Friday, July 27, 2012

With Friends and Roads

i take a walk, down a country road
that knew my then footsteps
and i notice

the new house where the bull once stood,
and my inability to remember
where the abandoned well was
so perfectly hidden in the tall weeds
just for me to know

and this home
sprung up, that one boarded up
the pond dried up by drought, and
the big oak gone where once
i took my shade

life was younger then
and cares belonged to the
banker in town and those
that owed him blood

it's still the same road
though the bridge is new
and not crossing it
can't bring the old iron one back

i smile to what i remember
but try not to curse what i see

so it is with old friends
and long ago roads

Monday, July 23, 2012

The Angel That Sang To Me

this futile war i wage, is kind of like
shooting at jumbo jets soaring high
above the clouds, with a BB gun
while mocking laughter rains upon my face

it's bound to fail
and yet, in the end,
i'll get my ass kicked
just for the trying

i don't like mayonnaise on my burger, either,
yet that's how it always comes
and damn, oh damn! those hospital corners
that keep me from the healing balm

this game, i tell ya, is fixed!
designed to make us look like chumps
and holy, holy hell
i won't stand for it
no, not without a fight!

but see,
there's this angel, and it doesn't matter
that her feet are bloody and her hands dirty
or even that her scarred wings
don't hang quite straight

and it doesn't matter if i tie my reason
like a blindfold over my eyes
and call it sanity
or fill my ears with a rage
my mind equates and
sells as justified

all that matters,
is i hear her singing HOLY, HOLY, HOLY
over and over again and i see her there
high and lifted up beyond the congregation

she's there,
just beyond my reach
and i can't turn her off,
no i won't turn her off!
and i twist my memory
to squeeze the last drop

and my loggerhead shell splinters
into a thousand pieces of broken light
and i find there's no where to hide,
no where to run, and no way to fake my weakness

and yet, also, there's no way to reach her
as i bleed, aching for her bind

i'm not sure if it's her or her song
that wafts and echos through my night
or if it's her beauty or her tangled light
that once broke my morning fall

all i know, is that she was my angel
and as angels do
she has flown away
leaving her shadow behind,
leaving me broken
and without the cover
of her sweet tangled light
-so i cling to her song



WARNING! graphic content

OK, now that I've got your attention.
So here we are, in this graceless age that has no time for romance, and modesty went the way of the dime store. This is the age of the hook up where a fuck is a fuck is a fuck and who the hell cares.
If I were a man who looked at porn (certainly not!) I would be bored stiff-no pun intended.
It's all how fast can we do it, how drunk do we need to be, have you been tested? can your elbow bend any other ways? will we get arrested? are your kids home? and say, what were their names again anyway?
We aren't a people who need romance, we're a people who need bigger vibrators made by John Deere and cases of Trojans!
I read somewhere that there are no male prostitutes in Vegas. Who needs em! They tried it and I heard there was some pretty good ones but these days there's swingin dick on every corner and ten in every office. I'm surprised the girls are still able to make a go of it, but a lot of regular girls still won't have a threesome with a donkey. Not yet anyway.
Don't get me wrong, this is not a diatribe against good sex and I've had me my share. I'm quite willing to throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. -pun intended
Whips, chains, toys, groups, inside, outside and on the roof, as long as I don't get what magic Johnson got and it turns out his johnson wasn't so magic after all.
But I've found that something is missing. There are important steps we're skipping.
I remember my first kiss and how special it was, how hard i worked for it and how grudgingly she
gave it away. Not because she didn't want to, but because she knew it was special, and was gonna make damn sure I'd know it was special too.
When a boy first can slide his hand over her small heaving breast and feel the bra under the soft cotton shirt. Man, that was special! Especially if he doesn't get slapped. And after a few more weeks and a hundred calls on the only phone in the house (and her father answers every time) and after carrying her books, getting teased by friends, and buying her ice cream cones with the money earned mowing grass, he might, just might if he's lucky, get his hand inside her shirt and actually touch her bra. Wow! Now that boy's livin!
And there's no way he will dare try anything else for a few more weeks. Because she knows it's special. It's her precious gift to give and it won't come easy no matter if she wants it as bad as him.
Then a day comes, maybe with this girl, maybe with another, but still not easy, when the boy will get his trembling hand inside her bra and feel that gloriously lovely nipple on his fingers, and he'll feel it grow to his touch. Now the boy's in heaven.
And some day he will try to slide his hand between her thighs and hope she doesn't clench them. Hope she won't get mad. Awww! to feel that beautiful soft yet firm mound even through her jeans is a moment that could never be forgotten! She has given a little of herself, the hope of more, and he no longer cares how long it took.
Then another day, when she's ready and lets him know, a button will come undone, a zipper come down, a hand slide, and he'll feel those panties! Maybe she'll let him rub just a little. And then that's all he'll think of for the next three weeks, and if it isn't love, it damn sure feels like love.
Another day the fingers will touch her soft fur,(they used to have fur-didn't you know that? huh!) and another night, finally feel her moistness, later, in his bed alone, smell her on his fingers.
This is seduction. And the trick is, he thinks he's the one doing the seducing!
These steps made sex special, and often love was built in the process.
I really don't know why, as we got older in this generation, we decided we wanted to skip the best part, but I fear even teenagers don't mess with the preliminaries any more. Just too much time and what's the point anyway? Would you like to go out Friday Night has become, "Hey, ya wanna fuck?"
You want some good porn? Really hot shit? Go to the old movies. Bogey and Bacall. An Affair To Remember,-hell! even The Graduate. There's a reason Matt Dillon never got laid-no seduction, and Miss Kitty didn't seem none to happy bout it! And even in Sleepless In Seattle, the little boy had to seduce Meg Ryan cuz his dad was too friggen stupid. Ugh!

And after all, a fuck is a fuck is a fuck and eventually we'll run out of ideas on new ways to do it.
jus sayin

Thursday, July 19, 2012

My Sympathies

my deepest sympathies, my dear one.
as now you find yourself in pensive reflection,
let us consider all of your loss so we may know
just how hard to cry

remember when you were young,
and couldn't believe you were pretty?
that cute boy tried to kiss you under the bleachers
and you shook your head no, though
your heart beat a wild yes
i'm so sorry

remember a few years later, when at a party
your friends asked you to play truth or dare?
you were afraid to be embarrassed and left alone
i'm so sorry

how about the time in the big game
with the score tied and you with the ball?
you knew you could sink that shot and win it
but you passed the chance away
i'm so sorry

there was that time by the lake at midnight
everyone drank too much wine-except you,
then they went skinny-dipping but you had
too much sense and kept your shorts on
and the depth shallow
i'm so sorry

and how about the college you attended
though you really wanted the other one?
and later, saying yes at the altar, though
your mind screamed NO!
i'm so sorry

that handsome man at the airport
when you felt so all alone.
why, he lifted his glass to you and smiled!
but you turned away, and when you looked back
only an empty glass remained
and i'm so sorry

then there was that time your friend
(You know, the bad one)
tried to talk you into the Rocky Horror Picture Show
at midnight after a little weed, and ain't it a
good thing you had that dentist appointment
in the morning and couldn't go?
so verry sorry

and when you knew how much your daughter
wanted that expensive gift for Christmas
-the Christmas she'd never ever forget,
you remembered the noisy clothes dryer
and got her the other gift, just to be safe
i'm so sorry

that summer your friend begged you to take that road trip out West
with $725 dollars and a clanky Oldsmobile
you wisely considered how foolish it would be
and got the promotion instead, and
she never came back
i'm so sorry

and let's not forget that night among the stars
at two AM and a quarter moon
when you almost had it together, and
you almost believed you could fly
with such a wind blowing!
but you didn't even give it a shot
i'm so sorry

now your kids are grown and out being you
just the way you taught them
and you have a fine house
and outstanding reputation as still
the one to come to for sensible advise
i'm so sorry

so my dearest, in your bereavement
i offer my sincerest condolences
at your loss of so much
and the moments that offered them
i'm so sorry


Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Another New Horizon

i feel it again
can you feel it in me?

two squares forward
one to the right
and then?
i don't know

nor do i know if capture
or kill awaits
or if it's good, or if it's physical
or maybe this time,
the whole enchilada

a fallen log, ancient of days
is a good place to rest, and
a brook to shame crystal
a good place to drink
but such places offer
no mortgage and only
temporary relief to my knowing
that this is right and good

this quaking is not in my bones
nor in my hearts blood
but rather deeper and slightly hidden
-the higgs boson of my being

perhaps this will pass
if i grate iron my denial
or perhaps i've stopped caring
but still the atoms shake
while my spirit alone
sets the sails

and as i look down to the anchor chain
rusty and barnacled
and so at home in the deep mud
i hear that song, from so long ago

don't surround yourself with yourself
move on back two squares

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Still In Saigon

enemy from friend, can you tell?
or does your ability reside
in the innocence of being told?
the exoneration of fools

on a hot summer day
when the midwest spit out time
as cheaply as the katydid's song
we became Mickey Mantle

thump thump thump
the sound of boredom
bouncing as a ball off
the sun baked roof top

fall kisses in the back of an old chevy
at midnight while the hum of a distant
highway drifted far beyond the weeds
obliterating the tracks to where we've been
and where we're going
thump thump thump

and we grew without notice
as the future in perfect subtlety
raced along the yet to be written history
under the cover of lost twilight

and just like that,
all the schemes and dreams
and the silent aspirations of our youth
took a bus that never comes back

and here, there is lurking danger
in the boredom and blood in the echo
of the thump thump thump
and ever tracks to follow beyond
the tracks that can't be hidden

and how we got from there to here
is the secret never spoken of
for sadness dwells behind the door
we never should have opened
but couldn't ignore

history is written on the parchment of souls
of wars that can't be justified
and the thump thump thump
is the echo of our heart in retreat

flags risen over those taken down
battlefields grown cold and quiet
if rescue came to take me home
too much of me it left behind
too much of me, is still in Saigon

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Don't Bet Your Life

i'm living a life, but not mine
mine's over there, just
beyond that great gulf

this life
has far too many blues and reds
while my life
is turquoise and lavender

but i have vision, a vision
which see's the life i sold
for a prayer of desperation
-and it's just over there

over there, the Northern Pike
run fat, mean and hungry!
i am their conductor, and
the nature i bartered away,
my orchestra

i can't see me over there (can you?)
but i see my swagger,
that grin i lost in deuces wild
to a sly lawyer with long sleeves

over there, lies forest trails
full of my treasured green
and kisses that laugh
yet still hold the power

from here, i can see
the fields of lush joy
the easy passing
of a gentle terrain

a savage sea that swells adventure,
a cottage nestled in bluebirds,
a sky that lingers in lazy,
and a spirit that never grows old

there is a boy playing there
where the water giggles the rocks
and a pirate building a ship
to ravage the harbours of spain

there are fistfuls of tomorrows
just ripened for the pick
and a rum barrel for two
that never runs dry

and so much the more...

but i live this life assigned
for once when drunk on fear
the magician played me a fool
and i rushed the fine print

this life is a shovel
with which i must dig
and the torture i must bear
is the vision without wings

Saturday, July 7, 2012

In Search Of

i'm not sure that my heart is broken
but maybe stretched beyond repair
is it for love, to quantify my worth?
once, yes, but too many tracks
could be found on my lovers breasts,
and hers upon my hope

is it for the youth lost beyond the stars?
undoubtedly so, but it was mine
to spend as i wished and the warranty
is long since expired and regret,
too bitter a grape to swallow

no, life as two horrible children
stretch me like taffy
just to see where i might snap

i no longer yearn
for the moistness between her legs
nor the shadowed valley
between her soft breasts

i no longer believe
in the repurchase of yesterday
nor the racing ahead to tomorrow

my heart reaches for a soft walk,
a calm lake with gentle sound,
a mountain where time has no purpose
and the me, somewhere beyond the ridge,
i saw once in a fairy tale

then, could my heart rest,
my mind surrender,
and my youth return
to kiss me goodbye

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Toil's end

drink up! drink up! you ballyhoo boys
drink up, ye worn weary men
the day now well spent, the night just ahead
let's dance to the places we've been

how freshly we drank of our sweet morning milk
it's whiteness we boldly called hope
and our plans were the biscuits we gravied in cheer
while we patted the backs bloke to bloke

we kissed the warm sunshine from the fields of bright green
while bowing our heads to say grace
our first beads of sweat spiked the innocent dew
while the doubts sailed south without trace

so drink up! drink up! you widowed old wife
drink up, ye once virgin lass
the day has run out, and night comes to call
tell the preacher he can just kiss your ass

such a raising of glory from the wisp of a dream
such a promising seed that went bad
and for what? yes for what? tell me sweet darling
was it all just a joke to be had?

our flowers, sweet darling, how fresh did they bloom!
the wine, from the vine, how it poured!
we wrote of the eagle, then painted his sky
while tucked in his wings how we soared!

but where is he now, you spinner of silk?
and your charm that once healed my way?
the night it does come, in gallantry gait
stamping truth on our fields of lost play

so drink up! drink up! while the moon is still high
drink up to what never could be
we are what we are, and we ain't what we ain't
such fools to believe, you and me