I've been drinking a bit too much lately
which means i've also been writing
imbibe enough spirits to numb myself comfortably to not have to feel anymore
and be alright with that
make dead to pain everything but the very tips of my fingers
gripped pens and laptop keys the only stimuli
slightly shaking hands reaching forward to remove more caps from bottles
fill the glass and continue
bartender, just fill my glass so i can continue
trying to stay perpetually unfocused and stumbling
almost off balance with double vision
keeping everything pushed away to the borders of my peripheral
and at farther than arm's length so that i don't have to feel it
or really see it
and i can just continue on numb
too many drinks in dingy bars with crowds of strangers
many more alone in my apartment staring at the computer screen
if blood were wine i'd be forever happy
numb, tucked away somewhere inside the folds of myself
laughing
laughing louder
laughing if at nothing but my own laughter
like the sound alone is enough to crack my face into a smile
too hard lately to do so without reason
painful to contort my face in that manner without first loosening my lips
with drink
welcoming in many spirits while losing grip on my own
just fill up my glass and light me another cigarette
smoke and wine make pleasant friends when the silence on the inside
of your head gets too loud to bear anymore
smoke and wine know how to keep you laughing
know how to keep you smiling
i won't ever forget how to be happy
but it sometimes gets hard to remember to smile
without first loosening lips with drink
so fill me up another glass
light my cigarette
and let's laugh together
smiling
if only to stop feeling another moment
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
a true confession
i dont write political poetry, and i stray from describing the horrors
inflicted upon the oppressed of society because i only write shit that i
know about my words embrace love with gilded wings flying it high into the
sun touched clouds placing it upon a throne of diamonds for there is
nothing more important in my mind than love for ourselves and our fellow
persons my poetry promotes understanding through self-expression because i
cannot tell you the answers you need to stop seeing the evils everywhere i
can only hope to open your mind and equip you with the weapons you already
have in order to tear down the wretchedness around you i speak of
consciousness because i uphold the theory of evolution and the next step is
mental so instead of some half assed attempt at attacking our governmental
corruption i bleed from the heart to tell anyone who will listen to wake
the fuck up and open your third eye take notice of the beauty of sheer
existence and relish in the inescapable irrefutable truth that an open mind
two feet on the ground and hands to hold the hearts of every beloved being
are all we have to validate our reality the rest is simply theoretical i
suppose i should be spending my time on picket lines screaming about
injustice and stopping globalization but too often my eyes wander the skies
instead and my arms fall to my sides palms open outwards because every
answer to every question is written within the whispy white clouds
streaking the clear sky and i can only take in so much before my mind
recoils and ecstatically i slump to the soft grass below gripping the earth
as tightly as my fingers are able to hold it in place at the same time
centering myself on the understanding that im just one weird insect
scrambling across the face of this cosmic bouncing ball towards utter
uncertainty and i couldnt possibly be more content than i am right now
simply being i write so openly and frankly about love as if my definition
rivals that of the dictionarys but at best all ive got is a fleeting
inkling of a description based off past experiences and a skewed sense of
idealism which will suffice for the moment but eventually im going to have
to come to grips with the fact that much like a gerbil trying to palm a
cannonball the matter is well out of my hands besides im no research
psychologist at best just a schmuck romantic with a pen and a pad and
perhaps a message to give but staying on topic much like a drunken acrobat
balancing on fishing line is much more precarious than it may
seem dancing around riddles and similies and metaphors all of perfect
clarity in my head anyway trying to arrive at some concise termination to
this extravaganza of poetic expression or whatever it may be i find
myself having said too much as usual because like too many metaphorical
allusions as pennies burst from a fifty pound piggy bank dropped off the
ninth floor when my mouth opens man words just fly
inflicted upon the oppressed of society because i only write shit that i
know about my words embrace love with gilded wings flying it high into the
sun touched clouds placing it upon a throne of diamonds for there is
nothing more important in my mind than love for ourselves and our fellow
persons my poetry promotes understanding through self-expression because i
cannot tell you the answers you need to stop seeing the evils everywhere i
can only hope to open your mind and equip you with the weapons you already
have in order to tear down the wretchedness around you i speak of
consciousness because i uphold the theory of evolution and the next step is
mental so instead of some half assed attempt at attacking our governmental
corruption i bleed from the heart to tell anyone who will listen to wake
the fuck up and open your third eye take notice of the beauty of sheer
existence and relish in the inescapable irrefutable truth that an open mind
two feet on the ground and hands to hold the hearts of every beloved being
are all we have to validate our reality the rest is simply theoretical i
suppose i should be spending my time on picket lines screaming about
injustice and stopping globalization but too often my eyes wander the skies
instead and my arms fall to my sides palms open outwards because every
answer to every question is written within the whispy white clouds
streaking the clear sky and i can only take in so much before my mind
recoils and ecstatically i slump to the soft grass below gripping the earth
as tightly as my fingers are able to hold it in place at the same time
centering myself on the understanding that im just one weird insect
scrambling across the face of this cosmic bouncing ball towards utter
uncertainty and i couldnt possibly be more content than i am right now
simply being i write so openly and frankly about love as if my definition
rivals that of the dictionarys but at best all ive got is a fleeting
inkling of a description based off past experiences and a skewed sense of
idealism which will suffice for the moment but eventually im going to have
to come to grips with the fact that much like a gerbil trying to palm a
cannonball the matter is well out of my hands besides im no research
psychologist at best just a schmuck romantic with a pen and a pad and
perhaps a message to give but staying on topic much like a drunken acrobat
balancing on fishing line is much more precarious than it may
seem dancing around riddles and similies and metaphors all of perfect
clarity in my head anyway trying to arrive at some concise termination to
this extravaganza of poetic expression or whatever it may be i find
myself having said too much as usual because like too many metaphorical
allusions as pennies burst from a fifty pound piggy bank dropped off the
ninth floor when my mouth opens man words just fly
plummet
somewhere along the line i set my life track on plummet
i don't fall in love; i crash aground so hard i bury myself in the debris of shattered hearts
and mine tends to break on impact
sliced open by shards so razor sharp they mimic the curves in my twisting soul so closely the cuts won't stop bleeding
i don't just drop metaphor; i bomb verses from aircraft fleets so thick high noon over your city is more pitch than midnight
and opportunity doesn't just slip between my fingers; it breaks everything from the wrist down when it hits and keeps dropping
but straining through shattered knuckles i always manage to pick up the pieces and carry that heavy weight to accomplishment
and to put it simply sithout elusive wordplay: when transmitted from my mind to pen to audience earllobes these words whet appetites
and when particularly blessed inspire some to make hungry a few fans of their own
and a heart that can't truly be given can never be broken
and until this microphone grows lips, hips and a wit capable of unfucking my mind
i'll gladly resign myself to careen from one pretty girl to the next while keeping the depths of my love locked away for life and poetry only
i can always tell which way is up, i tend to travel the opposite direction
nose down and spiraling, mere inches from striking ground and smirking stupidly
so pleasantly i plummet
face upturned waiting to smash upon impact
arms outstretched anticipating that last embrace
but this cat landed feet first
licked his scars and carried on with that big chip on his shoulder stating 'fuck it'
shrugged off a couple of fleas, marked his territory then slept and dreamt of the man he once was
awoke to stand upright on two feet, chin high and eyes skyward
determined to never again fall farther than his hands can reach to find hope to hold onto
climbing up never once looking back to see how far he had plummet
i won't forget which way is down
the direction tears fall the wider my grin gets
each clambering grasp raising myself from the chasm of broken hopes is a promise to continue up and out
never again to follow the flow of shed blood and tears as they so pleasantly plummet
word riot
I find lately
I'm a little too stuck on blank pages left untouched by pen or thought
and not forgotten, but made to nag for fulfillment
like little daggers that stick my feet to the floor and trip me up when i try to sneak by another night without penning some existence into them
like shattered reflections incomplete and screaming for me to find the shards broken off and finish them
I'm afraid my journal will sneak off the table while I'm sleeping and gag me with wads of half-finished poems if i don't start to spend some more time in it
maybe my pen will revolt and run away, or so resent its existence of bare use that it stabs me blind when i finally pick it up, probably just to jot down a grocery list or a note for rolling papers and cigarettes
or perhaps the verses themselves will flee and leave my throat hollow and speech muted
run so far the speed of imagination couldn't keep up
trying to stay away from being used in a poem written about a poem not being written
I'm a little too stuck on blank pages left untouched by pen or thought
and not forgotten, but made to nag for fulfillment
like little daggers that stick my feet to the floor and trip me up when i try to sneak by another night without penning some existence into them
like shattered reflections incomplete and screaming for me to find the shards broken off and finish them
I'm afraid my journal will sneak off the table while I'm sleeping and gag me with wads of half-finished poems if i don't start to spend some more time in it
maybe my pen will revolt and run away, or so resent its existence of bare use that it stabs me blind when i finally pick it up, probably just to jot down a grocery list or a note for rolling papers and cigarettes
or perhaps the verses themselves will flee and leave my throat hollow and speech muted
run so far the speed of imagination couldn't keep up
trying to stay away from being used in a poem written about a poem not being written
in praise...
if i could find another way to thank you i would
if tearing my heart out on stage just to show how full you've made it would prove my case
i'd dig deep with both fists filling palms in praise of all of you
but instead, i'd just like to say 'thank you'
for making my wednesday nights more than words echoed back by the bare walls of my apartment
for filling the floor of the Lobby and the halls of my memory
and even if i only ever get to know you at a glance while on stage spittin
know that every word written, is for you
so never listen to a poet say they don't need an audience
because if it wasn't for you
i'd have never found myself to place myself in the position y'all applaud weekly
found the strength to speak freely
found my pen moving easily to the beat of the words i've found needing me
and i need y'all to keep feeding me
cuz each scream released is a reason for me to keep breathing
and keep speaking
til my lips crack and start bleeding
til my throat chokes and each spoken word is creaking
til i'm losing my balance and leaning
on mic stands, cuz i'm feelin this night man
it's hurtin so good cuz it's right man
so if i reel from the lights and keel over tonight
know that my lifespan exists from the time when you listened to my pen's written assigment to fly to the heights and glide like a kite when i picked up the mic and started performing
to the moment you finished applauding
and if i only live within the span of your appreciation
i'll gladly burn out like a pheonix leaving only cinders and smoldering pages behind as reminders
on a stage painted with the ashes of a poet who didn't know just how to thank you
and i'm not here to educate the masses or free minds and gift knowledge
i'm not here to tell you what causes to pump fists to
what banner to rally troops behind
or what wars to wage, domestic or internationally
because frankly, i'm just a poet
not a prophet
role model for the chain-smoking barfly pushing thirty but not ready to fall off yet bored to near apathy american youth crowd
and we're always taking new members
just sign up with a pen dug deep enough beneath skin to chip bone
and when you've finally recited your second or third poem
when tonight feels like you've wandered your whole life without a place to call home
until tonight
we'll count you as one of the veterans
membership is a only a few shed tears and a cracked voice away
so act now, while attention spans last
if tearing my heart out on stage just to show how full you've made it would prove my case
i'd dig deep with both fists filling palms in praise of all of you
but instead, i'd just like to say 'thank you'
for making my wednesday nights more than words echoed back by the bare walls of my apartment
for filling the floor of the Lobby and the halls of my memory
and even if i only ever get to know you at a glance while on stage spittin
know that every word written, is for you
so never listen to a poet say they don't need an audience
because if it wasn't for you
i'd have never found myself to place myself in the position y'all applaud weekly
found the strength to speak freely
found my pen moving easily to the beat of the words i've found needing me
and i need y'all to keep feeding me
cuz each scream released is a reason for me to keep breathing
and keep speaking
til my lips crack and start bleeding
til my throat chokes and each spoken word is creaking
til i'm losing my balance and leaning
on mic stands, cuz i'm feelin this night man
it's hurtin so good cuz it's right man
so if i reel from the lights and keel over tonight
know that my lifespan exists from the time when you listened to my pen's written assigment to fly to the heights and glide like a kite when i picked up the mic and started performing
to the moment you finished applauding
and if i only live within the span of your appreciation
i'll gladly burn out like a pheonix leaving only cinders and smoldering pages behind as reminders
on a stage painted with the ashes of a poet who didn't know just how to thank you
and i'm not here to educate the masses or free minds and gift knowledge
i'm not here to tell you what causes to pump fists to
what banner to rally troops behind
or what wars to wage, domestic or internationally
because frankly, i'm just a poet
not a prophet
role model for the chain-smoking barfly pushing thirty but not ready to fall off yet bored to near apathy american youth crowd
and we're always taking new members
just sign up with a pen dug deep enough beneath skin to chip bone
and when you've finally recited your second or third poem
when tonight feels like you've wandered your whole life without a place to call home
until tonight
we'll count you as one of the veterans
membership is a only a few shed tears and a cracked voice away
so act now, while attention spans last
what slips out from the cracks between thoughts
these are not so much words
as exhaust fumes from cigarettes, blunts, pipes
and the friction burns between words trying to escape the lack of standing room
it gets crowded in here
lips seal around filter, dragging in what once was solid, release
repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.
snubbed out the smoldering stick of my own habit
light another
repeat.
sucking down fumes like it would fill me with what's neccessary
like the succulent smoke curling into my throat would make full my empty voice
maybe the second hand smoke is my gift to society
maybe this backwashed exhaust smoke curling from lips too dry is my two cents
yet to be counted
light another
repeat.
ashtray full and i'm still stuck on the same sentence
ceiling is no longer lonely
so much smoke like patrons in a grand ballroom crowd the fan and mingle
with the bits of dust solid clumped onto the backs of a previous layer
swilring a dirge to my unfinished poems
a waltz to the poems i never started
and ending on a sonata, a sad one, played dolefully from trumpets dingy
no one's dancing
just watching
waiting
indulging that swollen moment between inhale and pen touching the paper
perhaps this will be the end of something
the final moment he's been waiting for
will this be the end of too many cigarettes and not enough filled pages?
no
swallowing smoke to fill lungs with words
snubbed out the smoldering stick of my own habit
light another
repeat
repeat
repeat
still not finished
as exhaust fumes from cigarettes, blunts, pipes
and the friction burns between words trying to escape the lack of standing room
it gets crowded in here
lips seal around filter, dragging in what once was solid, release
repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.
snubbed out the smoldering stick of my own habit
light another
repeat.
sucking down fumes like it would fill me with what's neccessary
like the succulent smoke curling into my throat would make full my empty voice
maybe the second hand smoke is my gift to society
maybe this backwashed exhaust smoke curling from lips too dry is my two cents
yet to be counted
light another
repeat.
ashtray full and i'm still stuck on the same sentence
ceiling is no longer lonely
so much smoke like patrons in a grand ballroom crowd the fan and mingle
with the bits of dust solid clumped onto the backs of a previous layer
swilring a dirge to my unfinished poems
a waltz to the poems i never started
and ending on a sonata, a sad one, played dolefully from trumpets dingy
no one's dancing
just watching
waiting
indulging that swollen moment between inhale and pen touching the paper
perhaps this will be the end of something
the final moment he's been waiting for
will this be the end of too many cigarettes and not enough filled pages?
no
swallowing smoke to fill lungs with words
snubbed out the smoldering stick of my own habit
light another
repeat
repeat
repeat
still not finished
my prayer for 2006
now i'm not a religious man
but i found myself leaving my last show praying
one hand clasped around the mic stand
the other open
touching nothing more than God's breath
see blessings are never farther away than an open palm
and a few thankful verses
so let this be my prayer for 2006
i walk past a block full of homeless and sick
sleeping in abandoned business entrances
to find my way home
past the salesmen pushing boulders to crush souls on 5th St and 3rd Ave
they call them rocks around these parts
shaking handfuls of pebbles at passerby hoping to convince at least one more
a day to climb that mountain
i pass the apartments of people twice my age and ten thousand times my
experience
near broken behind hollow doors that can't stifle the silence of their lonely
last days on the planet
i walk past life
that's the only way to continue
focus on your final destination
and where you've come from
let the carnival whirl on around you
and pay it no mind
just tithe it a thought on pad and paper after the fact
make it a memory in words
remind any ear who will listen that beneath the bottom they've hit calling it
rock bottom
is an even deeper rock bottom to fall to
words are like armor
shielding poets from the reality around them
but not quite well enough to save them
that's become our own job
when we're knee deep in the trenches of sorrow and sinking deeper
there's only our own arms available to pull us up
muscles tensed and burning, fingertips digging so deep into hope
we mold it into a thin silver safety line
pull harder now poet
drag yourself into the new year with bloody palms and nothing
but your own grim determination saving you
clamber onto the next day like the ground beneath will fall out
and leave you with no foothold to stand on
and empty air to plunge down into
unless you survive long enough to speak the next poem
clenched between your teeth
bite down harder now poet
grind words to dust and inhale deeply
like the next few are the only sentences suitable to survive on
breathe deeper now poet
speak like there's fire in your belly
pronounce each statement clearly and powerfully
fill the room with the thunder of your breath made poetry
plant your feet on stage
like it's earth to take root in
grip mics like bark grown decades over the nails driven into your trunk
mercilessly
use each cut, each scar,
each bloody lip and bitten tongue ever suffered
any moment in your life you've been stricken silent
load each breath with lead
like the bullets fired from those so jealous they have to answer in screams
every whisper uttered trying to better yourself
pack each pointed paragraph with all the intensity you contain
and speak up louder now poet
let free the frustrations holding your wits at knife's edge
threatening to slice so deep you can't be sewn back together
let your voice bring down the heavens like God isn't listening
so your prerogative is to supply her a front row seat
and no option but to hear you
love harder now poet
that deems repeating
LOVE HARDER NOW POET
like family, friends and community are the foundation you're built upon
like respect of a fellow performer is the only support left for your head to rest
high on
hold loved ones close and those you truly love even closer
offer them understanding and strong shoulders to cry on
even if the weight of their worries is so much it may break you,
endure these tragedies for your strength will pass onto them
and the day you find yourself shattered against the sharp rocks of real life
they will be standing at the foot of the cliff waiting
scooping up your broken fragments
and gluing them together with the tears you tried to help them stop crying
pray harder now poet
make each breath your tithing to a loved world and a willing God
so that, God willing, this world will return that love back to you
this is my prayer for the year recently gone by
and many more to follow
keep speaking freely now poets
and keep loving harder now poets
and for love of free speech
i'll be seeing you next year
for my next prayer
but i found myself leaving my last show praying
one hand clasped around the mic stand
the other open
touching nothing more than God's breath
see blessings are never farther away than an open palm
and a few thankful verses
so let this be my prayer for 2006
i walk past a block full of homeless and sick
sleeping in abandoned business entrances
to find my way home
past the salesmen pushing boulders to crush souls on 5th St and 3rd Ave
they call them rocks around these parts
shaking handfuls of pebbles at passerby hoping to convince at least one more
a day to climb that mountain
i pass the apartments of people twice my age and ten thousand times my
experience
near broken behind hollow doors that can't stifle the silence of their lonely
last days on the planet
i walk past life
that's the only way to continue
focus on your final destination
and where you've come from
let the carnival whirl on around you
and pay it no mind
just tithe it a thought on pad and paper after the fact
make it a memory in words
remind any ear who will listen that beneath the bottom they've hit calling it
rock bottom
is an even deeper rock bottom to fall to
words are like armor
shielding poets from the reality around them
but not quite well enough to save them
that's become our own job
when we're knee deep in the trenches of sorrow and sinking deeper
there's only our own arms available to pull us up
muscles tensed and burning, fingertips digging so deep into hope
we mold it into a thin silver safety line
pull harder now poet
drag yourself into the new year with bloody palms and nothing
but your own grim determination saving you
clamber onto the next day like the ground beneath will fall out
and leave you with no foothold to stand on
and empty air to plunge down into
unless you survive long enough to speak the next poem
clenched between your teeth
bite down harder now poet
grind words to dust and inhale deeply
like the next few are the only sentences suitable to survive on
breathe deeper now poet
speak like there's fire in your belly
pronounce each statement clearly and powerfully
fill the room with the thunder of your breath made poetry
plant your feet on stage
like it's earth to take root in
grip mics like bark grown decades over the nails driven into your trunk
mercilessly
use each cut, each scar,
each bloody lip and bitten tongue ever suffered
any moment in your life you've been stricken silent
load each breath with lead
like the bullets fired from those so jealous they have to answer in screams
every whisper uttered trying to better yourself
pack each pointed paragraph with all the intensity you contain
and speak up louder now poet
let free the frustrations holding your wits at knife's edge
threatening to slice so deep you can't be sewn back together
let your voice bring down the heavens like God isn't listening
so your prerogative is to supply her a front row seat
and no option but to hear you
love harder now poet
that deems repeating
LOVE HARDER NOW POET
like family, friends and community are the foundation you're built upon
like respect of a fellow performer is the only support left for your head to rest
high on
hold loved ones close and those you truly love even closer
offer them understanding and strong shoulders to cry on
even if the weight of their worries is so much it may break you,
endure these tragedies for your strength will pass onto them
and the day you find yourself shattered against the sharp rocks of real life
they will be standing at the foot of the cliff waiting
scooping up your broken fragments
and gluing them together with the tears you tried to help them stop crying
pray harder now poet
make each breath your tithing to a loved world and a willing God
so that, God willing, this world will return that love back to you
this is my prayer for the year recently gone by
and many more to follow
keep speaking freely now poets
and keep loving harder now poets
and for love of free speech
i'll be seeing you next year
for my next prayer
1 1 07 10 08 pm
that actually just fucking happened
it felt like a year between, in many ways it had been;
we both had traveled far without walking much distance over that week, obviously
we both kept ideals close to heart but when the caged bird thrashes the only remedy:
let it fly free
it felt like a year between, in many ways it had been;
we both had traveled far without walking much distance over that week, obviously
we both kept ideals close to heart but when the caged bird thrashes the only remedy:
let it fly free
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