What is poetry, but
a language of the dead.
It’s an informal dance,
a shared cigarette.
Poetry is
but a one night stand.
It’s a wine ring left,
sheets, stained
between strangers.
Poetry
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Tag Archives: dance
Join the party
When people are singing
laughing and dancing,
join the party, because
not every wallflower has it’s perks,
and growth, well
that’s up to you.
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
Taylor calls for me from those stairs in Italy
I’m walking by a pay phone on the beach
Reminders from the East and a girl named Cicily
Talk me into circles out of reach
Send letters won’t you son to remind us what you’ve done
Don’t be a stranger call us once a week?
I buried what was left of my heartache in a trench
On that lonesome stretch of sand I was released
Now Bret he reads the lines in the background of my mind
There’s no one in this room to hear me sing
When journaling in thought feels like a raven’s claw
It’s Taylor who sits calmly next to me
The grass rests underneath her cheekbone by the sea
While chemicals channel flowing dreams
It’s 8am in August while I pour the gin and tonic
Listening to the ocean’s cresting wave
The cobblestone in Rome for which once walked me home
Now Cicily I hear her gently speak
There’s no such thing as time, if you believe that then that’s fine
But darling I’ve got no tears left to weep
I did my best to please the priest listening to me
Still Lucas rest assured me of my grief
I didn’t have to sail to France to find a girl to dance
I just went out every night for one last drink
So now as Taylor calls to me from those stairs in Italy
I pick her up once more from memory
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
I pick her up once more from memory
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
a Starry Night
How often do two minds dive
deep within the sea of time
whose infinite waters share the light
a moonlit dance if you’ll take mine
hand then we can share this sea
and dive to depths eternity
a Starry Night, Saint-Remy-de
it took an ear to hear you say
I see you, feel you, knew your name
long before that faithful day.
If Hemingway was here today
If Hemingway
was here today
would he Instagram
his catch?
And dare you say
that Hemingway
was rotgut—
his defense?
Out on the bay
he’d fish and say
what pleasures
have a man?
His slow decay
here but a day
come then let’s see your stance!
Put up your dukes
and lace your boots,
a fight? No sir
let’s dance!
Juliet
She was warm and aware
Her bright eyes full of care
By the moon she was fair
as light danced through her hair
Like a sound, Juliet
she spoke wise with regret
Where I found it quite strange
by the light steady rain
Where footprints should have been
she had gone with the wind
While I lay awoken
by the rays of her infinite light
a loneliness grave.
I spared him a quarter
alone where he stood
next to the Madonna
as if she’d do him good.
He gave me a blessing
gentle and aware
the wind it was violent
messing both our hair.
While Girl Scouts are selling
cookies for the troop
a week ago maybe
someone died on that stoop.
But don’t tell their mothers
as if they would care
no you don’t get the badge unless
you’ve sold your soul there.
My eyes they grow weary
still I can’t look away
at the hummingbird dancing
a loneliness grave,
still I’ve got this feeling
that there’s no escape
am I ok to drive? I guess or else just look away.
Am I ok to drive? I guess, if not well either way.
At the cafe I buy coffee
either iced or cold brew
the barista he tells me
nothing’s ever new.
But still I ask questions
like how do you do
and she recalls my name
it’s the least she could do.
I don’t mean to sound faithless
I’ve just seen enough kicks
see the old man he died, well
some things never make sense.
It’s slight of the hand, it’s
a scam with three cups
you follow the ball then
it’s gone where it was.
My eyes they burn red with
the heat of the day
it’s winter in Burbank
what more can I say,
still I’ve got this feeling
that there’s no escape
am I ok to drive? I guess or else just look away.
Am I ok to drive? I guess, if not well either way.
Now I take to the bar, where
Happy Hour’s till 6
Scott the tender he knows me
pours my whiskey then gin.
What’s the good word? Pal, tell me
do you think that you could
spare me knowledge like change would
do me some type of good.
I don’t stay past the hour
happiness never lasts
after shame there comes flowers
then of course there’s the past.
You’re a good guy he tells me
see the pain never lasts
I assure you it does, Scott
he just nods then he laughs.
See there’s beauty in living
it’s just hidden by stars
who illuminate sidewalks
like two subtle hearts,
still I’ve got this feeling
that there’s no escape
it’s an obvious cycle, one I’ll never break.(?)
Am I ok to drive? I guess or else just look away.
Am I ok to drive? I guess, if not well either way.
a kind of dance
Nobody
gets out of there own way
they just get in the way of others
watch, listen, blend in
and you’ll see.
that tiny speck of the world
people were funny like that
one minute you’d be hating them all
and the next you’d be falling in love
with every single one of em
because they were all beautiful
and ugly, starry eyed and wild
tolerating crazy with kindness
and even if not listening
just being there
made all the difference in
that tiny speck of the world
where nobody knew anyone more
than he or she even knew themselves
candle flame
soft and slow
candle flame
spins and dances
infinitely
contained by its wick
unable to reach
higher than the wax
which grounds it
Words Of An Average White Male 