Your name, my name.

Does my name scurry across the back of your mind,

once in awhile?

Like shadow footsteps going ‘round the corner,

fleeting.

Because yours haunts mine,

like a secret you shouldn’t know.

Magnets we are like;

Opposites come together,

but our similarities push us apart.

Did we both burn

in the others fires,

or did we

extinguish one another,

smothering, smouldering.

Tell me,

does my name cross your mind?

Pavement

Trickling, running and streaming down my face,

staring at a big blank sky

dropping its soul

piece and drop by piece and drop,

the gentle patter

of mass abandon.

The heavens are a palette of dirty dark hues

and their dumbing down

the street lights,

bright sentries posted and stationed,

single file.

Slick sidewalks,

sleek pavement highways

littered with feet and leaves,

And dotted in cussing and puddles.

Blue, too.

The winter blues are setting in,

faster faster

from baby blue to indigo,

dark days and darker hues,

each is a new blue.

Snow is around the corner,

light and bright,

waiting to fall in time

with the rise of your chest.

Each sigh is a rain drop

sliding down the panes,

playing tricks on everybody

Going this way and that-a-way.

Azure, cerulean and cornflower blue,

each one is something new,

sticking to my skin,

sinking in and dyeing me, too.

Dizzy spin

It’s really hard

to turn away from eyes

that dizzy me up,

and spin me around

as much as you please.

I’m throwing my words at you,

little daggers to chip the walls

so thick and so high around you.

You’re not cold

just silent,

handing out little clues

with big questions,

and no answers.

Alluding to every mystery but yourself,

you float in between familiar and stranger,

never staying in one skin for too long.

Prickly eyes don’t match soft words,

but that’s what you’re giving me.

Another skin, juxtaposition,

your all steel words and gentle eyes,

I can’t help but spin.

Gimme some Soul

Are souls bagged and boxed,

compartmentalizing and sorting

our feelings, our heart-of-hearts,

our essences?

Or is a soul more like an experiment,

pressed and sealed between panes of

glass in everlasting transparency?

Or perhaps a soul more resembles

cling-film, fluttering in every which way,

sticking to nothing but everything.

Can they be ripped and torn, or even

sewn back together?

What about seen, or touched?

Maybe we’re just too busy to see,

or a soul is only in one spot just long enough

to be forgotten.

Maybe, a soul is the knowledge

that we don’t have one,

but we still believe.

Crusader, crusader.

Useless crusader,

What cross do you carry?

Is it yours to bear,

or far too heavy?

Esurient crusader,

whose words do you speak?

Do they come from your tongue,

or are they phrases from a land not your own?

Crusader crusader,

lay down the cross you carry,

quiet the words you speak,

and find your own.

Crusader crusader,

take not the burdens

of your fellows

because every cross

is only as tall as the man who carries it.

Crusader crusader,

lay down the words you speak,

for they are not your weapons,

but your tools.

Heavier than blood

Things heavier than blood

rush to my head,

swirling around and filling it up,

right up to the top

bringing my head down,

shadow inch by shadow inch.

My eyes are the next to go,

each lid stumbling down

falling faster

until their closed,

cutting me off from the world in front of me.

My muscles march and follow suit,

leaving me with shivers

that had nothing to do with the cold.

I’m up against a wall

and things heavier than blood

drop me to the ground.

Mists

Pearly cold mists

draped over trees,

a thickening fog

hanging all over the place.

Creeping and crawling

slowly it goes,

watch it play it’s little game.

Chilly testaments of a fading sun

and lingering fogs

cling and glitter across

dappled greens sinking into a fiery gradient.

Silly sports

What faulty wire

requires I prefer

ink and words to sport and games?

Some silly structure up top,

dictating rhymes and patterns

instead of thinking about the next game,

scoring a goal, or pointing my toes.

What pray tell,

brought this all about?

Out of 46 genes,

which one spoke up and said

libraries were better playgrounds?

Synchronicity

I think

memories have voices

hopeful, uplifting tones,

and sad, haunting notes.

Dark or light, each one

as beautiful as the next,

twisting the veins and strains of life

together,

harmonious blends of

body and mind.

Drippy weather

Raindrops keep falling on my head

down they drip,

falling, falling down my nose,

sinking their way down to the floor.

The water is steady, stable,

an endless procession of drips and drops

relentlessly abandoning the sky,

a stale slate of concrete, speckled with rain.

Clouds tumble on in,

a drawing of curtains

darkening the stage, all the streets.

The light dies with the minutes,

night finally pouring in, filling in the cracks.

The trees and their leaves shudder with the night,

for not even the trees

are impervious to this weather.

The perpetual soul

He was old,

older than most, when we first met.

His face was wrinkled,

deep groves splayed all across his face,

pushed deeper and deeper

into flesh by constant laughter;

a daily routine.

His hands were gnarled and scarred.

His was a life of labour, he said.

A labour of love, he added.

The older he got, and the more I knew.

It seemed as if

the more depleted his body got,

in riches his soul grew,

ever expanding.

His fragility was always around,

hanging between us

drifting like an ocean mist,

in and out,

in and out.

He was old,

older than most.

But that was just his body.

Because in the end, a soul like his

was ageless.

Damnit, Boy.

Every day was a step away

back from your name,

and here I find myself right back

where I started,

A sweet little choke on the letters

I forgot spelt your name.

Your song

Always struck a chord

A few levels deeper than I wanted it to.

Three words in and I’m back to where I started,

A hook right through me

every word

drawing me in.

Chains

You can’t lie.

That hamper in your proud stance

is the chain that holds you down,

keeps you back.

Don’t you know,

I see your burden?

Every link is a line

in your brow,

aching to be smoothed away,

Lifted.

A step,

and your neck creaks

with the weighted layers of steel.

I want to run,

Break each layer for you,

Fix you.

Time, sand and sleep.

Sleep screams at me

each syllable is another lost minute;

Hour.

Shadowing the space above me,

neglecting,

taunting,

a cruel master I drag myself back to,

the whipped puppy,

tail between the legs.

Every

Minute

Ticks

Away.

Faster, faster,

Slowing, slower.

My eyes turn to sand,

each grain
falling when I blink,

in tune with the seconds slipping over me,

time dragging itself by.

The clock lies.

It came down to your devil ways

Left, I was,

to ruminate your devilry;

for, what is left behind

...but a broken web?

Thin lines woven and

tangled over years,

precursors to the ropes

keeping me down;

constantly knotted by

your tricksie fingers,

spinning to the tune

of your own little lies...

who knows what kind

of knots you'll make.

Who can hit the hardest?

I

could scream a dictionary of your flaws at you

but you’d end up stripping me down

(no further than I should be)

Maybe I would sing

your bible of lies to you,

screaming your hymns to the heavens

but I’d be left with nothing

as you took me down the scenic route

of everything that should have been

blamed on me.

These two people,

two pieces of the same puzzle

two pawns in the same game.

A game of who can

hit the hardest.

Well, who can hit the hardest?

I never wanted to know,

and here I am,

last round,

and I guess it’s my turn.

Even angels without wings are too good for us

Feather by feather

my angels wings were

torn apart, plucked bare and clean.

What draws down

an angel from his clouds?

Certainly nothing

beautiful or good.

Is it his charges

singing electronic hymns?

Or is it the dance floor prayers?

Have you ever tried to hold the moonlight

between your two palms?

Or keep the morning dew

sparkling all day?

Then you'll know

nothing beautiful ever stays.

Well it did, for me;

today;

My angel lost his feathers

and they fill my hands

a million times over.

Never is a love letter an autobiography

This was never a love letter

when I wrote it down

But god knows

Nothing gold can ever stay.

Now I have no idea

as to what to say.

So give me some time

for when the river starts

I can't tell you when it'll stop.

I'm the

smoker

joker

midnight toker

who never knew

it could get any better,

so when it started to

I ran like hell.

Hearts&Stars

My heart is a map of stars

a canvas spattered in constellations.

Each blazing point,

a soul that touched mine.

Like stars,

some still burn

and some are long gone.

Still their light remains

haunting

like a vague memory

I never quite lost

or a sigh

stuck to the tip of my tongue.

Sing me some maybe's

Maybe

Just maybe

I don't want to say a word

but sometimes

I could sing the dictionary to you

and still not be done.

One word

just isn't enough

but

sometimes

a word is just

too much.

and sometimes,

words just

don't

come

out.

Like the sea man does

I want to write,

I want to sing my ink-words,

I want to weave my words

into skittery little nets and cast them

upon my blank paper-canvas,

imitating the sea man,

casting his net into the sea

far and wide

searching for tonight's catch

LIAR

I can't stand it,

hate it even.

Your resonating voice

spins a false web,

a cacophony of lies

pouring out of your mouth

staining your vocabulary black

like tar.

such simple words.

such vile words.

a burning throat you must have

for such words sting not only yourself.

further and further

into the spiders silk

you wrap yourself

singing a noxious song

you'll burn us all.

Impressions on a first name basis

Through and through,

you know me

but in a very real sense,

you don't.

Every word my soul can sing

you've read

but word for word,

our conversations are limited.

I would not have it this way,

but the choice is far from mine.

A lasting impression,

started so quickly,

I hope ends

not briefly

A note is a word is a song

I am an artist

to what caliber

I do not know

yet I will not

let my pen sing

my hearts melodies

if a note is missing,

unsung,

disliked.

I will not say

half a word

for its diminished value.

I will sing

loud and clear

every note that I am

for you all to hear

failure be damned.

My theme, my blood

my bone

my eyes

my lips

and the words they utter;

for i am a dance,

not a tune you can sing

with half the words;

so see them flow

dance and glow

like stars on a lake

the moon in your eyes,

water over rocks.

these words live in me

so without them,

I'll never be.

How many steps

In this city I’ll roam,

Alone

Cold to the bone

A chill I caught along the way.

Its creeping deeper,

The longer I carry this mantle.

It’s a shameful walk

setting the trend of my journey,

A shuffle beside the runner.

Cement, my only guide through

City smog,

smothering all stars, skies,

Glows,

Illuminating this spooky town.

Its an eerie pull that drives

Whatever's left of this tired body,

This old soul.

It’s a thousand times

I’ve done this before

and I’ll do it

a thousand more.

Scripts and suns

In silence and sorrow

I'll bury these words

and the power they hold.

Just another reminder of

what I hide.

Its a quiet question all of this poses,

but really

what chance do I have,

trying to answer every curve ball

thrown in my direction.

In the shadow of everything transpired,

I'll hold my own until a new sun is born.

Time

Time,

what is it?

a flick

a leap

a quick laugh

a kick in the face.

it stamps us into our molds

strips us down,

bare.

Target girl

You've got me

exactly where you

want me

so get the ball rolling,

this pose is

breaking my bones.

The strain is

rending me

apart

into a million little pieces.

A gasoline rainbow

Walking and walking

A summer day into a summer night

I dipped my toes into a gasoline rainbow

trying and trying

to figure it out,

why is something so beautiful

so ugly

when you really think about it?

Through a different lense

Maybe I'm looking

through a lense

and everything I'm seeing

isn't real.

It could be true,

but I'd rather not konw

until it all has to

change.

Sing song like attitude

I'm singing a song like

no other

a tune filled with everything

I can be.

Its a song

Its a dance

and

its everything in between.

Memories are

That pretty little

wind song that

plays in my head,

the melody that

creeps its way

up my neck;

For full effect,

dancing and twisting

across my skin

singing a tune

I once knew all the words to.

Feb 2009

The Coffe House Muse

The spoon tinkles against cheap china

stirring my coffee kaleidoscope

along with my thoughts.

A milky reflection

not giving me a clue

The stormy faces of the lunch crowd

won't spare a question

What am I to do

in this busy world

of theirs?

That sweet voice to bitter words

Taste the wandering poets words,

so thick and heavy with

rhyme with no reason

and laced to the edge with cantering flow.

Spin the dreamers web

until the voice is but a sound.

Round and round until the fire dies.

Like what could have been,

it was all just smoke in the end.

Bandages

Bandages.

Covering arm to arm,

leg to leg,

the wounds I have tolerated

from walking in the wilderness since you came back.

Black and blue black and blue

covering the heart we once knew.

Thoughts?

Is it possible to just let all my thoughts
Drain away?
Drain right out of my head,
tucked away, somewhere safe
until I need them again.
Sometimes, I think my head is too small
for all these thoughts.
Sometimes, too big.
Thoughts.
All they seem to do is
swirl round and round.
They keep me up in the dead of night,
keep me away
smack dab in the middle of an afternoon.
Swimming around,
confined to the mind
these thoughts
make up their own relevance,
seek no reward for what they conjure,
yet flourish in existence.
Don’t you wish you could just
drain away a thought or two?

Leaves

I am but a leaf,
and amidst a puddle of an ocean.
One that I just cant seem to stay afloat of.
perfectly flawed,
Little holes crawl along
Little veins
Letting (all) the water push through me, and
over me.
The waves threaten to topple me,
engulf me.
I’m not quite the sunken battleship,
because
I’m only half way there.


13/11/2008
17/2/2009

(Just another) Sunday Morning

Chasing the lines of a foggy dew away,
the sun tears the lid off my Sunday morning.
(Coffee is brewing, what a fine start.)
Outside a sweet breeze
compliments cerulean skies,
carefully adorned in cotton candy clouds.
First sip of the day and
it's a sharp hello;
(just one more reminder of life's
little pleasures)
Next comes the smoke in my lungs;
Hold it in. Let it out.
Wait for the buzzing to begin,
just a little something,
for when the day begins.

Just another perfect
Sunday Morning.

2/1/2009

The death of a Season (Tribute)

Trapping twilights glow
between their spindly arms,
the trees lament their fallen sons,
blown to the ground while church bells sound;
One clang
Two clang
Three to six clangs,
the dark is upon us.
Hallowe'en night, gone and past,
Summer fell dead and Winter put it in the grave.
Dead tonight and tomorrow she'll wake,
to die again when clouds break,
like mens eyes.
To shed their liquid glass tears,
to run their course.

Water Works

Outside is a dreary mess,
a canvas dipped in water.
Past the window I glance,
watching raindrops smear down my reflection.
No shadows here, in winters cold embrace.
A pattern drips into my head,
courtesy a thousand patterings upon my roof.
Morning melts into afternoon,
all color and noise muted by the
falling rain,
but still I’ll sit and stare,
to watch the day drip
A
W
A
Y


1/2009

An Introduction of Sorts

From beginning to end,
this book is a life pressed in pages;
a life well lived by a writer who spoke too soon.
A new page is a new day,
one more memory,
and another song to the sound of a heartbeat pounding away.
The muse weeps again, and these are her tears;
The muse sings again and these are her notes;
The muse starts again and this is her end.


December 2008