Category Archives: poems

just some poems, new and old, lyric or not.

the media

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the critical
self-loathing self
appears,
addresses
all so harshly
all the burns,
abrasions,
acid flavored

bitterness
of petty wanks
and piles it on
‘til no one’s safe
from skeletons
or caustic
acrimonial
exchanges.

intolerance begets
intolerance here
with convenient,
random indifference
there with
laser focused,
sharp-tongued
condemnation.

unity of purpose
has escaped
the conversation.
and perhaps
there is no goal,
no glorious
over-arching
expectation –

only fear
of what
we’ve not become
as hatred
for each other’s
view
replaced our love
for one another.

our critical
self-loathing self
appeared,
became
our personality.

the intervention

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it was a prickly situation
       there was tension in the air
the birds were getting skittish
       we had never thought to run
the armoire drawer was empty
       the countertop was bare
a gentle breeze blew through the trees
       then grandma went for the gun

we’d come to force an issue, yes
       which had gotten out of hand
with lots of grief to go around
       but we were having none
allegations, vile suspicions
       the floor becoming quicksand
but as thoughts of kin were creeping in
       that’s when grandma went for the gun

it happened in an instant
       uncle charlie pulled the shades
to cloak the rabelaisian
       to hide the setting sun
thank god the drawer’d been emptied
       and the counter cleared of blades
for no one dear was wounded here
       when grandma went for the gun

The First Step

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The geese are heading north
A long cruel winter passed and now
A time for rebirth
Is upon us
Yet
A fallow mind is waiting
Hanging back
No thoughtful schemes
No sober propagations
Cloud this wistful dormancy,
This blissful paradox; a
Vague, translucent soul
Is tucked away

The geese are heading north
The time has come
For planting
Yet
The dormant field
Cannot control
What grows within
This envaulted ground
So nor can this disparaged
Intellect select it’s crop
Though fertile, rich, it
Cannot choose which path to follow

And so as the geese head north
And farmers ready fields
For planting
Yet
A fallow mind is
Hanging back
Unable to accept
The first step forward
Sitting out another season
Waiting
Fallow

Did she stay with you ‘til morning?

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     Did she stay with you ‘til morning?  Did she fly about the room like a modern-day Samantha with a black hat and a broom?  Did she cook you up a potion sure to make you fall in love?  Is she who you’re dreaming of?

     Did you dance across the ballroom in those patent-leather pumps?  Or did you boogie in the mosh pit taking in those grinds and bumps?  Did she swoon when you embraced her as she praised the lord above?  Is she who you’re dreaming of?

     Did you dine in fine extravagance – froufrou by candlelight?  Or did you slam a couple burgers at the bar on Friday night?  And does her mother really ever wear white satin gloves?  Is she who you’re dreaming of?

     Did she stay with you ‘til morning?  Did she awake within your arms?  Did you promise to protect her from all evil and all harm?  Is her touch that special feeling that you’ll never get enough?  Is she who you’re dreaming of?

Washington, Illinois, 11/17/13

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from the western skies it came
the darkened clouds
the wind, the rain, the hail
tracked by radar
moving swiftly soon
saw emptied seats of soldier field
the moiling heavens cast
the downward spiral spinning,
churning,
ripping

minutes later – quiet rain
the twisted strip of splinters left
cannot tell the tale
cannot record the loss
cannot explain

the irrefutable law of constant change

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           seven for seven or
           six out of six

don’t fix what ain’t broken
or mess with what’s workin’
‘cause always improvin’
don’t mean something’s wrong
or stop tinkering, tweaking
try riding along for awhile

           seven for seven or
           six out of six

bang the drum slowly
maybe mix up the playlist
a bit but keep movin’
along – and not pingin’
and pongin’ – try
plannin’ on takin’ a while
(maybe longer)

          so it’s seven for seven
          or six out of six

don’t fix what ain’t broken
don’t break what you’ll need
movin’ on

Porcellius Practiced Magic

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Were they miracles or
magic?
or innovations
based on science?
Was it alchemy or
something in between
the day and darkness?
Did he conjure?
Did he cast a spell
or cross himself and
ask for help?
Porcellius practiced magic
That’s as far as
they could tell
He never wrote about
the who or what
or how it came to be
He left a legacy of
unexplained
events, triumphs
and tragedies and
stories simply told
of wond’rous deeds
and dark results
Porcellius practiced magic
That’s as far as
they could tell
Perhaps a mathematician,
politician or physician
out in front of what
was known or
understood
by those affected
His arrival was
a mystery
His departure
undetected – yes
Porcellius practiced magic
That’s as far as
they could tell

leave it on the lawn

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leave it on the lawn
the lines of loneliness are gone
the gentle breeze is just
a passing gust of wind
left behind from long ago
come inside and close the door
come inside and
stay with me until the dawn

marry me we’ll be together
all the world can see
the artifacts that we’ve collected
while neglecting our own sanity
we can put them on display
in the front yard
folks will say what they will
but you and I will be alone

outside the shadow shouts
but don’t bring it in the house
leave it on the lawn
where it belongs
let the passersby decide
for them own selves
what is right; so it might
be on the lawn but not inside

Adelia

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Adelia was bedeviled
by the deal she got from me
she was bedeviled by the things
that she could feel but could not see
not that I was near
my dear Adelia when she died
the preacher said she left
us here to be with Jesus Christ

they buried dear Adelia
in a grove upon a hill
I visit it and sit
with dear Adelia still
she’s gone to be with Jesus
unbedeviled, no more fear
of unheard voices, unclear thoughts
at peace Adelia dear

movin’ or just movin’ on

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toss it out
make some room
for new memories

ain’t no reason
to be hangin’ on
to what there
ain’t no need for

give a fond
remembrance now
and put it
in the trash

no yard sale stuff
that only crowds
some other person’s peace
some other’s mental space

jus’ toss it out
an’ move on . . .

Buddy Guy’s Legends

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when it comes
with night lights blarin’
razor sharp an’
winkin’, wailin’
tuneful troubadours with
tales of woe an’ wonder
tales of loss an’ left to wander
hearts an’ souls
can’t bear to be alone but
never seem to stay together

so late at night
with night lights blarin’
razor sharp an’
winkin’, wailin’
tuneful troubadours
their passions pulsing
reliving every cut an’ stab
the harshest times
that never die
so crisp, so clear
come share their pain
can’t stay away
over an’ over
again an’ again

words

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words are plentiful
words are like dust
words are everywhere

you say words to me
in turn, words form
in my head but

are these the words
you spoke – or
some other words

I think I got it right
the words, that is
the words I think I
heard you speak

certainly there are
lots and lots of words
they are like dust

did you speak words
to me? or did I
form them myself?

I cannot understand
the words when you
shout at me nor
when you mumble