now, while reality narrows itself down to this
Category: Writing and Poetry

I can see the truth about the future
with respect to only this;

the truth is- the rest
just
doesn't matter.

because the rest is mostly foolish
among and amidst it's plans,
the rest isn't up to me
or anyone anyway,
and I don't know what will happen
then-

who can even dream
far enough ahead
to envision
what will ever happen
next?

over and over
I've rehashed and I know
I'll never know,

and if I'm not happy enough
for that realization
I'm satisfied
at least
for knowing that
I know I know nothing at all...

the shaker disperses as it's supposed to,
while the buildings crumble naturally
as they do
unnoticed.
 
little by little,
the ants will crawl
and the simple just is, simple.

and the best, truest talents
are usually never revealed.

but I know that they exist.
I just KNOW
that they do.

the truth about what is next
is merely whatever
tomorrow is,
and I've decided that

I'll let tomorrow happen
however it happens.

4:10 AM - 1 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

at the core
Category: Writing and Poetry

I am a predator, and I am a bird,
I feed off of instinct and reason,
I see everything that folds me,
and there is nothing
that truly matters
that I'm immune to.

I am a lion, I am a shrew, I am
a shivering being afraid
only of losing
this me.

I follow no one
and need little
I bleed like everyone

but my pain,
to me
is merely living.

I want more than anything
simply;

to rest when I'm tired
to eat when I'm hungry
to dance when I'm happy
and to fly when I'm released.

I want nothing more than
to be.

even while the rest usually
shallow themselves
succumbing without knowing
to the mantras under brainwashing influences
who are brainwashed themselves...

I just watch them
and I see
without pity for them,
while I'm thankful
that I am
still-

just a lion and a lark
and maybe a poet
as well.

12:06 AM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

loving, leaking, weeping
Category: Writing and Poetry

there was very little left
after
the wondering had all been wondered
to death,
and the past had been
hashed into mush
because of
the future born of this...

and I couldn't wonder anymore
either
about what should have been
or what actually is.

then
I lifted myself
above the obvious
and hid beneath the egregious
and the leftover symbolisms
of my reality...

then I
prayed again
for the simplicity
that doesn't seem to exist
in this
retro
cookie cutter society

and so I wept
for another supposed
to have been existence
that constantly cried
for me too,

but I'm not there
I'm just not there yet.

and the weeping
can't be seen
by anyone,

but this sadness is
pondered over
by those
who believe
that they thought
they used
to love me.

maybe they did
at some point...

somehow it feels
better for me
if at one time
they could have
envisioned themselves
loving me... at least.

I believe
if they once did
then in their heart of hearts,
they still do...

they just never understood
exactly what it was
that that kind of love needed
to be,
to be true.

the truth is;

I've loved
and I've lost,

and
that's far more than enough
torture for me
to live with.

3:54 AM - 2 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

these fucking games
Category: Writing and Poetry

freaked out by a fading away
I've regressed into succumbing into the
"please see what I've done for you"
game.

at the heart of me,
I truly don't give a shit
I know what I've done
I know what I've given up
I can see easily through the pretending
"how's your family" question they offer,
I can see through the logistics
of this game.

it is just a game, and I
understand that... but
it's work
hard fucking work
to play along.

I just... miss my wife,
I miss my life,
I miss writing everyday,
I miss feeling like I belong where I am,
I miss my REAL few friends.

there's not much left of this,
but the deal is
if I play my cards wrong
I'll find myself out there again
without any long term anything
which would be scary after
putting so many years
into getting the rest of this contract
to pay off- for the rest
of my life.

15 years down, 5 years to go...
which may be too long.

I'm sure I'll write about it again whether
I finish it and retire
or not.

most of me wishes for the genuine, and
the truth is:

I know I won't ever bow to them
unless I finally get that
from them.

integrity, I've found, is an expensive virtue to hang onto
but that's the one I want...
that's the one
I am.

ps  I'll happily love you forever Jennifer. kisses my love, 
     I miss u miserably. 

1:43 AM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

this is DEFINITELY the Cubs year!!! (but yes, this is reposted)
Category: Writing and Poetry

I'm a Cubs fan,
I've followed them
ever since I was a kid
pounding on the
carpet of my grand dad's
floor on summer vacation
wanting, needing them
to win... and they
would win
often enough
to keep me hoping
that somehow they might
just
find a way
to win it all this year...

but they never did,
something would always happen
or there was always some
reason
or some fluke play
or a fan
would distract them

and my hopes would be
dashed
every year
that I can remember
ever since I've been
alive

every year, it feels like
there's a REAL hope
and I hope and
hope and hope
and I think
this MUST be the year!

I rationalize
that they're no
different than the
Yankees or the
Braves,
who win year after year.

for some reason
even though they
haven't won it all
in nearly a century

for some unknown reason
I just KNOW,
I KNOW!!!

it's gonna be
this year,

this year
they are gonna win
they're gonna win,

the whole damn thing!!!!!

remember this one
in October.

when it's all over
this year,

there will be
no more
wait

until next year. 8)

3:31 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

forget the last but remember the next
Category: Writing and Poetry

blasted out
from beneath the pieces
there was the space
the inbetween screams
the leftover that waits
the blind sucumbing to the light
and the night
blinded by
the blinking void above
that had to be lost
beneath
this
best me.

but I'm nowhere now
and there is no relief
from tomorrow's needs
or right now's
for that matter.

the rest of the night,
this night, or
the next day
the next week...

the rest
of all of it will happen
no matter what,
it'll all go down
and I'll be there
to suck up the reality
of all of it.

and the plans
that I don't care about
will combust around me
while I try to hide
and last within a facade
of this pretending

until they have to
pay me
for the rest of my life
for having played
this stupid game.

I do know now that
there are other things
that will always
matter more
to me.

for now, I know
I'll show up tomorrow
because these hours will
continue to pass... they'll pass
but only because

they're far more
consistent 
than
me.

1:53 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

beyond fatigued
Category: Writing and Poetry

I'm tired of fighting through pain
tired of setting the alarm
I'm tired of answering questions
when the answers
don't matter to me
I'm tired of battling against the game
I'm tired, tired of
fighting with the fools who own me
tired of dwelling on what
I don't have
tired of feeling like
knowing that
there's gotta be
something else
inside of me.
I'm tired, tired of delivering
everything expected of me
tired of acting like
I care about
what they think of me
when I never have
and I don't.
I'm tired, worn out,
wasted, and burned out,
tired of turning page after page
of lifeless, gutless, politically correct
psycho babble bullshit spouted
upon me by naive followers
who honestly believe
that
they're leaders.

I'm tired, I'm tired, and I'm sleepy...
and too awake
as well
to let them
take
the 'abstract poem'
or 'the man walked solemnly down the road'
away from me

I'm tired,
yes...

but even more
I'm still awake,
still alive, still thinking, still dreaming, still wishing, wanting
breathing, eating, absorbing... and
the end is nowhere in sight.

the end; I still can't see,
and I'm glad and relaxed
over that truth.

9:57 PM - 2 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

just a little deeper than shallow
Category: Writing and Poetry

there are secrets that deliver
the edge from life and
death.

those words
they always speak sincerely,
solemnly, they speak
poignantly but
only usually.

there are knowns
that can't win, they
weren't built
to win,
but they always
play along,
they always play along.

and the pretend, they
follow
without breaking any rules
other than those listed by
the listening souls.

I wonder if there might be a way
for the spider to accidentally let
a captured fly go
without knowing
it let its weakness win.

and the buildings are foolishly
tempting their foundations
with gray colored masonry
and the day owes nothing
but time
to passing insanity
and the boss is
just as afraid of everything
as the new guy is afraid
of him.

and the shine on my boots
reveals nothing more
than a waste
of time
even though when I look upon them
they are usually dull.

and the plastic smile
is taught and pasted on my face
and the real is pelted
with disciplinary action
that seems to lack any genuineness.  

and the scrawl of this pen seeps
something of a dream of being aware

but I know I'm not really... because I play along

I'm thinking,
it's basically all bullshit
but I'm glad that at least I know that it is.

4:53 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

fountains
Category: Writing and Poetry

(a poem I wrote a thousand years ago that seems to fit perfectly right now)

when is it

that
you know

who you are?

for me

it was when

this beautiful storm

grew silent
today,

when the weeds

became flowers,

and the end of

the siege

fulfilled me
today.

I can see the whole thing

now, perfectly. and

I understand

all of it

completely
right now.

the wet in the rain

draining

from gray-blue skies
an hour ago

has baptized

me.

and I know who I am

I know who I am...

right now.

11:54 PM - 3 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

just wait
Category: Writing and Poetry

it's not so horrible to
watch and wait,

there are many
unrealized victories
that lie
under the disguise
of instant
defeat.

often, even usually,
haste is brutally bitten
by another following haste...

just go, believe, walk along,
do your thing,

and the rest
will watch and follow you
and they will wonder
and reach and react to you

and then
just before they understand
who you are
once again

they will
realize
that they are
in utter
awe
of you

and walk away.

(the irony of this poem is that no one has ever screamed for the publication
of my poetry, but I'm also quite confident; even enough to believe that these words that I write will someday be read by many more than simply my myspace friends. 
I do believe that I'm a good poet... I'll wait,
and I guess... we'll see.)

1:38 AM - 6 Comments - 11 Kudos - Add Comment

I’ll never give in to them
Category: Writing and Poetry

too much...
too many other things
stabbing at my brain and
my being
too many details of stupid
day to day little things
eat away at me
poking at me
nullifying me
sucking the life
out of me...

there are seemingly
millions of them surrounding
me suffocating the air
out of the space
I exist in.

then I breath again and know
the bliss of the real
is not so far away
I gather it in usually
on a daily basis
letting the litany
of the stupid
pile up behind me,
but it never seems
to want to let go
enough.
it compounds and screams at me.

I guess the best I can do
is to pay bills
whenever I do
take care of the
smog checks,
and the license plates,
and the water bill
and the dishes,
and the laundry, and
the Navy job
stabbing at me
raising my blood pressure
past boiling...

they think they need me
but they don't
I think I need them
but I know that I don't.

still, I'll go to work again tomorrow
knowing as much
and it hurts,
the knowledge of this
useless relationship
doesn't help,

but at least I know,
as I've known for quite some time
I believe,

this every day me
is not who I am.

even if it kills me
I'll know I was always
a little bit better
than them.

4:09 AM - 4 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

conversations aren’t all the same
Category: Writing and Poetry

see,

you talk and you talk
and you impress and you express
and you ponder and you think
and you listen
and you write and you
fool yourself a little bit
and you sing and you
drink
and you postpone
and you deliver
and you feign interest
time after time
along the way
in others

all the while
you try to decipher
what was feigned
in the first place
between polite nods
and what was
truly an intrigue...

it's too easy to be
polite
there is no pain there
other than a slight
discomfort internally
which always censors
the listening
mechanism,
but only while
the conversation lasts

for when it's over
the rewards of
background music and silence
over listening/smelling shit
leaves you in a sense
of ability beyond being
exposed to ignorance.

it leaves you alone
waiting for the
conversational
sexual
gem.

it leaves you thinking
about the one
you listened to
without censoring
without wondering
without makeup
or clothes
or children or paint...

they were them,
and you were you,
and it was and is a rare
beautiful thing
when it happens
to go down
that way.

and I can't wait... but I will again.

10:10 PM - 2 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

truth
Category: Writing and Poetry

if the genuine doesn't last
under the cover
of an ordinary life,

then the bleeding death
of beauty
will necessarily be

the end of
me.

11:55 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

midnight
Current mood: imaginative
Category: Writing and Poetry

crumpled and
sweating icy bullets
under hot
humid sheets
of sleepless
tossing and turning,
vicious thoughts
of visions
bargaining
with the gods
over a trepidatious
integrity
sweeping through
me with a typhoon
intensity
ripping away
layer by layer
of every fiber
of what I used
to believe
to be
an indelibly  
lone spirit
until only
splintered
gristle
and bone
was left
of my psyche
to face
the final
aftershocks
of an inevitable
event
with nothing
but the void
of a once
independent
soul
and the stone
cold honesty
of the delivery
of a two word
answer
to a question
posed
only by one
with the authority
to ask
such a
life altering
question...

I did utter
for the very
last time
in my life
the answer.

and I chose
to say

"I Do".

because I do love you Jennifer
more than every pedal
of a rose
loves to drink in
a summer's
morning
dew.

2:24 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

even if we
Category: Writing and Poetry

there was an indelible fading
behind a setting mystery
becoming an impairment
within me over
something softening
behind a possible
us

and it was... an
"I love you" kinda soft,
a feeling that melted
beneath all the doubt

knowing the lasting
would play out
beyond every cynisism
that ever lived within me.

we belong to this my sweetness,
this me
this you.

without any other thing mattering
other than us.

even if
we

were never
meant
to
work out.

1:47 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment