blue
Where gulls sneeze with majestic justice and royalty
A graveyard larger then the eye has ever seen

A tantric gaze magic in its own numbing tease
A breath that kept me away but still looking
Knowing that the chef inside is still cooking
Feeling that the lady in my bar tonight is dressed in grey

Uptight in my thoughts but loose in my foot
Let me linger towards you with eyes of curious goo
A flick of a finger led me to five bucks broker
I knew from her tough smile tonight I was the joker

The leaves that crinkled underneath our drunken feet
Took us to a narrow part of town somewhere around two
The moon above us shone bright and shone a light
That I never felt before and no longer made me feel sore

She peeked at my eye as I peaked at hers
Grinning shyly she said, "The name's Lily"
I laughed out loud quick, drowning in my own bewilderment
"That's my favorite flower!, in the Moonlight with a Lily!"

The night went on
Just like the song
And I lost her in the end
Cause of a notecard I never sent'

Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.

when I was in the fifth grade
we were told to put our names on notecards
and to pass them around the class
so that each student could write
one nice word
about each of us in turn
and I had a crush on a boy
and I wrote "nice" on his notecard
and he wrote on my notecard
"mediocre"
and to this day my heart doesn't know
if it is more in awe that he knew such a word
or if it is offended and crushed
and five kinds of hurt
and boys are dumb anyway
and I constantly wonder
how mediocre I am

So,
You want to know:
Why good things happen for those who don’t deserve,
And the worst **** happens
To the rest of us -
To the best of us on Earth?

It isn’t just
Some dualistic
View of how things work
It’s more that it’s
The heavy fist
Of a God all gone berserk.

While the Devil sits,
His voice a-twist
With laughter at the fall,
The bad get new beginnings.
The good?
Nothing at all.

my mind weaving baskets
and my arms weaving hugs from the backseat
so many thank-you-for-loving-me's
all i could do was laugh and love you
(thank god i didn't call you like i wanted to)
you told me you wanted my happiness
where it belonged
with the others like me in the kitchen
i told you that you were wrong
i'd never leave you so solitary
oh don't you forget what i said in my stupor
in my public display of desire for affection
(what would i have said?)
you've seen me at my worst now
and even then all i can say is how
much i adore you and miss you
it must be my most passionate truth
(too much)

Sunkissed and messy headed
Blessed be that fashion sense
Her tangled mane is a metaphor, a facet
To her mangled brain
Not in the cute black-and-white, scrawled notecard manner
A carved-out, paper cut of a sheet
Crammed in the bottom of her bottle brained backpack

Worse than the weekly
Chic self-harmed hipbones,
She sits and eats and watches the world from the real world clones
The blanket's just hot enough to cook her down
Reduced to the ruched Jovani gown

She's got lists of friends, you have to
Scroll down a page
It even has to load awhile
Then why's your radius clear of anyone?
Pixelated fixtures of her mind, too close to miss her
Too close to care
So close, all they are's aware

Minds drone, like bone picking
Knowing you're the stick in the mud
Warm blood behind a boil, just kicking for
Another tab to click in

She's been braless awhile now
Profiled with purchases levels lapping her current state
She pinches skin impatiently, chocolate scouring her teeth
It's the bitter taste of something so horribly surface
They erase away the beneath.

I met a girl
A long time ago
Her name was Mary and she was quiet

One day she got a notecard
Inviting her to a party
Now this was the seventies so the note wasn't sketchy
And the boys who invited her were Itch and Poopsie
And no, those were not their real names,
They were nicknames so it wasn't sketchy

So she went to this party because she was the new girl
And that was a mistake
So she went to this party and made a lot of mistakes
So when Itch and Poopsie invited her back
She made the same mistakes
Over and over
Party after Party
Mistake after Mistake
Again and Again
And Mary, she was being crushed
With the beer bottles
And the invitations from Itch and Poopsie
They were taking her everywhere
All over the world
But she had trouble remembering the sights and the smells
And the only thing she could taste
Was it tears or the beer?

And then it stopped.
She woke up in a different state and a different city
And no one heard from her again
Itch and Poopsie went looking for her
But they couldn't even recognize her shadow
She hid for a very long time
She didn't go to parties
But she still made mistakes
Over and over
Man after man
Punch after punch
Bruise upon bruise
Until he broke her bones and broke her heart

And this time she made it stop.
She packed her bags for a different state and a different city
And no one heard from her again
He went looking for her in alleys and park benches
But he couldn't even recognize her shadow
She hid for a very long time
And she refused to make mistakes
It was over and over
Never again and again

I met a girl
A long time ago
Her name was Mary
And she was very, very
Quiet.

a notecard in a book,
bearing two words that bring to the fore
countless desires and longings,
secrets i tell no one,
not even in my prayers.

a simple phrase that reminds me
of a truth i learned long ago
and rarely allow myself to indulge -
i am allowed to dream.

possible wishes,
probable dreams,
attainable hopes,
life lived.

Someone told me that inspiration comes in the form of an explosion
Another told me David came drifting through their ***** ceiling with a notecard in hand

Well I’m staring at my ceiling
In this library
And saying, the hell he does…

God doesn’t send me angels.
Inspiration is not hiding in a carbonated can that I just have to crack

Inspiration comes to me from a PlayDo machine
Something I grind and feed
Sometimes there’s something
Sometimes it’s all dried up
It comes in chunky nuggets, or smooth pasta

But it needs to be massaged
You need trained muscles, oiled gears
Writer’s block is negligence
Rusty cars never start

Wear Blue
Start Rituals
And write
Write
Write

A smile can touch the spirit
In the loneliest of hearts

A simple notecard~ sent with love
Can build a bridge ~for those apart

A little thoughtful gesture
Can mean ~so very much

A forgiving heart
A comforting hug
The warmth of human touch

So little time
To share these things
As we live from day to day

These are life's  simple treasures
We all possess
To give
Away..............

sitting on a decorative toilet in her child’s front yard, the mother scrubs her left wrist with a dry toothbrush.  her right wrist squeals to be cut.  there’s a wet spot on the grocery bag she wears on her head and the spot spreads.  her flower print dress is optimistic.  with a crow ever so lightly on his mind, my father writes the address of the electric company on a notecard and slips it into a pocket bible.  he tells me to forget what I’ve seen and I wonder if I get to pick.  my heart feels more like a broken light bulb the more I breathe and goes to my head the less.  beneath the malformed crow my father culls, he gives me the *** talk.  he includes that most crows are manna from hell or holes in the kingdom.

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

A silent Guardian
Not a hero
Things Not Seen
Stanley and Zero

Bruce Wayne
He learns from bats
Sacramento
Coach Brian Katz

Hitch Hikin'
72
Chapel of the Cross
Carolina blue

Mr. Markson
Notecard Quartet
Columbus, Georgia
Place my bet

           Oct. 4th

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

The Notecard Quartet
The postcard poet
God creates flies
Spider-Man does know it

Into the Spiderverse
Yo, what's up, Danger?
Near the London train
Shared my dream with a stranger

Her name was Samantha James
She ran to the bus
In the wind is London Calling
Silently I trust

     Love is an Angel disguised as lust

                 Desperate ******

                             Us

I am not primarily a political person
Once I was a teacher
Little Sage Ridge School
Big blue Reno sky

The American Right is Ignorance
Fascism
Repression
Time for me to fly

I like quiet conversations
The Carolina Inn
Cranberry juice
Everything has to die

My bookshelf is full
Road to Heaven
The Notecard Quartet
Life of Pi

             Ay! Ay! Ay!

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

Thank you, David Markson
For your wondrous Notecard Quartet

We your grateful readers
Will never quite forget

How you confronted dread mortality
And still managed to beget

This treasure trove of wisdom
Inexaustible and yet

When we dive into your ocean
And emerge revived and wet

We have but one enduring wish
Oh, that you might give us a quintet!

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

The only heaven is libraries
Such a quiet space
Remembrances of horrors
Lostfound human race

I like universities
But trains are 10 times better
Maybe it was just her hair
Maybe that's why I cannot forget her

Something about that smile
But it doesn't really matter now
Lost and lonely lingers
To the Notecard Quartet I bow

Never became a monk
Never took that vow
Cemeteries. Monasteries.
Trappist 1 waterwow

              Meow.

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

Can't play any musical instruments
It's been a hard day's night
Shakespeare in Staunton
My Mr. Spock Kite

The Notecard Quartet
4044
Mr. Markson in Mexico
Por favor, Senyor

Denver, Colorado
The Eagle and the Hawk
Much time to listen
A little time to talk

Ordinary boring
Grateful for good sleep
One Dark Knight
Dreaming of the Deep

            Chicago!

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

I'm an obsessive, dear reader
So you won't be surprised to learn
I read the Notecard Quartet
Literally thousands of times

Markson is my man
He went to Mexico
And Spain
New York City rhymes

I went to Taipei
Stockholm, Bangkok, Dublin
53 and falling
Basketball to play

Dune spoke to me
So did Arrival
I hope I die into it
Fo Guang Shan. Xie Xie.

             5th of May

David Markson
The Notecard Quartet

I like to read
A book, a room, a view
The Notecard Quartet
To do the best that I can do

The historical Jesus is mostly unknown
Maybe unknowable
But certainly not born on December 25th
Christmas is mythological

Eliade in Chicago
Tolkien in Oxford
Jung in Geneva  
Coleridge in Xanadu

Bipolar leads to poetry
Life is suffering
Hospitals are boring
Flights from the pathological

           Astrobiology?