witch in time

that's where it starts
with half step kisses
falling on the sides of cheeks
embraced over drinks and haze

our hearts break
we smile
in some sort of way we find ourselves
while lost in others
we smile
we know we've found only one note
to a melody worth repeating

a chorus lies waiting
a verse to sculpt
a chapter to write
of fiction
the kind you create
where happy endings are trite
but you decide how the plot goes

you sit in one of those directors chairs
with megaphone in hand
telling things to the world
that you could shout
and still hear a pin drop

that's how it starts
with simple plans
and long nights flying solo
in the back seat
of the Red Baron bi-plane
ripping through 1936
smoke trailing
dervishes whirling
and you finally realizing
that you were born in the wrong time
a captain of Tenille
a princess without a pea
a sleeping beauty without a kiss

you write the songs
you read the tales
it's not long
until your heart prevails

brother T

 

when he got quiet
I knew poems were going off in his head
like bombs dropped
sleepless nights in warm mud and rain
when he got quiet
I knew compositions were being written
in between sanity and solution
in between peace and war
without haste
he wrote in his mind
as he thought thoughts
and as he remembered
the days when memory lane was paved
with youth and goals and simple things
then he found himself
dripping in the warm rain
and the cold nights
away from the world
in a world where memories
last a lifetime
and memories are smashed
numbed and snuff out whenever possible
in the jungle

in another world
scrutinized by media
wounded by time
left alone in the dark
for battles won
wars lost
and time forgiving
the pain, the rain, the voice
healing from within I see him write poems
in between sanity and brilliance
in between war and peace
in between love and brother
sister and mother
I see him write poems
when he's quiet and alone

Santa's Pharmacology

 

I know an old dude named Santa
Who went in search of a cabana
See he was tired of cold and freezing days
Sitting up north lost in a frost bitten gaze

Seasonal affective disorder the docs said
He took prescriptions that went straight to his head
So he took off to find,
tropical delights in kind
Away with the sleigh
And this freezing delay
It's off to find sun and some fun

No more scripts for Santa
He's just not jolly enough without...
booze in his shoes
pot in his pot
beer with his deer
and schnapps with old pops!

So let's give Santa a break
maybe even bake HIM a cake
no more North Pole
or elves on the dole!

He's left it all behind
way too hard of a grind
So no toys this year children I'm afraid
If that was so important he would have stayed
Instead Santa's down in the carribean

gettin' fuckin' laid!

my little boy

 

I listen to his lullaby
and can't believe
he walks with light steps
usually dancing in his shoes
he's got ants in his pants
and he's taking off
on strings of violins
pulled tightly to his toes
he dances
just by being
he feels deep
and fills me deeper

he forces his way
onto my lap
climbing the mountain
known as Dad
without the guide of a Sherpa
he takes great pains to set anchor
to unsure holds
pulls himself to the summit
perched in my lap

he wants to guide my hands
he breaths his breathe on me
and winter feels like a warm summer day
with hot sand and soft wind

he smiles his smile at me
and I know that
my path through the forest
starts with a seed planted
in a sanctuary
that is sometimes lost
and buried like treasure from a ship set to sea
without which he would not be

I never regret
and then I never regret again
with his hand in my mine
he brings out the sunshine
my little boy, my little boy

fuck a poet

baby, baby, baby
If you want dirty talk
you need to fuck a poet

If you want security and stability
fuck an insurance salesman
diamonds and pearls?
make your way to Trumps high rise
caviar and expensive china?
you better take the next leer jet to Paris

but if you want a guy
who can glide down your side
go splish splash with your hourglass
riding your body
tossin' hot heated words
well if you want some of that stuff baby

you better fuck a poet

If you wanna ride the lighting
in between the sheets
hear grunts and groans
that make the whole world wake
come on
lets go start us an earthquake
and when you scream and cry
you'll then know why
when words begin to fly
my shits to die

you obviously need to fuck poet

when I throw words around
like bitch and hoe
there always followed
by maam and miss
when I try to throw down
and offer a crude diss
I'm often reminded of a humble kiss

baby you need to fuck a poet

I wanna take time
to take you
to the dark parts of your mind
and while we go there
and do that
you're gonna hear me bitch slap your heart
if that sounds like a play dream you want to have

then you better fuck a poet

I'll read you up one side
and slowly down the other
bark sweet somethins in your ear
not appropriate for a mother
I'll climb through your dirty mind
with words of your sex, shame and lust
knowing with me tonight honey
you just gotta trust

baby....
do yourself a favor
fuck a poet

last

I just wanted to be honest with you...

tell you how it feels
to finish last
or third to last
or second to last
or really last
sometimes I wonder what last is
is it going last, finishing last
feeling last
or just feeling like you need to outlast

and I can't take away from your accomplishments
and you know that I care for you
and I'm proud to be your friend
but just know
that it hurts deep
when I'm unable to win, place or show

I've always been picked behind
bullies and thieves
never minding the curse
my own talent believes
I've sat the bench
unwilling to bend
but I'm only in this
to show words that can mend
I'm wanting to heal
from the poise of my lips
to show you
that I'm not too far away
from what really
fucking rips

I alienate with attitude
until you see my true heart
I shield like a fortress
that protects me in part
never wanting to give away
my secret plan
I tend to derive meaning from
being "the man"

but I think it's because I'm lonely
and scared
never wanting to show you that I'm
naive and unprepared
in ways of love
and lust and light
away in the valley
that stalks my solo night

I never imagined being here
as I am
vulnerable, searching
living this new plan

I once ran a half marathon
I finished last
I had breakfast with all the
best runners the top of the class

I can't run the roads like
a Clydesdale anymore
but I run my mouth
and crash in through your door
I may finish last
but I'll never stop my voice
from carrying the weight
a generation played on to by choice

running it, writing it,
I'll never stop
even if I read last
finish last
I'll always outlast
because my mouth runs with the wind
and I still have breakfast with champions

small wooden box

 

I have a small wooden box
with lions waiting on the outside
they sit at the hinges and guard
with fierce bronze teeth
keeping my box safe

inside the box are three letters and three coins

the first coin in my box
a 1923 silver dollar
with a woman on the face
that was not my mother
she wore a crown
held a lantern of light in her hand
lit the way a long time ago
for travelers to come and lay their heads
"its been a long time since I've seen you dear!"

the first letter in my box read "we love you"

the second coin in my box
a 1964 Kennedy half dollar
sealed in plastic
uncirculated, unrealized
the potential of a generation
smashed, with a bullet
from a grassy knoll
known as the smoking gun
in a plot to take away
the spirit of of a country
at the beginning of a revolution

the second letter in my box
handwritten in hypocrisy
shredded for democracy
read, "we miss you"

the third coin in my box
a 2008 penny
shiny in the pocket of a four year old
on the way to the market
to buy trinkets and candy
with Lincoln on the face
he freed the slaves you know
but pennies these days can't buy much

the third letter in my box
only just a note
read simply, "why?"

velveeta and homegrown tomatoes

 

there was a time when cheese sandwiches
stuck to the roof of young mouths
tomatoes played hell with white shirts
when dad flipped the pale white bread
butter singed the wind of wheat and bronzed
a whole generation of laughing kids with Kodak smiles

I stood on yellow vinyl
stretched tight on hollow chrome
of seventies fashion
in kitchen ware design
and watched on a sultry afternoon
how he sliced velveeta with beef steak
homegrown tomatoes

he licked his fingers
as he prepared them
and it wouldn't be very special
but it's the first thing I can remember
in life

I was almost three
maybe almost four
I'm not sure
but I know there was a whole lot of life being lived
between the age of .......

my chance to be human
just for a life time
next, not so sure
but for now
cheese sandwiches
with homegrown tomatoes
life, my life

we lost them

she seamed so frail when she finally passed
fingers gnarled in arthritic distortion
the pain lingered in her eyes
not long ago they tinkled hymns so carefree

they twisted to conform to the ivory keys
danced lightly in the face of loss
with the heart of a wounded angel
lost in April winds
on a mountain top
with engines roaring
fumes distorting
and lives being put on hold

remembering the days of
Gunsmoke late nights
Cronkite salutations
distrusted leaders

we lost him then

he seamed so strong and proud
to be a Dad and share his name
he wandered above the crowd
Einstein with a touch of Leary
Lincoln, with the heart of Roosevelt
Easy rider, with a taste of honey

sweet on the eyes
and every girls dream
sharp like a switchblade on a
hot August night
in a town with no crime
a vigilante in the wrong era

James Dean couldn't hold a candle
De Niro only wished he could
sign on as the leading man
in a role that was stopped premature
of being fantastic

we lost him then

and I think that her bones
started to to twist and shout
and that very moment
when she knew
he would not see them grow
They would always wonder
Why he never aged in pictures
Why he always wore the same black rimmed glasses
Why he stood next to the same car
And worked on it the same day of the week
With hood up and sun bearing down
They'd only know him in photographs
They'd seen him standing with the same smile
But never saw the frown

and I think it ate her alive
her heart tore in two
the pieces multiplied
and before you know it
she had little pieces of heart
all over her body
trying to reach up to heaven
and go home
and her heart broke and it broke
and then finally it twisted and turned
like an oak climbing up
and left us 

we lost her then