Suffocating

I'm suffocating
in your words
I can't breathe
can't expand
into the day
like body blows
word after word
you hurl
knocking me back
knocking me down
merciless
into a corner
and still
the words rain
slicing
hard
You're killing me
and if I try to tell you
I'm accused
of the crime
so I sit
rope-a-dope
and you beat me down
word by word
relentless in your aggression
blow by blow
I'm almost impressed
by your prowess
by how much
can come out of so little
by eyes open but blind
by a heart ignorant of itself
by a case being built
you don't want to win

Haunted by the Wool

we are all layers
in the winter of life
haunted by the wool
as the wind plays fife
and
Dark trees conspire
their branches in cavorts
owls hooting too
hiding in their forts
so
walk with me my child
beside the path of water
flowers wave our way
fearful of the slaughter

Empty

Shutting down
systems on auto-pilot
thanks for coming
too late
but all the same;
so say your goodbye
no words
too late for the emptiness
action has spoken
so save me your hollowness
I'm already gone

Empty
I'm fucking empty
these bones
my cup
empty
crimson gone
the earth
a little darker

Can you see
the damp
bend your knee
touch the soil
and let the regretful wind
comb your hair

Nature's clock
nob-less
to turn back
to reverse
the sunset of yesterday

Sometimes
impossible
second chances
Some windows open
only for a moment
painted closed
forever stuck
as old photographs
yellowed with white borders
as roses picked
faded and brittle

So, just stand on the naked plain
and toss your handful of dirt
diminutive
the gouge
of earth prepared
taking back
the flower folded
petals as little arms
wrapped in peace
wrapped in silence

__________

alt first stanza:

Shutting down
systems on auto-pilot
thanks for coming
too late;
so say your goodbye
leaf me your autumn words
dusk me for the noon
barren your branches
hallow the hollow whipping wind
mauve me to indigo gone

651. No

Spartan cell
floor plain as wall
I sit

I stare at a steel door
one of many
gloss gray

Sunlight slats
my solitary window
a silent visitor

I close my eyes
to the click of heel
sound linked
to history

And for a moment
I am not here
but there
a foreign land
divided by a common
language
a common shore

I sit there
as I sit here
alone
afraid
the pew as hard
as my bed
the light as stained
as the memory

From somewhere
someone is walking
heels on cobbles
heels on stone
rhythmic
melodic
deliberate
meditative
doppler

I smell ancient wood
and see standards hung
scenes hued between lead
and the cold of great
heights
reaching
arching
beaconing
as fingers
whispering
for
my
soul

Tethered
I feel
by forces unknown
quartered
my soul
by fate postponed

Like drops from a gutter
the rain gone
nature's clock
moving
clicking
clacking
I hear the heels
I sense the beads
I know the prayers
and I wonder
how one so close
one belayed to me
can be so far
so distant
so cold


"Mairi, are you okay?"

Looking up through blurry eyes as if looking not through space but through time, where the texture was not of air but of heart and history, of voices fading, of hands reaching, slipping, tears as blood, falling, life escaping, she said:

"No."

Curve Me

Curve me
as the petal curves stem
and the candy curves cane
as lid to eye
and lip to smile
as nape into shoulder
as back before mane;
round your little finger
Curve me
as the horse on my carousel
Curve me
as the vine round the tree
as your fingers bee
before the naked window
under the steamed shower
over the bow of my rain
Curve me
as the morning curves the sky
as the stars curve the night
as fingers curve circles round cup
Curve me
your cheeks
natural as the egg's leg
Curve me
your walk
upon the chores
Curve me
my heart
into yours

Beyond Flesh and Blood

Your poem turns my heart to puddle,
my eyes to ponds,
and my soul to hugs of essence
beyond flesh and blood.

I want to feel the beat in your hands
and see the glimmer in your eye;
to know your posture before child
and the love you give for little feet that try.

I want to know your effort
and your sigh,
to feel your sweat
when we are high.

Your mind intrigues me, I cannot deny;
your spirit relieves me, of stress like cry.
See what you conjure, these words I do type;
I would say some more, but it would seem like hype.

650. Crenel and Merlon

There was grabbing of hair
necks egret craning
lips cracked desert dry

Starlight blue as watered milk
highlighting crenelated hair
battlements be damned
portcullis of ivory sheathed
moat eyes dangerous

Marble slabs nippled erect
chess boards played
with calculating digits
lance rigid and shielded
Forward boys
the dame distressed

Bend thy knee
upon the riced floor
and let thy blood
show thy virgin whore
as the night shall weep
the weep of mothers chore

Lift they sacred bosom
fount of purse and lip
and give to me
thy milk divine
the life of woman
the gift of witches nein

Crenel my Merlon
Shoulder my Sword
Give rise to the sun
Loin and lion thy courage
Lock my neck blonde

I lust my love
upon the rampart
pray for me

Just So You Know: Part II

How do you sit
when you sit the deck
clad in gray
huddled in thought
wooled curves
rising and falling
in the natural way

How do you look
when you look my way
first look of the day,
is it far away?
What do you say?

How do you reach
when I sit beside 
and what do your fingers say
Nestled warmth
curves fitting
necks bending
my shoulder
your cliff

How do you look
from an inch away
forehead to forehead
eyes pleading
for all that is not said

How do you touch
with lip and breath
when the bellow of lungs
fire like train
and the steam of pistons
pound in ernest
faster and faster

You see, my dear
I have my things
I'd like to know
I have my box
with a bow

_______________

649. Trumpets and Drums

"What are you doing?" asked Em, as Trev moved his hands slowly through the air.

"I'm carving the essence of you, my quotidian quiddity."

"Your what?"

"My raison d'être."

"Speak hynerian."

"I am the moon chanting my sun to rise, reflecting her glory before me."

"You're wanting to frail me."

"Yeah."

"Silly boy, all you have to do is ask."

Steps were taken and hands laced, fluid as dance, natural as the sea breeze, wanting as the dewed flower, anxious as the floating bee. There was lifting and carrying and laying and lying, where fingers and tongues were trumpets and drums and the stars sat in opera.

Just So You Know

How do you look
when you look out the window
lost in thought
a private moment
worthy of oil and canvas

How do you hold your cup
when the coffee is fresh
and the morning milking
turns adolescent

I'd like to know
how you fold a towel
and make the bed;
of the clothes you style
and their chosen care
hues and textures too

I want to know
how your cistern eyes
reflect the rain
when the porch is empty
and the trees wave green

And I want to know
how you chap an apron
when the stove warms with intent
and the bed still traces your absence

I want to know how you hold
a book and turn the pages;
how your lips part
when sighs are whispered
and sighs are taken

I want to know how your fingers trace
the geography of pain
when the clouds are pregnant
with indigo rain

I want to smell the bounce in your hair
to know the hope in your posture
the strength in your bearing
the confidence in your walk
when feet are bare and the day is ours

One day, perhaps
just so you know
I've got a list
that continues to grow

648: Needing Paint

Trev watching Em paint:


Holding on
the death

Letting go
the fear

Fading away
becoming other

Needing paint
needing color

Pour me
your hue

Tarp me
your shade

Glaze me
your tint

Wash me
your tone

Rain me
your bow

Hands Oiled

Hands oiled
reflecting light
shadows cavort
as wood crackles sacrifice

Movement slows
touch warm
muscle kneaded
as night lays a carpet of crickets

Lips part
moans embrace
eyes glass
as fingers splay, glistening tributaries

Clocks tick
walls flicker
time lost
as command assumes without consent

Moons rise
and fall
rising, falling
as a derrick seeks the earth's release

Lathered necks
reaching upward
ever upward
as crop quirts the taut haunch

Tongues speak
in darts
lustful blossoms
as lips lunge hilt to hilt

Hair falls
ears curtained
chest tickled
as sweat rains labored love

Beyond the Amber Lake

Beyond the amber lake
of polished crystal, beyond
that snuffling troth
waits a dawn stillness
placid, tranquil
a place without questions
a wind without rustle

Sound is not heard
nor Sight seen
a place beyond senses
a place beyond mind
a place for souls
to be beyond what is known

No hammers and no nails
No water or fish
nor air and birds
There is not an Other
nor need of translators or ears
in a place beyond A and B

Nocturnal

Falling like fever, flowing like fire, the feral flower of farm, the fragrant fir of forest, I give to you, my femme fatale.

Nocturnal naughtiness, never not nor nevermore I name the naked noon, nigh of night, nude of naught, navigating nape to navel, a noose I neigh into the nines, neat nips neither nit nor nisi, those nourishing nouns not of nous, nay, novel nowhere nein my dear nubile Nox.

Light Dims

The light dims in shallow breaths
eyes hooded in fatigue, lethargic
tongue listless, dry, dull, beached
hands silent as the chiseled stone

Opinion wans, pales, becomes weightless
and questions are as a breeze to a ghost
insipid days, muted hue, bland as biscuit
where sun and cloud are as passing strangers

Tomorrow matters not and the night,
which was too long, seems too short
as sounds are noticed; a clock ticking
a fan turning, creaks and groans of house

People talk, but it doesn't much matter
and words are exchanged, a currency deflated
late, late, late to the party, not so good when
you, are, are, are the party

Still, I have my friends, warm and toasty
five pounds of fur, nestled tight with pink bellies
they snore and stretch by my side
their king on a pillow, the queen on his lap

Forest Gray

Is there a joy gene
Am I missing it
When all my smiles
seem like glass
and my cheeks as marble

Is there a pathway
of neurons not firing
a gray forest, ash and cinder
within my brain

Of a land not habited
places dark and dead
the view from my window
the view not wed

Has my ticket of hugs
been punched and used
Am I standing on the train
unaware
watching and hearing
a click and a clack
I will never know

Does the flutter of feathers
and the building of spring
sing a song to my deaf ears
as the flower goes about
the business
of swaying its sprout

Words are hurled
rocks they feel
to a place where advil
has no deal
and what aches
cannot be healed

So the wind blows
in gusts and spates
and my shutters squawk
their disrepair
gutters creaking and leaking
my hands neglect

As the shy sun
peeks a look
bashful to know
a pain beyond reach
caught in the arc
of business as usual

And feet walk on toes and tips
as hands swim the mood
and noses snuffle for hope
a drifting it seems
an outgoing tide
away goes our flower
waving goodbye

647. Quartered and 'Plored

There was a cottage

Sandstone chiseled
facing the sea
weathered by breezes
gentle to see

Each crease and crevice
fingers trace
touching time
hallowed embrace

It stood before
as it stands now
discreet in the ways
of home, of vow

As the solemn bell
a tone, a cottage holds
clear as the windswept
dune unfolds

Of joy and laughter
and crystal raised
in praise of vine
and culinary thyme

Of kisses shared
between unshod feet
as pleated skirts
waved on wooded heat

The moon would peek
from left to right
dimpled smiles
in reflected light

And eyes see
what fingers touch
maps of flesh
quartered and 'plored
shadowed and whored


"Lovely," said Em. "Just lovely."

"What?" asked Trev.

"I said just lovely."

"Yeah."

"Lovely."

"But?"

"Whored?"

"A figure of speech."

"Well, I hope that figure of speech will keep you warm, 'cause this 'lil whore ain't in the mood to per-form."

"What?"

"Nite."

"Em--"

"Ahh, don't let the wooded heat hit your arse on the way out."

A Hammer Quiet

Your head to mine
hammer away
four inches
to your day
four inches
remains your say

Finished
smudge of silver
puddle shimmering
oasis glimmering
echoed flat
labor done

Where will you go
What will you do
for birds fly
and fish swim
so I ask of you
where will you go
and what will you do

To the hammer
all a nail

mistaking what is one
for two

for what one makes
is what one takes

look at your hands
look within your head

what will you build
what will you heal
what will you steal
what will you kill

here is your hammer
here is your head

Can I change what I am
and the eyes that sit in my head
Can I think the thoughts routed
by routes not dead
Can I flow up stream
against a fairy current
Neither nay nor yea
I beg of you
but quiet
just quiet

a hammer quiet
a nail undone
chaos in a riot
new day begun

tell me dear sir
what do you see
things as they were
or things as they be

Commentary and Reading: Weeping, Falling

Click this link for Commentary and Reading of Weeping, Falling. Enjoy.

Math Suspended

Union
beyond
you and me
mysterious
divine
laws
of math
suspended

Smiles
in eyes
and
Light
without
candles

Hair
flowing
as
Rivers
washing
stress
with strokes
firm
as
fish

Be my
salmon
Be my
divine
But most
of all
Just
be
here
tonight

Lacquered Dreams

Holding you
as the wind
holds
a flame

We twirl
the day
as the sun
twirls
the world

The sky
our carousel
gallop
with me
on lacquered
dreams

Everlong

20/20 blind
Can't fix
what you won't see
is broken

Vision
never of the eye
Greatness
never of the hand

Facts
games we play
convincing ourselves
we stand not on
nothing
(adult illusions
our rabbit and claus)

Facts
rocks
in the pockets of our
trunks
as we swim in the lake
of relationship

A fact never hugged me
A fact never loved me
never picked me up
nor put me back down
in the cold of night

So leave your facts
on the curb
My hunger needs
verb
My hair needs
fingers
My lips need
the warmth
of tender lips not speaking

And my ears
my dear
need no facts
only whispers of
breath
delivered in sighs
through parted lips

Weeping, Falling

Weeping
falling
falling as shoulders
calving
falling as head
bouldering
falling as boulders
tumbling
crashing silently
crashing as waves
on forgotten beaches
crashing as lightning
on the dark moon
shards
dreams
shattered
crushed
heels grinding
nails nailing
pounding
deeper
destination tight
destination closed
destination dark
destination earth
alone
silent as winter morn
bare as the short light tree
a single cotton bird
solitary
weeping
falling

Commentary and Reading

Pluck Me

As a blind man before
book
And a deaf man at
concert
An eunuch before the
queen is my desire
my lust
for relief

As a poet without
sky (tongue)
And a lover without
hand
An arrow taut upon
bow is my want
my need
for release

As the prayer without
lord
And the cherry without
finger
A grape succulent
weighs the vine
hangs my quest
grows my ache
for pluck

Grenadine Drops

Six Shots Silver
Sunrise Tequila
Charcoal Stress
Stone Sober Still

Grenadine Drops
Like Lava
Lamps
Red into Gold
My little
Pomegranate yolk

Florida to Mexico
California Champagne
Pint Pulled Umbrella
Sans Rain

Sentinel Straw
Corrugated neck
Conduit seas
that warm breeze
Pretty Please

Words

words, words, words
words, words, words
words, words, words

Words and Words
More words
and even more words
and words and words
like grains of sand words
like clouds in the sky words
like water off the cliff words
I've got words

Words upon words
lots of words
fancy words
little words
big words
compound words
changed words

Words on images
words on paper
words of others
words to smother
words looked for
words suggested
words applauded
words lauded

Then

words, words, words
words, words, words
words, words, words

Got the message?
Know what I’m talkin’ bout?
Really?
Not enough words?

Trust me.
I’ve got more words.
And I’ll be throwing them at you
as you walk out the door
and it won’t be my fault
because
you know
I had the words
No, really
I did

I mean
What else is there
Right?

So pray to your God
and I wish you luck
but just remember
when you have not a buck
I had the words

646. Quotes: 6

Only the beating heart can feel pain.

Quote attributed from Em to Trev

Mysteries Mute

All its life
with nary a word spoken
sits the rose
mute

What does it know
What does it not know
assumptions we make
superiority we take

Yet ask yourself
when a card arrives
a note of recognition
thanks or birthday
all the same

We smile
feel a little warmer
perhaps a bit more secure
fleeting perhaps
an illusion of course
yet, all the same
we know

We know
in the dark hours
with all our words
mute we are
to the mysteries
mute as the rose
just more vocal
ignorance facaded

So I say to you
thank you for the note
and the moment
where I forget my ignorance
and feel a warmth
I'd like to think
is really there
beyond my eyes

Exercising my Fingers

Leather soft from the haunch taut, aromatic rich, reflection pool deep, New Orleans smoky where curve rides curve and hours seem like minutes and what is light grows dark. Wanna come sit for a spell?

Perhaps.

Ride the ride of riders ridden, rode as hard, rode as wet, rode as chaps ride the range wearing stars in stirrups and stars on their chest, riding to ride, clean air and water cool, pure, before the hoof and hide, before the feather and scale. Come, ride in time to my warm hand, red as rouge, baton firm surveying the spread, wide horizon, undulating in the morning waves. Settle into my saddle as dew into the leaf, nestle my horn with your lariat. Lasso my girth, ham heavy, water table woman, fed for the winter, bred for the table, raring hair and eye of coruscating blaze. Come, gallop my waves of whey, washed in stone, dunes of cloth, shadows upon the wall of blushing wax, flickering glances. Speak to me with digits farm worn and sweat the sweat of salt earned in the wages of birth giveth and death taketh. Ride as hope rides before the storm, your breath the gale upon my throat, wash my lobes.

Angels Are

In the night
through the morn
Speaking tongues
with fingers bright
Crimson nails
clicking unseen boards
hearts beating
in shades cotton
and wool

Eyes sapphire and sorrel
sage and slate
smiles all the same
for the sparkling beat
needs no translation
when the words
flow from red to black
from flame to flame
in the heat of cold night

Love knows

Dawn or Dusk too
standing watch
sentinels wise
in the ways of Neptune and Mars
a force beyond shores
a force beyond wild stars (wars)

Say today
Say tomorrow
Yell to the sun
Yell upon the yoke
but I hear you not
for what I know
comes another way

Smiles unseen
smiled
Kisses unsheathed
kissed
Hands upheld
laced
Toes unsocked
traced

Tell me Sir
how do you wine
the grape yet grown
and Tell me Sir
how do you cry
the child not divine

For angels I say
nay
For angels I shout
nein
For angels Are you
to me (and mine; mien)

I need not time
I need not space
nor food or water
for these traps
where one comes
another and another

But my soul
thou dearest one
needs neither nor

Love knows

I would say what can't be said
and I would yell what can't be shouted
as birds would fly underwater
and fish dance upon the air

because, my dear

Love knows

My Gallery

My Mac Gallery (some pics, some video). Enjoy. The recent Slideshow can be seen here in its full glory. 

Spring

I look upon the spring
buds fuzzy on the tree
and I think of past springs
and of future springs to be

I look with different eyes
than the eyes of before
eyes that have forgotten
the joy in little things

I look with lenses fogged
with layer upon layer of hurt
and I see a path up
as I see one down

I see choices I have never seen before
and I contemplate the seasons
envy in their wisdom
and I see a life in nature
that may well see beyond me

I always thought myself superior
to the bird and to the tree
but that was then
before I lost what was free

So I struggle to see what is to be seen
clear as day and leaf and tea
but one sees not with eye
when the mind refuses to be

The train is leaving
as it has before
forever on time
forever beyond my shore

I hear the whistle of beak
and the hoot from a tree
as what was brown gives way
as the flower to the bee

Moving as the wind
as fingers through the leaves
raking out the old
like gold to thieves

And I wonder to myself
why I still refrain
from letting go
that forever moving train

___________

Version Two

My eyes glass the day
and I see the velvet swelling
buds of promise
fragrant hue cloaked
patient as nature is patient

And as I reflect on the awakening beauty 
I am reminded of forty before
and perhaps of forty more
or thirty
or maybe, just maybe
this is it

Aged eyes
seeing not what is before thee
but seeing all that has been
and where stands a tree
is seen the rake and the bag
and where sways a flower
is seen the wasp and bee
and where watches the sky
is seen the burn and the rain
for the eyes of today
see not as the eyes of yesterday
when there was joy in grass
and leaves were toys
and the day endless in exploration
joy and discovery

When I was young
the yard was ours
nature and me
When I grew
the yard was mine
subjugated to my
hand and desire
When I woke this morning
I wondered where, when
what was one
had become two
and the sun smiled
a kiss upon my cheek
to say
I have been here
as I was yesterday
as I will be tomorrow
for it is you
who have changed

When

What does it mean to sit in a quiet house
and the only sound you can hear is your heart

When the ache of coffee is the ache of age
and the patter of little feet just a memory

What does it mean to see the sun and the flowers
as fellow travelers on this sweet earth

When the oven warms cold bones and soothes old aches
of times when perfume and sweaters hugged you tight

What does it mean to miss you so much
I can't remember if I shampooed my hair or not
so I shampoo it again

When I drive to work and arrive with nary
a memory of the route

What does it mean to doodle your name
as a child learning to write

When the clock moves so slow
and the day seems long

And I imagine your smile, bright and white
and your hands reaching with intent
a look exchanged as pirouette

We share a glass of wine, standing with tangled words
our imaginations of white
under sun and moon

I glance at my watch and wonder why time matters
for there is nowhere I'd rather be
than in this moment, in this place

You look at me with pregnant eyes
and a window opens to put down our glasses
to breech the wooden table
with skirt and hand

And for a moment shared
we both laughed
when evidence walked in
that neither of us had locked the door

Scorching

Breath -- Shallow
Fear -- Constricting
Neck as Sail Rope
Caught in a Gale
Screaming Tight
Burning Knots
Billow on Fire
The Hot Blast
Unseen Tongues
Scorching from Afar

Planks -- Creak
Strain -- Palpable
Water Rising
over stone feet
and the lady of bow
washes her hair
in the bitter salt

Across the firmament
arcs our blazing fire
mercy be gone
as the foolish collapse
Hands knuckled gold
Hearts sea-bottom cold
Eyes blind to who
is friend
and who is foe

Into the storm
Into the breech
stench be damn
I say to each
For the hell we face
will not spare the lace
whip cracking in pace
scruple ye not thy base

Take my arm
Take my leg
What you desire
What you seek
Is as the wind
Is as a child's laughter
So have your lust
turning stone to dust
as tears turn to rust
what should have never bust

I would cuss
would I could I so
muscle as string
twisted tight
upon the haunch
upon the hide
pound of flesh
priced in a window
reflecting little eyes
that know no better

645. A Good Story

"Papa, what are you doing?" asked Kyra.

"Counting money," replied Papa as he stacked one bill upon the next, the stack growing quite large upon his desk. "I'm trying to see if we have enough."

"For what?"

"For all the smiles you've given me."

"And do you?" asked Kyra, twirling her impish hair, looking almost ghostly in her white floor length nite-gown.

Papa shook his head. "There is no amount of money I would trade for what you've given me."

"Then why count the money?"

"Show, my girl. Not tell. You know how I teach," said Papa with a wink.

"I see. Well then, can I trade two smiles for one bedtime story?"

"Race you there."

Grand saw the blur of child and husband, laughing and giggling up the stairs, her eyes wet in the joy shared, the joy multiplied from their hearts to hers.

__________

Von approached the bridge and spied a solitary figure sitting, smiling, her long melanic hair catching starlight in shades blue. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all Von," said Kyra. "I could use the company. And a good story if you've got one."

Wishes Whoring

Nothing read
for days
Nor slept
without
some haze

Gone whiskey (Whiskey gone)
hidden pills (Pills hidden)
Music plays
as I eat
for ways

Violins soaring
strings bowing
wishes whoring
our requited dough

Heavy lids
on pizzle eyes
hooded flesh
not so wise

Slumber summons
artificial rest
so I finish this poem
wishing you the best

Nite my brothers
Nite my sisters
leave your comments
leave your blisters

Labor on
cold night
for tomorrow
shields lifted
into the fight

This thought
I leave to you
who will you love
who will you sue

Water Falling

There is a pain
beyond the reach of
oat and barley
beyond the science
of Bayer or Lilly

There is a pain
felt in the eye
but not seen
held in the heart
but neither heavy
nor heard

There is a pain
measured not of mile
nor clocked in chime
a pain with fingers
like the wind
nails long
cold

There is a pain
stillborn silent
solitary as rejection
A pain found
at the bottom of an empty
cup
A pain found in flowerless
stones
A pain embedded in
memories as vines
in brick
as grout
in cobble
as cobwebs
in corners

There is a pain
in an empty room
a chair not sat
a blanket not
pulled to the eyes
and feet out the
other end

There is a pain
in a phone
not ringing
in a phone
not answering
in the tears
one cannot see
in the hugs
one cannot give

Bull Red

Bull Red
Red on White Red
Red in a sea of Black Red
Red in the beat of my Heart Red

My Red
His Red
All the same Red
A Red I know Red
A Red I loathe Red
A Red stained through time Red
A Red beyond Clorox Red
A Red I never want to see again Red

Red so Red I hardly recognize it Red
A Red that screams the silent scream of parents Red
The Red of regret
of anger
of frustration
of apathetic silence
The Red of hand raised
The Red beyond reach

I don't much like Red
Hue aside
But my world seems nothing less
endless lines
endless drops
endless Mares

Between here and there is Red
Drowning Red
Machete Red
Red shinning bright Red
Red turning Tawny Red
The Red of Oxblood Red

This in not the red of cardinal
neither petal
nor pen
neither dawn before dawn
nor dusk before dusk

Wave your cape Red
Red for the Bull
Red for the Anger
Red for the utter Helplessness
Red for the Curtain
Red for Final
Frailty Frailing Red

The Bravo Crew (plus a few)

Best viewed using the High Quality option on YouTube. (Update: HQ is not "yet" available on YouTube for this slideshow, but I do have a HQ version posted on FaceBook.) Created in iMovie '09.

Comfortably Numb

As a whale on the beach
I breathe
labored in the moment
ballooned with agony
wishing release
the cord cut
into the watchet firmament
to be but of distant memory
of conversation slurred
that guy
yeah

The view narrows
and dreams die
and hope becomes a word
one of many
and with a dollar
or two
will buy a cup

Something more?
What say you
Pray tell
Words, you say
perhaps a book
or two

Yeah, that guy
Tell me when he
gets here
I'm all ears

I Heard a Chime

I heard the chime
and turned my head
as if my heavy eyes
didn't trust my neutral ears

Rotate they did
bearings in liquid sockets
viscosity not questioned
sight recorded
for who
for what

I see a light in photographs
of eyes young
and hair shiny
of teeth bright
unvarnished in the sun
of life

I wonder of this world
a place not of children
not of life
and I know it is a lie
but I'm not agile
of mind
to know how

And they sleep
skin smooth and soft
hair tussled
and pastel blankets bundled
round bears and such
dreams of things
I've long forgotten

The Wind

The wind
wasn't here yesterday
whipping as it is
what does it know
what does it care
to carry my cry
to parts unknown

I feel the splinters
in my back
an itch of cacti
seductive pain
a need to atone
to drive the nail
forever beyond my belief

Take me to
a heaven
Take me to a hell
and I laugh at the thought
that neither
will avail
as I join the great
silence
a place
quite like home

Broken

Broken
I don't know how
a whole
can seem so shattered
shards
of me
a thousand pieces
upon the floor

I'm sorry
sorry for the mess
sorry for the waste
sorry to have come
sorry to not be able
to leave without your help

Sweep me away
stokes normal
stokes today
as they were yesterday
into a blue sky
where birds fly
and clouds roam
and the seasons
are as relatives
seasonal
glad to come
glad to go

I was not here
when I was here
so you said
So I fear not
that I will haunt
the place
the mind
or the heart
where I'm told
I never was

I wish you well
as I have always done
and may your days
be filled
with the things
I never held
could never give

And those words
of so many years ago
I did mean

Tired

When I grow tired of the dawn
and the sound of birds
hold nothing in the morn
I pack my clothes
for a trip
not of car
or plane
nor train

Come if you like
Come in waves
matters not much
to me
for the view from prone
doll eyes
and suit too loose
is not me
I'm not here
so kiss and cry
but not of me
for those days
are gone

Hug the neighbor
Hug the niece
Hug the nephew
and try and comfort
a fear you can't reach
a fear not of today
not of tomorrow
but the cellophane fear
of faded tawny
of yellow fly paper
of water heated on the stove

Ponies may run
on burnt fields
and wood may burn
in ashen places
as tractors churn
fields fallow
cheeks sallow
to match farm teeth
and nails chipped
on the anguish
of eyes that failed
and arms that failed
and minds that still can't
fucking understand

The day is faded
and the grass agrees
stiff as cloth
smelling of moth
balls, tight
walnut shrunk
of knowing
not of
but of not done
not called
not written
not thought
so what do I say
now
fuck you

Barren

My Janus
hear my cry

Pain can't
be mine alone

I can't alone
feel this stab

I can't be
outside the stream

Reach
My Janus
your hand

Reach!
My hand extended
fingers clawed

Beg
I of you
on bended
painful
knee

Why is the sky
clear
Why do the birds
mock me
Why do my tears
fall on barren
soil

O Holy Night
take my soul
for of this earth
my days seem short
and my nights
too long

Crimson to Oxblood

Pain
like rocks
dumb
like stone
like my head
falling away
as my eyes
as my heart
a flower
drifting
on the sea
on a fading sky
cold
cloudless

Heaviness
no translation
no note or card
neither letter
nor pen
It starts under
the eyes
a pulling
weight not seen
cheeks as lead
skin as glass
tap me
please
mercy
I ask

Into the dark
as darts
missive after missive
penned in blood
dashed like dice
from box to box
sent
frail me
the walk
from door to street
day upon day
stacked
all the same
put the pain on me
watching my life
dry
crimson to oxblood
in a numb
dumb
sun

Goodbye

You matter
helium words
chop wood
carry water
show me
I matter

You hurt
concrete blood
finger stained
photo eyes
show me
I hurt

You reach
snake arms
slither here
slime belly
show me
Now

Now
I need
you
Now
to matter
to heal
to reach

Look as
if I matter
Look as
if I were
water
Look as
if the moon
was ours
Look as
one looks
goodbye

Hold me
warm to cold
Hold me
flesh to dust
Hold me
mind to memory
Hold me
goodbye

I can't
hold
I can't
stay
I can't
not
and I feel cold
cold before the fire
cold as night
cold as a hole
Cold as infinite
goodbye

Say goodnight
Say goodbye
Give me this
Give me a goodnight
Give me a goodbye

A Rare Meme (kinda like leap year for me): 25 Random Things

1. I'm afraid to do a meme like this for fear, the fear of being less than revealing, the fear of being misunderstood, the fear of being judged and rejected.

2. For the first five years of my life, I was an only child and loved the feeling of being singular, special; and I've never completely recovered from the resentment of siblings messing up my perfect oneness. :-D

3. People tell me I have unique talents and abilities. I've never been able to see what they see.

4. When I was eighteen months old, I had my tonsils removed. My voice has always been soft. So soft that I often have to raise my voice to be heard, which is then misunderstood as me yelling. In college, when I went out to bars, I simply gave up trying to talk with anyone since no one could ever hear anything I was saying over the din. When speaking within a group, I am often ignored and I never know if people just aren't interested in what I have to say or they just can't hear me. Either way, I've developed a distaste of group settings and prefer spending time alone or one-on-one.

5. I have an innate sensitivity so refined, daily life is often painful. I avoid conflict at all cost. I even turn off movies and TV when the scenes turn hostile. If at all possible, when I have a fly in my house, I will work as hard as I can to shoo the fly out as opposed to swatting it. One morning, I found a mosquito in my bathroom. I had seen it the night before, couldn't kill it and was surprised to find it still alive in the morning. Still, I couldn't kill it. I'm either completely absurd or completely insane but I couldn't tell you which.

6. Until around my junior year in college, I had the sense that I was destined to do great things, to do something unique and remarkable with my life. I cannot pinpoint the moment, but I remember the place when that idea slipped from my mind as a flower floating out to sea, never to return, silent but for the gentle undulations of a sighing sea.

7. There is rarely a day that I don't question my value as a father, husband, neighbor or co-worker. My personality is so self-critical, I thrive on the kind words from others as bread and water. Without those kindnesses, I'm not sure how long I would survive.

8. In the past few years, I've become something other than what I was. There are days when I hardly recognize myself and what I see makes my stomach turn. I have always felt that the only thing that can come out of you is what is in you and there is something in me akin to an alien creature, eating me away from the inside, but it never makes itself known and I know it only from the shadows. My fight is not to succeed but rather to survive. To see another dawn is triumph. And I fight this battle alone, for the battles of the soul are solitary affairs.

9. I have an obsession with books. I own more than a thousand and I keep buying, even though I know I will probably never read most of them. The bookstore is my chapel. I find more peace in the aisles than I do in the pews. Today I purchased an old classic, Art & Fear, which about sums up my life.

10. I love writing, something I did not do until three years ago, for I had been told, and I listened, that I should not pursue a career with the written word. So, for about a 25 year period of my life, I penned next to nothing. Why write when you can't. Right? I mean experts are always right. ;-)

11. Nothing has given me more joy over the last three years than the comments I have received on my writing. There were days, weeks, where the only thing that kept my head above water was the kindness of strangers. I learned anew, the power of a kind word, not from a book, or a speaker but from direct, first-hand experience and I am here to say, I know of no greater power than the hand of compassion, kindness and love.

12. About three months ago, one day, I just stopped wearing my glasses and contacts. My sight is no better than before, but for some inexplicable reason, I don't mind nor do I notice and I've been wearing glasses for close to twenty years or so. The brain is an amazing thing. Just don't get too close to me on the highway.

13. A couple years ago I felt I hit the wall with stuff and instead of figuring out how to acquire more stuff, my mind started figuring out how to simplify, how to have less, to de-clutter and enjoy the birds in the orchard as my dear Ms Dickinson would say. I still like stuff, but, assuming I have money in my bank account to pay my bills, I'd rather have a good cup of coffee and the peace and quiet to read, think, write, draw, sketch and continue to touch as many lives as I can with kindness.

14. I'm not sure if the internet is a blessing or a curse.

15. Got my first Mac about a year and a half ago and can't imagine having to use a PC again.

16. I rediscovered music about three years ago and now have over 3,000 songs on my iPod and rarely go a day without listening to my favorite artists.

17. There is no other place I would rather be than near the ocean, listening to a chorus of waves dance upon a carpet of sand, to hear the gull as the sun rises and sets on a clean horizon.

18. After my father passed away and I saw him silently slip from sight and then memory, nary a trace on the surface of life remaining, life as ocean self-healing, I asked myself how my life, in this moment, if I were to pass, would be any different. From that moment I turned a different eye to art and prose, driven by a desire to leave some mark behind and my great hope is, one day, long after I am gone, my son will see what I have written and turn to his spouse, and with a wet eye, say, my dad wrote this.

19. My hairdresser, of more than twenty years, will arbitrarily change the part in my hair from left to right and from right to left. I never say anything to her.

20. I drink more than I use too and almost always alone. Rarely do I drink with others. What concerns me most is not the drinking but knowing I am more creative with than without and this desire to go someplace in the world of imagination that is otherwise locked is not a battle I like fighting. The good news is, I find music works almost the same way and that a song, melody or lyric will also unlock areas of creativity that I cannot find with song. Now, when I put song and wine together, well, that is a special creative place and some of my best work has come at those times.

21. Speaking of creativity, I am not and have never been a morning person. It is usually best not to speak to me as it is that I don't speak to anyone, before my third cup of coffee. However, and this I find most fascinating, in that window of semi-consciousness, I have written probably half of the Story I write. As my fingers are moving on the keyboard, the experience in this state is akin to an out of body experience. I literally feel as if the words are coming from elsewhere, that someone else is writing and there are times I feel guilty to say this is mine, for what has been created in that window is as if a gift and not an act.

22. I cry easily. I am moved to emotion as a feather on the breeze. I have cried driving down the highway as I envision a scene to write in my Story. I have cried watching movies in which no one else cries. And I have cried with the death of every pet I've ever shared my life. I could try not to cry, but to do so would be to deny myself, to be something other than what I am, so I cry without shame and, I suppose, will do so for all the days of my life.

23. I would rather feel pain than feel nothing. I would rather be slapped than ignored. I would rather be kicked than forgotten. I find a truth in pain and illness that eludes me in happiness and health. I wish it weren't so, but to say otherwise would be less than honest. Maybe one day, the coin will flip and the inverse will be true. But I'm not holding my breath.

24. I don't believe in rules but I love them all the same. I try to live by one rule only, Don't be an Asshole. Unfortunately, I violate my own rule more than I would like.

25. I don't like meme's. This is only the second one I've done in four years. Don't expect another anytime soon.

644. Neighing and Braying

White flesh, bent, rounded in faded light; ankles cuffed in discarded cloth. Hand as pendulum, keeping time with aim decadent, bringing life to the pale moon as roses splayed on a living canvas.

Thigh forced naked upon pleated knee. A lacquered wooded chair taking notes with squeaks of wood upon wood and a solitary window, undressed to the sun, looks from the corner, our private voyeur.

As the hand moves so moves the gam taut, an unspoken friction, the eternal embrace, biological, of hard to soft, of lust to desire, of intent that knows neither past nor the next hour. Urgent fragrants the air, an atmosphere heavy in breath, of control, of hair held as reins pulled tight, of neck curved to match the curve below, of neighing and braying as natural as the shearing of wool and the weaving of plaid.

"Whatcha writing?" asked Em.

"Nothing," replied Trev.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Don't look like nothing."

Before Trev could answer, Em snatched the note, her eyes racing left and right, growing wide above her rainbow cheeks. "Well now, I'd say this isn't nothing, nothing at all."

What occurred next was as two birds in a blue sky, a dance of feathers painting the sky, oblivious to the ground below.