A collection of poems, snippets and other musings. Now preserved in perpetuity in the cloud of 1s and 0s we call The Internet.

Please note they are quite rough, as they come more from scratches and scribbles and little mental explosions than from a finely crafted and revised process like a novel or short story. They are also free of any sort of concern for meter or rhyme structure and are “poems” in spirit alone.


Dreams of An Aging Man

Spinning thoughts
like fire sprung
in a mind without delineation
break me from subsconscious
while begging for respite
slow down slow down
I miss my dear old chemicals


A Terror Attack at Christmastime

The winter snow brings signs of peace
until the snowplow comes
and wipes the contentment from our face
like jihadis in the night
Dirty, festering evildoers
just let us have our fun.


All Hail

Flowers and sparkles
in a moonless night sky
carnivorous berries stalk
the earth

waiting for sunlight
to bring them new life
while a star
bakes a hole
in their spite

a thousand worn nickels
lay spilt on the floor
in the peddler’s
old busted-up shack

but he eats like a king
while the red berries sing
as he crushes
them dead
in his mouth


Exclamation

Into this valley of dying stars
My emptiness falls to rest
Solid apothecary of the utmost
breadth curing us bereft
until one day our fountainhead sprasy
a gusher of voluminous sweat
and tears and blood and recipes
of the makings of a free man.


Disappearing Act

Into the silence I fade
my blanket a reliquary of respite
So long since I felt this
So desperately absent from
life and the gazing vision
of society


Rub-A-Dub-Dub, I May Be In Love

Sweet nape of neck
where hair hangs soft
hiding beauty underneath
I’d kiss you there
whilst you sleep
but unconsciously
you’d slap me


Truer Words

Just because I write it
doesn’t mean it’s true
In fact it’s even less likely
because it’s easier to write lies.


Death of a Spinster

Sweet science of a broken clock
uttering breathless stares
into the forest of lost pilgrims
marching forward in the night

They do not hear
They do not speak
Their listless abandon
is the violet that shrinks

Someday a prince will come
and pull you from your gutter
but only after icebergs melt
from the heat of staring eyes

O immortal
O death
O neverending time

Come pull us from
sweet utterance
of everlasting li(v)es.


Atmosphere

The words flow freely
into the ether
waiting for someone
to pluck them from the air
hold them close
pull tight to their heart
but instead they float
lost in the nothingness of
s p a c e


THE MIGHTY ANT

In my life I strive for greatness, immortality through acts and intentions. I’ve attempted charity or to write the great novel, but still I falter and fail. O, to make oneself a being most memorable is an end we all dream for ourselves. Yet, some of us matter, while most of us don’t, and I fear I belong to the latter.

True greatness is found within, they say – and God knows I’ve tried to let it out. My final hope is to search deep inside, so I type this message to you … while my heart beats alone on the wood of my desk. If there was greatness within, it’s no longer there, for I’ve searched every nook of my corpse. In truth I am merely an ant.

“But an ant can life fifty times its own weight,” is the refrain that departs from your lips.

‘Tis true, my dear friend, but the dreadful thing is, I’m an ant in a world full of men.


Varicose

Light the way
into the fire
burning from within
the love you feel
deep inside
is masked by tears and sin
Say goodnight
to wretched dreams
that your
every nigth
Imbalance is just
Nature’s way
to cure us
of our fright.


INSIDE(OUT)

tap tap tap
I’m hiding in your head
tap tap tap
i’m not the
one to dread
tap tap tap
tap tap
tap

open wide
i’m out

or did you
let me in


Give Up, You’re a Ghost

Freak out
you’ll never win
losing becomes
your only legacy
give up
and die
but at least you’re happy
bored
alone
dead inside
but happy
like a clam
in a pot


The Night Sparrow

My ego is a silent wing
That one day will be broken
It never soars, I never sing
Its presence but a token
Of Borrowed hopes
From twilight sprung
They lay upon a mantle
Cut from the flesh of fallen oak
While sullen babies babble.


Wiggly Worm

Wiggly worm
Wiggly worm
How does your garden grow?

On the backs
of lesser beasts
buried deep below.

Wiggly worm
Wiggly worm
On what do you feast?

Skulls and bones
and childrens’ toes
and the meat stretched thin between.

Wiggly worm
Wiggly worm
Why do you hid ’til night?

Curled up in
my hidey hole,
I await my time to strike.


21st Century Love Story

I clicked the “like” button.
Isn’t that enough?


Modern Art

This poem is disposable.
Just keep scrolling.


The Husk

You can try to put the
the lime in the coconut
but it ain’t gonna work
unless you can slice that bastard open.


Look Over There

We all die alone.
Our lives are spent
searching for others
to distract us in between.

We are born alone.
We die alone.
Life is the time we spend
looking for others to distract
us in the time between.


Revelations

the spider in the well
the spider in the well
dear god it scares me so
the spider in the well


Insufficient Funds

I tried to buy
your love.
But all I got
was a package in teh mail
with my heart
and a note that red
“payment declined.”


The Terror of Life

Go to sleep.
Go to sleep.
Go to sleep, little baby.
Go to sleep
’til this nightmare’s over
and it’s safe to be awake.


Creepy Dude Thinks UR Hot

Hey girl, sup?
Whatcha doin’ later?
Oh yeah, that’s cool.
So, maybe we can hang out or sumthin.
You know, if you’re not busy.
Whatever. It’s cool.
Yeah, I’m not like super into it either.
So, maybe I’ll see you around.
You know, if we run into each other.
Where’d you say you were gonna be again?
No, that’s cool. You can have a secret.
I have a secret too. Bet you’ll never guess what it is.


Christmas 2015

Christmas came and went
we all survived the day
let’s see if we can last through the night.


ORIGIN

Fall down face first
on rainy street
chasing love as it departs
Watch up close the ground
and dirt & trash and grime
Slide aside and
slither headfirst
into the storm drain.


Sunshine and Peppermints

Privately I held your sorrow
As the night turned into day
On a sofa made of promises
Said someday to be spent
On tomorrow.


True Story

Why do you loathe me?
I asked myself
As I torched
the ink-covered pages
of my autobiography.


Is a Virtue

Black ashes dance
About my head
Like feathers spilt
naked from a pillow

For days and weeks
I paced the floor
Waiting patiently
For laughter solace


Spins and Bottles

Twelve flowers on my
window died
Gray and brittle
As I pleaded
for your love

It never came
Empty and polite I sit
hands folded
on patient knee


Forgotten

Someday you’ll see me
alone on a bench
and you’ll wonder
why you never saw me before.

But I saw you
In my dreams
As I wept patiently
For a life that was shiny and new

For wherever the sea
foams and then slips
Away
Into the arms of a fool.


Treasure Diver

Pick a penny for your eyes
A cent for every single lie
You ever told

Silence falls as lights go dim
A secret sense of doubt within
Your black heart

Frozen as the daylight fads
an age of silence goes away
forever.


Bloodsport

It started as a tickle
in the recess of my throat
and evolved into a cough.
I hacked I choked I cried I spat
Until it all burst out.
Dreams of terror, love and wants
spilling from my deep insides.
The pool of red that lay before
was coagulated lies.


Collection: Songs of Joyful Devotion (Of Which the Words May Scream)

The following seven selections were recovered from some notebooks etc. from my early 20s.

a frying pan to your skull

I killed a child today
When I stole his dreams
of a life unspoiled
by pain & misery & grief.

There is no Santa Claus,
I told him.
He’s a lie your fucking parents
Tell you to behave.

Because you’re just a little coward
Who cries over spilt dreams
And the salt of your tears
Only helps the tequila go down easier.


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The nightingale sings to a liftless audience
They listen but do not hear
And so is life. As we call upon our fellow
A fellow who does not hear
Who does not listen.

And yet we are told fear not young traveler
Your life has only begun
The wonders we will see
The life’s we change
These mean nothing
Until we become prophets
Prophets of a new beginning
Where nightingales sing
And earthworms dance
And we laugh in joyful harmony
With a love within our hearts
And our souls upon our tongues.


carbon

four little harlots sitting in a row
one fell over and stubbed her toe

and I said:
fuck you, you little harlot


trivial pursuit

In pursuit of games of trivia(l) discussion
Perversions of honesty lost in the darkness
Of hearts and emotion
Lost in the empty conversations of nothing.

We speak our minds, but of which we do not speak
T he reality of situations avoided,
Placed upon the weathered windowsill.
Gardens of discussion are found unwatered
And the fervor of life is left to wither.

Our lives don’t know what they are
We make them to be what they become.
And when we fly upon the wings of lovers
We imagine they, unlike icarus, will remain unscathed
As we approach the sun.

And we will not fall
We will not drown
We will not stray far
From grounded beliefs.

Because we know our lives
And we control our fate
And our fate is nothing short of
What we make ourselves to be

I am in control of my own life
I am the one who decides what happens to me.

And when I enter the realm of impossible sorrow
It is I who put myself there.
The thoughts of generalization
Are nothing.

Our lives are not general
They are lives of convoluted madness.

It’s the wonderful glory of light
As it escapes from the unclouded heart

When I look upon your eyes
And swim within your soul
It is here I become alive
for my soul has been lost years before.

I bathe in your warmth
And it is the place where I feel life
When all is black
And this place is the birth of light.

My heart screams out to the unresponsive crowd
Of people gathered below my window.
A gathering of ghosts of my past
And the past we (pray) have left behind.

They gaze upwards, into my window
And do not speak,
Their mouths gaping open
And their eyes empty with my sorrow.

My eyes shut and I become part
Of these lost souls
As I lay my head down
And forget who I am.

And my body shudders
In dry heaves of tearless lonesome.


flying lessons

Soft angels in a chill blue sky
Spread their wings and soar on high
They sneer with their beaks and bear their teeth
Talons outstretched, they dive at me.

And the kitten with soft gray fur
Bats about a ball of yarn
In a field of lush green grass
Up to her ankles
Its soft upon her feet.

She bats again at the ball of snakes
One strikes and the others
Move in
The parasites
Vultures
Of green and blue and yellow

Before I can help, the angels gouge my eyes
Pecking about my head
Searching for what is me
But they only find the pieces

While the kitten descends to hell
And each snake swallows the other.


the mounty

The tropics are cool this time of year.
Oh really, are they for sale?
Why, are you interested?
Only if it’s a silver moon.

Seven dwarfs went in, but only 3 came out
The rest were straight.

If I dance in the street and the windmill blows, what happens to my hair?
Does it flutter from here to there?

Yes that, I said.
Know this, you said.

I can fly if I flap my arms.
But the sun is not for sale.

Yet my love was (is)
If I ever take (steal) it back from your hands.


ghost pimples

They place their hands upon me
In sweeping fits of rage
And still they do not touch me
For my soul’s trapped inside a cave

The fog-mists and the ghosts
That are buried deep within
Are trying to break through me
To penetrate my skin

I sit here near the window
Hear the echoes and the moans
From the redwoods and the willows
Lost from a time unknown

And still I sit here waiting
For what will ne’er come
I don’t know what I wait for
But it chills me to the bone.



Random Snippets and Musings

snakes snakes snakes snakes
snakes in the grass


look out for falling rock stars


Don’t pinch me, I’m dreaming.


Never trust a woman who doesn’t like chocolate, and never get involved with one who claims her favorite author is Sylvia Plath.


potato in sock
santa claus is mean to me
pooped in his salad


If you write a story, does it finally get out? Or did you just help it multiply? #plague