Strange Waves – Spoken Word

Plummet describes in a word the dumb shit,

The result of a life lived from one hit –

-to the next and that second of fuck it.

As intense wash the waves,

Through your secret filled caves,

Telling memories back from where you sent them away,

Until the shores are a littler cascade of broken mirrors pelting your gaze,

Each reflection a question,

Each flash a suggestion,

Of what happened and why,

Where you broke the faith and started to cry.

Each lens is a how of what could have been,

Who you are without all the sin.

No more pills and bottles and rock,

Bags of dope, sacks of coke and the inevitable cops.

Living on streets and the pity of strangers,

Acting devil may care to numb out the danger.

When each shot you took put a pin in your son,

Blocked his love just as well as you holding a gun.

You got loaded and loaded,

Raised finger and goaded,

As your legs washed out at the thighs,

From a tide on the rise.

If not for the merciful care,

From those you punish unfair,

You’d be sunk,

Drifting drunk,

Out to a personal sea in a trunk.

Boxed up tight when you ran out of fight,

Away from the world and your right,

As a man to do your best to make it alright.

And as long as it took,

For you to confess as a crook,

Thief of dreams, hopes and beliefs you forsook.

You can’t change the past,

It’s gone while the onrushing future hits fast.

So you accept the regret,

Live learn love and refuse to forget.

Keep strong in surrender,

Committed to change,

Because in the end you’re not alone,

And are any of us really so strange?

Advertisements

Politics and Felons

political-skull

Snow blind hegemony awash in crystalline flakes,

Glittering razors culling our commoners and drunks with the shakes.

Loyalties cleaned and washed through censoring filters,

Amidst shapeshifters shifting to mask hands covered in blisters.

From the cold of their souls and the heat of their rage,

Seared meat not so young as to be tender with age.

The gallows of yore leave fractions aghast,

That here and now they have gone and the past is all past.

Passe the romance and notions of change,

Politics is riddled with absence,

Most notably shame.

 

P.S. This was written while watching the debates and final results during the Hilary vs Trump 2016 election. Was sitting in jail with a host of felons who were equally disgusted.

Dog Paws on a Keyboard

winking-typing-dog

 

I write because I want to be fed Milk Bones.

Sometimes I crave recognition and commentary as a reassurance that I might be better than average, even excel at something. Everyone wants to know that they have a gift, some form of prowess, a “something exceptional” that deserves an attaboy pat on the head.

I write because I need to catch a bouncing tennis ball.

At other points, the words pour with alacrity, urgent, demanding, and a quench to the heated thoughts being forged in reaction to an onslaught of emotional intensity. Good, bad, high flying optimism, crumbling shades of depression, maniacal exuberance, blaspheming anger blinding out reason, blue oceans of regret and shame – any and all as long as the fire burns hot enough to crack the walls.

I write because I like eating my chew toy.

Rare is the moment of universal quiet when thought retains an unadulterated purity unstained by dramatic flare, event or heart or mind driven twinge. When understanding is met or sought, clarity is both absent and present, and where the exercise itself serves the purpose.

I write because I’m a dog, and a keyboard feels like a warm blanket and pillow on a snow day.

Freedom – New Writing Shortly

To everyone that has been supportive, thank you, sincerely and with complete abandon. 

To Mimi, you already know. Live to love you.

Ton of new writing, thoughts and essays along with a few tales from the jailhouse experience coming once I get them transferred to digital format.

Free at last.

Jail Bound

Headed to jail today to wrap up a sentence and hopefully get a brand new lease on life without probation. Thanks to everyone for the support – and my love to those who have been there all along. Mom, dad, Mimi, Wolf, Anya – thank you for believing in me even when it’s all crumbled to dust.

Green Hair Angel

Spoken word is coming shortly…if you haven’t seen it, I’d really love to hear some of your own work…take a look at the Studio34 for the listing if you don’t see it a post or two down. Cheers!

 img_0515

She told me in a voice that wants for something more,

“I’m stuck with you and you with me,

But I don’t want to be stuck,

I just want to be happy.”
Simple words of wisdom,

Drop out the only mouth from which I tend to listed.

All around life is in tatters again,

It’s a battle of just going and going,

Churning up the ground as I try for traction.
People ask if I even know what I want,

It would be easier to drop my head in the sand,

No one wants to be confronted by the fact,

That survival doesn’t constitute a plan.
No goals

Just obligations.

Another sick hollow spot,

Self-indulgent in wasted life,

A never ending emotionless vacation.
The idea of walking a road with no end in sight,

Sounded so peaceful when I was younger.

I can’t be old enough to be this tired,

Those thoughts drag my feet,

Mired in mud six feet deep.
When you’re bound to the pipes,

The needles, the bottles, the pinners, the caps, the strips, the tabs and the doses,

The misery never knowing, always moving,

Chaotic insecurity, discomfort and the fear –

It’s easy to lose yourself in the haze,

No rag can clean vision so glazed.
Occasionally you need a multi-colored head of hair to show you that there is still more to be had.

That whatever tomorrow brings,

It’s worth holding steadfast to belief in something better.

Even if you have to lean on each other to get there.
She told me in a voice that wants for something more,

“I’m stuck with you and you with me,

But I don’t want to be stuck,

I just want to be happy.”

In The Yard

Blistering heat from a liquid sun,

That has burned up thoughts,

My eyes, their soul and my fun.

What brought on this sanguine approach?

Lost crouching and encroaching on sad joys and lost hope,

I’ve spun out my wheels into newly made glass,

Sand heated to molten,

Razing a shimmering patch.

Skidded to halt over stones constructed as ruts,

My misery shines through soaked in blood, tears, and guts.

Systematic breakdown of holy while high,

Head snapping, throat shaking, body trembling, while I –

Stagger to golden notes,

Choke quietly on the last strand of hope,

Chase goals through my screams,

Praying each daymare fades to a dream,

Balance desperately on life’s beam.

Stable for now,

Scared to say how.

Each breath shoves me closer to the edge,

Welling up my sweet desperate pledge,

To my kids and myself –

“I’ll change this life to a road followed out of hell.”

My mind and spirit can shatter,

Leave me mad as Alice’s hatter –

And though clouds block her burn,

To touch that blistering heat of our liquid hot sun,

Is to what I aspire and yearn.