Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Carrie's Confectionery

The Sheriff doesn't like trouble in his town
watched too much TV with his old man
~thinks he's Matt Dillon
but has a splash of Barney Fife

when Zelda's Hideout, at the edge of town
got too rowdy, he slapped spur to hide, so to say,
and busted their ass good!
some guy fixes computers there now

The Silver Dollar on East Main gets by ok,
cuz they have some kid leave an envelope in the Sheriff's mailbox
every Thursday at midnight

but Corky's Tavern on Maple didn't fair so well
Corky said, "Fuck that shit!"
and went to the city council
unaware how well traveled the envelopes were

That's just the way it is, love it or leave it

hide the tree in the forest

Carrie's Confectionery sits smack dab on Main Street
between the Fire Department and Post Office

across the alley, in the back, is Jack's Bait and Tackle.
and never mind that there ain't a fish to be caught for forty miles
and never mind that, how in the hell can anyone make a living
selling candy, fine linen, and used books.

what matters, is the hidden tunnel under the alley that leads
from Jack's to Carrie's. The one the bootlegger's dug way
back in the 20's. The one the Sheriff doesn't know
anything about.

oh, he strolls into Jack's now and then, jus cuz ya never know, and Jack
sells guns.
but he never goes into Carrie's. Barely gives the front window
a passing glance. Not that it matters.
all the action's in the deep basement that's been sound proofed.

the big stud poker game, the moonshine whiskey,
the bar you can smoke weed at,
the girls the Sheriff thinks are Jack's cousins who
live in the apartment above the bait shop,
the makeshift bedrooms where a person can sleep it off,
or get it on, before walking out Jack's front door in the morning,
tipping the hat to the Mayor.

it's all there to be had in Carrie's Confectionery,
where almost nothing ever sells
and the Sheriff never looks

A New Day

open yer eyes boy!
open them buggers wide

a new day's a dawnin
the sun is at the gate
foot on the block
waitin to blaze
~waiting for you

the storms of yesterday
but a remembrance
while the lazy wheat and
eager flowers in youth
mime happily to the wind

rise up! rise up!
let's be on our way
breaking the bonds of gravity
feet to the quick
high stepping eager hope

we can do it once again
if we can forget why we stopped

turn away from barkers and clowns
throw stardust pound to the penny

so many days have been stolen
too many a day surrendered, so
today, we'll turn this ship downwind
and just let er ride,
forgetting the chains
that stole our once
easy drift

Friday, February 22, 2013

Remembering You

in the stillness of the night
moon giving no quarter
i remember you through
the crystal pane

your skin smooth and warm
beneath my trembling touch
your warm breath whispering
love songs upon my neck

i see you now and then
along the highways i travel
and even feel you in the
fresh morning breeze

you've become the cool of the dew
the warmth of any fire's blaze
and a stranger's smile in the
afterglow of a glance returned

i sing to you
when the lyrics speak your name
always wondering
if you hear me

but it is in the stillness of the night
somewhere between frosted glass
and pregnant moons
where i remember you best

Monday, February 18, 2013

Lost In The Fog

i wear the night as London cloak
through fog heavy alleys upon
cobblestone brick, cold
and high collared

somewhere in this dark passage
is a door hiding the hearth
full of warmth, ethereal glow,
and rest, to the lonely of lonelies

this cloak i wear not by choice
but by reason of insanity
for what else could it be
to have already passed
so many doors of shelter

the morning will come
once again finding me
the desolate outcast
blinded by the dark
of the high collars
i insanely call comfort

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Strangers to Friends

There are places, where broken dreams and broken hearts come together to mend.
Malcontents and wishful thinkers find cliffs to cast their hopes from, ponds to skip their thoughts, one, two-threefourfive across.
The sweet Georgia spring night was conjuring in dust whirls along late night streets, the street lamps yawned. It was Monday.
I felt the tug, and the dust whirl led the way.
The irony of Crowded House playing "Don't Dream It's over" could not be overlooked in the near empty lounge.
There was she, behind the bar doing the nails that had already been done. There was he, a local for sure with rehearsed banter.
He tanked the boredom with economy fuel
"Slow night"
She didn't look up, or waste words either.
"I've made three dollars"
There was a ridiculous poker game going on and i glanced the players.
The pretty young girl that would be a fashion designer until the funds ran out halfway to her dream.
The hotel manager from India who didn't give a shit about this Georgia hotel
The old man, and the big wampum liar telling his stories ten floors above the flag.
The piles of chips looked impressive, but held as much value as the liar's fables of being shot twice in the head in Iraq. Oh, men have been shot twice in the head in Iraq, but those men don't brag~they struggle to forget.
"I used to eat monkey brains in India," The liar tossed out like a baby throws its pacifier.
The man from India couldn't let this one slide.
"They don't eat monkey brains in India."
You have to love a terrible liar, they never let truth be a burden.
"Yes they do. They did where I was."
The facial ping pong was priceless as the manager fingered his cards.
"And where is it you were?"
The liar's bullet wounds were causing amnesia.
"I can't remember."
"Well," the man from India put forth. "Was it North, East, West, or South?"
The liar was stumbling badly, obviously over matched.
"Um, I can't remember, now."
The dark skinned manager was satisfied, nodded, and looked back to his cards.
I turned to the bartender and we quietly laughed together.
An hour ago, none of us knew the others. Three hours from now, we would all be hugging each other, saying goodnight, as the manager on wobbly legs told us he really had to close down as it was an hour past last call. He hugged everyone too.
In between, we swapped stories. Some true, some not-it didn't matter. We argued over music. We danced. The young failed fashioner wore my coat as we all went outside in a group to smoke. She and I smiled at each other like lovers, because that's what we needed.
The liar's stories grew ferociously and we pretended to believe him, because that's what he needed.
The old man and local boy went home, but three men and two women came in to take their place and we welcomed them like cousins to a reunion. They brought a dog, which quickly became our dog, too.
The bartender made seventy dollars in tips, I gave the pretty girl a half a pack of smokes and my lighter.
The liar said he was going to Arizona to fix global warming. We wished him well.
This is how it was on a Monday night in Georgia. A group of strangers that needed something, and friends willing to give it.

Friday, February 8, 2013

The Jester Has Retired

the king is dead
long live the king

young and old
rascals and noblemen
born royal, worthy
and wanting

i've played for them all

i've swallowed the sword
juggled the daggers
told jokes
until the only punchline
is me

why, i could make myself disappear
over here
and then
reappear over there

a clap of the hands and off i'd run
all yellow bloomers
with black stars
and a hat full of tossles
to conceal my wares

pull a rabbit from a hat?
phtt! child's play to a jester
able to pull a hat from a rabbit's ass
and convince it's a crown

the Queen is dead
long reign the queen

but where is the jester?
and who now will amuse?

the jester is gone
and all of his tricks
hats for hooks
and bloomers to rags

he'll dance no more
the limp fangled jig
for the game has gone old
and the jester, out of jolly
shall bow no more

Monday, February 4, 2013

Losing My Religion

i sat upon the rocks at the edge of the sea
just a boy head full of dreams
all heart full of want, upon a tide
chartless of course

i rode a train across Thailand
thundering to a destination
i hoped to never reach
but this, my secret locked tight

the mountains loomed in the distance
i hoped to never lessen, for their peaks
once conquered, would be too much feast
for the want i craved tight fisted

the seagulls spoke my religion,
the sky cathedral to my claims
chimed hallelujah to the virgin spirit
lost in the wildflowers of the ruling horizon

the ridiculousness of youth
oblivious to wisdom past
knows no friend among man
nor enemy among gods

but time teaches our faults
through a jealous rage stamping
failure upon wistful dreams
while horizons paint a faded canvas

the loss of this immortality
through the consummation of time to self
resides in the fable of destination
and peaks without fire, too near

it is divorce now i seek
from the cruel master i've become
so free i may be, to forget what i've learned
and find my first love abandoned somewhere
among restless seagulls and aimless tides