Sending poetry to the world
fresh cut grass trimmed neat
my glove browned tan and beat soft
one crack of the bat…
i remember days
playing catch with my dad and
imagining that
girls could play baseball!
i remember Cal’s card in
the cereal box
added a hometown
smile to my collection, says:
let’s go O’s, let’s go!
1-800-Jesus
on a bus billboard
silently tells my old man,
outside the Burger King,
that the halfway house can
snap a heroin needle in half.
But my old man
was too busy
picking dirt from his nails
drinking from a bag
chewing his bottom lip.
My old man was
in a dirty argyle sweater,
just another on a bench
that sizzled in the heat
like a dying
cigarette,
like singed fingertips
black with ash.
I am in a cave,
walls slimed with apathy—
Outside’s topped 80 degrees and the trees are whistling
while they work at blooming, and
the fat groundhog plays
landscape architect with the grounds.
In my cave, there is a small hole
way above my head,
not unlike a prison window,
And in through it drips drops
of sun and smells of fresh cut grass;
I can taste the world turning into another season
even if I can’t see it.
Goes to show
The universe will begin and end
unaffected by my
work.
the magnolia blossoms
pink and white and soft
cling to dark tree branches
when April showers
come raining down and down
leaving those petals no choice
but to let go, say goodbye,
fly off on a wind, free,
scattering about on
a carpet of green green grass.
In honor of some still ringing ears from a wicked (wicked!) show last night at the 930 in DC with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, thought it was time for this one written loosely about one of my fav frontmans (written back aways, slightly revised here).
Steam like Weiland
Steam from my Lipton’s
hot tea
dances like Scott Weiland
and wails
like a hot electric guitar lick
and fogs up my eyes like cataracts.
Oh the nights
where smoke replaced steam
moonshine instead of tea
and I need not imagine him
close enough to smell
the sweat.
Remember hot heat,
grind and sway
so close,
that plush hot heat,
that same song request
and that hot hot heat.
When tea cools down
the steam leaves drops
cold slippery, falling asleep.
Wrote this quickly a long time ago (circa 2003 maybe). Most people, I think, will be able to relate in some way or another…. Now, heading out to enjoy the weather and a great concert with BRMC tonight (black rebel motorcycle club) Till tomorrow… Oh, and if you can, let me know if you like hearing background on the poems or if you prefer just to see them posted alone!
For a Moment
for a moment
when it was safe
she thought about him
when the world wasn’t paying attention
she ran her fingers through the memories
and remembered him
when the day buzzed by
and clamored on with heavy ideas
she slipped away
and felt him smiling slyly
as he always used to do and
she sang with him
away from the paperweights and mouse-pads
she danced with him
when it was safe
she kicked back and dreamed of him,
sweetly and sadly,
then the world came roaring in again and
she can’t go back again
though for a moment
she thought she had.
My parents
In their quiet moments
Are two tall trees
Grown close together
Arms entwined
In a green canopy
Shading their saplings.
Happy Easter to all those who celebrate it and happy happy beautiful spring day to everyone else! Played a volleyball tournament all day yesterday and am busy eating as many jelly beans as possible today… so I will be back tomorrow with more poetry and stories. Good news though, just found out I will have a poem published with Everydaypoets.com! Hopefully this is a sign of things to come. Enjoy the day~~~~
When the light is right
her pretty curly hair looks red
like the darkest melted color of a sunset
or twined tree branches, free and wild,
growing down her shoulders dark
like chocolate cherry ivy.
We go places together
slip into hazes of Thursday night bars
with loud old bands
dance in the changing lights and
her curls bounce and twirl in time.
When she shakes her head at me
with a small smile
the curls fall quietly down
like waves of rain breaking
from a heavy cloudy sky
and when we swim laughing
in blue oceans of Carolina
the curls surround her like seaweed
dissolving
into salty reflections of sun
quietly fashioning night.
6am “morning — stupid roosters crowing, house/trailer sleeping — I’m awake again clouds above are so thin drift on like a fine layer of lace on a blue sky dress. view partially framed with large skinny fingers of a green brown palm plant curling around each other in a tango. my feet are really dirty. one big toe completely black the bottoms look like I walked miles without shoes in a charcoal street.”
2pm “play on Jerry, got to love the Dead on a day like today, all sunshine in a cloudless sky light breezes carrying me away sand crawling like ants and the little waves rolling in, rolling on, rolling over clumps of seaweed smelling like the beach whatever that means and it’s probably time, as the song comes to an end, to reapply sunscreen.”
1am “till the morning comes again, we’re gonna drown our minds dissolving our thoughts like sugar into tea sweet colors and sounds become their faces longtime friends and those we’re bound to meet eventually. till the morning comes again with rosy fingers we’re gonna dance legs and arms moving like a slow motion trance in a silent movie white and black the night sky forgetting and showering drinks, drops satisfying tongues like rain.”
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