hope and arrogance

from soil black with death and rotting things

suddenly an interloper amongst the despair

raises her head above dirt and twigs

tentatively rising beyond ancient rocks and freshly fallen leaves

tears are shed and she gasps for air

hope springs

the germ is stubborn but weak and wanders with vested indifference

backward and forward between persisting or giving up

uncommitted, but once resigned

the old veterans say there will be no turning back

but they suffer blindly the survivor's curse

days and weeks, then seasons ebb and flow

and hope as life enters the main of the current

asserts a little more, buffeted but effervescent

or seemingly so, boldly pretending to know where it all leads

whatever is inside her head is unknowable

but i want to believe i am the exception; achievable

each time it is different by some small measure

each time it gets a little harder and stranger

the treasure gets a little further away

and brick by brick, hour by hour, unreachable

the goal is lost. untenable. forgotten

the tether frays and slowly begins to unwind

like a movie lacking subtitles

slow motion, in frame by agonizing frame

first the scene of its promising germination

to the first sightings of its horrified, running ghost

carrying the child who will never cry or walk or smile

born of two expectant parents; naivete and ignorance

with desperation as a familiar midwife character actress

all seemed to be so hopeful and free at first

occurring as it did through random chances

but the date and time of hope's death was predestined

programmed within the very moment of its miraculous birth

and so

back to the soil she returns

12:40 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

contrast and compare
Category: Writing and Poetry

i come to you in darkness and you come to me in light..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

you paint me in desire and you strip me of my spite

you pore me love from vessels and i drink them quick and dry

i stumble in the process and you compel me again to try

while you are distracted, i manage to get inside your head

i fluff up all your pillows as i climb into your bed

i gather all these eccentricities and called them truest love

and christen you the monster who wouldn't try to play the dove

i tell you love is sacrifice and you ask me what the cost

i dance you back and forth until you fall and feel lost

i stumble further into darkness so i can better see your light

looking back, your gloved white fingers stretch forth

a beautiful, filtered translucence produced in the interplay

a distraction in the fight

i partake of animalistic hunger, desire and basest lust

to better test the fabric between what i think have and what i think i must

i chase and pursue my desires and somehow fall back into your arms

but you are a moving target. who you were is not what you are

again i leave to wander, running quickly back to black

your fingers of translucence, my voracious hungers rising back

i am compelled to exploit the good within you until you turn away to cry

i find the line where your trust and love reach forth unconditionally

extend a bit too far, become vulnerable just, then i twist and brake it off

i need to consume the medicine until it acts the poison that it is

i need to find finality for the equilibrium that refuses to exist

1:21 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

untitled
Category: Writing and Poetry

i have a map of this land etched in blood in my head..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

i drew it over long years filled with spectacular mistakes and accidental discoveries

you like to say you are in uncharted territory here

that this territory is uncomfortable and strange

but you've traveled more than most and much more than i

there are the cliffs and lowlands here , dirt roads, detours, and dead ends

a few tired ghosts rise up from time to time

they scare the tourists, but they have no teeth

i have walked through these fields of flax on some starry nights

in his spiral into insanity, renoir smeared the skies

with blues and purple velvet and I can see it all so clearly while in my descent

one stormy day we stumbled along old paths worn clean

in footsteps left by people who no longer tread here

falling and failing in the wind and the rain, trying to push on through

on the next day we woke up both covered in ash

creative destruction is all that it is, you tell me

but i feel nothing good coming of it

all I can see and taste is the bitterness, destruction and loss

recall the late summer afternoon when we stood

our feet stuck deep in the muck of the swamp

our choice: to struggle on against the odds and our personal histories

or to deny the obvious and continue to lie to eachother and ourselves

your uncensored and externalized inner voice of doubt

answered with my full capacity for cold-edged cruelty

taken together, what a profound capacity for self-destruction

but it proves that there's always new territory to discover somewhere

even somewhere hidden so uncomfortably close to home

one day in some order we will leave this sad land

and trade it for somewhere even less dear

the maps in our heads will become worthless again

to survive, we'll stumble and grovel and crawl

and debate about whether the effort and all

is worthwhile. bemoan the sorry, familiar things we have lost

all the lies we told between each other's legs

a journey of a thousand miles begun

for a minute or even a moment in time

to escape the constancy of the earth's stubborn pull

and float effortlessly together in space

within eachother's arms, the map's relevance fails to persist

all will surrenders and the dreams begin

but this is just an escape; these things will never exist

at the base of everything is a little, shiny, white lie

a transgression of no great merit or importance

perhaps it serves to set the record straight

all the better that I might forget or sleep

you are not alone in your ignorance of this place

that I possess no template for this strange territory either

and hold no memories of ever crossing or surviving it

i just do what you do and put one foot after the other

never letting on by asking directions

2:02 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

thread
Category: Writing and Poetry

thread..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

i followed a thread to see where it led

through dresser drawer, across bare-wood floor

out kitchen door and beyond garden gate

time and lies and stinging rain

thick and rippled as ship's cordage

sometimes as thin as the wisp of a rumor of a dream

it pulled me to places stretched and twisted

the thread, it pushed me across hemp lines and flax seam

the string did try to throw me loose

off-track through curve and double-back

i tunneled through thick knot and hangman's noose

inching out when in was always nearer

i traveled a million miles to sing

the thread was such a simple thing

unraveled, strung out, re-bound in twine

a puzzle to lull and lure me out

preface, body and conclusion

a line which has no start or end

a device of hereditary dissolution

the question predisposed the quest

9:51 AM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

daisy
Category: Writing and Poetry

daisy

just beyond the factories, in and amongst the rocks and weeds

what lies beneath these pebbles and sorry sod

broken branches, stories and speculation, denials

dust and lies contaminate everything and will always

a common daisy struggles for the sun and suffers the wait for the rain

where a seed takes root and where it's flower is plucked and tossed

where something necessary almost fails to materialize

or happens just a moment or so too late

memory and history will fail them all

teetering on the edge of chance and happenstance

a coming together of conditions, and a scattering of consequent outcomes

opportunity, a diaspora, a better place, a random breeze

where chimneys once belched pungent smoke as black as blackest pitch

that stretched in great fat fingers over small villages frozen in rustic, feigned ignorance

men stood and watched men send down dull shovels deep into dismal earth

one after another in arrhythmic measure, to dig a makeshift ditch

where tank treads and steel rails ruled women and men in clockwork, scheduled precision

horse hooves and wire bails with the lateral assist

even to this day, the foundations and pilings for these purposeful buildings still stubbornly hold their ground

built by men of steel certainty and an ideology of crystal purity

minds strive to plot and plan and hands strive for the work

eyes to the sun, their backs to the gale of the storm

work makes them all free

the only ones who come here now are the ones who already believe

they need no closing speeches, no firm hands upon the square of their backs

the eye contact wants to make them fight or flee

but the easiest path is simply to nod

one must have compassion for the oppressor

understand the process and ecology of scientific extinction

the ones that got away from here, the survivors as they are known

they shall never be so easily gathered up again

the lesson is imprinted deeply, etched in ink within their tattered souls

one day to cease to be the hapless seed windblown hither and to by chance

and become the wind

and then it shall all repeat

8:00 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

deb
Category: Writing and Poetry

deb

she loves every one of her children with quiet grace

but she knows some are not meant to leave

at some point she calls them all down for an inspection

and lines them up, neatly ordered in their sunday best

as if perhaps reviewing them before christmas dinner

the aromas from the kitchen have infused the house for days

the guests will be arriving soon, their stomachs ache for attention

perhaps, but not quite yet...

each one numbered and thoughtfully christened

if the world were a perfect place

each of their names would spell their character

give insight into the mystery just below their cool, glimmering surfaces

they each demand the full focus of their progenitor

lest they be forgotten, misunderstood, or taken lightly

there is no worse. Primadonnas all -

but in turn they've all been worked and reworked

today, only one will be sent out into the world

to be seen by well-meant cruel-kind eyes

perhaps she will be sent back with a short message

take something away, or try harder. begin again.

another strap or a stitch, more cleavage or less leg

a few adjustments gently made to the expectant debutante

by her attendant maid and mother

to be examined, loved, to be hated, envied and embraced

inured, on display, wanted, revered and critiqued

to exist, to be read, but never to be denied

she is a shining, puzzling body to be digested

of simple, elemental words

as many times as it takes

the right toe is lifted, the leg extended, step

and here she is....

12:30 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

vessels, simple and complex
Category: Writing and Poetry

vessels, simple and complex

some nights distinguish themselves in palate from the blandness of the rest

separated from the balance of the world by the thin, metal skin of your front porch

opaque and porous; waxing and waning, inhaling, and breathing it all back out

smoking cheap cigars and considering the plight of the primitive romantic poets

their crudely hewn vessels best designed for transporting honey and sweet molasses

it was easy to be mocking and sarcastic, but you sheltered their pureness of intent

honest, truthful, direct - possessing the heart but lacking the tools

like forces of nature, they just are, just like storms you said

while hurricane Beulah gathered gale force over the gulf

you assigned me another poem to help me clear my head

one morning as you slept, the world was filled with simple fools

they speak incessantly of the weather and a thousand ordinary things

the gypsy deep inside desires to break and run from this dull shelter

somewhere far away there is the unknown and the intense

over time, inadvertent roots were set down in this misbegotten place

your wandering nature slyly perverted by demons and happenstance

you write that perhaps it is at it should be, it will be ok, it will all make sense

when i visit, i bring you more wine and cigars

on this night, we traded lines distinguished by their queer elegance

juxtaposed and inverted, simple words strung like beads into beautiful necklaces

suspended in mid-air for mutual admiration, then written down and filed

for a moment, the future and past lost their relevance

and we existed. Moments like this will be our legacy

the substance of speculation by lonely, rural poets

one will live just down this quiet street, all the while failing to grasp

it never entering conscious thought, how many different ways we were torn

this is the elemental pattern

vessels all, utilitarian and complex

eventually emptied of what they bear

transported and positioned with care and precision

the pattern is methodically and finitely repeated

someday they will no longer manage to bear

2:55 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

the incantation
Category: Writing and Poetry

the incantation

a force only a shaman or poet could attribute to simple words

it is an insight of particular depth, a shared epiphany

or perhaps a fantastically empowered curse

life as it was and life as it will

for worse, for better, or for indifference

it will never reverberate in the same

discreet outcome paths result from just the one game

like a pretty little, bow-tied bomb

sleeping softly in a lovely little crib

the schism from what was to what is stands clear

the words embody fondness, fantasy, and fear

and a thousand other feelings swirl silently beneath

like carp, they hunger and will not sleep

until sated, the emotions that stir unabated

the words are the embodiment of gamble

that they may be reciprocated in kind

or vulnerable and exposed, there will never again be shelter

love

carefully and sparingly

use it with the greatest caution

or reserve

6:05 AM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

basic training
Category: Writing and Poetry

basic training

i took great pains to pour away your innocence

whenever i saw it rise as cream on your surface

and took great care in extracting hope

whenever i saw it hiding behind your pale, blue eyes

sometimes i sensed you seemed a little to safe and secure

so i served you a heaping helping of chaos until you were sated

and sometimes you were so painfully unaware of potential

so i slapped it right back into you with both sides of my hands

and now you think i'm some kind of monster

but i worked to disprove that notion every god damn day

it's a tough world out there

and you're just not ready to play

4:46 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

the pledge
Category: Writing and Poetry

The pledge

you like to ask me what i'm thinking

when i'm not really thinking of anything at all

sometimes i dredge up something that sounds right

but i'm being particularly honest when i just shrug

you talk and spin on dreams and things

as if they are just ahead, emerging from some fog

i used to dream much as you do

but my horizon has fallen far out of view

i guess that's the part that worries me

that we start together in one place and diverge

perhaps it's as it should be

but i suspect it would be better to merge

somewhere between the two extremes

somewhere between this moment and forever

there is some kind of common ground

that would perfectly betray our true nature

you know, when you ask me what i am thinking

as you are so fond to do

from now on i'm going to be more honest and tell you

i'm not thinking of anything at all

2:31 PM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

the fix is in
Category: Writing and Poetry

the fix is in

the devil has big, brown eyes like pools of sweet, molten chocolate

stands a mere five foot two dripping wet

she tips the scales at one hundred eighteen pounds

give or take a few here and there

she has a modest ranch house and lives two blocks down

by all appearances she is nothing much

so slight in stance, she occupies but a small footprint

on this strange, lost little planet

a few superficial blemishes here and there

nothing some sun and a clean diet couldn't cure

there are no famous red horns or a tail

the media has overstepped here just a bit

the devil drives a blue suv

with seventy-eight thousand miles spun

she doesn't care much for ecology

and usually votes straight republican

she keeps her lawn reasonably neat and trim

idealogically, somewhere between slothful and vain

no sense tipping her hand quite yet

for vanity is an amateur's sin

she says everything is going along just fine

she just nudges it all along from time to time

it's a self-sustaining system - human nature

a flawed dynamic - not of my design

she'll say if cornered

but don't ever corner her

just nod and smile

the devil is, of course, a woman

and the logic totally rings true

it follows from her virtue as a giver and keeper of life

the male role in conception being no big deal, a technicality

he could pretty much mail it in if he wanted

sometimes he does that too

the giver of life can harvest back souls

at her will and her whim, it's just symmetry

simple, stable, and aesthetic

immaculate and circularly perfect

but they usually come of their own volition

strolling through the front door

god could learn a lot from the devil

in terms of style, finesse and technique

but for that stubborn male temperament of his

if only he were inclined to borrow a little

ego – intellectual vanity of a sort, one could say

never asking anyone for help or directions

friend, i hope you'll forgive my effrontery

as the grin is not meant to be immodest

you see, i've crunched all the numbers, culled the statistics

watched the smart money, and i know

beyond a shadow of doubt

we're all going to hell

12:54 AM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment