Category Archives: Poetry

Voting day

Raven Standing on a Gallows with a Swinging Noose on a ...

You have lied and betrayed

To get your way

You sit in power

And still get paid

But there are footsteps

Marching

Beat by beat

This time

On a different street

And they are coming

Coming for you

To cast their vote

Around your throat

On the wind

And in the sky
Floats all the breath
Of every man who has ever lived
Or ever died
Pasted onto the pale blue wind
Sometimes raining
Sometimes shading
But always and forever there

My muse shanked me

I wouldn’t write
Not a word, Nay one
Until she caught me in the corridor
A dark hallway for sure
And put her blade to me
Sharp and cold
To the hilt
One push
One twist
To make me feel the pain
So now
And only now
Do I sing

 

(With a nod to SGT. M)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

D-Day of love

And all that time
And all that love
In the end
Came to mean nothing
And the dreams of the young
Oh, those passions
Died on the beaches
Shot down storming life
Killed as surely as any man
Put to their end
And they bled out
All that they had
Tattooing the sand
With all their crimson hopes
Until the next tide
Erased them all
In shifting colored eddies
And washed them out to sea
To be gone forever

Shades of Amber

I’m hoping that she lives now in the green pasture
That’s nestled into the curve of the forest
Outside of the dappled dewy shade
And hued moistness
The blue sky running like water above
And the lazy trickling creek running it’s course below
All the red clay gone
Cut through to shale and rock
By the water that cares nothing but to run
I hope that she has a place here
A place in the meadow in the Sun
A place to be warm
After all the cold she had in life

Image

A short poem by Google

Hate poem written for a friend

Succubus

Love is a lie
Because she makes it that
Sordid and dirty
Drunkenly whispered into the ears of other men
Dingy sweated sheets
Makes the temple
She preaches her lies from
Love cannot be truth to her
Because love gives
And all she can do is take
She has greed in her heart and soul
That makes her claw at anything she wants
Like gold
She consumes men and sex and passion
Like Dionysys himself
But there is no love in her
Her still heart is cold and dead
And all she has
For the one who waits at home for her
Are lies of love

Rain

The last piece” The drought” is a sequel to this earlier piece

She sits in the cold rain
And lets the dark night weep onto her skin
She does the only thing that he can’t
Which is to feel
She is as cold as him now
But she breathes
Weeping into the night
But breathing nonetheless
Still having life
Even as the cold sting
Robs her of her warmth

The drought

It was like waiting for the rain to come

Waiting for the drops to strike the parched dust and feed the earth

Hoping into blue skies and cotton clouds

That something would form

Would come

Given by grace or God

And it was that God awful wait

Not knowing from day to day

If she would live or die

It was as bad as the wait at a death bed

Waiting into the dawn for the dying gasps

And then one day it came

The skies opened

She told him that she wanted to decorate for Christmas

No tree or gifts and not even the inside of the house

But he knew

As soon as she said it

The wait was over

The rain had come

The water would run in the fields

She would live

Simple pleasures

 

She had become a pale wraith
Just a ghost of the girl gone
Blondness and whiteness faded into one
Dead already
But not yet really
Still breathing
But with no heart beating
Nothing warm or filled with love
Just the pinch of the needle
Stinging in her arm
Her only smile
For that pleasure
But that too would soon be gone
And she would be cold and still
And she would wait in her bed
Frozen like a statue
Waiting for someone to find her
And consign her to the ground

Transformation

Her tears flowed like blood
As she cried her life out
And her blood flowed like ice
Frozen in her veins
And her heart became cold
As cold as winter wind
And her hot breath stopped
Just stopped and was no more
And who she was
Was gone
Gone
Like a bird flown
Carried on the wind
Never to land again

Yo Yo Ma – Soul of the tango

I remember

When we still danced like we were young

Under the silvered moon ’round the crackling fire

Spilling wine and laughter

Late into the night

Our own private party

Until the dawn of the day

When we still danced

Like we were young

The deep end

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I should have stayed in the shallow end of the pool
Getting nothing wet but my feet and legs
Risking nothing more than a chill
But I’m drowning
Choking on all of the right choices I’ve made
I’m drowning on all my loyalty and love
My lungs are filling and I die
I die
The air that I try to breathe
It’s not air
And my lungs fill while I panic
Clamping,biting and heaving
And I’m in the deep end of the pool
Drowning
Feet trying to find the bottom
Drowning on people dying and hurting
Drowning in all the pain that they are not willing to face
And I’m under the water with no way out
And I don’t know what’s worse
To die and stifle and suffocate
Or to wade in the shallow end of the pool
And not care and just watch
While everyone else
Slowly goes under

The day after Monday and reasons to still get out of bed

My sweetheart

And to the boy who keeps breaking her heart

I will drive 2000 miles to break your left leg off and shove it up your ass

Don’t be a dick and piss Uncle Jay off

It sucks to be a poet

Some days it sucks

To be a poet

To have words

Softly banging

In your head

Clouding your sight

With visions

Of things pictured

Or perceived deep

Within your brain

Incomprehensible

And duplicitous

Swirling and straining

To chain

Into verse or prose

The Goddesses of words

Unasked and uninvited

Laboring in your mind

Squatted down and

Birthing broken strings

Of words

That linked correctly can

Make them demi- gods

Half God

And

Half lyric

Spelling out the Iliad

Perhaps…

But you are left

Walking through the day

In a daze

Quietly tasting words

As they flood

Into your mouth

And onto your lips

From the jumbled maze

Inside your brain

The song of Emmanuel Tsongranis

He pounded coffin nails
With a hammer forged of fear
Every word of spite nailing in and holding
Badged and vested
Death and bullets resting in his gun
But still frightened by this woman
Standing proud
Whom he could not bully
Nor subdue
Hammer, hammer, hammer
Testimony to the judge
That in all his years
He had never met a woman like her
Who acted like her
No respect
No fear
Of course not you fool
You charged into the camp
Of Boudicea
Come to rape and pillage
And fell beneath her sword
Hammer, hammer, hammer
You can lock her up
But you can never bury fear

Vote from the rooftops

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When tyranny sings
And gunshots ring
Then it’s time to cast my vote
From rooftop high
To mountaintop
I will make every vote count
In the  mean time now
And the mean time here
I am sitting this one out

 

Haha!

Not A-mused

Maybe I have nothing to say today
But you won’t accept that
You secretly slip words into my brain
Like a tongue sliding between closed lips
Suddenly and unexpected
A moment of shock and surprise
Yes, I went to peck you on the cheek
And you slipped me the tongue
Maybe I don’t want your words kissing me
Your passion pouring in my mouth
Hot and torrid
Sliding soft and wet on my lips
Maybe today I want to be left alone
But you won’t accept that
You are always nagging me

 

Yeah, my muse slipped me the tongue

It can suck sometimes to think in poetry

Really, think about it

 

The dogs

The dogs have all had a piece

They lay and eat their bloody feast

Yet still he does, still he stands

That tattered remnant of a man

With just enough flesh to go around

To sate the slavering red eyed hounds

But they’re almost done

They crave for more

Not this sorry motherf@cker

He’s out the door

They stop and howl

‘What have we done’

They’ve put their food upon the run

They snap and snarl

All in vain

Aught to stop their hunger and pain

They cry with sorrow

To the empty wind

‘Please come back we’re famished again’

 

@1992