bathed in the cool light of the moon,
my sweet puppyhead and me,

sit.

under the full soft light, 
her ray’s illuminating the yard,
the woods.

footsteps crunch drying leaves,
fox, deer or foe?

waning canopy,
boughs lighter each day.

fall, majestic, peaceful
dying for another year.

plants and creatures, 
taking refuge in the deep dark void
of mother earth,
of mother nature.

squirreling away tidbits for a late winter snack,
coats blooming, thickening.

such delight, 
each night,
sitting outside,
my puppyhead and me.

quiet and solitary,
no humans 
annoying me.

silent and still
only nocturnal creatures
meandering about.

what magic,
what sacredness.
what mystical delight.
never apart,
only the ONE.

such silly confusion,
thinking a person,
separate and small,
quaking with fear.

the big deep dark mystery
laughing and jovial,
always here,
here for us all.

open your eyes, 
feel your nature,
always here,
never apart.

fearing death
fearing life,
what a silly way to live this
life!

the moment you were born,
you began dying,
what a relief,
knowing the score!

relaxing into the madness,
laughing at it all,
pure and free,
forever more, 
and not……

being,
not being,
eons of reflection,
sages and rishis
revealing the truth,
it can’t be done for you,
only you can become 
that which you are….
that which you always were.

my sweet love, my sweet life,
my puppyhead and me,
sitting here in Fall.
~~~

Why in Baste Eyes my Form checks expect
Yet cast my Security for his Expense
Which, I suppose, that Report I prefect
Was a File un-welcomed for my Good Sense
Though, I assure, was all to contribute
For his Sweets added to his Nationed Chest
That, to chillax, take Tidbits absolute
And brisk the New Day for his Talent's Best
Now this, resolved to wax Slime and Conflict
Thus put my Loyalty to Terms reset
More fruitful, more pruned, from Pride's Tome inflict
Then this Orrery - strike Rocks to Sky's bet.
In turn perhaps recover from this Fling
On Muted Clouds do those Falcons still Sing.

Bones for Breakfast
July 2014

Bones are like peanut brittle.
Gnawed on til toothless,
by us old mangy mutts.
Tastes sweet tender as a drop 'o dew,
Feels soft in a bride's whisper, "I do."
But speaks crunchy crackles of Tic-Tac language,
instead of ******* out bad breath breathe shards in.

Although bones may break,
become buried under archaeologists' noses,
slip through crevices cracked and crumbled.
They were once anything but brittle,
covered only by skin yet to be bruised,
backs yet to be battered,
blood yet to be spilled,
faces yet to witness the history yet to be written.

I do not believe we are supposed to eat bones,
but we break them down into shreds of paper-back tidbits,
consumable by children during the snack time called 'history class.'
Our teachers are creating cannibals,
consuming culture on textbook platters,
but pay no mind while wearing bone bibs,
they leave out the thickest cuts of meat and just eat the ribs.

History is a living thing, dressed to deceive those who blindly believe.
I remember reading George Washington's claim to fame,
"I did not chop down that cherry tree."
But Mr. President, what about your enemies?
Because every revolution needs people to die for the revolutionaries.
Ain't that a sweet piece of cherry lie pie?

I learned Genghis Khan sure got it on with many women,
but didn't read about Alexander the Great's great ***,
much of it involving a same-gendered mate.
Wait, was that a mixture of patriarchy and hetero-normativity?
Words that weren't worth the pennies to print?
Who hired these fact checkers for the publishing industries?
I'll give you a hint,
Learn who has the most to gain from condemning intellectual content and corrupting it with a corrosive lack of social conscience.
As textbook reps tell professors, "Buy our books with cute new features."  But since when was that what made good teachers?
And so, these chapters get served to us on poo poo platters,
passed off to be refreshing as fresh mint pours in for corporations like Pearson Education.

I surveyed the lay of the land in Egypt,
purveying the literature of pharaohs.
Pyramids meant to portray a portrait of powerful people,
not a foolish riddle.
"Who built them," we ask.
But not of curiosity for whose backs broke building.
Its whose bones mummified beneath are made into mythological creatures along with Sphinx features.

I was taught the Holocaust was a unique horror story,
along with the catch phrase "never again."
Yet those 600 pages neglected to educate about the "re-education campaign" against the Cambodians.
Where was I to learn of the Rwanda civilization's tensions and exterminations?
Perhaps those pages were buried in the mass graves and dirt ditches, deserted and desecrated like the indigenous individuals we now call Native Americans.

Tell me more about art again.
It conveys a message about the historical humans experience,
but I think that message got lost sometime in the Renaissance Period.
When men had beards and wore colorful clothing,
but now that is either unprofessional or deemed gay as a bad thing.
When women were depicted full-bodied as that meant social status,
but now they are painted in photo shop with air brushes and slimmed slick.
We've created a glorious new empire of gastrointestinal bypass Groupons, and have either **** out or surgically removed all the bones we swallowed to get here... So, who's ready for lunch?

It's apples and oranges. They are both fruit, and variety is the salt of the earth. We love dividing people like fruit though. We are rotten. At least fruit ferments. We decay

You are the apple of my eye. I will watch you rot, then i will throw the core away. What do I need seeds for? A bad apple in my eye now. *******

Orange you gonna hit like? I accept good apples too.

A Compilation Of Romantical Tidbits
From The Tomes Of Marcus


Perhaps somewhere along time's vista
as I stroll down the lane
twixt the cherry blossom snow
and the baby blue blanket of sky,
a crystal miracle
will flutter down
on the fragranted breeze
to alight on my honored shoulder,
blow a kiss in my ear
and say “today is your day,
what do you wish?
I shall grant reality
to whatever desire is most special.”
there would be sining,
elven voices mingling in the air.
there would be dancing,
a wild run midst the night skies.
I would pluck stars from their heavenly roosts
and place them like flowers in hair
to wink at me from inside your sparkle,
try vainly to outshine you
and finally bow to the Queen of their own.


memories
and memorabilia
substitute for your presence
as mementos embrace me
with their hint of your essence.
they fill me with silly fanciful notions
of lazy afternoons
and the coursing of unbridled passion
almost furious in its urgency
promising ecstasy and rhapsody
and calm in its permanency
whispering this is rapture and sincerity.


I see images of a rose,
love on the vine.

an erstwhile poet
dancing in his orbit
around the center of his universe --
you, the inspiration for each verse.

want to dive into your ocean
and ride the waves of emotion.
there's no worry I'll drown
for weightless is love's crown.

I yearn for the touch of your words
to fall like silken snowflakes about my head,
burst into flames once heard
and set my paper soul burnng in their stead.

there's so much to share:
a sweet kiss;
a gentle caress.
flattery may get you everywhere.


they say sweets that pass the lips
stay forever on the hips.
so sweetness gathered from twixt the hips
should spend eternity on the lips.
the nectar makes me giddy
like honeymoon champagne
and forever intoxicates me --
love's fine wine thrills my brain.


LOVE is a big word
woven from a million smaller 'luvs'.
I luv being with you,
it adds dimensions to my personality
and makes ego insignificant.
I luv the way you smile,
how your eyes reflect the joy of the soul
and the soft glow you radiate
flares brighter.
I luv the rush of color
it brings your gently drawn cheeks.
and I luv your lilting laugh,
a simple sound that melts me
and absorbs me into its echo.
when you wish to laugh
laugh with me,
it moves me along
in a soothing warm cascade.
when you want to smile
smile on me,
it removes obstacles
and lights my way.
when you need to cry
cry into me,
I'll soak up your tears
and return truth,
fantasy
and support.

listen to me.
I sound just like
some foolish romantic,
young and in love.
guess I am
from time to time.
wish I could be that way
every second, every day.

Life without a wife
Is like a knife
So strife
For a better life.


Friends,

Life is short, but it is so beautiful. Make use of every minute. Do not waste your time on something worthless. Be always good and wear a smile all the times. Give a hand to all those who are in need of it and always expect the unexpected.

Sam

Today is Thursday, Sept. 25, the 267th day of 2014 with 98 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.

A thought for the day:

Jim Henson, creator of the Muppets, said, The most sophisticated people I know -- inside they are all children.

QUOTES FOR THE DAY:

I don't like being told what to do.

------------------------

I don't need a lot of money. Simplicity is the answer for me.

------------------------

I think hard drugs are disgusting. But I must say, I think marijuana is pretty lightweight.

Linda Eastman McCartney

Half of the American people have never read a newspaper. Half never voted for President. One hopes it is the same half.

Gore Vidal (1925 - )

"Don't worry about failure; you only have to be right once."

Drew Houston


POETRY


MANIC PANIC

Marisa Crawford


Live fast
and dye your hair.

That's what I wrote on my
Converse in 8th grade.

Maybe it was the way
the feeling pulled me

like a girl
pulling a ponytail.

Maybe I didn't get the job
cause of the polka dots.

Maybe I don't care
cause of the wave.

Today I'm blue.
Tomorrow I could be anywhere.

All these pop songs about dying young
like it's gonna be so epic.

The only difference between 8th grade
and now is the blowing up

the use of color
& perspective.

Things that are with you
when you wake up

& you feel like
someone's there.

Same rainbows
under her eyes

clouds floating in the air.


About this poem

"When I wrote 'Manic Panic,' I was thinking about mass violence, about being a kid versus being an adult, about our culture's obsession with staying young forever contrasted with the reality of dying young in some form of violence or tragedy. There's so much focus all around us on the power and allure of youth, on 'stopping aging,' for women in particular, but this poem is about what happens to that power as you keep on living."
-Marisa Crawford

About Marisa Crawford

Marisa Crawford is the author of "The Haunted House" (Switchback Books, 2010). She lives in Brooklyn, N.Y.


*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.


(c) 2014 Marisa Crawford.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate


A TIP FOR WOMEN


Change your pillow case

What does changing your pillowcase have to do with health and beauty? Everything! Think of everything you use in your hair and on your face ... where do you think it goes at the end of the day? Change your pillowcase often -- about every other night is good -- to prevent breakouts.


JOKES


Barbecue?

As the coals from our barbecue burned down, our hosts passed out marshmallows and long roasting forks.

Just then, two fire trucks roared by, sirens blaring, lights flashing. They stopped at a house right down the block.

All twelve of us raced out of the back yard, down the street, where we found the owners of the blazing house standing by helplessly.

They glared at us with looks of disgust.

Suddenly, we realized why.........we were all still holding our roasting forks with marshmallows on them...


Swimming Lesson

A member of the Country Club asked the lifeguard how he might go about teaching a young lady to swim.

"It takes considerable time and technique." replied the guard. "First you must take her into the water, then place one arm about her waist, hold her tightly, then take her right arm and raise it very slowly..."

"This is certainly most helpful." said the member. "I know that my kid sister will appreciate it."

"Your sister?" said the lifeguard. "In that case, just push her into the deep end of the pool. She'll learn in a hurry."

Tidbits

"To celebrate the 30th anniversary of the moon landing President Bush met with Neil Armstrong. There was one odd moment when President Bush said, 'I hear you're doing well in that Tour de France.'" --Conan O'Brien

---

After examining a woman the doctor took the husband aside, and said, "I don't like the looks of your wife at all."

"Me neither doc," said the husband, "but she's a great cook and really good with the kids.

---

"My son's into extreme sports, my daughter's into extreme makeovers, and my husband's into extreme denial."

Insurance

A client called to report an accident and ask if her insurance rates would go up.

"Our underwriting department determines that", I said. Then I asked for her license number. Verifying her information, I asked, "NMF? Is that N as in Nancy, M as in Mary, and F as in Frank?"

"Well... yes," she said. "But could you please tell your underwriters that it's also N as in Not, M as in My, and F as in fault?"

Computer Virus Humor

Recently, the "Love Bug" Virus circled the globe, damaging computers in it's path. There have recently been some new mutations or variationsof this virus that you should be aware of.

* The "I Love You, But I'm Shy" virus never actually invades your computer, but collects data about it worshipfully from afar.

* The "Love The One You're With" virus hangs around your computer, but the whole thing is just temporary until it can find the computer that it really wants to invade.

* The "Happily Married" virus invades only one computer and stays with it for life.

* The "Unhappily Married" virus spends a long time negotia- ting with a computer, finally invades it, and then strays to other computers from time to time.

* The "I Want A Divorce" virus sends repeated, hard-to-read messages that your computer isn't working and takes half of your computer's best data in an ugly network session.

* The "Stalker" virus spends unnatural amounts of time monitoring your computer, collecting data your computer has thrown away and tries to record all of its functions. And it writes rude messages to any other computer with which yours connects on any regular basis.

* The "Forever Single" virus causes your computer to focus solely on other computers with which it is totally incompatible or prove generally unavailable.

* The "Deadbeat" virus invades your computer, spawns an entirely new database, then refuses to help update it as it grows.


HAVE A DAZZLING THURSDAY!

we take the justice we can get

every one is expendable i’m opening a new chic bistro prior guests will be listed on the menu we slice dice prepare any way you like sushi deep fried mesquite oven grilled baked accessories make the dish ginger pickles lime asparagus mustard and a drizzle of wine deer ***** cider mole sauces i haven’t decided yet on restaurant décor possibly post-modern austere but please write in suggestions everything must be totally freshly tossed killed tableside i want the kitchen immaculate industrial sized everything yet we roast minuscule tidbits frivolous details infused with essences reduction bio-molecular cuisine an entire 20 course meal in a tear drop obviously presentation is everything Channel Comme des Garcons Lamborghini will design plate arrangement after you’ve enjoyed a lavish sumptuous meal you become edible i mean eligible to provide for more recent patrons please hold still while the knife carves and oh how about those miners in Chile real theater i just read NASA’s Kepler satellite is selecting candidates for earth’s substitute the article repeatedly used the word candidates let’s just totally waste this place the faster we trash the world the sooner we get a new planet best weekly performance British Petroleum gulf oil debacle second best Hillandale Farms incredible salmonella egg



comedy tragedy dialogue

COMEDY come sit closer let’s share a laugh want to hear a joke

TRAGEDY i hate jokes

COMEDY you’re funny

TRAGEDY shut up you freaking clown

COMEDY there’s more to me than clowning

TRAGEDY oh yeah (pause) what? you pandering fool (pause) in my eyes every winking snicker is compromise collusion there’s nothing about you i like

COMEDY hater (pause) man you’re mean

TRAGEDY mean and unreasonable

COMEDY scary mean unreasonable (pause) yet funny

TRAGEDY ***** you (pause) mortality is tragic the world is wicked what’s funny about stoning people to death or ****** disfiguring women children or cheating enslaving the poor underprivileged this earth is a horrible place what the hell is so funny

COMEDY you you’re a joke a sad dismal joke the good news is i interpret humor in everything life is funny

TRAGEDY you’re a pitiful simpleton who perceives all existence from one lame brain viewpoint you can’t distinguish happy from sad good from evil you’re a mindless empty screen of canned laughter maybe some things aren’t meant to be laughed at or humor drawn from maybe you’re a rude mocking idiot what is so ******* funny

COMEDY what is so ******* funny (pause) i’m not laughing (pause) try stepping back getting a different perspective change your psychology consider the futility of existence fate of humankind

TRAGEDY we all do what we have to (pause) mind if i smoke (lights a cigarette)

COMEDY that’ll **** you (smirks laughter)

TRAGEDY we’re all fated to die

COMEDY you really need to see the absurdity in your gloom

TRAGEDY please go

COMEDY why do you have to be such a hard-*** why can’t we just get along we could create some wonderful art i really think we’d be good together

TRAGEDY i warning you

COMEDY i get the feeling we’re not going to be friends

TRAGEDY fast thinking (pause) go play with your happy snickering friends and leave me alone

COMEDY must we be enemies

TRAGEDY deal with it

COMEDY you’re going to miss me

TRAGEDY maybe maybe not (pause) these are dark troubled times

COMEDY why must everything be so serious with you

TRAGEDY if you persist i will be forced to turn this banter into regrettable disaster

COMEDY funny how things don’t work out

TRAGEDY yeah funny (pause) i guess the joke is on me



fate free will dialogue

FATE we each journey a path

FREE WILL i choose my own trail imaging myself triumphant inventing as i go

FATE what if you discovered your choices were influenced by forces outside you

FREE WILL i alone am responsible for my choices

FATE i’m not speaking about responsibilities

FREE WILL what are you speaking of

FATE there are aspects you may not realize

FREE WILL that’s ******* a person creates his or her own destiny

FATE do you believe Jesus Christ created his own destiny or John F. Kennedy Martin Luther King John Lennon

FREE WILL what are you saying

FATE there were circumstances cycles aspects forces possibly predetermined powers events ghosts

FREE WILL horseshit we are presented with existential choices our actions determine our destiny

FATE our actions determine our destiny huh what influences determine our actions

FREE WILL a person’s character courage discipline strength

FATE what forms a person’s character

FREE WILL parents circumstances cycles aspects forces the era

FATE hmmm near to what i was suggesting yet who can know why or how a few chosen make it while many others go bust or when where lightning strikes

FREE WILL so what do you believe? (pause) i’m speculating most people obey conform deaf to their own calling falling short of their dreams enduring lives of hushed disquiet

FATE hmmm we each journey a path

FREE WILL i choose my own trail inventing as i go alert to my calling

FATE uhhh i’m not as certain as you i admire your confidence conviction independence

FREE WILL hey i’m straight

FATE whatever

i say tell me

you say el

i say please

you say okay okay okay

i say stop stop stop

you say i love

i say no one

you say well yeah but

i say okay okay okay

you say sorry

i say *there's no need to be sorry i did this to myself

The tidbits of creases
in the skin of
her face,
surrounding  her mouth
and extending her lips,
lighting
her eyes,
showing her cheeks
is beauty.

My inspiration comes in spurts,
explosive thoughts
emanate in my mind
then ramble through my fingers
to create configurations of words.

It probably happens like everybody else,
when we're least expecting it,
I cover my paper with
tidbits of
myself,
sometimes it hurts,
but most times
not.

I'm not nervous
Fire away
Not too long
But it will be a while
A pity laugh

Unconventional methods of scribbling
I'll tell you again
Symbolic chicken scratch

Compassionate

Stylized specimen
Putting you on

Why do it?
Honest
Full of faith
Going West

State to state
Be sad somewhere else
Alone

Because why not
No one left
Just me
My thoughts

Extinct visions
See the world
Through a spotty car window
Skies, suns, stars, seas

Expand
Reinvent
The charity of the cosmos

I found Quincy Valero
Extrovert
Felonious
Random  

Lets go

There are metallic, life-like statues of human figures scattered through my city, often on park benches.  You must look twice the first time you spot them, and sometimes, each time, as they are so nat-ural, that they fool the retina image of man.*

The traffic light,
red to green,
yet my limbs,
froze fruit solid,
release catch stuck,
unflippable,
somehow plastic freezes,
mobility skills rusted
by December's hampering
cheeky cheeks,
a seasonal reddish copper
discoloration of the extremities,
a harmony of no sensation

A comet stuck in
pedestrian neutral,
collided/jostled by
starry eyed
Fifth Avenue
street walkers and tourists.

my presence sensed,
touched, yet avoided,
unnoticed,
like streetlight,
lamppost, mailbox,
I am, a body,
at rest,
unseen
but on display
in the art gallery of
Manhattan's Lost and Found

In the section of the paper
where the
unimportant local news is
sliced n' diced
into single paragraphs,
of human interest,
tidbits, amuse bouche,
items of
major minor interest,
The New York Times
reported the discovery of an
unauthorized lifelike
bronze n' copper sculpture.

eyes of polished nickel,
heart of stained steel,
rendition of a man
so lifelike y'all do a
triple take, smile,
take a cell photo,
phone a friend

his embodiment can be found
on the rounded corner of
Columbus Circle, @59th St.,
where you enter Central Park.

upon a bench,
man clutching Sunday newspapers,
a pair of scissors,
coupons cut,
scattered at his feet.
a homely but comely,
****** expression,
one of bewilderment.

A tiny plaque on a brass plate,
at his feet,
hints of his progenitor and human origins.

Artist: Unknown,
Materials: Organic Metals
Title: A Living Finish

The cozier side of loving
Taking the ride inside
a picture pours
The rosier* pompadour
Mirage sale outside
The heart got heavy his
spoonful guided to lighten you

Picked you his cream eyes
Your brush he strokes
He 's hooked but your
unhooked the writing
on the wall
He's having a ball
Whats in his gesture
He's his  own stir
Standing like the still-life
Afterlife do we get our pleasure?

Venus mix of measuring
love pursuing
Needing more
room until?
We sign a love will

Watchtower not much
time
Why do they say time
will tell
The sacramental
"Venus"
Canvas genius

Secretive confidential
Can you ever be more
Specific love is terrific
Modern times
conventional
You just know
the love
The only way
From the bottom or
Your top lips
Venus had you on fire
"
How just knowing
first, love your head
above the canvas
Venus appears
It moves you

But occasionally
it turns off gas heat
He's thinking of
you opening his door
Venus of Gods

Spiritually doctrines
of habits
His cozy tidbits of
stories
Your rising in digits

The big study of the cafe
Painters of biology
So genuinely gifted
On the mountaintop,
he draws his body in
His canvas  of Venus
You're sinfully sweet
body wins

The win or the sin
hard time beats me within

The mystical interpretation
Those erroneous heats I see
Above the sea sweets for me
How he lands me
And than forbidden
Hands me God for what
I didn't really see

Not set to be turned
  like a time machine
can reset my buttons

Venus, you got me
To better love me in my
prime a matter of time
His favorite
You're his pride and joy
This wasn't a ploy
Your long friendship_*
No time for my memories
What outwins my failures
Just laughing it off comedies
He healed you inside at your best
The worst distance painting to rest

Like a triple heart by-pass
of doubles, life was a gas
A sense of who
you are
The religion is a
whole lotta (Zeppelin) love
The shaking (Elvis) painting  
Like a Viva Las Vegas
How the money jingled
like Venus

How you formed me
words listed scorned
To paint each other
The quaint picture
To be reborn again

You get the
picture right? the gain
All commitments
Venus invitations
It transforms into
a world
of forgiveness
Like the enigma
love engine locomotive

Taking your shoes off
Get cozy not to
be crossed off
Here's Johnny
the crossword puzzles

He looked at you
like a  blind man
For the first time
in your life
He was sharper in his
love than any man or wife
He said you are
my person


Venus of love talking,
humming, flaming
importantly, how
I see you reacting
you look
reading along
love_book
But laughing is
the best
medicine

Venus, All mine to love you
and me maybe a baby
That's the name she's Venus

If light is the fastest thing in the universe,
why is darkness already there when light arrives?

After watching Harry and Megan Sussex grub for ever more cash and attention, I’ve decided that they should start a OnlyFans site.

We’re going to a *****-free dance party.
“You don’t have to drink to have fun.” I assure myself, in the bathroom mirror, but somehow the event sounds like a high school dance.

I’ve been reading the Internet - was it really a giant squid that sank the Titanic?

...

Panpsychism Is a scientific theory postulating that consciousness is part of the fabric of the Universe.

On the theological level, why would God (or nature) create the bitter taste of espresso and vivid, azure skies slashed with rainbow sunsets if stimulating consciousness weren’t important?

“Colors, tastes and smells are no more than names,” Galileo declared 400 years ago. “(as perceptions) they reside only in consciousness.”

Does life exist, as sensors, to experience stimuli for the galactic consciousness?

Flesh and pleasures
Anxiety and loneliness
Tempted
Forms of confusion
Tangled in shame
Guilt untamed
Shattered tears
Shadowed in fears
Hiding in pain
Breaking in vain
Feeble
Surrender
Saved
Sanctified
Justified
Called
Eternity

When asked what my drug of choice is
I could only narrow it down to this list:

Music or words,
Tea, ***, dreams
and the internet.

Envision the "Sylvan Lane" for all the wonder it contains ..
For every timeless portrait within Nature's Opus , bring each grain of
sand to perfect focus ...
Every critical dab of color on Monarch butterfly wing , each harmonic progression the Chickadee may sing ..
For the wonders of a mighty Oak , step closer and review each
layer of bark , count the scented Pine cones strewn about the yard ....
Place a gentle hand on the moss covered stones , number every
mushroom on a 'Hollow Log' ...
Witness the blue collar Bumblebee working ******* every flower ..
Ruby throated Hummingbirds , very busy creatures indeed , hour after hour ..

Ol’ Long and Tall sits
uncomfortably in the
seat next to mine.

It is obvious that his
back is bothering him
this morning.

‘Hey, dad…”

This is how it always starts.
Anytime he wants to talk,
he opens with this salvo.

I think it’s like using a turn signal
when changing lanes or something,
and who really knows what lane my boy
is in as he hurtles down his own highway?

It’s not that I don’t know him,
or care what’s on his mind, not
at all.

We’re both thinkers,
Alex and I, it’s just that
he gets a little bit tangled up
now and then, and just goes blank,
but never dull.

I think “Hey, dad…” offers a bit of a reset;
just a moment’s pause for organization,
such as it is in Alex’s case.

“Hey dad…” he starts.
“Did you know…?”

He goes on to tell me
some facts, which I forget
now,
about Hawaii.

Soon, that folder is empty
so he begins telling me tidbits
about the migratory process
of monarch butterflies.

“Where did you learn this stuff?”
I ask.

“At school.”
“On the internet.”
he states.


“Good.”
“That’s good.”
I assure him.

“There’s more to the internet
than You Tube and Minecraft;
and you found it.  I’m glad”

“Yup.” he says and grins his squinty grin
at me.

I nod and keep driving,
it is a school day and we’re on
the highway.

No radio this morning,
just talk.

I wait.
5 seconds
10 seconds
15 seconds

“Hey dad…”

*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016

You smile at me  
Across the way  
I can see your eyes  
Twinkling  
And I feel a vague  
“something” deep inside.
  
Ignore it. Keep it out.  
Don’t let it get a hold of you.  
Don’t let HIM get a hold of you.

You introduce yourself
Tell me your name
Little tidbits of information
That I take up and put away
A magpie hoarding shiny bits of you.  
That “something” is taking shape.

Stop it.  
You already know how it’s going to end.  
You’ve been through this before.

Days go by.  
Your eyes, your voice
Pass through my head  
More than I care to admit.  
For once, excitement gleams in the air,
Because I might see you again.  

It’s not too late.  
You know what’s right.  
You know what’s best for you.

Maybe I do but  
It all falls away  
Once I see your face.  
I can’t help it  
Your smile, your voice  
Has overtaken my mind
I can only try to hide  
The jolt in my chest  
The smile in my heart  
That happens whenever you walk in.  

*Too late.

"And when your fourth love leaves you. You will want to **** yourself, but you won't Because you no longer think of suicide as a house you will build one day" ~ Future Tense by Neil Hilborn.

I keep hoping
That if I keep writing enough about you
About us
What happened and what you did
It'll be written out of the existence of my conscious
That the memories will melt away
As if they were frost coated blades of grass
In a lukewarm spring morning
I care you know
About if you're happy now
Maybe
I keep hoping that if I bleed enough ink
Everything will finally stop
And fall
And reorder itself
That the past five years
Will fade out
Through the tip of this pen
The insecurities will be gone
The trauma will be gone
The memories will be gone
You'll be gone
For good
Never existing
A total and complete stranger
Because who you are now
Isn't who I first met
But that's life right?
People changed
I changed
And it hurt like hell
But after that
Everything melded
Faded together
The sun and moon
Will no longer fight for supremacy behind my closed eyelids
Sadness will finally move out of happiness's home
The unwanted roommate
Never paying their rent
Leaving behind tidbits of loneliness
That would always cover
Your vortex infused days of sun
Cozy winter mornings have reappeared
Snuggled in a blanket
Snow caressing my window sill
A gust turned into
An extinct lovers laugh
Because my days are brighter
My pen is lighter
And the ink that I've bled
Over the past five years
Has finally been staunched
From the incisions
On my ugly blue battered
Gun powder heart.

Perches on my window
My mustached friend bulbul,
Finds me shaving,
A stray bird and I call it a miracle,
It pecks from my hand tidbits of food
Not scared at all
Looks deep into my eyes
And plants there a sunrise,
Asks the bird, ‘why do you shave,
And not save your beard
For the time it would fit your sunken face
When it would tell
There aren’t any of us around,
No miracle of waking up each morn
With our sounds’!

It knows miracles are drying up.

(A collection, from across time;
for both the pearls and the swine)
-----------

(A letter)

To the walking scar of the eagle star,
You really haven't made it far.
You keep on finding ways to believe
There's reasons you should keep breathing.
From the trees you **** the air,
Stand on life without a care,
**** your waste into the water,
**** away your hopes and bothers.
Grime- and barb-encrusted bone
Without a hole, without a home,
Wandering post-happiness
Looking for a frog to kiss since
Fantasy is all that's left
In that body, soul-bereft.
You will die, alone, afraid
Time and again, day by day.
Ripped apart by your sentiments
Out-dated, almost archaic,
You fall from grace, all good outshone
By hate you let flourish and grow
Deep down, rising up to scratch
The surface, and just like a match
You are consumed by your own design,
Blotting out all the lines.

You are alone, and you are afraid.
You know, all of this, you made.
You see what your efforts wrought,
What your neglect brought, what your lies bought.
You will die, alone, knowing
The winds of change will keep on blowing,
Over you

And away

Dear star, don't be afraid.
The wings of strange creatures such as you are,
Mangled though they may be,
Will take you somewhere comforting

Eventually.

-------
Push away, on the boat
Lift it up, the sail
Cutting through the gray coat
On the river Fear

Looking for the islands I
Know must be there
Places that I love

Places that I care for, and
Reach above
The water I must be careful
to stay out of

-------
(That blues horse)

I've been shown to the water
The waters don't flow for me
I've been down to the water
Followed it to the sea
Knew I couldn't stay any longer
When the tides got mean
Maybe we should call a doctor
I'm drowning
I tell them not to bother
*** I know I must go sometime
and these
Waters

Do flow
-------

I tote a swag, but I don't slay - em.
I got the cards, but I don't play - em.
You'll never catch me out there ballin'
Never receivin any calls and
I buy them bags, n I don't weigh - em.
I get the bills, n I don't pay - em.
I am not on top of ****, but my
Mind my body soul n spliff are lit, I'm
Losing my mind, hear what I'm say-in?
Don't wanna die, but this ain't liv-in.

-------

Almost everybody seems afraid or angry
Raised not to do as done but what they say
Everything's backwards with eyes open, crazy
Violence and abuse, TV-MA

Stay faithful to the system, they'll change eventually
Tomorrow can wait then, it's just another day see?
It's all in the now, you are the center of the happening.
Turn around, smile with your missing teeth, be happy.

Nothing is perfect, so it all meshes perfectly.
Everything is magic, so nothing's magic technically.
The world branches out based on your understanding.
Love. No locks can withstand the key.



-------

Slop on those

little

nuggets of

silent gold.



Lay them out

so maybe

they'll give back

them shoes.


Then I could

run

so fast, you'd think

I took a bite of

young bent's

Mars bar

and didn't get away with it.


This is kind of

like Christmas for me,

When all the gifts

are socks and clothes.

But no shoes.


Or like

when the food you microwave

is burnt along the surface

and frigid in the center

so you get tired of waiting

and just mix it up

vigorously

only to find

that doesn't really work

too well., but,

you knew that.


You'll do it again.

-------
(arbor)

Burning diesel so sour,
Coughing up strawberries
For about an hour, now.
The train done wrecked
And the dream went blue,

Look at what these trees are doing to me

-------
(oml)

Old man Luck never had the roots.
He missed out on many a thing.
He was caught underwing in his first spring,
And so grew used to them walkin boots.

Old man Luck was weighed down
The day that he laid down his
Hopes, and his
Fears, and his
Needs.
Dragging around him
Those dreams that have bound him
To their cold
And lifeless
Remains.

-------
(Gtttttt)

I know you've been wondering
why I do... certain things.
You've only seen a little, and
that's apparently all you need.

Shallow being.

I won't let you make it
water under the bridge.
No, I won't let it be
what you try to make it.
Can't you see? You're fake,
and those aces up your sleeve
are showing. How ugly;
your tricks, foul comments.

Hold

You're blowing it.
Bad signs are homing in.
The seeds you've planted
are splitting with cannibals
that know how to flow with it.
Take control of it.
Take responsibility for your deeds,
see the patterns
and quit ******* ignoring it.

Hold

-------
()

Wake me up now, don't leave me hanging
I don't know how it is I'm found
I haven't seen a trace down here
That's why I'm off the ground

Fill my cup, my soul needs arranging
New Feng Shui, maybe silver-plated clouds
Left to climb. Now I'm left hanging
Maybe I should just jump down


-------


Vintage
maybe one day I'll be
Vintage
With the special plates

The catchy name
The allure
The grace

Vintage

It is a race
Against time

A pace
A sign:

"I will cheat death.
Life's just a ride."

Vintage

Never left behind

-------
(ye)

I'm losing it.
I'm about to give up.
No I won't.
I can't, anyway.

I'll keep on going,
Blood and guts and
Bones and all,
All over the floor.
I've littered the **** out of
**** near every situation
I've ever
found myself in;
Throwing up quietly
at the sight of all this
possibility.

Don't you see?
I'd love to be there.
But for all relative purposes,
I'm not breathing

-------

Body-broken, mind-choked, heart-less monotony

Soul-******, fresh-bled, flesh-less anomoly

Spoiled leftover. Improperly stored meat.
Wolf it down daily. Was it ever sweet?

Tainted courier of a love-less soul,
Bow to oblivion
~~~~~~~
Fgai


I'll keep looking but I won't see
Forget about it
I'll pretend I'm something I don't wanna be
Forget about it

I'm everyone in their cars, in their homes, on the streets
I'm everywhere you are, yea I'm everyone you meet

I'll keep listening but I won't hear a thing
Forget about it

only I know
when I email you
tidbits of life,
that I need only
address you as b,
for in a nano second,
my tablet will acknowledge
that I am writing in secret code to mine own
beloved



~~~
7:05 am
NYC

If trust is so sacred to you
why are you so stingy with it?
Why, I wonder can you not
forgive and move on
and allow the future
to unfold as it is meant to unfold
instead of constantly searching
for reasons to chase the past?

If trust is so sacred to you
then why will you not give it freely
and allow it to shine forth
and become a real part
of who you are
instead of placing it
crumb by crumb?

If trust is so sacred to you
then why not give truly from your heart
and let all who know you feel and see
that you carry such beauty
inside of you
instead of wearing that hateful fear
that eats you up inside?

Trust.
You say you want to trust me,
yet you refuse to really try.
Always searching for tidbits
to prove that you cannot have
peace of mind--
yet too, you are always, always
looking behind--

If trust is so sacred--
then allow the future to unfold
without strings knotted up
from the past.
No one can trust when they refuse
to look forward
rather than looking back...

Now I'm in the turnips and string beans of poetry:
It's like, you think you'll grow up some day
And live in a two story house with swimming pool,
And a two car garage, with a six pack driveway.
Things turn out differently, though you might think
You'd spend whole days devouring Dickinson, Keats, and Shelley,
Drinking fine wines with tidbits of exotic cheese.

Then you find out you'll live in a one car rented garage apartment,
Over a couple always yelling or making love-
There's no in-between; and you never know which it'll be
And if you're mistaken for the significant other you might get
Bopped with a lady's spiked heel or an army boot.

Then you find out that you're the couple
But you're always too busy to make love;
Love is no longer scheduled like bowling night,
It all depends on uncluttered horizontal surfaces and spare minutes-
And the wine turns into beer, when you can afford it
And the nightly budget pizza is the only dough you'll get
It's constipating; but the words still get squeezed out.

And the poets you're reading now aren't dead:
They're urbanely unkempt, and you know them personally,
All their quirky habits; writing poems at bus stops
In a voluble rush; writing words on cafe napkins,
On discarded want ads and torn paper sacks;
And none of them are well known, and none of them are rich.

But they're poets all the same, they live and breathe
The written word, and you're no different, certainly no better,
All of you shooting up words and slang nightly,
Weighing out the soul of the latest idiom,
Choking on cheap cigar smoke and wishing you'd written that,
And thinking you could have done it worse-
And suddenly some night, you look around you

You realize you're living poetry, and you don't care anymore
About rich and famous- because now it's your addiction;
None of that mattered anyway, for only poetry holds any reality now.
Everything else is imaginary, and all the poets started out this way;
Nobody knew them or gave a rat's ***,
And they went on writing just the same
As if it were the most important job on earth they'd been given.

Stops and starts  
tidbits and scribbles
3 years of notes and files
and pain filled ramblings
but nothing cohesive.

Instead, what’s written are
the short circuit musings of a brain  
on the mend after 25 years of  
miscellaneous addictions.

I gather all the words together  
and wonder what to do with them.
I contemplate deletion, but no,
there has got to be something  
here that's worthwhile,
something worth saving.

So I pull out all the lines  
that somehow feel right,
lines that have potential,  
lines that show me how far  
I’ve come since getting clean

and I write down the best of them
and then comment on each
from my current perspective.

     I used to chase the dragon  
     now the dragon chases me  
     across fields of wet leaves
     in the timid December sun.
(I must have walked a thousand miles while being chased)

      I force feed the feel good  
     to override the let down.
(One of the main reasons a user uses)

     There is no willing oneself to wellness,
     there are no bootstraps to pull on, and
     no self talk to conquer the chemical
     malfunction in my head.
(Without Faith and Hope, I wouldn't have made it)

      It’s a kind of spiritual act,
     A mystical replenishing of
     all the used-up parts of me.
(Could have said meditate just as easily)

     I knew it was wrong
     but I wanted it easy.
(Perhaps the most honest thing I have ever written)

     It makes me wonder if  
     the gaps I have are
     there to protect me.  
     But more so it makes me
     fear that hidden moments  
     shaped the core of me,  
     and when I don’t like me,
     what's missing are the things  
     that if I knew I could not  
     survive the knowing of them.
(I can only assume this made sense at the time)

     I do best when I live in retrospect.
     The present is too real.
     In the present my demon is here.
     In retrospect  
     I can choose to leave him out.
(So glad I got past this, and live solely in the now)

     When we exist for only ourselves  
     the world is not round,
     it is flat and we tend to fall off the edges  
     into pandemonium and unhappiness.
(Still so very true!)

     In all of my searching I  
     cannot find a way to love you  
     like you need to be loved.
     In other ways, yes, but
     second to what you want.
     But even so I want you to know
     you are my rock, my harbor,  
     my safe place, as consistent as  
     the dawning day, as reliable as  
     the setting sun, and as beautiful as  
     the harvest moon.
     Without you I am lost.
(She saved my life and she knows it)

     When I am close to God  
     I smell lavender.
(Don’t remember writing this but I like it)

     A common idiom -  
     don’t put skeletons in your closet;
     My father hung bones like he hangs his shirts.
(Never been a fan of “Do as I say, not as I do")

     I can't let myself
     be shamed for that  
     which I'm already
     ashamed of..
(Be kind to yourself!)

     I'm not afraid IN the dark
     I'm afraid OF the dark.
(The unpredictable loneliness)  

     I will never be happy because
     there is too much I don’t know.
(The need to be in control is a death sentence)

     There's an uneasiness with the  
     easiness of stress-free living.
(Chaos is a large magnet and I am sheet-metal)

     Sleep never satisfies for long,
     like a drug tolerance 
     its ability to provide escape  
     loses effectiveness over time.
     You'll notice this while dreaming,
     your dreams become more vivid
     and uncontrolled, a rolling
     tide of daytime worries warped
     into colors you can't escape.
(Sleep, by far is the most elusive aspect of healing)

     I am afraid of love 
     and that's a difficult existence 
     when your greatest need
     is also your greatest fear.
(Such a horrible paradox to live in)

     Pounding my fists on  
     the darkened altar in my mind
     makes the night much darker.
(A place I’ve been where you do not want to go)


The gap of these years has now been recorded.

I am free to move on towards what is to come.