3:08
and I’m happy.
Not the smiling sort of
tell-all happy but
the breathing in the moonlight
kind of easiness,
just being, barely conscious
and willing to be free.
And
it’s 3:12 now
and shit,
you know how it goes.
Home » Posts tagged 'poet' (Page 33)
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a clear blue morning
flesh
against
flesh
against
flesh
against
flesh
against
sheets
pulled over
a clear blue
morning.
They had me at goodbye.
They had me at goodbye
as they always seemed to die
slow like a rose
one day jubilant and alive
then like sleep goes the week
and it’s noticed that the rose
has died. But see, I kept them there
all wilted and decayed
brown and crumpled I’d debate
taking them to the trash
throwing them away, though
a rose in its youth is beautiful
so too is a rose left to dry.
So I pressed them between pages
and drew a pretty picture
poured ink from my memory
so that even in death
they’d remain
alive.
season of change
Never had a bad intention
I just always made some bad decisions
that usually got way out of hand
and discredited my good intent
though looking a bit harder now
I guess I was just angry and confused
and figuring it out the best I knew how
given time, place, and circumstance
I mean I was just 16 then 19 — 23 then 25
now 31 doesn’t feel so old, in fact
I feel much younger than my former self
ready to dive back into that season of change.
Kyle’s Camel
Kyle’s
Camel
cigarette
smoke
lingers in the air
creeping in my window
wishing me to dare
take another drag
see what you’ve been missing
though if I did decide
to have another kissing
I’d like to think
it would be mid winter
jangling down the streets
of New York City banter
admiring sleepy windows
with a stranger I barely know
after leaving the Wreck Room
now long since closed
and wondering if she feels
the same way I do
taking a long hot drag
while
trying to seem cool
knowing nothing about her
yet desperately wanting to
and they would taste like Brooklyn
they would be Pall Mall Menthol
crisp and clear and clean
like ice on the verge of thaw
we’d be cracking up.
I let me.
God
the places I have known
and the places I have seen
and the places I will see
God willing
God help me
and to think
I don’t care much for God
only as much as he pulls for me
but oh God oh God oh me
what wonders we have to see
if willing, and willing
I let me.
the war unseen
Even in times of peace
the war unseen
rages on inside
someone, somewhere
like a match
full of absolute sulfur
just a spark
heard yet never seen
felt like a ghost
in the corner of the eye
ready to strike
and oh how it does,
oh how it haunts.
poetry is spam
A large portion of
poetry is spam.
But I don’t eat that stuff,
at least not until I get to see Hawaii
then who knows?
I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.
When in Rome, you know;
when in Rome.
the other day.
I made Pico de Gallo
the other day
and it needed salt
so I added salt
then put it away.
Then I took a nap
and woke up
more tired
than I’d been before I’d shut my eyes.
Then I wrote a song
drank some beer and
called it a day.
Nobody had to know I existed
and I was fine with that.
The Pico still needs work though,
I’ll send word.
Saturday morning
Saturday morning
woke me up
scratching and sour.
Then I wrecked my pants
feeling lousy, still
I went to my workshop
estranged from the world
yet there in that room
among strangers
who some
I call friends
I felt
Inspired
& well
Happy
So we told our stories
and while listening to Avi read about
Bob in a shipyard explosion
all that other stuff just kind of
went away.
Words Of An Average White Male 