Cultura (Foot Notes from the Vedas)
Category: Writing and Poetry

Twilight Stained Blue

Sunshine's Guilding touch

A world tied in knots

Bound in sweaty morning sheet

Rubbed against concrete, scrubbed clean

Salt flavored kiss so deep

Fingers across smooth shiny flesh

Flower pedal flesh against my cheek

Drawn in lips, a release

Drinking from the soul's well

Sweet Tangerine mist across curve of the breast

Watching through the peep hole you cut in the night sky

Discovering light, bathing in denied need

Separating darkness, polished nickels on the black

Scratching nails across the ground, bleeding

Painting desert sand

Twisted positions, drawn maps

Fruitful Peach Tree in the Badlands, begin anew

Reaching for the wall you let go

Fighting for air, dig deeper

Flooded with life's cool touch

Strike hard against polished steel

Shaking through the core, divinity

Born in innocent participation

Wicked scares, brutalized soul

Age Defines Doubt, Thomas' Touch

Clarity points the way home, step surely

Sounds of Enlightenment

Ringing through the sounds of the fire

Life, Live, Living

12:30 PM - 36 Comments - 70 Kudos - Add Comment

Cool Hand Luke (The Everyday Human Madiness and His Calculus Complex)
Category: Writing and Poetry

*Note: Paul Newman died today and it makes me very sad. He was a great actor and a good person as people should be measured. From Fast Eddie to Cool Hand Luke to Butch Cassidy I think the guy was a class act. He gave tons of money to the hungry through the sales of his food products brand Newman's own.

An interesting thing, this morning on the way to the airport Amber jokingly asked me "What guys do guys think are hot?". (The question came in reference to women saying a female actor is hot and guys rarely do that with a male). I kind of laughed and told her with male actors, it's less about hot and more about attitude...for example, Paul Neman's Cool Hand Luke. So I was sad when I landed in Jersey today and found out the news on him.

I wrote this in May of 2007 as kind of my odd nod to Newman and the influence his movies had on me. I want to repost it and hope we all remember him

Life just passes, like the city crowd.

It makes you crazy, they are all so random.

The TV screams from the other room of life's every suburban house.

I can't find myself these days, why would I give a fuck about finding Matt Lauer.

The faucet of my creativity is dripping against the oxidized brass drain on the old sink…

It makes an impact like a jack hammer, keeping the sleep I haven't had in so long away…

I don't think I can make another hour, the clock is counting backwards some days now...

Clocks are the demons of man…they measure his age in real time…death counters, all of them…

Jesus found his calling at 12, I hate over achievers.

I passed him on 42 and Broadway last night.

He told me he needed salvation money for a drink…

Would you deny the son of God his drink?

I want to be Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke, every day.

Blue eyes like an ocean, a face like Adonis, a soul like Kerouac...

I want George Kennedy to call me his baby….his cool hand Luke…

I want to eat 100 eggs in a hot southern prison while half dressed men cheer me…

Then escape and fuck hookers…get on the cover of life magazine…

I am Paul Newman…

The phone keeps fucking vibrating, yet no one is getting off…

Not from the phone at least.

Its 50 degrees outside…where the fuck did my warm spring go…

Thanks for pointing it out to us Al Gore!

Don't you know it's not a problem till you realize it?

You're going to kill us now! FOX NEWS said I should blame you.

These things scare me…math, fox news, Dick Cheney…that is all I fear.

Math scares me most; its certainty is too much reality for me.

I prefer my math with some indecision.

After all, that is the only way to calculate a man.

9:02 PM - 68 Comments - 72 Kudos - Add Comment

The Depreciating Value of Liberty (Velvet Soft Tyranny)
Category: Writing and Poetry

"Great leaders are not made, they are born"

Damn, that birth control sure has been hell on "Great" leaders

About as appealing as eating saltine crackers on the beach of a polluted ocean shore

I think the President's library card expired last month

I am sure he won't renew it

I think the Vice President went off and pulled a "Stalin"

I think Uncle Sam sent that snazzy suit out the cleaners

They got all that dirty money and power off the suit

I am sure they can't get the blood stains off, they never really can

They say my cell phone is a smart phone but I don't recall anything it's taught me of value yet

Guess we will just have to wait and see

Look, it's my mother calling…I better put that on ignore and tell her I was in the bathroom making headroom with the Jean Genie and a girl named June

Why do I rhyme? That's what head room does to you sometimes

Hey you sitting there on that window, come down and sit around let's go downtown for a while and watch the crazy people live real "life"

I hear they sell that by the dozen these days in pretty packages with discount coupons

I might have to buy some on the way and be sure to apply it evenly at least 8 inches from the skin all over my body

Be sure to shake well before applying

If you can't shake at least humor us and shiver

I got woke up by that crashing sound last night, did you hear it?

It was the 200 year old investment bankers getting a taste of sweet fucking Karma!

This will be the second depression the Morgan's and the Chase's caused

They don't seem depressed about it at all, they seem down right optimistic

I better call Uncle Sam and see if he will hand me any of that green pig because my pen is all empty and lord knows I can't have no empty pen

Hey Sam, we all need a fucking bail out!

Throw me a line or give me a line…at least kiss me on the lips once after fucking using that pick up line

I don't want to invest my money in Freddy Fanny may pack up your shit and leave your foreclosed White House

Its okay, America is strong and so are the fundamentals of our economy…Right John?

Where are our fearless leaders today?

Hiding in the Bush found in some east Jesus west of the Mississippi place from every thing that went wrong?

No! They are handing a few hundred billion to the companies that will own the houses you never could afford

Everybody wakes up from a dream, even the "American" ones

Fuck the common man and his bad loan and life sized stack of Peter Pan and friend credit card debt…let's make the banks whole

There is a hole in that logic about the size of a bullet in my back

Those are my dollars and since you are government of the People for the People I want you to ask me how to blow it

Where is my say in how it is wasted?

I didn't pay ObamaMcCainLIBERCONGRESSMAN to sell me a shit sandwich; I can make plenty of those on my own

Yep, your taxes just sold your neighbors down the river in a re-po'-lie-CAN

And they say stealing is illegal

When did we start worrying about legal when it comes to the people making the law?

Hey I just want to wake up in my two bedroom piece of R.C.'s wishes and dreams and write poetry on my dirty mirror

"Cellars are cold

Twisting rain falls in the sunlight

Blue liquid stains my sheets

Her name was Forever

She has not returned since"

Don't be bang bang banging at my door for my copyrights

I won't sell you my cookies

I won't sell you my secret lies

The true artist stands bright in the musty bar room spotlight and spits his words out like an evil serpent

Art in this country now has a corporate sponsor and is reproduced in 1:16 size so you can hang it on your Christmas tree

Could the artist save us? Fuck man have they yet?

Bring me the head of Sovereignty

It's time to strike down that old liar

Sovereignty was a tool used to enable, never to oppress…but even words lose their way

Stand up, scream it out

They just stole the dreams your kids didn't even have yet, can you sleep tonight?

Not me, I will be in the bar room drinking it down

I might have my "Cantonese for Dummy's", my "Speak Russian in 12 days" or my "Socialism isn't bad and neither are you" books at the ready

Can't hurt to study up before they sell us down the river

Don't bail out's usually happen when someone ends up in jail?

Now now, I know this poet is fatalistic

The end is not near; it's just ringing the door bell three houses down

The Empire didn't fall, it just stumbled

Ever wonder what will be in style during anarchy?

I look forward to the party

Balloons and Buffoons Galore!

They will be smiling their fake Crest whitened teeth of Greed

They will be waving and patting on the ass

They will throw a party with lots of confetti made from the pages of the Constitution and we will all clap as they tap dance on stage and trust…

They did the RIGHT THING for all of U.S.

12:26 AM - 41 Comments - 92 Kudos - Add Comment

Obviously Transcendent (These Dirty Human Fingernails)
Category: Writing and Poetry

Temptation marred in the metal and concrete of fear

Entrapment of the soul; feels like preplanned lust

Imprisoning desire the first night of shaken flesh; eyes of fire reach up to touch forbidden lips

Excited, the building surge rolling across naked flesh measured against the touch of a kiss

I am the 7^th Bodhisattva in the court of my own judgment; forsaking divinity for a sip of sin

Nails dug in deep; chanting this sacrificial alter of sweat and salt water blessing

Flashes of light confuse the dreamscape; sparks of life and color only seen in the third eye

Shut tight in those moments, moments to steal your sounds

Life has little weight in reality, bargaining for your time with pleasure and submission

Haunted by the latent touch finger tips and the golden smell of the hair of a goddess

Painting the vision on the walls of my memory, counting each line and shadow

Happiness captured in that glass ball; my home may be in that heaven

Come along to the path of stones built from the bones of the mountain; the front door's soft glowing light

Dizzy, alone; these five cords play softly across the river that day

Beware the lunar winter; it can be bitter to your smile

Hand weaving your blanket from well threaded love notes and icicles; the land of the holy still calls home the chosen

Drenched in blue ether and liquid purple nectar; the skyline of ink feeds every flower

This wicked heaven hides your night from life's awakened hell; the world tinted orange and red

There is a cool wind blowing across the fields shaking a song from the earth

Electricity runs across the bed striking sound with the thought of night

Poison like mercury dripping down your tongue, running across your open lips dripping to the back of your throat; magnificent poison still shared in passion

Naming the sound as it kisses my ears to stand the hairs on my neck up as this sliver of me falls into your sea

Streaking lights in rare patterns across the midnight sky; found in the meditation of bodies touching and the soul's swell to satisfaction

Darkness covers the flesh till tinted white and blue; held to the bed by your wrist in the minutes of the witching hour

Whispered in tongues; transgressions and prayers hushed in this physical lust

The hunger to feel more, reaching deeper I answer excited demands

Climbing a thousand stairs to taste the fruit of the vine below me; bound to the earth, this serpent's song

 Suggest you respect the fate chosen to follow you though the percussion of rain against naked sidewalks washed to dirty foot steps to the lost and found window under the light where I am thirsty like I was lost in the desert but those things are so untrue because you knew you knew you knew

Marked in the patterns across exposed flesh; reflected, the spirit letters grinded out by black finger nails

Storm clouds clear over the dark black as they flow like the river of indigo down the back of the sleeping God above the slumber where I wish to swim for the days till the star fish that stare down call me one of their own; adorned once again, this crown I still wear

Sleeping with the devil's kiss on swollen lips, dreams are not silenced of the beauty of minutes before

That poem in prose above, spoken the only way the lost are luminous enough to write

Written deep inside, inside, inside

In the corner, stainless in my rags worn of many years after the penitence holding the mirror of tomorrow for you to see

Adorn in your body for one more night, living on the air between lover's embrace to burn away with the rise of the sun, the day sun floods your lust

My blue fig tree says to go as I stare at the scattered branch and wily smile not enough for both us

This dirty path from well worn feet is this day, this night

Till I could pull the cold from the flesh I work

Till I could pull the heat from the voices of the fire

Shaped in the weapons, I surrender to what I have found

Till the next exit, next life; Given the choice of that which is above me

1:22 PM - 69 Comments - 80 Kudos - Add Comment

That ain't music...that is sex and whiskey with a tune (Jeff Reed jazz trio)
Category: Writing and Poetry

(cell phone blog...probably full of typos)

There is a blue note on my heart

wrapped up in a sweet jazz note kiss

laced in the sizzle of scotch I share with my tongue against yours

it builds in the cello base of lust

it pulses in the snare drum of a Mobley jam

it rolls in the horn across the bed of sounds that tangle in the clouds of blue heaven

it is making the skin of my neck tingle with the thoughts of the morning on the day after the next day

its cool and sweaty

taste the salt on your lips

ringing like the monk's prayer in three keys in your ear;
this blue light

this scratchy noir with the american music waterfall

my shadow against your stomach
my lip's deep bruise in your hip

keeping in time to the snap, hiss, bang...we all fall down

rolling down the deep vibration of your hand on my neck

building this my strumming crescendo

hands of a golden god touch each of your strings

tounge of a devil against the wind of the brass you blow blow blow

fuck baby it ain't fire...it's that song

8:17 PM - 97 Comments - 110 Kudos - Add Comment

Obliquity (The Harvesting)
Category: Writing and Poetry

Lead ignites blue, struck against the dark wall to light our secret sacraments

Standing on the edge looking up, vertigo releases perception

Sizzling flame of body heat from wrenched and twisted flesh; this kiss deep within you

Lips crash against the pulse of blood under flesh; trace the life across, I brought you there

Tangled bed sheets bind against the wall; beautiful pleasure

Lighting the sun above dark cloud sky, reading shadows of your body; the sundial's enchantment

These evils we do; tasting symbols cut deep in willing flesh

I wish this flood to swell in the river of lives we will live

Meeting your every kiss; hold tight in that fall

Observant spirits, still in your sleep; this burning effigy

Gifted the emptiness of death; the silence of life whispering you awake

That lover's touch takes what it wills; fitting sacrifice

Blood and ink patterns dance in the bath waters you leave behind; renewed, wicked

Gazing into the eyes of a memory; space measured in furlong and broken clockwork

Backseat ride through the desert in the old station wagon

Backseat touch in defiance of the drivers glance

Emotional celibacy compromised in our sublimation; anchored deep are these moments

Steady as the eyes of the painted prophet following you across the cold floor to the door of your confession

Pressed close to thin walls, this devil's ear counts your sins

Wrapping arms around the every word; stealing light from your night's sky

Tasted in the sex you falter; tasted in the kiss you once deny me

The teacher is on the street sign

These dreams your only education

Pushed to decide; ghost of regret haunt every golden road

Deadbolt the bathroom door like before; dance together under the fire of the water's fall

Unlocked chains; voluntary surrender

Slide against the wall as I steal you, falling into the white porcelain that holds us from the cold floor

Shaking against the chest that beats near your own, gently touch fingernails against the scorched flesh

Crawl across the floor like some panther from half devour prey; this destruction I pray

Born in this departure; fly the fallen soul to her devilish fulfillment

Voices sounding in exited torrential rain; desire disguised in echoed tones

Written in the pages of the book between the lines yet drawn by the printer's pen

Holding liquid star light; pressing this cold stone to your lips

Rising from this earthen bed; I rip up my root

Resurrection in this nova's fire; standing in the twilight field of mushrooms

This new morning sun burns away the shades that hide the cowards silence; my shadow standing behind me

The longest day, the longest night

Adorn, standing in this circle of illumination

Immortal,  defined in human depth

6:48 PM - 52 Comments - 78 Kudos - Add Comment

Never Yesterday (Tuesday till Forever)
Category: Writing and Poetry

Tomorrow no poetry will be written on the pages

Tomorrow they will remain empty and white

Tomorrow no verse will the poet's mouth speak, lost in the screams of 3000 departed

Tomorrow the words will be buried deep in my heart and weighed by sorrow

Tomorrow part of us all dies again and again

Tomorrow won't dream or hope, it will just be

Tomorrow will cry

Tomorrow prays the silence comforts those left behind

Tomorrow will be more than news reports, a number, a day, a memorial, a speech, and a political statement; much much more

Tomorrow is innocences lost

Tomorrow is eternal, forever

Tomorrow it all changed

Tomorrow is a funeral

Tomorrow is respect

Tomorrow is everyday

Tomorrow, Oh sad tomorrow

6:09 AM - 37 Comments - 84 Kudos - Add Comment

Swimming in the Ocean of Consciousness (Dismantling Maxwell’s Demon)
Category: Writing and Poetry

Screaming at the shadows in the back of your eyes

Dizzying the danger

Scratching the flesh clean every time I remember who I am

Digging in deeper to see who I was; rattle in my chest now hollow

Cracked ribs stunt my breath

Bending in pain or was it in laughter, I have worn the face of that clown too long

These are the habits that creep back; always the weakest moments

The mirror doesn't lie no matter how many times you break it

Falling down is much easier than standing up

Standing unleashes the chaos of muscles pulled tight against bone

Ripping to the point of failure, white as blood rings out of the fibers

Scratched and torn in places, standing on your own is the hardest human condition of all; stay down

Live in it, this is the black sky of fear that haunts the sunset's colorful façade

Winter returns; true to the cycle

Stealing Sunday in the sun, no more cool evening glow

Don't fret in the grey, some nights you will still dance in that darkness

Regret loves lost opportunity; the period at the end of that chapter

This was my hand extended in the passing of what is not my home

Silence my solace; I still wish to lay my head in those arms and just forget

            Nights slept in comfort without the dreams flashing hallow scenes

Serenity was once more than letters written on a well tossed skipping stone

The smiling child I still seek in my spirit

Laughter of a departed father's comfort

The stoic words taught by those held holy

Some days I forget what I was even looking for

Signs I was lost somewhere in your last smile

Signs washed away in the ritual habit of make believe deities

Awakened 3am clarity; what you have forgotten to say when you are speaking

Life painted in the colors of the perfect day

The painting is only as deep as the artist perception

The paint only as thick as the alchemy of the pigment

The lines only as beautiful as the hands can observe

Fear often confused with hiding, the answers are somewhere between

I refuse to hold this anymore, is only my fear

These brushstrokes are mine; they hear no critique of their ugliness

Sit back and watch the show of quick flash lightning and burning
embers; magnificent to some and horrifying to others

Never seek proof of the storm in the curve of the divining rod; practical magic, often trickery

Seek shelter, banging at the locked doors of manifest destiny

Spit in the face of prophetic lies; the road turns as you build it

I cannot live in your box if you are there with me

I would rather fuck you flat against the wall then to touch you with no comfortable indulgence

I would rather beg for the scream of the midnight horn blower's sweet jazz note and not sober to reality till the sun shows me color once more

Never hamper with predicted timelines

Accused, this math scrubs your soul of desire and passion in the end

I am screaming in the tin can phone of your last distraction

It's the voice echoing off of the south wall by that blurred Polaroid that resembles the pointed devil's tail

Hand full of painted rocks over run my pocket; talisman of healer and shaman etch in every poet's word

Drugs in their addiction, the unheard name of real verse

Bleed it once more as the words spill onto this musing

The flavors of compassion and flesh taste better than blood

Falling from the wet lips of a kiss down the inner thigh of a lovers eventual meditation

Surrender the moments in front of you, those breaths of time not past

Sound of air passing the catacombs of my soul

Fire captured lights patterns on the cave walls of my silent desperation

Let us lie to the thieves who would steal this treasure

Spoken demon; these lips still not touched by broken promise

This grove of black tangerines marks the trial to my sublime

Woven in the crack of broken glass dug deep in bare feet

I cannot be held for my memories

Awaken, another morning without her there

3:59 PM - 74 Comments - 106 Kudos - Add Comment

Obsessive Structuralism (Scratched Off Wine Labels)
Category: Writing and Poetry

The sounds of the dirt settling was a symphony

The heat blended across my flesh

My eyes were blinded to memory of the places I once held this

Standing in the insidious heat of a Babylon sunset dreaming of life in a scene brushed by Monet

She wore red in the monochrome illusion

Breathing ocean air during sunshine filled day sleep, the rest of the colors were lost to the red

Exploring this emotional transcendent

Trespassing in original sin

Beyond those fields and that silver tinted orphistic memory

Waking up in the arms of a lover; clarity of the life that was around me

Quieted 10,000 voices that had dragged my heart through their graveyard

Let myself bleed in the embrace of the wild rose bush that was her touch; I loved the pleasure of her trap

I will tame it no more; this lost guard is best left destroyed

To hush the soul's storm; losing fear of the calm I may find

These things are greater than human clarity

Scented in oils dripped from a flower named desire and heated in the fire named lust

Kissed under that bursting spots of the night sky

Veiled in diamonds, white spark made as lover's flesh grinds slowly against my body

Lost in disillusioned physical need, fueled by the sensual spirit that I beg to possess me

Walking by in psychosocial desperation

Compassion trapped in the steady eyes, not threads sewn across your body

She presses her lips against skin of my neck and taste the salt of my humanity

I am lost in the climb down this trail to the altar

Kiss deep in the holy water we have welled, lost in the wails of the choir below me

If not defiant to the reveled redemption, my soul passes its offerings

I wish to ascend this abyss that is simple desire

Leave me there at the foot of the bedpost, smiling in the fallen night

Mapping destruction and redemption, they are never far apart

Mixed in the water of slow dripping lust down my neck as I pray on knee to her fulfillment

Back against the black wall, I call this name once more

My antagonist is the cause of the hole worn in my soul

This is the weight of my day and night; cut to the quick too often

The letters know the meaning of my need; the voice will not speak them

Your voice speaks in words I have not written

Your lips kiss the heaven I have yet denied

Your night the sin I have yet let consume me

Caged in your suggestion, this is my crime

Bargaining for moments of attention

Death of the wayward martyr's purpose

Counting the value of love and hate; these sacraments written across your back

Caught in this storm, her power floods me

Crash to the floor; this is not my reckoning; I beg this day

Broken we walk behind this city's veil

Dark now, I fall under the sheets that you call home

This daily reflection; resurrected at the dark doorway to your heart

Glorified is my resistance

Stealing these moments of trusted praise, this thief steals to quench his spirit

Feel power within the trinkets and stone; wishing I am not but another you call to this mid-night ritual

Defy the distance of the sun, quenching the obsessions every calling

A feather fallen to the moon, night time submission's drift

Weakness, welcome indulgence in this embrace

A sliver of deceit destroys these junctions

Cutting in my resolve like the surgeon; relying the worn path to lead back home

Promise not to point the way; I already know you are there

Don't think I forgot this, these days that you have called to me once more

Disillusionment rings in gold laced bonding

In this kiss realize I am the boy you had everyday to seek

I am the blue slice in the fading sun set sky

Whispers pour like wine down the trails of my naked back

Locked to my heart, those words ricocheted in hope forever

12:17 PM - 106 Comments - 114 Kudos - Add Comment

Choreographing St. Vitus’s Dance (Behavioral Economic)
Category: Writing and Poetry

This is not going to be a pretty poem

Some days I feel kissed by some magical muse and deep words of unchained passion or unrequited love rush to my fingers

I am swirled in the blue ocean waters drip down a bare thigh of quenched desire

Thoughts of a slow kiss down light sepia tinted skin and the gentle touch of a nipple to my eager lips as I lose myself in the breathing of a lovers building desire exploded in the deep pleasure and the scratch of nails across my human flesh

But this will not be that poem

It will not talk of love or longing or desire or pleasure

No this is a fuck off kind of poem

The kind you write when you want to kick the doors down and destroy everything that is in front of you

Yes, that includes you and you and you

It is full of fire and emotion and irrational human thought, things you try to control every minute of every long day

I t could have a moment of clarity…when the lips beg to touch in a deep kiss and the bodies temptation for more

It could end in a lust ridden push against the cracked wall and the ripped clothing of a lover's hungered struggle to feel more than just that anger

But this will not be that poem

It is brash and angry and written at 300 words per minute

It's a knock down get out of my face before you taste the flavor of your own blood and the flesh of my verbal fist kind of poem

It is the kind of shit you write when you are at your end or at least believe yourself to be

It is the kind that lets you get the shit off your chest and put it in the imaginary box of your mind

The kind that lets you put the pain behind you

Behind You

Behind me, done, forgotten soon enough are many poems like this one

Emotions so silly get left behind

They should get boxed or caged

It's when you realize the stars are broken and the sky is black because you don't have any other light to add color

It is reflected in how you weigh your blame

How much you enjoy the slight crack of your gritted teeth

How much you like to feel the heat of anger against your face and the rush of blood through your chest

That kind of poem

And if we all blame ourselves for tomorrow

But its words that we say today

And if things are not worth remembering then we should never write them down

Because this is the kind of poem that wishes you remember those days

It is the kind of poem that reminds you, unless scratched on the pad your anger was lost to the heart

And lost is where these types of poems should likely stay

5:26 PM - 55 Comments - 112 Kudos - Add Comment