What do you fear the most:
your reflection of that ghost
that hangs on
the shoulders of your shadow?
The promises you've broken,
the truths never spoken
ball up into a cancer.
The lying's in the answer.
The chain you drag
you built
with hatred and heresy
and hallucinogens.
Your heavy heart
chugs blood along through
ungrateful veins
who simply spit it out.
So you bite your lips
'til they're chapped and bleeding,
feeding into delusions,
reading into illusions.
You swear the voices
get louder at night;
you sing to yourself:
it's alright, it's alright,
Rage dismisses your
half-hearted pleas.
He plays with your head.
He is such a tease.
When time builds no
brighter endings,
you might as well quit
all your pretending.
**************************************************
"So you crawl up those stairs and sing yourself to peace." Wild Sweet Orange House of Regret
"It's okay, it's alright, nothing's wrong." Elliott Smith Waltz #2
"I'm nothing it I'm not the rage." The New Amsterdams Drinking In The Afternoon
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, December 07, 2009
The Guilty and The Saved
When the world explodes
don't say You didn't
see in coming.
The seas are humming
and the skies are preparing
to plummet.
Are we Your puppets
or are me masochists?
Which winds will blow our seeds
into oblivion?
You see our shadows
lurking in corners and under beds.
Your sheep,
misbehaving so well:
they make the earth swell.
It's enough to make You weep.
A fire-breathing counterpart
counts down:
our days are numbered.
Fault feeds the flames.
Is a fall so far behind?
The end of times?
The daylight dissolves;
the heat rises.
The devil devises
his dreadful deeds:
that fiendish fallen angel.
Who will wake come morning?
The guilty or the guilty or the guilty
or the saved?
Who would know the difference
anymore anyway?
*****************************************
"Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away."
- Revelation 21.1
"The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"
Percy Bysshe Shelley Ode to the West Wind
"Then they'll raise their hands, sayin' we'll meet all your demands, but we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered. And like Pharaoh's tribe, they'll be drowned in the tide, and like Goliath, they'll be conquered." Bob Dylan When The Ship Comes In
"I prayed for providence; God said, 'Don't pray no more. You went and made your mess, keep your blame off my feet.'" Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased
don't say You didn't
see in coming.
The seas are humming
and the skies are preparing
to plummet.
Are we Your puppets
or are me masochists?
Which winds will blow our seeds
into oblivion?
You see our shadows
lurking in corners and under beds.
Your sheep,
misbehaving so well:
they make the earth swell.
It's enough to make You weep.
A fire-breathing counterpart
counts down:
our days are numbered.
Fault feeds the flames.
Is a fall so far behind?
The end of times?
The daylight dissolves;
the heat rises.
The devil devises
his dreadful deeds:
that fiendish fallen angel.
Who will wake come morning?
The guilty or the guilty or the guilty
or the saved?
Who would know the difference
anymore anyway?
*****************************************
"Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away."
- Revelation 21.1
"The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"
Percy Bysshe Shelley Ode to the West Wind
"Then they'll raise their hands, sayin' we'll meet all your demands, but we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered. And like Pharaoh's tribe, they'll be drowned in the tide, and like Goliath, they'll be conquered." Bob Dylan When The Ship Comes In
"I prayed for providence; God said, 'Don't pray no more. You went and made your mess, keep your blame off my feet.'" Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Hallucinating
You're allowed to look now;
this isn't a prison.
See, those walls are just air.
The shiny metal bars
are just figments,
apparitions.
Your far too busy brain
built them up,
but you have no savior
to break them down.
You're hallucinating,
but this is nothing new.
Dank depictions of doom
dance between your ears.
It's a fairy tale warning
that keeps you up at night,
makes you shiver in the sunlight,
makes you jump with fright.
In earlier soliloquies
you've heard yourself recite
your voice rattles
and your tongue bites.
On the ground
is where you'll end up.
Duck and cover,
cover up.
The poison that you swallow
won't kill you -
unless you're luck -
so drink up.
Baby,
they're only bad dreams;
they're all just bad habits
to blow off some stream.
No need to worry;
don't give it one more thought -
But those lessons you've been learning,
may need to be retaught.
************************************************
Continuation of a theme.
"I'm hallucinating -- hallucinating. I hear you cry. Your tears are cheap, wet hot red swollen cheeks, fall asleep. I want to hurt him. I want to give him pain. I'm a roman candle. My head is full of flames..." Elliott Smith Roman Candle
"Why don't you give yourself a rest, oh give yourself some room? You can't get your arms around everybody. You cannot carry the doom... AA Bondy When The Devil's Loose
"Drink up, baby, stay up all night with the things you could do, you won't, but you might. The potential you'll be that you'll never see. The promises you'll only make..." Elliott Smith Between The Bars
this isn't a prison.
See, those walls are just air.
The shiny metal bars
are just figments,
apparitions.
Your far too busy brain
built them up,
but you have no savior
to break them down.
You're hallucinating,
but this is nothing new.
Dank depictions of doom
dance between your ears.
It's a fairy tale warning
that keeps you up at night,
makes you shiver in the sunlight,
makes you jump with fright.
In earlier soliloquies
you've heard yourself recite
your voice rattles
and your tongue bites.
On the ground
is where you'll end up.
Duck and cover,
cover up.
The poison that you swallow
won't kill you -
unless you're luck -
so drink up.
Baby,
they're only bad dreams;
they're all just bad habits
to blow off some stream.
No need to worry;
don't give it one more thought -
But those lessons you've been learning,
may need to be retaught.
************************************************
Continuation of a theme.
"I'm hallucinating -- hallucinating. I hear you cry. Your tears are cheap, wet hot red swollen cheeks, fall asleep. I want to hurt him. I want to give him pain. I'm a roman candle. My head is full of flames..." Elliott Smith Roman Candle
"Why don't you give yourself a rest, oh give yourself some room? You can't get your arms around everybody. You cannot carry the doom... AA Bondy When The Devil's Loose
"Drink up, baby, stay up all night with the things you could do, you won't, but you might. The potential you'll be that you'll never see. The promises you'll only make..." Elliott Smith Between The Bars
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Drown
You suffer your habits
and mask all the dwelling
and you smile along
like your brain isn't swelling.
They know that there's something
that you aren't telling.
From out of the wreckage,
you stretch out your arms
and you swear from now on
to do no harm.
To yourself
you vow
not to shutter again,
but you know it’s only
the way your head spins:
the ice is thin.
When the voices begin
and sing their hymn
you know you’ll be unable
to rise against them.
Your senses are susceptible
to the slightest of slights
and you roll up your sleeves
like you’re ready for a fight.
You back yourself into corners
and can’t find your own way out.
There are seas out there calling you
if only there was light,
but the darkness robs you
of your wits and your sight.
Those drugs keep you stable
by kicking you around
and you feel more at home
when you’re too lost to be found.
Where sanity is impossible to conceive
and nightmares are easy to believe,
that’s where you’ll always be,
underneath the bow.
So, lay your head down
and for good now -
drown.
***************************************
Sometimes shit happens that shakes your bones. They kick you while you're down. Then, you have decisions to make: to get up or stay down, to shape up or decay. "You choose whether that slip is repeated and permanent or not." The options are clear and the ball is in your court.
"I try to will myself away while shouting habits plead their case..." Kevin Devine You'll Only End Up Joining Them
"One time I broke my vow. We laid a circle of roses, symbolized what was forever..." Sunny Day Real Estate 9
"The morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west..." Brand New Play Crack The Sky
and mask all the dwelling
and you smile along
like your brain isn't swelling.
They know that there's something
that you aren't telling.
From out of the wreckage,
you stretch out your arms
and you swear from now on
to do no harm.
To yourself
you vow
not to shutter again,
but you know it’s only
the way your head spins:
the ice is thin.
When the voices begin
and sing their hymn
you know you’ll be unable
to rise against them.
Your senses are susceptible
to the slightest of slights
and you roll up your sleeves
like you’re ready for a fight.
You back yourself into corners
and can’t find your own way out.
There are seas out there calling you
if only there was light,
but the darkness robs you
of your wits and your sight.
Those drugs keep you stable
by kicking you around
and you feel more at home
when you’re too lost to be found.
Where sanity is impossible to conceive
and nightmares are easy to believe,
that’s where you’ll always be,
underneath the bow.
So, lay your head down
and for good now -
drown.
***************************************
Sometimes shit happens that shakes your bones. They kick you while you're down. Then, you have decisions to make: to get up or stay down, to shape up or decay. "You choose whether that slip is repeated and permanent or not." The options are clear and the ball is in your court.
"I try to will myself away while shouting habits plead their case..." Kevin Devine You'll Only End Up Joining Them
"One time I broke my vow. We laid a circle of roses, symbolized what was forever..." Sunny Day Real Estate 9
"The morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west..." Brand New Play Crack The Sky
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Here's To The Decay
You’re only prolific in your daze
because words make more sense that way.
Senses sing while hearts soar,
but you ponder what it’s all for.
Sliding, seeking, sidestepping, shrieking:
is this a nightmare in the making?
Making memories out of fantasies
and hearing love inside of ever sneeze,
these haunting lullabies
are embedded behind your eyes.
And when the cries are no longer audible
you shout out for the infallible,
but He cannot shut your mind down:
no, child, you’re just a lost sound.
That ringing in your ears
isn’t even the worst of your fears
because fire fights from your throat
and you choke on every note.
Hell finds a deeper home
where your thoughts were once free to roam
so now demons and goblins reiterate
the revelation that is your fate.
It sickens you to the bone:
the skills you’ve honed
that lock you in your heated space
when there’s just too much out there to face.
The heavy air follows you - it lingers -
and you wrap strands of hair around your fingers
until your fingertips are white and cold.
You’re about to fold
and you know it won’t matter;
you can’t hear above the chatter.
Your bruises prove the existence of colors:
your body's a canvas for all your failures.
Your nerves are fried
like your dignity and pride.
You’re mechanical and monotonous.
You won't put up a fuss.
In times like these, what’s a little weakness?
Just one more flaw to confess.
And you know it won’t make you feel better,
just a little bit deader,
but the world is gray anyway:
so here’s to the decay.
***************************************
Fight off your demons (and goblins)?
"I'm racing towards the one mistake that locks me in my place." Kevin Devine Just Stay
"And every word is nonsense but I understand and, oh Lord: I'm not ready for this sort of thing." Counting Crows Anna Begins
"Grey is my favorite color. I felt so symbolic yesterday. If I knew Picasso, I would buy myself a gray guitar and play." Counting Crows Mr. Jones
"Blue stars don't seem so bright when everything you see is in black and white." Socratic Decay
because words make more sense that way.
Senses sing while hearts soar,
but you ponder what it’s all for.
Sliding, seeking, sidestepping, shrieking:
is this a nightmare in the making?
Making memories out of fantasies
and hearing love inside of ever sneeze,
these haunting lullabies
are embedded behind your eyes.
And when the cries are no longer audible
you shout out for the infallible,
but He cannot shut your mind down:
no, child, you’re just a lost sound.
That ringing in your ears
isn’t even the worst of your fears
because fire fights from your throat
and you choke on every note.
Hell finds a deeper home
where your thoughts were once free to roam
so now demons and goblins reiterate
the revelation that is your fate.
It sickens you to the bone:
the skills you’ve honed
that lock you in your heated space
when there’s just too much out there to face.
The heavy air follows you - it lingers -
and you wrap strands of hair around your fingers
until your fingertips are white and cold.
You’re about to fold
and you know it won’t matter;
you can’t hear above the chatter.
Your bruises prove the existence of colors:
your body's a canvas for all your failures.
Your nerves are fried
like your dignity and pride.
You’re mechanical and monotonous.
You won't put up a fuss.
In times like these, what’s a little weakness?
Just one more flaw to confess.
And you know it won’t make you feel better,
just a little bit deader,
but the world is gray anyway:
so here’s to the decay.
***************************************
Fight off your demons (and goblins)?
"I'm racing towards the one mistake that locks me in my place." Kevin Devine Just Stay
"And every word is nonsense but I understand and, oh Lord: I'm not ready for this sort of thing." Counting Crows Anna Begins
"Grey is my favorite color. I felt so symbolic yesterday. If I knew Picasso, I would buy myself a gray guitar and play." Counting Crows Mr. Jones
"Blue stars don't seem so bright when everything you see is in black and white." Socratic Decay
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Choir Of Miles
Ashes are green now
in this delusion
and humanity
feels so foreign.
Only unlucky fools
believe those smiles
smiled, showing teeth
that - like bars -
trap the truth inside
our ivory prisons.
Every syllable that escapes
is uttered three hours late.
Our secrets slept
with the Eastern sun
so you remind me
of the moon.
You were tangible
and touchable
once
but that was back
when the sky was blue
and the sun was yellow.
Now they're just sad
and chicken.
I can't hear your voice anymore,
not even when I'm listening;
there's a choir of miles
singing hymns of a different ocean.
You used to have sapphires in your eyes,
but now they're just stones.
I guess when life is living you,
it's tough to feel anything at all.
*************************************************
Not gonna go there.
"Our secrets sleep in winter clothes." Neutral Milk Hotel In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
"The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly saying, 'Death to all those who would whimper and cry,' and dropping a bar bell he points to the sky saying, 'The sun's not yellow: it's chicken.'" Bob Dylan Tombstone Blues
"In the world we stole, there was a choir there." Sunny Day Real Estate Pillars
"Stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes, stones in your mouth, stones in your ears, stones in your mind, stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes...Living in a jar, think the lid's the sky. You're hoping for a savior on your cross outside. Stars are just a million little fireflies. The sun is just the whole world and the light outside." Brand New In A Jar
"Life is what it makes of you." The New Frontiers Passing On
in this delusion
and humanity
feels so foreign.
Only unlucky fools
believe those smiles
smiled, showing teeth
that - like bars -
trap the truth inside
our ivory prisons.
Every syllable that escapes
is uttered three hours late.
Our secrets slept
with the Eastern sun
so you remind me
of the moon.
You were tangible
and touchable
once
but that was back
when the sky was blue
and the sun was yellow.
Now they're just sad
and chicken.
I can't hear your voice anymore,
not even when I'm listening;
there's a choir of miles
singing hymns of a different ocean.
You used to have sapphires in your eyes,
but now they're just stones.
I guess when life is living you,
it's tough to feel anything at all.
*************************************************
Not gonna go there.
"Our secrets sleep in winter clothes." Neutral Milk Hotel In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
"The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly saying, 'Death to all those who would whimper and cry,' and dropping a bar bell he points to the sky saying, 'The sun's not yellow: it's chicken.'" Bob Dylan Tombstone Blues
"In the world we stole, there was a choir there." Sunny Day Real Estate Pillars
"Stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes, stones in your mouth, stones in your ears, stones in your mind, stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes...Living in a jar, think the lid's the sky. You're hoping for a savior on your cross outside. Stars are just a million little fireflies. The sun is just the whole world and the light outside." Brand New In A Jar
"Life is what it makes of you." The New Frontiers Passing On
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Just One Possibility
“I swore you sang,” she said, she said.
“It sounded like champagne and chandeliers
and when I awoke you were present,
but only in body, never in spirit.”
She turned away,
her back to the day,
and she remembered
the look in your eyes
when her hand first
touched your thighs.
In the back of her head
she began to feel frantic;
She never say anything
about romantic.
But intentions are hidden
in words that are rusted,
her hands search to find
a lie that can be trusted.
Her perfect nightmare
pulled apart
when your eyes seared through
her broken heart,
but the fairy tale gone wrong
found its unhappily every after
after all; in a long
story that read
like a sonnet
dictated by a ghost.
“At most,”
he replied,
“you actually love me” -
a pause -
“but that’s just one possibility”
and he folded his face into his hands.
************************************
This poem has been plaguing me for days. I gave up. I can't tell whether it's done. I just don't know. It's challenging because I'M not sure what the true intentions of my characters are. I can see it from so many angles. However, I kind of like that because so much is left up to interpretation. Read it at least twice. I don't think you'll see anything on a first read. These characters are not just Cliche-Boy and Cliche-Girl. There's a tension, but I don't know with whom it lies or where it begins...or even exactly what it's regarding. It's about the consequences of a dream.
“Shakespeare sang ‘err on err,’ so I sang.” Sunny Day Real Estate Rodeo Jones
“It sounded like champagne and chandeliers
and when I awoke you were present,
but only in body, never in spirit.”
She turned away,
her back to the day,
and she remembered
the look in your eyes
when her hand first
touched your thighs.
In the back of her head
she began to feel frantic;
She never say anything
about romantic.
But intentions are hidden
in words that are rusted,
her hands search to find
a lie that can be trusted.
Her perfect nightmare
pulled apart
when your eyes seared through
her broken heart,
but the fairy tale gone wrong
found its unhappily every after
after all; in a long
story that read
like a sonnet
dictated by a ghost.
“At most,”
he replied,
“you actually love me” -
a pause -
“but that’s just one possibility”
and he folded his face into his hands.
************************************
This poem has been plaguing me for days. I gave up. I can't tell whether it's done. I just don't know. It's challenging because I'M not sure what the true intentions of my characters are. I can see it from so many angles. However, I kind of like that because so much is left up to interpretation. Read it at least twice. I don't think you'll see anything on a first read. These characters are not just Cliche-Boy and Cliche-Girl. There's a tension, but I don't know with whom it lies or where it begins...or even exactly what it's regarding. It's about the consequences of a dream.
“Shakespeare sang ‘err on err,’ so I sang.” Sunny Day Real Estate Rodeo Jones
Friday, September 04, 2009
Time Is Poetry
If time is just an abstract
I'm drowning in clocks
and there are big hands and little hands
boarding at the docks.
The ships, where they lay,
carry away all my shocks
from yesterday passed tomorrow
in a brown postage box.
It's secured with locks
to protect what is mine,
but nothing leads to another
and it's recording in rhyme.
We're all voices and shadows
within spaces and grime.
The inevitability of circles
should be a crime.
So I'll meet you next time
beside the playground fence
where we'll fool around and run
and hide from our parents.
In my memory, there are holes,
but even worse, there are dents;
Our fortunes and secrets
no longer make sense.
Counting hours for distance
while hearts fade,
I'm throwing up my sentences,
every confession made.
And then that ticking voice
offers me a trade,
but our connections are dissolving
and are horribly frayed.
Our lives were delayed
and now they run conversely.
My brain used to love you
despite impossibility,
but the sun has stolen
our youthful unity;
I won't fight him, though:
he has his immunity.
To the burden of uncertainty,
I am no longer confined.
In your shadow is a shape:
a body and a mind.
That spot behind my eyes
is no longer blind.
So, my history was continued
not merely redefined.
********************************************************
ROFL@life.
This is about how weird life can be, especially when you live long enough - and love long enough - to watch things come full circle. It's supposed to be sad while also being optimistic. It's about feeling disoriented, but knowing it's the only way to get back on your feet, to a place where sometimes things make sense again. It really IS about how time is poetry. Over hours, day, years, and on, lives are lived and lessons are learned and if you focus it right, you can make something come of it. Unanswerable questions - only with time and passion - find their answers. Maybe that's how one finds love too. There's time to right your wrongs. There's time to reconnect. There's time for those relationships that make no sense right now to work themselves out, define themselves, and redefine themselves. There's time to pull yourself out of whatever fucking ditch you threw yourself into and make it into something of beauty, of art, of worth. You just have to DO it. Kevin wrote me once and said: "Nothing's ever 'over.' Life is about accepting these pieces of ourselves that are fucked up and realizing that through acceptance we can better figure out how to keep those pieces at bay." Even your low points can have meaning if you make something good come of it. Don't let yourself waste away in vain.
This is about time taking things away and giving things back all in due course.
"Sew it on. Face the fool. December's tragic drive when time is poetry and stolen the world outside, the waiting could crush my heart..." Sunny Day Real Estate Seven [Clearly, I don't quote this song enough.]
"With the salt all ablaze and the ships where they lay, there must be great fear in a spark..." AA Bondy Of The Sea
"Meet me there in the blue where words are not. Feeling remains: sincerity, trust in me, throw myself into your door. I go in circles. Running down..." Sunny Day Real Estate In Circles
"But the connections go. Bubbles break on the surface like they do on the flooded craters round here - the ones that've been here for years and have God knows what underneath." Billy Prior via Pat Barker The Ghost Road
"History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." Winston Churchill
I'm drowning in clocks
and there are big hands and little hands
boarding at the docks.
The ships, where they lay,
carry away all my shocks
from yesterday passed tomorrow
in a brown postage box.
It's secured with locks
to protect what is mine,
but nothing leads to another
and it's recording in rhyme.
We're all voices and shadows
within spaces and grime.
The inevitability of circles
should be a crime.
So I'll meet you next time
beside the playground fence
where we'll fool around and run
and hide from our parents.
In my memory, there are holes,
but even worse, there are dents;
Our fortunes and secrets
no longer make sense.
Counting hours for distance
while hearts fade,
I'm throwing up my sentences,
every confession made.
And then that ticking voice
offers me a trade,
but our connections are dissolving
and are horribly frayed.
Our lives were delayed
and now they run conversely.
My brain used to love you
despite impossibility,
but the sun has stolen
our youthful unity;
I won't fight him, though:
he has his immunity.
To the burden of uncertainty,
I am no longer confined.
In your shadow is a shape:
a body and a mind.
That spot behind my eyes
is no longer blind.
So, my history was continued
not merely redefined.
********************************************************
ROFL@life.
This is about how weird life can be, especially when you live long enough - and love long enough - to watch things come full circle. It's supposed to be sad while also being optimistic. It's about feeling disoriented, but knowing it's the only way to get back on your feet, to a place where sometimes things make sense again. It really IS about how time is poetry. Over hours, day, years, and on, lives are lived and lessons are learned and if you focus it right, you can make something come of it. Unanswerable questions - only with time and passion - find their answers. Maybe that's how one finds love too. There's time to right your wrongs. There's time to reconnect. There's time for those relationships that make no sense right now to work themselves out, define themselves, and redefine themselves. There's time to pull yourself out of whatever fucking ditch you threw yourself into and make it into something of beauty, of art, of worth. You just have to DO it. Kevin wrote me once and said: "Nothing's ever 'over.' Life is about accepting these pieces of ourselves that are fucked up and realizing that through acceptance we can better figure out how to keep those pieces at bay." Even your low points can have meaning if you make something good come of it. Don't let yourself waste away in vain.
This is about time taking things away and giving things back all in due course.
"Sew it on. Face the fool. December's tragic drive when time is poetry and stolen the world outside, the waiting could crush my heart..." Sunny Day Real Estate Seven [Clearly, I don't quote this song enough.]
"With the salt all ablaze and the ships where they lay, there must be great fear in a spark..." AA Bondy Of The Sea
"Meet me there in the blue where words are not. Feeling remains: sincerity, trust in me, throw myself into your door. I go in circles. Running down..." Sunny Day Real Estate In Circles
"But the connections go. Bubbles break on the surface like they do on the flooded craters round here - the ones that've been here for years and have God knows what underneath." Billy Prior via Pat Barker The Ghost Road
"History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." Winston Churchill
Thursday, August 20, 2009
We Are Who We Are
I just want to be in a car right now
on my way to anywhere.
Tiny American towns
with lazy Sunday afternoons
call me away from
may air conditioned office rooms.
Sometimes I see these four walls
as my living tomb,
but there's fresh air somewhere
and a nation in bloom.
Wind and sand
stings our cheeks
the happiest red
that burns for weeks.
There's nothing in front of us
except miles and heat
and we sing with the stereo,
a little off beat.
We're on our way to a place
we'll never see again
unless we truly are the lucky ones
every now and then
There's an ocean that isn't mine
just around the bend.
"Mine is better, but
yours can pretend."
We joke that we don't know
how we wound up so far
from our rooms and basements
and our dingy corner bars.
But we've known all along
because we are who we are.
I want to see a snow-faced boy
and I want to hear a little guitar.
************************************************
Feeling tired of being at home. I want a road trip that's more than just an over-night, but...I have - like - a job now. Downgrade. Haha...well, not really, but it makes trips tougher. Today, I missed driving through desert. Weird.
"Do you know -- who I am?" - Ummm...all my friends.
"I want to hear a little guitar. I think it's time to put the top down." Counting Crows Raining In Baltimore
"Lullaby for a snow-faced girl is what I'll sing, watching you, the whole time." Kevin Devine Lullaby For A Snow-Faced Girl
on my way to anywhere.
Tiny American towns
with lazy Sunday afternoons
call me away from
may air conditioned office rooms.
Sometimes I see these four walls
as my living tomb,
but there's fresh air somewhere
and a nation in bloom.
Wind and sand
stings our cheeks
the happiest red
that burns for weeks.
There's nothing in front of us
except miles and heat
and we sing with the stereo,
a little off beat.
We're on our way to a place
we'll never see again
unless we truly are the lucky ones
every now and then
There's an ocean that isn't mine
just around the bend.
"Mine is better, but
yours can pretend."
We joke that we don't know
how we wound up so far
from our rooms and basements
and our dingy corner bars.
But we've known all along
because we are who we are.
I want to see a snow-faced boy
and I want to hear a little guitar.
************************************************
Feeling tired of being at home. I want a road trip that's more than just an over-night, but...I have - like - a job now. Downgrade. Haha...well, not really, but it makes trips tougher. Today, I missed driving through desert. Weird.
"Do you know -- who I am?" - Ummm...all my friends.
"I want to hear a little guitar. I think it's time to put the top down." Counting Crows Raining In Baltimore
"Lullaby for a snow-faced girl is what I'll sing, watching you, the whole time." Kevin Devine Lullaby For A Snow-Faced Girl
Saturday, August 15, 2009
While Oceana Weeps
Humans are skin and bone
and blood and bite.
Our roots dig deep
in uneasy soil.
Like weeds,
we strangle.
A choking planet,
red in her face,
glares up at us
with bloodshot eyes.
"You told me lies,"
she shouts and cries.
I shake me head;
my hands are tied.
While Oceana weeps,
we multiple:
a spider's egg hatching
with seedy spawn.
'We are pretty parasitic,'
said under-breath and parenthetic.
I liken this disaster
to Revelation
only faster.
And there are no pearly gates.
What is the proper fate
for a species programmed for hate?
For beings who need bribery
to have principle?
Even martyrdom means nothing
without sex.
Oceana rages;
she curses and spits.
She's begging you, please,
to find your wits.
But her tears will flood
and her crust will cave in
before we recognize
the mess created.
When the sun stops turning
over our homes and huts
just say, "It wasn't me;
the bitch went nuts."
*************************************************************
Told ya I'd be posting quickly!
And yes, I know it should be "'It was I; the bitch went nuts," but the bystanders in this poem aren't very bright anyway.
This is another poem about the need to be better to each other while (meshing in the Apocalypse...for good measure). It's about having to open your eyes and stop making excuses. It's about the need to stop thinking about Life in capitalistic terms. Whether you believe in Mother Nature, God, or non-of-the-above, it's about the reality of a dying planet and the need to actually do something about it...things that are very doable if only people were willing to sacrifice for it. There's an "I" in the poem because I think a lot of people (myself included) want to help, but haven't really made a whole lot of progress because of disenfranchisement (i.e. what can I really do? and is my small contribution really going to help when corporations won't commit to making any contributions at all?). I don't know what the answers are. But it's about having to do SOMETHING.
[By the way, I recently found my draft for that 'Apocalypse' poem I was working on a year ago and...it's a lot better than I remembered, so I may get back on that one soon.]
"These tides sweep us out of reach." Sparta While Oceana Sleeps
"And you were too busy steering the conversation toward the Lord to hear the voice of the Spirit, begging you to shut the fuck up." Pedro The Lion Foregone Conclusions
"The bitch went nuts. She stabbed my basketball. And the speakers to my stereo. She called me 'cunt,' but nothing prepared me for what I found when I came home. Oh and I made my own bed. I lie in it. You lie in yours. You lie, you lie, in yours. But they want more, they're at my door with torches. Please leave me alone, you know. Just shut it. Just shut it. Just shut it. The bitch went nuts." Ben Folds The Bitch Went Nuts
and blood and bite.
Our roots dig deep
in uneasy soil.
Like weeds,
we strangle.
A choking planet,
red in her face,
glares up at us
with bloodshot eyes.
"You told me lies,"
she shouts and cries.
I shake me head;
my hands are tied.
While Oceana weeps,
we multiple:
a spider's egg hatching
with seedy spawn.
'We are pretty parasitic,'
said under-breath and parenthetic.
I liken this disaster
to Revelation
only faster.
And there are no pearly gates.
What is the proper fate
for a species programmed for hate?
For beings who need bribery
to have principle?
Even martyrdom means nothing
without sex.
Oceana rages;
she curses and spits.
She's begging you, please,
to find your wits.
But her tears will flood
and her crust will cave in
before we recognize
the mess created.
When the sun stops turning
over our homes and huts
just say, "It wasn't me;
the bitch went nuts."
*************************************************************
Told ya I'd be posting quickly!
And yes, I know it should be "'It was I; the bitch went nuts," but the bystanders in this poem aren't very bright anyway.
This is another poem about the need to be better to each other while (meshing in the Apocalypse...for good measure). It's about having to open your eyes and stop making excuses. It's about the need to stop thinking about Life in capitalistic terms. Whether you believe in Mother Nature, God, or non-of-the-above, it's about the reality of a dying planet and the need to actually do something about it...things that are very doable if only people were willing to sacrifice for it. There's an "I" in the poem because I think a lot of people (myself included) want to help, but haven't really made a whole lot of progress because of disenfranchisement (i.e. what can I really do? and is my small contribution really going to help when corporations won't commit to making any contributions at all?). I don't know what the answers are. But it's about having to do SOMETHING.
[By the way, I recently found my draft for that 'Apocalypse' poem I was working on a year ago and...it's a lot better than I remembered, so I may get back on that one soon.]
"These tides sweep us out of reach." Sparta While Oceana Sleeps
"And you were too busy steering the conversation toward the Lord to hear the voice of the Spirit, begging you to shut the fuck up." Pedro The Lion Foregone Conclusions
"The bitch went nuts. She stabbed my basketball. And the speakers to my stereo. She called me 'cunt,' but nothing prepared me for what I found when I came home. Oh and I made my own bed. I lie in it. You lie in yours. You lie, you lie, in yours. But they want more, they're at my door with torches. Please leave me alone, you know. Just shut it. Just shut it. Just shut it. The bitch went nuts." Ben Folds The Bitch Went Nuts
Friday, August 14, 2009
The Way My Pen Fell
We don't talk as much as we should
most days.
So when the breeze blows
I mistake it for your voice.
You were real once
and you used to glow,
but now I can never find you
lost somewhere below.
So I turn to what I know:
a happy hypothetical in verse or rhyme.
I only write half
of every thought on my mind
because the rest is hard to translate
and I'm at a loss for time.
But my muse is hiding
under a smoke screen
and a dirty mask
so my limerick
turns blasphemous fast.
This isn't the story
I intended to tell;
this is just the way my pen fell.
******************************************
Expect a few new poems in relatively quick succession. I can't promise that, but I've had lines building up in my head for days and I can't mesh any of them together, so they'll all wind up being separate works.
This one is about people who disintegrate.
[For Jess...I have a new one: 'disintegrAAAaaaaatioooon.']
"In the days when you were hopelessly poor, I just liked you more." The Smiths Half A Person
"So you think it out on paper, hypothetical and safer." Kevin Devine This Box Is Empty
"You know you're walking around with a mask on, and you desperately want to take it off and you can't because everybody else thinks it's your face." Dr. W. H. R. Rivers via Pat Barker Regeneration, page 242.
"When you set the table, when you chose the scale, did you write a riddle that you knew they would fail? Did you make them tremble so they would tell the tale? Did you push us when we fell?" David Bazan When We Fell
most days.
So when the breeze blows
I mistake it for your voice.
You were real once
and you used to glow,
but now I can never find you
lost somewhere below.
So I turn to what I know:
a happy hypothetical in verse or rhyme.
I only write half
of every thought on my mind
because the rest is hard to translate
and I'm at a loss for time.
But my muse is hiding
under a smoke screen
and a dirty mask
so my limerick
turns blasphemous fast.
This isn't the story
I intended to tell;
this is just the way my pen fell.
******************************************
Expect a few new poems in relatively quick succession. I can't promise that, but I've had lines building up in my head for days and I can't mesh any of them together, so they'll all wind up being separate works.
This one is about people who disintegrate.
[For Jess...I have a new one: 'disintegrAAAaaaaatioooon.']
"In the days when you were hopelessly poor, I just liked you more." The Smiths Half A Person
"So you think it out on paper, hypothetical and safer." Kevin Devine This Box Is Empty
"You know you're walking around with a mask on, and you desperately want to take it off and you can't because everybody else thinks it's your face." Dr. W. H. R. Rivers via Pat Barker Regeneration, page 242.
"When you set the table, when you chose the scale, did you write a riddle that you knew they would fail? Did you make them tremble so they would tell the tale? Did you push us when we fell?" David Bazan When We Fell
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Maybe It's Rapture
The devil's at play
in your kids' playground.
He's in your neighbors' eyes
and your Senators' hearts.
Is it the death of humility?
Have we forgotten our humanity?
Maybe it's Rapture:
one dead policeman
and two dead suspects,
or
a head on collision,
or
an accidental overdose
or
a war barely begun,
we're told, but over - so over.
The officer fires
then he crosses his chest:
like a target on his heart
with a bullet, now he rests.
His badge on the pavement
and his brothers surround,
but the damage is done:
no silver lining to be found.
The dealers that dealt
the deadly blow die
drowning in His blood
(with which the streets now flood).
Their families left
with a lifetime of guilt
for the lives they'd built
and the sons they'd killed.
Her car flipped over
on top of mine;
I was dead before the fire was out.
With scorched baby
and headless husband,
I watch the reports
on how the highway is shut down
so "find other modes of transport."
Is this all that can be said
in the wake of what is lost?
The newscopter circles the scene
to survey the cost:
it's dollar signs and hours
and three young lives erased
and you'll never hear my name
or know the smile on my daughter's face.
He shuffles and stirs;
his vision a blur,
walking his tight rope
of disaster and high hopes.
What's another pill?
If only he could sleep.
Ambien and Vicoden
cure all your ills.
Orange bottles fill his dresser drawers;
he can't remember what they're all for.
But he knows those voices in his head
will shortly disappear.
His blood becomes thin
and his skin almost sheer
and when his heart stops,
he won't feel the fear.
The men march in step;
they watch their feet
plunge into mud.
They're hot and hungry
and the air's too thick
to breath their lungs full.
A young mother clenches
a folded up flag:
all that returned
of her high school sweetheart.
Her son cries out for his daddy,
but flags don't play catch as well as young men.
She wonders:
for what cause will my son never know his father?
And she knows "for freedom"
with never be a good enough answer.
So come 'round here all good Christians
(and even you bad ones);
listen here you social liberals
and you fiscal conservatives:
can't you see your planet is crying
as your children are dying?
She can grow anew,
but has grown rather accustomed to you
and she's begging that you be good,
though it's been a long time
since you've been good.
Don't keep your feet planted
still where they stood;
pick them up with all your force.
There's a fork in the road
and it's time to change course.
**********************************************
It's been a little while since I posted anything. I have a job now, so I either don't have a lot of time to write or I'm just too tired to write anything decent. I've written stuff, but nothing decent until this. I've had a lot on my mind. Getting up every morning and watching the news sort of makes me realize why I was so depressed in high school...watching the news can be unsettling in the morning and then it sets the tone for the day. On the other hand, I'd hate to live an uninformed life. Network news isn't the best place to go, but it gives you an idea of what's going on.
For the past several mornings, they've run stories on Officer DiNardo who was killed in Jersey City last week. [Jersey City cop dies from gunshot wounds] It's stuck in my head and is the basis for the second stanza. The rest of the stanzas are hypothetical, not based on anyone in particular. We cover death in the country strangely. Maybe it's universal; I don't know. But we seem to take it so casually. Unless it's Michael Jackson or something.
So, this is about the NEED for humans to look out for one another. We need to treat ourselves and our neighbors better. We shouldn't be concerned about others only to the extent that it effects us. Our world - our home - can survive without us, but...what would be the fun in that? If we don't pull together soon, though...all of everything, erased.
Lots of inspiration...
"Oh, the living and the dying: how easily you bruise. Oh, Delia, I don't go around when the devil's loose..." AA Bondy When The Devil's Loose
"I don't want to talk about Jesus, I just want to see his face. I don't want to talk about Jesus, I just want to see his face. The trees are swingin' like hangin' men, and I just want to see his face. The trees are swingin' like hangin' men, and I just want to see his face. And rapture, sweet rapture, won't you lay your hands on me. Rapture, sweet rapture, won't you lay your hands on me, for I am blind..." AA Bondy Rapture, Sweet Rapture
"Because I've had to come to grips with scope and figure, how my problems stack up in a world this close to ruin; I don't believe that it's rapture..." Kevin Devine Ballgame
"But it's over - so over - you're imitating, fascinating conversations based upon my lies." Pablo Loser Crew
"A young mother down at Smithfield, 5 am, looking for food for her kids. In her arms she holds three cold babies and the first word that they learned was 'please.' These are dangerous days. To say what you feel is to dig your own grave..." Sinead O'Connor Black Boys On Mopeds
"Only that if I were going to call myself a Christian, I'd have to call myself a pacifist as well. I don't think it's possible to c-call yourself a C-Christian and...and j-just leave out the awkward bits." Wilfred Owen via Pat Baker Regeneration, page 83.
"It's been a long time; it's been a long time; it's been a long time since I've been good...Heaven can wait; Heaven can wait. I will be good, swear I'll be good. I will be good; I swear I'll be good." The New Frontiers Spirit and Skin
"And every coughing car and every coiled snake and every shrieking star and every burning stake: dissolved to atmosphere, all of everything, erased..." Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased
in your kids' playground.
He's in your neighbors' eyes
and your Senators' hearts.
Is it the death of humility?
Have we forgotten our humanity?
Maybe it's Rapture:
one dead policeman
and two dead suspects,
or
a head on collision,
or
an accidental overdose
or
a war barely begun,
we're told, but over - so over.
The officer fires
then he crosses his chest:
like a target on his heart
with a bullet, now he rests.
His badge on the pavement
and his brothers surround,
but the damage is done:
no silver lining to be found.
The dealers that dealt
the deadly blow die
drowning in His blood
(with which the streets now flood).
Their families left
with a lifetime of guilt
for the lives they'd built
and the sons they'd killed.
Her car flipped over
on top of mine;
I was dead before the fire was out.
With scorched baby
and headless husband,
I watch the reports
on how the highway is shut down
so "find other modes of transport."
Is this all that can be said
in the wake of what is lost?
The newscopter circles the scene
to survey the cost:
it's dollar signs and hours
and three young lives erased
and you'll never hear my name
or know the smile on my daughter's face.
He shuffles and stirs;
his vision a blur,
walking his tight rope
of disaster and high hopes.
What's another pill?
If only he could sleep.
Ambien and Vicoden
cure all your ills.
Orange bottles fill his dresser drawers;
he can't remember what they're all for.
But he knows those voices in his head
will shortly disappear.
His blood becomes thin
and his skin almost sheer
and when his heart stops,
he won't feel the fear.
The men march in step;
they watch their feet
plunge into mud.
They're hot and hungry
and the air's too thick
to breath their lungs full.
A young mother clenches
a folded up flag:
all that returned
of her high school sweetheart.
Her son cries out for his daddy,
but flags don't play catch as well as young men.
She wonders:
for what cause will my son never know his father?
And she knows "for freedom"
with never be a good enough answer.
So come 'round here all good Christians
(and even you bad ones);
listen here you social liberals
and you fiscal conservatives:
can't you see your planet is crying
as your children are dying?
She can grow anew,
but has grown rather accustomed to you
and she's begging that you be good,
though it's been a long time
since you've been good.
Don't keep your feet planted
still where they stood;
pick them up with all your force.
There's a fork in the road
and it's time to change course.
**********************************************
It's been a little while since I posted anything. I have a job now, so I either don't have a lot of time to write or I'm just too tired to write anything decent. I've written stuff, but nothing decent until this. I've had a lot on my mind. Getting up every morning and watching the news sort of makes me realize why I was so depressed in high school...watching the news can be unsettling in the morning and then it sets the tone for the day. On the other hand, I'd hate to live an uninformed life. Network news isn't the best place to go, but it gives you an idea of what's going on.
For the past several mornings, they've run stories on Officer DiNardo who was killed in Jersey City last week. [Jersey City cop dies from gunshot wounds] It's stuck in my head and is the basis for the second stanza. The rest of the stanzas are hypothetical, not based on anyone in particular. We cover death in the country strangely. Maybe it's universal; I don't know. But we seem to take it so casually. Unless it's Michael Jackson or something.
So, this is about the NEED for humans to look out for one another. We need to treat ourselves and our neighbors better. We shouldn't be concerned about others only to the extent that it effects us. Our world - our home - can survive without us, but...what would be the fun in that? If we don't pull together soon, though...all of everything, erased.
Lots of inspiration...
"Oh, the living and the dying: how easily you bruise. Oh, Delia, I don't go around when the devil's loose..." AA Bondy When The Devil's Loose
"I don't want to talk about Jesus, I just want to see his face. I don't want to talk about Jesus, I just want to see his face. The trees are swingin' like hangin' men, and I just want to see his face. The trees are swingin' like hangin' men, and I just want to see his face. And rapture, sweet rapture, won't you lay your hands on me. Rapture, sweet rapture, won't you lay your hands on me, for I am blind..." AA Bondy Rapture, Sweet Rapture
"Because I've had to come to grips with scope and figure, how my problems stack up in a world this close to ruin; I don't believe that it's rapture..." Kevin Devine Ballgame
"But it's over - so over - you're imitating, fascinating conversations based upon my lies." Pablo Loser Crew
"A young mother down at Smithfield, 5 am, looking for food for her kids. In her arms she holds three cold babies and the first word that they learned was 'please.' These are dangerous days. To say what you feel is to dig your own grave..." Sinead O'Connor Black Boys On Mopeds
"Only that if I were going to call myself a Christian, I'd have to call myself a pacifist as well. I don't think it's possible to c-call yourself a C-Christian and...and j-just leave out the awkward bits." Wilfred Owen via Pat Baker Regeneration, page 83.
"It's been a long time; it's been a long time; it's been a long time since I've been good...Heaven can wait; Heaven can wait. I will be good, swear I'll be good. I will be good; I swear I'll be good." The New Frontiers Spirit and Skin
"And every coughing car and every coiled snake and every shrieking star and every burning stake: dissolved to atmosphere, all of everything, erased..." Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Far Enough
We're such a nothing of a start.
We stall before we depart;
we never say anything anyway.
A simple plea
with great solimnity,
I lay down my sword.
Words shatter bones
with syntax and tones
and I now I'm beaten and scarred.
Your prepositions paralyze
and your commas tell lies:
you are a walking ellipsis.
But you're sung and not said,
hummed and not read,
and I tap my feet as you fade.
Defeated today,
I wander far away
like I'll find you if I walk far enough.
******************************************************
It's about having something, taking it for granted, fucking it up, and then missing it when it's gone.
"So tie the noose and raise the cross. The martyr's arrived. A desperate plea for sympathy; it's all you need..." Straylight Run Sympathy For The Martyr
"'Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be
Witness the solemnity."
P.B. Shelley The Mask Of Anarchy
"I had finally given up on love and romance. If I laid down the sword, I'm giving my innocence..." Miniature Tigers Cannibal Queen
We stall before we depart;
we never say anything anyway.
A simple plea
with great solimnity,
I lay down my sword.
Words shatter bones
with syntax and tones
and I now I'm beaten and scarred.
Your prepositions paralyze
and your commas tell lies:
you are a walking ellipsis.
But you're sung and not said,
hummed and not read,
and I tap my feet as you fade.
Defeated today,
I wander far away
like I'll find you if I walk far enough.
******************************************************
It's about having something, taking it for granted, fucking it up, and then missing it when it's gone.
"So tie the noose and raise the cross. The martyr's arrived. A desperate plea for sympathy; it's all you need..." Straylight Run Sympathy For The Martyr
"'Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be
Witness the solemnity."
P.B. Shelley The Mask Of Anarchy
"I had finally given up on love and romance. If I laid down the sword, I'm giving my innocence..." Miniature Tigers Cannibal Queen
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sweet Dreams, Momentarily
Your body needs a rest,
but your mind will get the best
of any lie you dole out
until you shake and shout.
Prolificacy
is a sin, you see,
but what matters most
is that meddling ghost
behind your eyes,
muted and paralyzed.
Measured words - like incantations - shoo
away the demons haunting you.
A proverb, a poem, a lullaby,
lingering tales, then a sweet goodbye:
a sentence with resolve
and your specters dissolve.
Sweet dreams, momentarily.
'Til you wake warily.
Razor blade daydreams:
your muse, it seems
and now you can't stand
the blood on your hands.
It's a story untold
or too folded to unfold:
tuck it tightly twixt your teeth:
hide the secrets underneath.
Hold your breath and just pretend
that you control the way this ends.
**********************************************
This is about all the things you try to do when you're feeling your weakest, but sometimes it gets the best of you anyway.
"'Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free -"
P.B. Shelley The Mask Of Anarchy (Seriously, read this poem and ponder upon it.)
"He has a halo, for dreams return to dust. Words dissolve on the page like tears in blood." Sunny Day Real Estate Rodeo Jones
"When your mother sends back all your invitations and your father to your sister he explains that you're tired of yourself and all of your creations: won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?" Bob Dylan Queen Jane, Approximately
but your mind will get the best
of any lie you dole out
until you shake and shout.
Prolificacy
is a sin, you see,
but what matters most
is that meddling ghost
behind your eyes,
muted and paralyzed.
Measured words - like incantations - shoo
away the demons haunting you.
A proverb, a poem, a lullaby,
lingering tales, then a sweet goodbye:
a sentence with resolve
and your specters dissolve.
Sweet dreams, momentarily.
'Til you wake warily.
Razor blade daydreams:
your muse, it seems
and now you can't stand
the blood on your hands.
It's a story untold
or too folded to unfold:
tuck it tightly twixt your teeth:
hide the secrets underneath.
Hold your breath and just pretend
that you control the way this ends.
**********************************************
This is about all the things you try to do when you're feeling your weakest, but sometimes it gets the best of you anyway.
"'Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free -"
P.B. Shelley The Mask Of Anarchy (Seriously, read this poem and ponder upon it.)
"He has a halo, for dreams return to dust. Words dissolve on the page like tears in blood." Sunny Day Real Estate Rodeo Jones
"When your mother sends back all your invitations and your father to your sister he explains that you're tired of yourself and all of your creations: won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?" Bob Dylan Queen Jane, Approximately
Monday, June 22, 2009
Road Maps And Mixtapes
Ghost towns and highways,
from ocean to ocean:
it's the life we live
and the places we've been.
An artist's tribute
in headphones and hearts
reminds me of how
we're not so far apart.
Kindred spirits
can always find
their way back to each other
in due time.
Road maps and mix tapes
eclipse the gap
and parallel for now
travel our paths.
In the span of space
from rhythm to rhyme,
cacti to pine,
and the hours that
without regard
pass us by,
I lay awake
and hum a tune
that was written by you
and - to me - rings true.
A lullaby
and we'll be fine:
sleep peacefully
all through the night.
*************************************
While I'm revealed I don't have a "tour" this summer (because I'm poor and also just got a job from which I can't just take three weeks off), I miss the road. This is about driving to weird places and it's about why it's worth it. It's also about finding something to help you sleep at night.
"You'll taste it in time. You'll taste it...it time." Sunny Day Real Estate Seven
"Sleep peacefully. Like the way you look this morning. With faith in your eyes and me in your hands: a whispered promise in your heart. Lullaby for a snow-faced girl is what I'll sing watching you, the whole time. It's three-o-five on Monday morning...or is it night? I don't know. Is it night? I don't know. We'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be fine." Kevin Devine Lullaby For A Snow-Faced Girl
from ocean to ocean:
it's the life we live
and the places we've been.
An artist's tribute
in headphones and hearts
reminds me of how
we're not so far apart.
Kindred spirits
can always find
their way back to each other
in due time.
Road maps and mix tapes
eclipse the gap
and parallel for now
travel our paths.
In the span of space
from rhythm to rhyme,
cacti to pine,
and the hours that
without regard
pass us by,
I lay awake
and hum a tune
that was written by you
and - to me - rings true.
A lullaby
and we'll be fine:
sleep peacefully
all through the night.
*************************************
While I'm revealed I don't have a "tour" this summer (because I'm poor and also just got a job from which I can't just take three weeks off), I miss the road. This is about driving to weird places and it's about why it's worth it. It's also about finding something to help you sleep at night.
"You'll taste it in time. You'll taste it...it time." Sunny Day Real Estate Seven
"Sleep peacefully. Like the way you look this morning. With faith in your eyes and me in your hands: a whispered promise in your heart. Lullaby for a snow-faced girl is what I'll sing watching you, the whole time. It's three-o-five on Monday morning...or is it night? I don't know. Is it night? I don't know. We'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be fine." Kevin Devine Lullaby For A Snow-Faced Girl
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Taut We Remain
If we're all in this together
then I'm no more dead than you.
I loved as best I could
from so many miles away.
And the distance between us, dear,
well that's just the price we pay
for honor
and sin
(and look at the mess we're in)
and the solutions discovered wherein
dissolve
like our bonds.
But taut we remain
still
despite the heavy rain
and the awkward pain.
Sunshine seeps through panes
and reminds us how clear
vision can be
in hindsight.
This might
be the eye of the storm
or the eyes staring at me
from that table across the bar.
You leave me guessing:
forever haunted,
forever hunted,
a forever of only one.
Life and death
equate in sleep
and sleepless nights
scare me to death.
Windows and doors
and wiley floorboards
sing cautious lullabies
of how my heart defies
reason.
Is there something to believe in?
Are my lung still breathing?
What's wrong with me, then?
************************************
I know is should say "Is there something in which to believe?," but "believe" doesn't rhyme as nicely with "reason," so deal with it.
"Ugh...liiiiiike, I don't know." Exactly. I don't know. This plagued me for a couple of weeks and I don't know if the outcome matters at all, if it was worth all the trouble. This is about things that won't die; it about resilience. But it's also about the strain of that resilience. Lots of things feel unstable and messy right now yet everything seems to be staying in place, for better or for worse.
I found this interesting:
Taut -
[–adjective, -er, -est.]
1. tightly drawn; tense; not slack.
2. emotionally or mentally strained or tense: taut nerves.
3. in good order or condition; tidy; neat.
[Courtesy of http://www.dictionary.com: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/taut]
...those seems like sort of an ironic mesh of meanings for this little word.
"The people you've been before that you don't want around anymore. They push and shove and won't bend to your will. I'll keep them still." Elliott Smith Between The Bars
"Peace, be still." Pedro The Lion Secret Of The Easy Yoke
"What's a bond if it dissolves in water?" Saves The Day My Sweet Fracture
then I'm no more dead than you.
I loved as best I could
from so many miles away.
And the distance between us, dear,
well that's just the price we pay
for honor
and sin
(and look at the mess we're in)
and the solutions discovered wherein
dissolve
like our bonds.
But taut we remain
still
despite the heavy rain
and the awkward pain.
Sunshine seeps through panes
and reminds us how clear
vision can be
in hindsight.
This might
be the eye of the storm
or the eyes staring at me
from that table across the bar.
You leave me guessing:
forever haunted,
forever hunted,
a forever of only one.
Life and death
equate in sleep
and sleepless nights
scare me to death.
Windows and doors
and wiley floorboards
sing cautious lullabies
of how my heart defies
reason.
Is there something to believe in?
Are my lung still breathing?
What's wrong with me, then?
************************************
I know is should say "Is there something in which to believe?," but "believe" doesn't rhyme as nicely with "reason," so deal with it.
"Ugh...liiiiiike, I don't know." Exactly. I don't know. This plagued me for a couple of weeks and I don't know if the outcome matters at all, if it was worth all the trouble. This is about things that won't die; it about resilience. But it's also about the strain of that resilience. Lots of things feel unstable and messy right now yet everything seems to be staying in place, for better or for worse.
I found this interesting:
Taut -
[–adjective, -er, -est.]
1. tightly drawn; tense; not slack.
2. emotionally or mentally strained or tense: taut nerves.
3. in good order or condition; tidy; neat.
[Courtesy of http://www.dictionary.com: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/taut]
...those seems like sort of an ironic mesh of meanings for this little word.
"The people you've been before that you don't want around anymore. They push and shove and won't bend to your will. I'll keep them still." Elliott Smith Between The Bars
"Peace, be still." Pedro The Lion Secret Of The Easy Yoke
"What's a bond if it dissolves in water?" Saves The Day My Sweet Fracture
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Consequence
Shape shifting shards of sanity
steal what's left of her reality.
Blues and grays
and passed on days
feel like eternity
weighted with scum and debris.
Your shadow in a haze:
she still loves your gaze.
Rare truths spoken
as righteous tokens
to the girl who longed
(perpetually wronged).
From a dream, awoken:
her fantasy life broken.
She thought she belonged;
it's sorrow prolonged.
But she pulls on her socks
though Consequence knocks
her off her feet:
there's a face she hopes to meet.
He's secured with locks
and hidden in a box
so he'll stay fresh and sweet,
away from misery and deceit.
His visage pleases her:
comfort in a blur.
He's hers alone to view,
but his whispers are untrue.
Promises that never were
inside her cause a stir
and she knows something's askew,
but she'll say she never knew.
He rips through her rib cage
with inconspicuous rage
and drops her heart
like it's just another part:
a war she did not expect to wage
and in which she's unqualified to engage.
She used to be so smart
before he picked her brain apart.
In Oblivion she'll now reside
with a book and a pen by her side.
Consequence claims another soul,
another shining smile he stole.
It's time to hide
to keep her pride
inside her cozy hole
where - at least - she's in control.
*********************************************************
Light twists,
heart skips a beat:
through all this destruction
who knows what you'll be?
*********************************************************
Parts of this have been in my head for a few days. These poems are getting tougher for me to describe: sometimes because I'm not sure what they're about and sometimes because I just don't want to talk about it. I guess it's about recognizing a pattern of unfortunate situations and the consequences of such situations over time. Eventually, it all becomes predictable and almost surreal.
"Goodbye to sleep. I think this staying up is exactly what I need. Take apart your head; take apart the counting and the flock it has bred..." Brand New Degausser
"To vanish into oblivion is easy to do and I try to be, but you know me; I come back when you want me to. Do you miss me, miss misery, like you say you do?" Elliott Smith Miss Misery
"In the depths of my gloom, I crawl out for you. From the peaks of my joy, I crawl back into: tearing me down every time you smile, every shining time you arrive." Sunny Day Real Estate Every Shining Time You Arrive
steal what's left of her reality.
Blues and grays
and passed on days
feel like eternity
weighted with scum and debris.
Your shadow in a haze:
she still loves your gaze.
Rare truths spoken
as righteous tokens
to the girl who longed
(perpetually wronged).
From a dream, awoken:
her fantasy life broken.
She thought she belonged;
it's sorrow prolonged.
But she pulls on her socks
though Consequence knocks
her off her feet:
there's a face she hopes to meet.
He's secured with locks
and hidden in a box
so he'll stay fresh and sweet,
away from misery and deceit.
His visage pleases her:
comfort in a blur.
He's hers alone to view,
but his whispers are untrue.
Promises that never were
inside her cause a stir
and she knows something's askew,
but she'll say she never knew.
He rips through her rib cage
with inconspicuous rage
and drops her heart
like it's just another part:
a war she did not expect to wage
and in which she's unqualified to engage.
She used to be so smart
before he picked her brain apart.
In Oblivion she'll now reside
with a book and a pen by her side.
Consequence claims another soul,
another shining smile he stole.
It's time to hide
to keep her pride
inside her cozy hole
where - at least - she's in control.
*********************************************************
Light twists,
heart skips a beat:
through all this destruction
who knows what you'll be?
*********************************************************
Parts of this have been in my head for a few days. These poems are getting tougher for me to describe: sometimes because I'm not sure what they're about and sometimes because I just don't want to talk about it. I guess it's about recognizing a pattern of unfortunate situations and the consequences of such situations over time. Eventually, it all becomes predictable and almost surreal.
"Goodbye to sleep. I think this staying up is exactly what I need. Take apart your head; take apart the counting and the flock it has bred..." Brand New Degausser
"To vanish into oblivion is easy to do and I try to be, but you know me; I come back when you want me to. Do you miss me, miss misery, like you say you do?" Elliott Smith Miss Misery
"In the depths of my gloom, I crawl out for you. From the peaks of my joy, I crawl back into: tearing me down every time you smile, every shining time you arrive." Sunny Day Real Estate Every Shining Time You Arrive
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wonder Why
I'm not okay, but I will be.
It's a fine line you can't see.
Absurdity
is fond of me.
Hanged with a belt around my throat,
I'm reading your note
and embarrassed letters I wrote
into words of love so remote.
Now drowning under tidal waves
of questions and regrets I stave
off sorrow, but within I cave.
I am not brave,
only broken and stubborn.
It's not of your concern.
It's a lesson I learn and unlearn
and either way I'm left to burn.
On a desk is a picture of us
which I leave you as a posthumous
gift of my naivety and hubris.
Characteristics you won't miss
anyway,
but you may remember someday
when things aren't going your way
and language is no longer your forte.
Will it matter to you
when I lay with a gray hue?
Will you be shaken by the view?
Will you claim you never knew?
It's a long goodbye:
that which has no reply,
for people who don't try.
I will wonder why.
******************************************
This was not what I was supposed to be doing today. Ummm...it's about what you think it's about. Except I'm not actually dead. It's about being an impossible person and facing an impossible situation. It's about how it's never what it appears to be and probably never will be. At least for certain people. At least for me. It's sort of like "lol, me," but also "wtf, me?!"
Also, I sort of miss JamisonParker. Bring it back.
"It's not what we're owed, but it's what we've earned and it's closer than we realize and it's time, now, to burn. So burn, so burn, so burn..." Kevin Devine Time To Burn (foreverandalways)
"Cut this picture into you and me, burn it backwards kill this history..." Elliott Smith Sweet Adeline
"I live in notes and photographs and everything I'm holding back like all the words that weren't enough; you remind me of a song I used to love..." JamisonParker Your Song
It's a fine line you can't see.
Absurdity
is fond of me.
Hanged with a belt around my throat,
I'm reading your note
and embarrassed letters I wrote
into words of love so remote.
Now drowning under tidal waves
of questions and regrets I stave
off sorrow, but within I cave.
I am not brave,
only broken and stubborn.
It's not of your concern.
It's a lesson I learn and unlearn
and either way I'm left to burn.
On a desk is a picture of us
which I leave you as a posthumous
gift of my naivety and hubris.
Characteristics you won't miss
anyway,
but you may remember someday
when things aren't going your way
and language is no longer your forte.
Will it matter to you
when I lay with a gray hue?
Will you be shaken by the view?
Will you claim you never knew?
It's a long goodbye:
that which has no reply,
for people who don't try.
I will wonder why.
******************************************
This was not what I was supposed to be doing today. Ummm...it's about what you think it's about. Except I'm not actually dead. It's about being an impossible person and facing an impossible situation. It's about how it's never what it appears to be and probably never will be. At least for certain people. At least for me. It's sort of like "lol, me," but also "wtf, me?!"
Also, I sort of miss JamisonParker. Bring it back.
"It's not what we're owed, but it's what we've earned and it's closer than we realize and it's time, now, to burn. So burn, so burn, so burn..." Kevin Devine Time To Burn (foreverandalways)
"Cut this picture into you and me, burn it backwards kill this history..." Elliott Smith Sweet Adeline
"I live in notes and photographs and everything I'm holding back like all the words that weren't enough; you remind me of a song I used to love..." JamisonParker Your Song
Monday, May 11, 2009
Love In Dances
She's reading her book
and that look that you threw
and the dagger in her tongue
is of no concern to you.
It's times like these
when silence means everything,
so she's passive and patient
despite the taste and the sting.
But inside her grows
a cancerous mass
of unuttered thoughts
mixed with poisonous gas
that tortures and tears
and remembers the glares
of eyes soft and faces fair;
all the thoughts she couldn't bear.
Photos of imagined memories
haunt her in her sleep.
She wants to scream,
but can't make a peep.
She's a ghost in a fairy tale;
there is no happy ending
for her:
just past and present blending.
It's like you never said a word:
speech through glances
and funny looks,
love in dances.
She cries.
Her tired eyes
shift to hide
their lies.
************************************
I don't know why I'm posting this one.
But - hey! look! - there are stanzas in this one! I haven't done that in a while!
"It's times like these when silence means everything and no one is to know about this..." Taking Back Sunday Ghost Man On Third
"I'm the family's unowned boy, golden curls of envied hair, pretty girls with faces fair see the shine in the black sheep boy..." Tim Hardin Black Sheep Boy
and that look that you threw
and the dagger in her tongue
is of no concern to you.
It's times like these
when silence means everything,
so she's passive and patient
despite the taste and the sting.
But inside her grows
a cancerous mass
of unuttered thoughts
mixed with poisonous gas
that tortures and tears
and remembers the glares
of eyes soft and faces fair;
all the thoughts she couldn't bear.
Photos of imagined memories
haunt her in her sleep.
She wants to scream,
but can't make a peep.
She's a ghost in a fairy tale;
there is no happy ending
for her:
just past and present blending.
It's like you never said a word:
speech through glances
and funny looks,
love in dances.
She cries.
Her tired eyes
shift to hide
their lies.
************************************
I don't know why I'm posting this one.
But - hey! look! - there are stanzas in this one! I haven't done that in a while!
"It's times like these when silence means everything and no one is to know about this..." Taking Back Sunday Ghost Man On Third
"I'm the family's unowned boy, golden curls of envied hair, pretty girls with faces fair see the shine in the black sheep boy..." Tim Hardin Black Sheep Boy
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Songs And Cigarettes
A new face,
a soul reborn:
from a carcass
I am torn.
Such bloody symmetry
is what remains of me
in muddled minutes
when no word fits.
Repetitive at best,
I make the wrong bets.
I hear your threats
over songs and cigarettes.
Played like your marionettes
or hidden under silhouettes
my breath is shallow
as I'm hung from these gallows.
Branches and bones break
and one last breath I take.
Passers-by will dream and wonder
how long 'til I am torn asunder.
Come dance with me
under this killing tree
where I will be
eternally.
***************************************************
^ What I did while I should have been working on my short story.
I'm really not that depressed. Honestly. But when Gordon Schochet recognizes that a strength of mine is writing "dark," I feel like maybe that's something on which I should focus.
Is it bad that it comes relatively naturally?
"Sew it on. Face the fool. The mirrors lie - those aren't my eyes - destroy them, raise my hand. Reflected in savage shards: a new face, a soul reborn..." Sunny Day Real Estate Seven
"I dreamed another dream and I was free and no sorrow can find me under that killing tree as I wait for my true love..." AA Bondy Killing Tree
a soul reborn:
from a carcass
I am torn.
Such bloody symmetry
is what remains of me
in muddled minutes
when no word fits.
Repetitive at best,
I make the wrong bets.
I hear your threats
over songs and cigarettes.
Played like your marionettes
or hidden under silhouettes
my breath is shallow
as I'm hung from these gallows.
Branches and bones break
and one last breath I take.
Passers-by will dream and wonder
how long 'til I am torn asunder.
Come dance with me
under this killing tree
where I will be
eternally.
***************************************************
^ What I did while I should have been working on my short story.
I'm really not that depressed. Honestly. But when Gordon Schochet recognizes that a strength of mine is writing "dark," I feel like maybe that's something on which I should focus.
Is it bad that it comes relatively naturally?
"Sew it on. Face the fool. The mirrors lie - those aren't my eyes - destroy them, raise my hand. Reflected in savage shards: a new face, a soul reborn..." Sunny Day Real Estate Seven
"I dreamed another dream and I was free and no sorrow can find me under that killing tree as I wait for my true love..." AA Bondy Killing Tree
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Bloodshot Beauty
Broken artist's soul,
now you understand it all.
Red splatters against the wall:
you've seen the rise; you've seen the fall.
The bloody brain matter brawl -
away from which you were lucky to crawl -
left welts and scratches
from wrestling matches
in which you were over matched
and underestimated.
You hated
and seethed
and choked on air
unhealthy to breathe.
Pure water eyes
use pale lids for disguise,
your bloodshot beauty:
now too horrific to see.
Your lungs filled up with paint
and your muscles seized without restraint.
A God above you - a saint -
appears as you begin to faint.
As the blue bird sky sinks
into solemn silence,
I think,
I will dream of such violence.
**********************************************
I've written a few poems recently, but none were any good. Not that this one is, per se, but I need to get back on the wagon at some point, right?
"You turned white like a saint. I'm tired of dancing on a pot of gold-flaked paint. Oh we're so very precious, you and I, and everything that you do makes me want to die. Oh, I just told the biggest lie..." Elliott Smith The Biggest Lie
"And I dream of Michelangelo when I'm lying in my bed. I see God upon the ceiling; I see angels overhead. And he seems so close as he reaches out his hand, but we are never quite as close as we are led to understand..." Counting Crows When I Dream Of Michelangelo
"It's my brother's blood in my dirty lungs, in my crooked mouth, on my swollen tongue, on my father's gun, on each stranger's face, across the blue bird sky, on every hand I shake..." Kevin Devine Brother's Blood
now you understand it all.
Red splatters against the wall:
you've seen the rise; you've seen the fall.
The bloody brain matter brawl -
away from which you were lucky to crawl -
left welts and scratches
from wrestling matches
in which you were over matched
and underestimated.
You hated
and seethed
and choked on air
unhealthy to breathe.
Pure water eyes
use pale lids for disguise,
your bloodshot beauty:
now too horrific to see.
Your lungs filled up with paint
and your muscles seized without restraint.
A God above you - a saint -
appears as you begin to faint.
As the blue bird sky sinks
into solemn silence,
I think,
I will dream of such violence.
**********************************************
I've written a few poems recently, but none were any good. Not that this one is, per se, but I need to get back on the wagon at some point, right?
"You turned white like a saint. I'm tired of dancing on a pot of gold-flaked paint. Oh we're so very precious, you and I, and everything that you do makes me want to die. Oh, I just told the biggest lie..." Elliott Smith The Biggest Lie
"And I dream of Michelangelo when I'm lying in my bed. I see God upon the ceiling; I see angels overhead. And he seems so close as he reaches out his hand, but we are never quite as close as we are led to understand..." Counting Crows When I Dream Of Michelangelo
"It's my brother's blood in my dirty lungs, in my crooked mouth, on my swollen tongue, on my father's gun, on each stranger's face, across the blue bird sky, on every hand I shake..." Kevin Devine Brother's Blood
Monday, March 02, 2009
So Many Things That Never Worked
Running backwards,
chasing cars,
blaring music,
thousands more,
hot rush of smoke,
and a blinding fear:
the issues that
have led us here.
A limerick that
I couldn't sing,
a gift to you,
I couldn't bring,
a carrier pigeon
who dropped his note,
a cursing sailor
who lost his boat:
I am so many things
that never worked.
I jerked
and threw away
what wouldn't stay
or ran away
anyway.
Today,
on snowy fields
on back roads
in country lands
where promises bestowed
are daily broken
(my rightful token)
there are girls and boys
happily making noise,
and holding cold hands
and making grandiose plans.
My toes are numb
and my nose is red
and I'm swallowing truths
I never said.
***********************************************
"Don't ask me nothin' about nothin'. I just might tell you the truth." Bob Dylan Outlaw Blues
chasing cars,
blaring music,
thousands more,
hot rush of smoke,
and a blinding fear:
the issues that
have led us here.
A limerick that
I couldn't sing,
a gift to you,
I couldn't bring,
a carrier pigeon
who dropped his note,
a cursing sailor
who lost his boat:
I am so many things
that never worked.
I jerked
and threw away
what wouldn't stay
or ran away
anyway.
Today,
on snowy fields
on back roads
in country lands
where promises bestowed
are daily broken
(my rightful token)
there are girls and boys
happily making noise,
and holding cold hands
and making grandiose plans.
My toes are numb
and my nose is red
and I'm swallowing truths
I never said.
***********************************************
"Don't ask me nothin' about nothin'. I just might tell you the truth." Bob Dylan Outlaw Blues
Friday, February 27, 2009
Miles Behind Us
There are simple things
that make us move;
they change our shapes,
make us love like fools.
You see your reflection
in the pools of her eyes,
as if that's the only place
wherein your silhouette is safe.
That unfamiliar feeling
is her own heart beating
and that mess in the mirror
cleans up pretty well,
but she'll scoff as she walks
and she'll hide as she talks.
That which -
by any other standards -
are deemed unequivocal,
she questions the most...
as if questions
bring forth truths.
Your hand on hers is true
and so is that grin from across the room,
but so are the endless silences
and all those miles behind us.
**********************************************
"Yesterday, I watched you leave ten seconds too late. Yesterday." The Movielife Ten Seconds Too Late
that make us move;
they change our shapes,
make us love like fools.
You see your reflection
in the pools of her eyes,
as if that's the only place
wherein your silhouette is safe.
That unfamiliar feeling
is her own heart beating
and that mess in the mirror
cleans up pretty well,
but she'll scoff as she walks
and she'll hide as she talks.
That which -
by any other standards -
are deemed unequivocal,
she questions the most...
as if questions
bring forth truths.
Your hand on hers is true
and so is that grin from across the room,
but so are the endless silences
and all those miles behind us.
**********************************************
"Yesterday, I watched you leave ten seconds too late. Yesterday." The Movielife Ten Seconds Too Late
Friday, February 13, 2009
Light I Lit
The sound of your voice
fades in and out,
but I guess I believe you
without a doubt.
There are so many words
you know nothing about
and - like a child held captive -
I'll scream and shout.
You think you're so smooth,
but you lack class and clout.
Souring, searching, but
stuck so still,
motionless waves that
claim their kill,
I'm hungry and hunted;
you'll get your fill.
Your shadow behind me:
the chase is your thrill.
Once, I thought it made sense;
it was a perfect fit,
but you showed your knives
and you threw and it hit
and you outsmarted me
with your charm and wit.
But you're soft and you're warm
and what I know I can't admit,
so when you're on your way back home
follow that light I lit.
*************************************************
"This little light of mine, shine bright and blind the reaper's eyes, hear you stomping on the tops of pines. We rest as death lays on his knife." Wild Sweet Orange An Atlas To Follow
"'If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay,' said Gatsby. 'You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.'" F.S. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby
fades in and out,
but I guess I believe you
without a doubt.
There are so many words
you know nothing about
and - like a child held captive -
I'll scream and shout.
You think you're so smooth,
but you lack class and clout.
Souring, searching, but
stuck so still,
motionless waves that
claim their kill,
I'm hungry and hunted;
you'll get your fill.
Your shadow behind me:
the chase is your thrill.
Once, I thought it made sense;
it was a perfect fit,
but you showed your knives
and you threw and it hit
and you outsmarted me
with your charm and wit.
But you're soft and you're warm
and what I know I can't admit,
so when you're on your way back home
follow that light I lit.
*************************************************
"This little light of mine, shine bright and blind the reaper's eyes, hear you stomping on the tops of pines. We rest as death lays on his knife." Wild Sweet Orange An Atlas To Follow
"'If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay,' said Gatsby. 'You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.'" F.S. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby
Monday, February 02, 2009
Get Your Way
Keep far away from me
like I'm diseased and contagious.
Already at an arm's length,
I'm still a threat, still dangerous.
I want your smell, your taste,
though I know that's outrageous.
It's a constant stream of
knowing and never knowing
that keeps my thoughts
flowing and over flowing
like you can't make up your mind
while mine is going and growing.
Hold me close
then throw me aside.
"I want in!"
I haplessly cried.
And with silence
you amply replied.
You had me fooled in
every step of the way.
And the smirk across your lips
is all you ever had to say.
If you really want to lose me,
you're about you get your way.
*************************************
Limerick-y, but...whatever. I figured a little bit of silly rhyming might mask my frustration a little. Haha. This has also been slightly edited just...because. Ask to see my notebook if you want to see the unedited version. There's only one line different; you're not missing too much. This was written over several days. I guess I'll slightly less frustrated now than when I began drafting it.
Also, this should probably be divided into four stanzas of six lines each, but I don't like stanzas much these days. When everything's blurry and confusing in reality, stanzas seem to take the point away a little. There is no organization in life. Life is just a stream of randomly occurring bullshit.
"I wonder how it's going to be when you don't know me. How's it going to be when you're sure I'm not there?" - Third Eye Blind How's It Gonna Be?
"Tell me what you want. I'll be it, darling it's anything you want, look no more. Just let me stay the night, I'll sleep on the floor. Tell me what you see, I'll see it even if, it's invisible to everyone. I think you know that I can see you girl, so don't fight it, love..." - Ultimate Fakebook TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
Wilson: And that's why religious belief annoys you. Because if the universe operates by abstract rules you can learn them; you can protect yourself. If a Supreme Being exists, He can squash you any time He wants.
House: He knows where I am.
- Courtesy of yesterday's seventeen hour House marathon and http://www.housemdquotes.com/ [lol that this site exists, by the way...and that this is exactly the quote I was thinking of and I managed to find it in about three minutes]
Mrs. Lintott: And you, Rudge? How do you define history?
Rudge: Can I speak freely without being hit?
Mrs. Lintott: You have my protection.
Rudge: How do I define history? Well it's just one fucking thing after another.
...
Mrs. Lintott: History is a commentary on the various and continuing incapabilities of men. What is history? History is women following behind with the bucket.
- The History Boys [I really need to see this movie from start to finish...I keep missing the beginning.]
like I'm diseased and contagious.
Already at an arm's length,
I'm still a threat, still dangerous.
I want your smell, your taste,
though I know that's outrageous.
It's a constant stream of
knowing and never knowing
that keeps my thoughts
flowing and over flowing
like you can't make up your mind
while mine is going and growing.
Hold me close
then throw me aside.
"I want in!"
I haplessly cried.
And with silence
you amply replied.
You had me fooled in
every step of the way.
And the smirk across your lips
is all you ever had to say.
If you really want to lose me,
you're about you get your way.
*************************************
Limerick-y, but...whatever. I figured a little bit of silly rhyming might mask my frustration a little. Haha. This has also been slightly edited just...because. Ask to see my notebook if you want to see the unedited version. There's only one line different; you're not missing too much. This was written over several days. I guess I'll slightly less frustrated now than when I began drafting it.
Also, this should probably be divided into four stanzas of six lines each, but I don't like stanzas much these days. When everything's blurry and confusing in reality, stanzas seem to take the point away a little. There is no organization in life. Life is just a stream of randomly occurring bullshit.
"I wonder how it's going to be when you don't know me. How's it going to be when you're sure I'm not there?" - Third Eye Blind How's It Gonna Be?
"Tell me what you want. I'll be it, darling it's anything you want, look no more. Just let me stay the night, I'll sleep on the floor. Tell me what you see, I'll see it even if, it's invisible to everyone. I think you know that I can see you girl, so don't fight it, love..." - Ultimate Fakebook TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
Wilson: And that's why religious belief annoys you. Because if the universe operates by abstract rules you can learn them; you can protect yourself. If a Supreme Being exists, He can squash you any time He wants.
House: He knows where I am.
- Courtesy of yesterday's seventeen hour House marathon and http://www.housemdquotes.com/ [lol that this site exists, by the way...and that this is exactly the quote I was thinking of and I managed to find it in about three minutes]
Mrs. Lintott: And you, Rudge? How do you define history?
Rudge: Can I speak freely without being hit?
Mrs. Lintott: You have my protection.
Rudge: How do I define history? Well it's just one fucking thing after another.
...
Mrs. Lintott: History is a commentary on the various and continuing incapabilities of men. What is history? History is women following behind with the bucket.
- The History Boys [I really need to see this movie from start to finish...I keep missing the beginning.]
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Heap
You say these words to me
like they're magic incantations
and I melt because I'm solid,
like ice.
I'm cold.
It's just the weather.
It's a reaction to the season.
It's the rainy misconception
and the waste of another reason.
It's all misunderstanding.
It's all in bad hand writing.
It's all a lie about love and loving.
Warm hands or eyes -
it makes no difference -
it all amounts to shit:
the substance which you fed me.
Broken promises spell trouble
so I guess I'm in a heap,
but I wish you'd still come find me;
even your lies sound pretty sweet.
************************************************
It's about dishonesty. Or loving.
Or maybe there's not much of a difference.
"I'm kickin' like a kid 'cause I can't get rid of it." Kevin Devine Trouble
like they're magic incantations
and I melt because I'm solid,
like ice.
I'm cold.
It's just the weather.
It's a reaction to the season.
It's the rainy misconception
and the waste of another reason.
It's all misunderstanding.
It's all in bad hand writing.
It's all a lie about love and loving.
Warm hands or eyes -
it makes no difference -
it all amounts to shit:
the substance which you fed me.
Broken promises spell trouble
so I guess I'm in a heap,
but I wish you'd still come find me;
even your lies sound pretty sweet.
************************************************
It's about dishonesty. Or loving.
Or maybe there's not much of a difference.
"I'm kickin' like a kid 'cause I can't get rid of it." Kevin Devine Trouble
Monday, January 12, 2009
Something Like Happiness
Coffee stains
and razor blades
and mismatched socks
and dirty mops,
a string of benign
and beautiful shots
that snap imagination
out of hibernation.
The smells are familiar,
like I once lived here,
but ran screaming
with fear.
A feckless foe
faces me,
stares me down,
asks too much of me.
To break
down
apart
up
off:
the thought
leaves me
numb.
And I'm already cold
from a tale so old:
a fairytale nightmare
in which I disappear.
A damsel in distress -
perhaps you know the rest -
with her dazzling prince
and a moment's glimpse
of something like happiness:
it feels so warm,
but only when you are,
like blankets from the dryer
or maybe hell's fire.
Still, your steps sound distant
and your voice is so faint
and I dream that you're nearer,
my reflection in a mirror,
so I could see you clearer.
But dreams vanish with the sun;
they mock me just for fun.
I'm writing you this story
of lonesome glory,
but my pen's in your hands:
you decide how it ends.
****************************************
"...I felt just about the closest to this stuff that is called happiness as I have ever struck." Woody Guthrie Bound For Glory
and razor blades
and mismatched socks
and dirty mops,
a string of benign
and beautiful shots
that snap imagination
out of hibernation.
The smells are familiar,
like I once lived here,
but ran screaming
with fear.
A feckless foe
faces me,
stares me down,
asks too much of me.
To break
down
apart
up
off:
the thought
leaves me
numb.
And I'm already cold
from a tale so old:
a fairytale nightmare
in which I disappear.
A damsel in distress -
perhaps you know the rest -
with her dazzling prince
and a moment's glimpse
of something like happiness:
it feels so warm,
but only when you are,
like blankets from the dryer
or maybe hell's fire.
Still, your steps sound distant
and your voice is so faint
and I dream that you're nearer,
my reflection in a mirror,
so I could see you clearer.
But dreams vanish with the sun;
they mock me just for fun.
I'm writing you this story
of lonesome glory,
but my pen's in your hands:
you decide how it ends.
****************************************
"...I felt just about the closest to this stuff that is called happiness as I have ever struck." Woody Guthrie Bound For Glory
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Snap
She speaks in shallow promises
and broken hearts:
she repeats what's whispered
in her ears.
She walks along
on her tightrope
as if there's no such thing
as absurd.
She brushes your cheek,
but you never feel it
like her heat
is your repellent.
When the sun shines,
she cries.
It should be dark
all the time.
The light
hurts her eyes,
but she denies
it's you that makes them sting.
So, she shuffles her feet
and bites her tongue.
She imagines a day
when you're not gone.
And when it rains,
she smiles and sings.
She wishes she had wings:
to you, herself she'd bring.
Like branches,
she sways
from side
to side
and you,
her wind,
made her snap,
so unkind.
It is she
who is your sport
for ignoring,
though she was born
inside your smile
this morning.
********************************************
"She brings her friends so we wont have to be alone. I fear I might lose my composure without warning. I am a child of fire. I am a lion. I have desires and I was born inside the sun this morning." Counting Crows Hanging Tree
and broken hearts:
she repeats what's whispered
in her ears.
She walks along
on her tightrope
as if there's no such thing
as absurd.
She brushes your cheek,
but you never feel it
like her heat
is your repellent.
When the sun shines,
she cries.
It should be dark
all the time.
The light
hurts her eyes,
but she denies
it's you that makes them sting.
So, she shuffles her feet
and bites her tongue.
She imagines a day
when you're not gone.
And when it rains,
she smiles and sings.
She wishes she had wings:
to you, herself she'd bring.
Like branches,
she sways
from side
to side
and you,
her wind,
made her snap,
so unkind.
It is she
who is your sport
for ignoring,
though she was born
inside your smile
this morning.
********************************************
"She brings her friends so we wont have to be alone. I fear I might lose my composure without warning. I am a child of fire. I am a lion. I have desires and I was born inside the sun this morning." Counting Crows Hanging Tree
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Half Alive
Laying on my back,
half asleep
or maybe half dead,
thinking half dead
is all right:
it's half alive.
As sure as we're all alive,
we're all gonna die,
we're all gonna die
and that's just fine.
The fan is off
so it's too quiet to sleep
and you're too far away
so it's too cold to dream,
but closed eyelids
draw you nearer.
Fingertips
and eyelashes
and feelings
and looks
and I've already read this book,
but you managed to get me hooked.
Again,
a wrong turn
down a dangerous road,
but it's so tempestuous
and it tingles
and tastes
suspiciously
like you.
*************************************************
It's about doing shit you know you're better off not doing...but - then again - what the hell? Ya only live once.
"Would you say that the one of your dreams got in you and ripped out the seams? That's what I'd say. That's what I'd say." Heatmiser Half Right
"As the priest got up to speak, the assembly craved relief, but he himself had given up. So, instead, he offered them this bitter cup: 'You're gonna die. We're all gonna die, could be twenty years, could be tonight. And lately I have been wondering why we go to so much trouble to postpone the unavoidable and prolong the pain of being alive.'" Pedro The Lion Priests And Paramedics
"We're all gonna die. That's just life in time. The hallelujah, the by-and-by, we'll all fly away so high." All Get Out Wasting All My Breath
half asleep
or maybe half dead,
thinking half dead
is all right:
it's half alive.
As sure as we're all alive,
we're all gonna die,
we're all gonna die
and that's just fine.
The fan is off
so it's too quiet to sleep
and you're too far away
so it's too cold to dream,
but closed eyelids
draw you nearer.
Fingertips
and eyelashes
and feelings
and looks
and I've already read this book,
but you managed to get me hooked.
Again,
a wrong turn
down a dangerous road,
but it's so tempestuous
and it tingles
and tastes
suspiciously
like you.
*************************************************
It's about doing shit you know you're better off not doing...but - then again - what the hell? Ya only live once.
"Would you say that the one of your dreams got in you and ripped out the seams? That's what I'd say. That's what I'd say." Heatmiser Half Right
"As the priest got up to speak, the assembly craved relief, but he himself had given up. So, instead, he offered them this bitter cup: 'You're gonna die. We're all gonna die, could be twenty years, could be tonight. And lately I have been wondering why we go to so much trouble to postpone the unavoidable and prolong the pain of being alive.'" Pedro The Lion Priests And Paramedics
"We're all gonna die. That's just life in time. The hallelujah, the by-and-by, we'll all fly away so high." All Get Out Wasting All My Breath
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