broken leaves at sundown
set fire to the trees
drinking from the heavens
of nature’s crystal spring
yellow jacket bumbling
curious honey bees
as blades of grass we tango
bound for eternity
Home » Posts tagged 'thought' (Page 25)
Tag Archives: thought
ashes and asphalt
The grass was thick and warm
unlike the asphalt
which was fire to her to feet
so she lay in the grass
sharp but pliable blades
caressing her skin exposed
while the sun began
to shower her thoughts poured
like rain simmering steam rose
from the ashes and asphalt.
FAWAP!
Awake now
on my back
thumbing through
Kerouac
rattle-tat-tat goes the rain…
While the birds chit
and others chat
another day’s here
Oh, what’s that Jack?
ho-hum-mum
FAWAP!
Cupid’s always looking in
This life’s a beautiful disaster penned one summer long ago
I mean who was I kidding just a kid on the East Coast
So I took my car and drove off found myself out on the road
I was so sure I was different but so scared of letting go
Had this girl her name was pure like it was written in the stars
I first met her in the backseat of my good friends mother’s car
And I don’t quite know how it happened tangled alone in the dark
But she showed me true compassion for a badly broken heart
And if you ever saw the way her fingers danced upon my hand
Love’s an infinite reminder I just couldn’t understand
She was beautiful regardless of the way things had to end
I’m just happy to have seen her grown and happy as a friend
Somewhere before and after I had lost my innocence
Was a child when I said come on let’s go what’s happening
Like a judge biting my tongue so long held on to my defense
Till one day it all poured out like a volcano from my head
You talk too much don’t talk enough try this paper and pen
I think that it’ll help to write it down is what she said
And of course guess what it happened but this time in a kitchen
We were kindred drunk and carefree at first sight I do admit
I wasn’t looking for a lover in retrospect needed a friend
But that’s the way it happens Cupid’s always looking in
When she took me without question I knew something had to give
Had more talent in her pinky than I swear I ever did
And she tried hard to convince me I was good at fitting in
Still my anger got the best of me and then the fear to live
See it took 6 months of depression just to make one decision
I would have should have could have now son that’s no way to live
I thought if I just disappear perhaps I’d be no one’s burden
But learned life is a disaster that you somehow have to live
So I packed my bags one day and gave myself unto the wind
Hell I’ve been kicking rocks forever so I’m hella used to it
See there’s no way of ever knowing how tomorrow’s gonna end
You just get up brush your hair and then go do it again
Still love’s an infinite reminder I’ve tried so hard to understand
It always makes more sense when you’re left with empty hands
Like a psychic I am reading all the lines riddles and man
I can see it all so clearly first accept yourself and then
Maybe you get lucky one day in Central Park
Or perhaps while spilling coffee on a stranger after dark
There’s a reason for each season as one ends one’s soon to start
It only takes a moment kiddo ready on your mark
together in the sun
Perhaps we could each
bring blankets to the park
sit far enough apart
so that our shadows can lie
together in the sun
—pure and untouched—
like before we knew
each other’s name.
Tell me a story
There’s a part of me
that see’s this all clearly
like a child standing in a crowd
there’s really only one way out.
What is it that you see
it’s fine to disagree
why if the world’s mine oyster please
forgive me for the lack of belief.
I had this faith in you
I thought you had it too
how many smiles does it take to show
the unhappiness we grew to know.
Do you take this hand
would you understand
lighting matches just to prove you could
did it ever do you any good?
Tell me a story, one without love, cause it’s taken me for granted so many times—enough.
There’s a part of you
engrained in me now
I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit
it’s a piece I won’t ever regret.
So what’s the point of these prose
and insecurity poems
like a fish needs water to breathe
I guess it really isn’t up to me.
If this is just a passing feeling
I’ll agree to disagree then
watch the sun rise and fall once more
a couple hours then I’ll start the chore.
You see I know my problems
it’s not up to you to solve them
if I go out the Hemingway
like Kerouac first I’ll have my say so
Tell me a story, one without love, cause I’ve taken you for granted so many times—c’mon.
Tell me a story, one without love, cause it’s taken me for granted so many times—enough.
sinking stones
He loved her still
she had to go.
For if she stayed
he’d never know.
Though deep down still
like sinking stones
there lie the words
lost long ago.
Seasons Change
I found you in the dead of winter
We grew as one in the light of spring
Our passion climbed in the heat of summer
And we fell like lovers on autumns leaves
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.
Yet still I turn to the East in longing.
I was nothing more than excuses,
a great big ball of disappointment
which she tried desperately to employ.
At the bottom of it, I was fragile and weak.
In the pits of despair I looked to love,
but could not fully know love without
loving myself, which by terms of engagement
were cut like beautiful red ribbons from her hair.
Give me death, I’d beg.
Give me peace, I’d scream,
unaware that there was any difference between.
Still she’d try, day in and day out, pushing forward
like an endless train car of hopeful desire.
We’d even escape together too
with nothing but the wind to guide our path
and the rise and fall of the sun to persuade us forward.
Knee deep in the escape of journey we’d prevail,
until of course the final push where and when
like a wrecking ball of fate our souls would wither
in the crest of the sun upon the blind horizon.
Even now, I still turn my sights inward
reminded of her beauty and strength,
channeling it outward where I can walk
head turned high among the many shapeless eyes
who know nothing of my past, care nothing of my future
who’d rather see me not than to judge.
Yet still I turn to the East in longing.
And like all those many times before I know
even if we were to change(our minds) we couldn’t.
Though my count of crows is high
I know that one day it will be but one.
Until then I’ll keep this in my breast pocket
along with my sunglasses, where I reach for them sometimes
when my heart is heavy
where I can’t bear to look away
where I gaze into the distant clearing
and watch grasshopper spring
from golden stalk to golden stalk
blissful in the quiet light.
Words Of An Average White Male 