Scraps of Saturday themes

Why is your neck twisted
at an angle
swaying back and forth
willow along a gentle bank
smile
twisted grin of a jack in the box
no longer bobbing
just static on a spring
coil unleashed
no kinetic
only potential
left by an indolent child
on a worship sunday
Have a smurfy day!
Is all that comes to mind
as your face slaps my eye
reeling in
saturday morning
with horrid overtones
Gummi Bears squashed to the floor
and Johnny lost his quest
Is that what happened to you
you lost your way
or is that makeup
Stop this Tomfoolery
come down from there what a laugh we shall have
after this mess is over
Please!
Please come down
I'm lonely
.... scared
in need of a hug
you left me without air
to suffocate
by the hand of the womb
closed in
ignorant of the ways
you bastard
which I loved
I wish my knife would have been
razor keen
so many times
I wish
I wish
to sink it deep in your chest
but I didn’t
strength stood by me
you, it, did not I guess
coward, weakling
leave me here alone
selfish in your way
were you
for what good is the house
this life
without you a part of it
Maybe I can join
where your eyes have rolled toward dreams in your head
(eyes downtrodden to the mural of urine)
spilled upon the floor
a maze of torrents
a well of emotions
leaked as hopes vanish
and ropes tightened
blue tinged friend good bye
Have a good day in hell
you bastard who left reality at my step
and pain
in this hollow heart
choke on a rose
Daddy dear



Life on a lease, for sale


street lights illuminate the night
sky above is rich lavender with moving shapes
while down below is a hazy glare
where mist and rain collide
I keep walking
my feet blister
pus and blood spill forth in mixture , soaking my sock
already wet from invisible tears
and acid rain
I walk
to escape everything around me, but no distance is great enough
the ground beneath is worn away, a trail formed
around a tree
because I walk in a circle around the heartwood
but I run away with each and every confrontation
but I run away with each and every confrontation
the past though it is so very away
but distance makes us wise
There are so many things I wish I could of said
is that regret
but I can’t
no letter to write, no kiss to accept, no phone to talk
only like so many other things... distanced
so instead of walking
run
saplings and brush slash my body
cuts and welts appear
but the pain is nothing compared to me
into the night I stumble
waiting for my sun to rise
to find a mirror
so I can confront all that’s behind the eyes
of the stranger
whose phantasies plague me
a picture
a movie open 24 hours like some cheap porno theater
where the seats have rubber
and the air is thick with stale cum and hopeful breaths
it plays constantly through everything I do
whose foretellings
show to much in riddles, feelings, puzzles
need a key, got more than enough to spare
except
the one
to
shut them up or release their full potential
but mostly
I want to break the mirror
crush it
and take a sliver of glass into my heart
to become pure
to be fire
and watch the sun come up for the final time
too bad no good-byes were at hand
so I leave
to go
back to life
to the path that hasn’t been made
and won’t
because its one of my own accord
a deer free in the woods
munching here and there
hopping throughout
but free of the pressures of the world
one with nature, left at piece
except against survival, which pits a daily battle
especially for man
the past has to stay where it is
for there is only me
a destiny
some of it written already in pencil
parts left blank in the journal
for me to choose, to change
for I am the writer, I am the adventure, I am the comedy, I am the tragedy
the antagonist
the protagonist
the main character and all the bit parts incorporated
however the story isn’t done yet
and the outcome I have dreamed
only hope I don’t break tomorrow
like a porcelain doll falling from Allee’s shelf onto the hard wood floor
ceramic pieces spreading on the floor
like crumbs of a cake
or a chest collapsing from too much weight
the weight of living the weight of emotion
I hope I survive
to see
a sun tomorrow


Puzzle Piece of G a e a ’s Harvest


I am the
....
gem
covered by facets
weighed by carats
I hold all the light I collect
jealously guarded
like a serpentine wyvern
except aren’t I the treasure
murky depths with light shining through
I cut deep with my edges
slicing through the night
but inside
doesn’t lurk perfection
but a cracked fire
stretching to the core
coldfire
burning bright
its smoke incased in ice
my shell
what would happen if I shatter
would my flame burn bright
melting the world with its fury
or would it die out
torn away from its lover
put in the world.
Is this what I am
an inanimate object
full of sparkling delight
or am I nothing more than dirt
from the ground I created from
a hard part set alone
isolated
in pretty night
to capture light
and entrap eyes
who turn to my faces
my grin, my bite
my deceit, my melancholy
my anguish, my pleasure
my anger of remaining
within a shell
comforted by fire
wrapped by ice
forever a contradiction
a paradox
an opposite
to this world of illusion
where fancy baubles
can flabbergast a many
while pain is forgotten
in a shell
of another hue





Hourglass with little sand and broken

Words on paper blur as sight does with tears
ink blots
run down my face as my finger
wipes the tears away
but I can’t hide the facts
bold like black on white
or the glint of greed in goldlusted eyes
Truth is relative
in the fact where blood hurts
its cuts deep with invisible barbs and hidden hooks
Whispers and words just echo
flat like newspaper
filled with false hopes and promises
macho words
but what are the tears from
released from a prison, unknown tomb
I can’t understand
where this well of forever sadness springs
how can it control, twist its clawed hand
around my brain
making a bowl of spaghetti
only mush and oatmeal
that leads to tears
Can anyone save from this slow death
as ashy core with wooden casket
slowly sinking in the ground
but no white hands nor angel doves
to reach into this heart
and plant a sapling
instead a core of despair
things waste around me
like a leech am I
a parasite on the world
so desperate to fit in
so outcast as to live
a life where no one understands because
this heart is not ice
but running cold
evil eyes toward the race of man
for their destructive ways
and power greed
but I can be blamed for the same
for power is a generator for me
it fuels my need
an addiction
a truth
that I do share the same characteristics
of man
the base ones at least
but who knows how long shall they be
held in before Hoover bursts
and the canyon overflows
in a tsunami of hate
of coldblooded murder
A revelation has been reached
Hurt and Hurt alike
because pain is what we are
what we thrive upon
and until there is none
humans on earth
its time to be the gatekeeper
and destroy a race


Ps yc ha de li c d ru gs and blue bells



Blending together on a fine woven guilt
Bleeding as a pinprick
defined as a mortared brick
Stuck out as a stain
on a wedding day dress
innocence forgotten in the throes of flesh
when passion becomes spitfire
and reality, water which dampens the heat
sweet sweet freesia filters
through the cloth
blown by the cool breeze and hot breath
a throated grunt loved by hunger
as sugar basted lips
of long ago chocolate
brush mine
on that day
feverish flesh, spasming as though a fish on land
bucking beneath me
with hair stuck to his face
glued by sweat
delicious sweat which I lick like wine
as we build towards out union
when bells toll
and my wife is left to be alone
never married
until my animal is sated
by a piece of mind
and topaz eyes
crunching below me
as the mountains of furrows upon his brow
the tension of anticipation
melts
blinds
as escasty the drug takes effect
and euphoria sets in
and we travel on the sheet
without my wedding day bliss


M e n t h C r y s t a l

In the time it takes to say “I love you”
a million lives are left
to go their own way
on an imaginary staircase
winding up and down
a candy cane of corruption and bliss
red and white
good and bad
mixed for the hand of an innocent babe
It is to this that mortals rely
to judge their actions
to contrive their souls
as emotions are dropped
and a scale formed
To weigh and measure
From gold to lead.
Through this belief in right and wrong
a nation, a world
is held in throng
By the words of a poet
transcribed and interpreted
with other interjections pressed in
as time passes on
so do printers who change the words
and therefore the meaning
causing blessings to turn to hatred
and a skein to become tangled
When riding the pale horse along with death
Reflect and be aware
that all the belief that you once had
can turn
Shattered are things, once held true
become fragments
and the sturdy being that’s grasp was once so tight
hangs limp held only by death’s delight
Crystal tears fall
becoming the rain of sorrow
lined with silver truth
Stairs are shattered and the horse disappears
For faith is the framework for the otherworld
Without
it dissipates like a ghost set free from its earthly domain
we or
you or
I
Nothing is no longer one
but all
encompassing
many
multiracial
multispecied
all within the void
filled with coldfire
still wind
soil that not bear fruit
and water without substance
like a prophet
incomplete
telling of things to come
only to have them change
at the end.

Email: