A Vinyl Night and Other Miseries
By
Stan Grimes
Smashwords Edition
* * * * *
Published by:
Stan Grimes on Smashwords
A Vinyl Night and Other Miseries:
Copyright © 2011 by Stan Grimes
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Preface
Words fly off the trees behind our home, too many to count. Often when I sit on the back stoop I can hear them. They speak of love and the sublime process of dying. Not that dying is a constant companion of mine, but it hangs around more often than not. It’s not a friend, yet it’s not an enemy to fear. Death is just a fleeting thought from time to time occurring each of my days brief as they are. This book finds its genesis in salt from tears, sweat of passion, and the cold shoulders of detachment. Such feelings are not my constant companions. They visit me sometimes in the dead of night, early morning fog, and sometimes in the glorious sunny days.
Writing poetry for me is a cathartic experience as it is for many writers I’m sure. My words seldom rhyme and rarely is there a discernable beat or rhythm. They are simply thoughts penned to paper and never escape their paper prisons. I’ve often asked myself why publish such meanderings? There isn’t that much wisdom in my poems to set the world afire with renewed belief in humankind’s ability to think. The reason runs deeper than that. Within this small book is the proclamation of one man’s battle with growing old, fighting chronic depression, and winning and losing at love.
Fortunately after so many years of perceived desperation and nihilism, I found the love I desired so desperately. As for the other battles, I’m losing. I continue to grow old and I continue to suffer the depression which apparently has been embedded in my gene pool. Funny in a non funny way, since aging awkwardly I have not lost that spirit which insists on visiting me on the darkest of nights to fill my mind with words. But now I welcome this dark visitor with open arms to embrace its messages of inspiration.
Read my friends to your hearts’ delight and if you tire of this obvious misery toss my words away and perhaps they will fly to another’s doorstep begging to enter. Maybe, just maybe they will find a home in a dark lover’s bed where they will be resuscitated and nurtured into someone else’s dreams.
A
Vinyl Night
You
and I sat cold by the tent
you
were stoned
I
didn’t know
California
nights
could
be so bone cracking
we
watched campers
moving
in and out like ants
on
a drop of sweetness
it
was a vinyl gypsy night
as
campfires curled snake smoke
against
a carbon black sky.
The
beach was stark empty
you
needed friendship
I
offered only silence
silence
and a beer
you
wanted neither.
We
smiled as laughter
resiliently
rolled from nearby tents,
love
laughter, bare skin giggles.
No
stars shined in a bleak darkness
just
a gnawing void never leaving.
God
I feel it again today.
The Modern Prophets
Somewhere
in the depth of death
beneath
breathing reeds
standing
like candles snuffed
by
fingers boney and blue
there
is an incandescent white
where
godlings go to grow
and
amid earthling buzzards
they
warn of Armageddon
It
is soon they learn the pecking order
and
the shame of being weak.
Moon
Acne
covered moon
would
a clean night
clear
your face
or
are the scars
indelible
like
scars of rape
and
loneliness?
I
wonder
if
you see the pebbles
in
my soul?
A
God
The
old sage points his finger
towards
a distant star
when
asked from whence he came
and
to where he goes
the
cosmos awaits him
his
dust, his magic,
his
being is the Being
for
he is a god of history
his
future, his gnarled finger
his
only compass.
Tree
Brother
I
whisper to you my brother
so
no one else can hear
the
stillness of my wonder
of
you my giant oak
sitting
proud and quiet
skyscraper
of the cosmos
no
one knows but me
it’s
you who stands
still
after death to shade
this
sun baked life I’ve lived
no
one knows but you
only
death
can
make a man a tree
a
tree amid forests
of
the universe.
Don
Quixote
Standing
sharply vertical
Don
Quixote guards
my
window-way with spear in hand
stern
face alert
wood–carved
and poised
to
repel moonlight intruders.
Oblivious
to my wonderings and cat scratches
etched
carelessly on his battle dress
he
waits for the candle’s flicker
and
the city’s music from without
to
begin his dance, a demon dance
against
a shadowed curtain stage
with
me sole audience.
He
dances with his eyes
parts
of his weathered lips
to
whistle of his misery
echoing
synonyms
to
battles and scars
carved
deeply within the man
sitting
vacantly watching him.
Rat
in a Trap
Rat
in a trap
chew
your leg
gnaw
it free
don’t
let giants
catch
you, catch you
smaller
than them
don’t
let them see you
spraddled
and scared
helpless
to them
so
chew, chew your ego
leave
it behind
run
to a hole
never
a corner
die
with hope of healing
die
with hope of freedom.
Carousel
Those
horses I rode
I
was young
younger
than today
were
made of clay
ran
in circles
to
the music of my world.
Stallions
of my mind
with
nostrils flaring
invisible
manes
clutched
in my memory
riding
high plains
of
consciousness.
Thoroughbreds
of thought
reaching
for a gold ring
a
child centrifuge
a
smile for no mother
a
wave for no father
the
carousel goes round and round.
La
Macabre
There
is a melody
in
my father’s ashes
high
above the pines
a
yellow bird sings
surely
with his voice.
There
is a beating
in
my brother’s corpse
woodpecking
in rhythmic time
drilling
hollow maples
for
he is one of them.
My
uncle’s waves
are
spidering the sands
ebbing
their way
waxing
and waning
back
to his mother’s womb
and
he is one of them.
I
watch my hands
gathering
scales
for
a joyous day
when
we shall join
in
Nature’s nest
wind
god bless them all.
Stillborn
Dull
winter morning
sky
is flaking and I
gray
monk
rise
from a fruitless meditation
to
write,
write
a confirmation
of
yesterday, for today
is
much the same
nothing’s
changed
dog
bite scars
have
not healed
hollow
wonderings
of
death continue
to
echo like voices
through
a tarry tunnel.
This
love is godawful
allegorically
dead
dead,
stone beautiful
but
dead
like
a stillborn child
whose
placenta waits
to
follow
making
whole the death.
Puddles
I
tapped upon your eyes
they
opened
spilling
your truth
in
splintered mirrors
naked
now on the floor
splinters
we’ve always tried
to
step quietly across.
Losing
the Song
Love's
been hard
laboring
in barren fields
sowing
insecurity
wavering
from
right to wrong
aint
no kind of song.
Love's
been tough
mountains
of decisions
wavering
indecisions
swimming
in a sea of tears
sometimes
drowning in the years.
Life's
been hard
flying
clouds of anger
stumbling
deserts of desperation
searching
for right
finding
wrong
this
aint no song.
Love's
been hard
we've
scars to show
stories
to tell
we've
been through hell
goodbyes
too long
we've
lost the song.
The
Last Sin
I
guess this is it
the
storm abated
rain
turns to a river
to
bother someone else
doesn’t
matter to me
my
stool awaits
the
loop fits perfectly
a
sinner about to sin again
doesn’t
matter to me
this
is my last sin.
Cats
and Dogs
I
have no steel
blue-honed
and deadly
in
my soul
not
taut and calloused
like
a warrior should be.
I
have bent standards
gun-riddled
my heart
so
many times Humpty Dumpty
would
cry in puddles beneath me
worry
about me
I
think worry is what worry does.
Brush
this fly away
watch
it cling
like
skittish blackberry jam
on
a butter knife
caught
in a web
some
malicious spider's
been
saving for a rainy day
I
can hear
cats
and dogs falling now.
Suicide
Slipped
my shoes
off
into the ocean I wade
standing
at the foot of god
I
asked forgiveness
clothes
floating off
to
Jamaica, Bermuda
Puerto
Rico
my
god left on a ship
to
exotic kingdoms leaving
this
somber slumbering mind
to
all the doubts of living
I
walk and stars disappear
beneath
my salted eyes
death
is only a quiet sleep
in
the midst of an ocean
loud
with desire
Our
Day
Day
ended its rule and fell
into
the pitch of darkness
you
and I my dear laughed
in
candlelight
like
a loving séance
we
spoke of the dead
gone
now and beautiful
in
twilight pink
we
wished them back
knowing
stairs were in waiting
patiently
for us.
This
Process
Is
this how it’s going to be
me
in the kitchen listening
to
the music only I love
trying
to understand the wrinkles
forming
above my brow?
If
so then let me out.
This
fruitless exercise
counting
days to the grave
numbers
dwindling each day
this
somber task is getting me down
like
a circus with only clowns.
Wind
Tell
me the wind is more than wind
tell
me God
is
whispering life
into
the world again
tell
me the whistlings
are
the oak trees warning
that
God still lives
and
breathing heavy
on
man and woman,
and
the wind chimes
His
church's organ
plays
preludes of hope
external
hope for stillness
like
funeral home quiet.
9th
Street Cemetery
Chase
and I walked
through
the orchard of bones
chipped
teeth and high grass
soldiers
Civil War
1812
and the Big Ones
long
forgotten
forgotten
fear
weathered
names
Smith,
Gunn, Simpson
dead
soldiers
no
family remembers
not
even in diaries
scrapbooks
or
history books
talk
to me of value
remembrance
of war
humans
pain
and
the American way.
Chimneys
Staring
through my flat windows at dusk
chimneys
oh so many
silhouetted
staggered against a pink evening sky
brigades
of fighting soldiers
lovers
coupled in cold passion
stallions
in a fading sun
black
creatures, minions
I
know with the rising sun
once
again they are chimneys.
Licking
Slumber
Desolate
and barren
my
desert mind
harvested
only
by
the reaper's hand.
I
am no death puppet
for
ladies in red
on
the cusp of insanity
and
reality
The
muted fool is lost
somewhere
in a twilight
illusions
of joy
only
fools enjoy.
A
surrogate father
to
a hidden angel
leaving
a jester's mask
on
her mother's spirit.
Death
will not stay away
sweet
taste of slumber
softly
touching my tongue
licking
me forever.
Over
The Rainbow
Here
I sit in a stew
like
Buddha in feces
with
sparrows
winging
their way
from
your half-parted lips
ill
mannered birds
unaware
of direction
unaware
of windows
hanging
on my nose
bleeding
with each encounter
I
am a scarecrow
soft
bellied and dying
in
the whiskey fields
scarred
by the sickle
waiting
for Dorothy
and
death.
Autumn
Lake
I
sat on an old deserted pier
watching
the lake in autumn
I
watched leaves
shake
hands and depart
in
sweet farewell
bronzed
and fragile
floating
aimlessly to the mirror
lying
in wait like a trolley
waits
for faceless travelers to board.
All
this was done in silence
without
command without whistles
without
guns without rhetoric
or
threats and rumors of disgrace
Such
is humanity.
Like
Dogs
There
is no doubt the old gray dog
visited
the deep caverns of hunger
not
wanting to be chastised by important humans
he
held his head low and detached from the mean streets
as
dogs sometimes do
old
gray hid in orchards and thickets of prickly bush
isn’t
it strange how we mimic sometimes
those
so different than we, four legs
instead
of two can run faster to ruin.
Face
in the Sand
Face
in the sand water stay away
don’t
think it’s safe
to
love as much as I do
don’t
want another face in the sand
water
go away cold water
nipples
in the snow
hard
and cold
go
away water oh no
your
face washed away
I
pray for a drought today.
Pages
Pressed
How
brief this visit,
this
leaf amid a snowfall.
All
those Februarys
cling
to every side
of
my mind like so many embryos
in
Nature's womb.
How
brief our stay
like
beads of toiled sweat
evaporating
during
a spring breeze,
easy
yet you made it easier.
Easy
only shortens life,
scented
candles
light
our tunnel
which
leads from here to there.
I
fear, there, is a forgotten February
a
forgotten leaf
pressed
between pages of me.
Touching
the Devil
There
are times we must touch the devil
it’s
inborn you see
we
worry about him
important
you see
we
must touch him
like
touching
genitalia
fearing
their absence
or
their readiness
all
hot and ready for us
Why
is it we live precariously
loving
our God
worrying
mostly about a devil?
Ludicrous
this
Supreme postulation
like
walking on fire
with
snowdrifts surrounding us.
We
are so strange we humans.
I
think my cat
is
the devil.
Sweetheart
Nineteen
sixty-four
an
old fifty-six Chevy
my
hand between your legs
your
head between speckled stars
I
never saw them
not
the ones you loved.
You
were beautiful to me
wild
funny and carefree
exploring
my mouth
mining
for something we wanted
but
didn’t know how.
I
left in army khakis
never
to see you again
a
sad story I’ve not forgotten
today
or tomorrow.
Did
you die just as beautiful
as
that night in nineteen sixty-four?
I’m
sure you did sweetie
wish
I could have said good-bye
hugged
you one last time
and
ask for forgiveness.
Reflection
Why
is there ice in your eyes
watching
me shiver?
Your
love a grave
no
tombstone
no
epitaph
God
knows I’ve lost my shovel.
Loose
me
with
rope hands
keep
your eyes away from me
freeze
another’s heart
not
mine.
The
lake where you live is deep
love
me please
above
my neck.
My
reflection is you
scares
me so
to
see me
seeing
you
seeing
me with ice in your eyes.
Arm’s
Length
We
lived upon a hilltop
Coal
mining country poor
We
occupied those frozen nights
Arms’
length away
You
and the whippoorwill
I
listened to his call
Until
my mind was numb and lost
Oblivious
to your frozen feelings
I
tried to count wheels of steel
Climbing
rails nearby
Fell
asleep by twenty-nine
My
son asked why
I
carried no answer but goodbye
There
were no other answers
No
miracles
Divinity
was in the leaving
Cleaning
my mind
Of
the woman sleepin
An
arm’s length away.
Graduation
Summer
My
mind the big screen
Of
my past
I
watched me
Watching
you
Slumbering
in my arms
Red
hair satin soft
I
watched us laugh
Driving
fast on gravel roads
Kissing
and so much more
Can
I find that path
Back
to those dark summer nights?
Will
I laugh again
Winking
with a certain smile
Touching
so precious
We
could barely breathe
Wrinkles
caught
Forever
in our mirrors
Golden
years
More
brass
Than
gold.
Sweet
Morning
After
a morning drizzle
the
sun bakes the soil
hard
like tempered steel
I
breathe deeply
Nature's
sweet perfume.
My
shadow is cast
friend
wind lingers
for
a moment
slipping
softly
to
a neighbor
I've
never known.
Good
earth beckons me
come
lay upon my girth
meditate
tell
me your sweetest dreams.
My
life strides on
without
notice
without
fanfare
Just
the soft morning drizzle
The Trip
Silver
Train
winds in the wind
winding its way
up horse shoe mountains
full of faces
specks in my head
never washed from memory
no Cinderella’s
no kings or queens
just black umbrellas
deadpan faces
old polyester men
and clacking
constant clacking
final destination
heaven.
Christmas Alone in 1988
Virgin candles
stand slim and gulp
air for strength
I sit unimpressed
by red and green
chords of music
flowing like fingers
through my plastic Holly tree
lifeless on my kitchen table
Christmas oh Christmas
alone again.
The Hunt is On
In the cold November fall
unshaved corn fields
yield only bristles
for the virgin doe
and naked cobs
for cawing crows
will soon feel
the clodding boots
and hear rifle snaps
as hungry men
dressed orangely
fluorescent camouflage
oxymoronic clods
protecting themselves
from themselves.
Death in a Nursing Home
Shit on the sheets
an old woman stares
gray eyes like November
“no pampers needed thanks”
and a wilted daisy
blushes at sunset.
Four in the morning
is no time to be awake
but my bladder begged
I surrendered.
Looking out my window
an occasional car
no color just cars
in black and white.
I listen close for sounds
I hear my stomach
I
hear pen against paper
I hear my breathing.
I wonder where you are
I imagine
and there you are
curled and lying
naked
with the darkness
hidden
between your legs
in a mist
created just for me
a mist for my defense.
Four in the Morning II
I watch you
as you discover
your nakedness
pulling a sheet across
your tempered nipples
rising dutifully
when touched by soft cotton.
I never knew until now
at four in the morning
in silence
that I knew you so well.
I smoke another cigarette,
two drags
and watch the rest of it
burn silently
wondering where the residue goes
I gaze at my curtains
they have yellowed.
Four in the morning
is no time to be awake
too quiet
too real
I pray to someone
you sleep alone.
I crush my cigarette
red digits
say four
two dots
forty-four.
I switch the light out
but you have awakened me
forever.
Regret
I can hear the gentle wind
across your tombstone granite
blowing lightly empty words
words you never spoke alive
blowing still, still so slight
are you wondering
are you echoing
what was never said to you?
Yet whisper does the wind
as it careens lightly off trees
whispering soft repentance
for words too often spoken
Now I walk away
breezes brush my back
away from your death
with words left, still unspoken.
On The Turnpike
Somewhere between St. Louis
and Amarillo
I lost a page of poetry
twelve lines of me
I imagine it now
frozen
to a trucker’s windshield.
He in turn mocking
words of winded despair
calling them niggling
diluting them to oblivion
with anti-freeze.
Who’s Next?
They come in threes
my mother always said of death.
They come in threes
We’ve had but two.
Who among us
will be next
to fill the family’s grave?
The empty tooth needs filled
and gold is precious.
She cries in fear of being first
on the reaper’s list.
Yet I see a spark
In those black button eyes,
satisfied and confident,
“two will be enough this year.
Misunderstanding
The young man lit another cigarette
staring sadly out his bedroom window.
He waited for a picture pretty girl.
she never showed.
Certain she said tonight my love.
Surely she said goodnight my love.
My Sparrow Head
All the clamor
sparrow heads slamming
against my sliding doors.
Surely someone’s dying
just around the corner.
The phone rings
in dead of night.
Blindly
I crack my head on a mirror
and see that it’s me.
The Darkest Hours of Depression
The pools still weeping wet
beneath dark vacant eyes
reflect life as a carpet
walked upon
frayed and worn
like the shirt hiding
his naked feelings.
See the fat man
living thin the fear
of growing old.
See him
egg white and broken.
You can buy him by the dozen
but you only pay for a the shell
the embryo is dead
stoned
blood red against a yellowed life.
Finality
Four in the morning
birds are still sleep dead
the river still moves like silk
lamenting the cry
of eternal matched
mourning doves.
Five-thirty
first vein of light
reveals the nudity
of our village
I live here
sadly you too.
Six and I’ve decided
claustrophobic love
cannot exist
Seven
my oven hangs
its mouth with enticement.
Birth
A clot of oysters fell asleep
as the ocean stirred as oceans do
churning and swallowing
hungry for itself
looking inward for survival
that’s how it is you see
the ocean rises and lowers
and swallows life
the clot of oysters awaken
amid the ocean’s death knell
and cracked a pearl
the tide has changed at last.
Gutter Thoughts
Dried cake blended
with yesterday’s blood
just a child’s eyes brown
like buttons
staring up at me
tell me your story
the big hairy arm
shredding your dreams
beating your hopes
into a dark dusty hall
Tell me of dirty needles
on kitchen tables
cocaine mama
rubber band daddy
make your children
in your image
bending twigs
bending trees
acorns rotted
trees won’t grow.
in Brooklyn
Detroit
Sandusky
or city of angels
all muted voices
mouths of babes
closed in caskets
jailhouse daddy
rubber room mommy
pallbearers cry.
Time will forget
tomorrow
tricycles broken
baby dolls
scattered in needles
yesterday’s news
today’s new baby
button eyes
cake on mouth
broken jawed child.
Lost Friend
Thought I saw you
in my backyard
clothed in sharp thistle brush
your dark eyes peering
beneath fading fodder.
I looked again and caught
a breath of bitter
fall breeze scaring leaves away
from your olive skin
draping you I’m sure
it was you
the lingering scent
of ginger and nutmeg.
Surely God knows you are gone
but not the wind
or swaying child-trees
in my backyard.
Walls
Sometimes we stumble
often rumble
never humble
always mumble
we are people
God’s little steeples
so why cry
when we die?
Makes no sense
we are a fence
never hopped
never stopped.
We are the walls
where life stalls
for us all.
The Guess
Guess my weight and height carnival man.
“I’d say five foot eight and one-eighty-five.”
Good guess let’s try again.
“Aint nothing I can’t guess.”
Guess where I’m from and long to be?
“I’d say your mother’s womb to be the place.”
Good guess let’s try again
“Aint nothing I can’t guess.”
Where do I want and long to die?”
“Difficult but I’d say in a loved one’s arms.”
Perfect, now one last time.
“Aint nothing I can’t guess.
Tell me wise carny man what’s in my heart?
The man gulped air with wide-eyed surprise.
He pondered for several moments.
“Sir, I can only guess that you have one, nothing more.”
The Table
She set our table for five
it’s been that way for years
big pots boiling
February frosted windows
the table still set for five.
Thirty years we lived
bittersweet together
paid our dues to life it seems
cold becomes colder
the table still set for five.
The fireplace warms us
casting dancing shadows
across tired walls
her table sadly haunts me
with three plates left untouched.
The End
We lived on the side of a mountain
the mountain paid no attention
as we climbed to our shade tree
It was there we thought we could touch
glimmering city lights and crystal stars
It was beneath that very tree
I learned sadness ruled our lives
you didn’t care, nor did I.
Our self-made carnage,
the dissolving of our love.
One frigid winter night
my bag on my back
one bag for seventeen years
how can it be?
One bag full of trepidation
with two pair of jeans
six tee shirts and no hope
blustery and bitter
I walked into the night
you slept oblivious as I drove away.
What kind of love
dissolves itself like
silvery sugar?
You kept it all
and that’s okay.
I have forgotten now
the dog bites wounds have healed
scratches of your anger have disappeared
I have a new shade tree urging me to live
one year after another for everyday
now is a good day to die.
No Promise
I slipped quietly
into your promise
like a woman
slips into nylons
depleted of love
I drove
into the river of Styx
knowing your promise
is no promise.
Ode to Sylvia Plath
February nineteen-sixty-three
you dropped your life
like a screaming toddler
drops her rubber ball
down a darkened staircase
you, the dead cat bloated
making runways for greedy flies.
What was the purpose
in the blood red sun rising
giving ironic warmth
to an indifferent world?
You’re the nameless star
falling above shriveling pines
leaving an empty space
where once there was a universe.
The Morning After
The morning after
I cried for you
north wind swept
leaves away
from my yellowed windows.
I drank my coffee
and read a poem
a sad tale of love
only you could know.
I ate some chips
pushed you away.
The sun was hiding
so were you.
I caught a glimpse
of what I used to be,
took a shower
washing you away
making today
just another day.
One Hot Spoon
There you go again
in your swinging door life
more anger spilling through
the bars of your cage.
one hot teaspoon
fixed everything for you
damaged mind and soul.
Is it enough
the coming and going?
You know so much
the grave will enjoy
your brilliant cynicism
there’s more you know
daughters and cousins
mother and father
will carry your coffin
to the finality
caused by one last hot spoon
Pyres
I’ve scattered leaves of your death
trying to make this yard presentable
raking rubbish, tossing memories
into trash bags, set them out on Tuesdays
for the trash man but he never comes
those bags of memories are piling
into mounds like funeral pyres
for passers-by and voyeur
tourists of intimacy to see
the garbage and collections of my life.
Cat in a Tree
I saw you way up high
where wind whistles strong
on a branch alone
your green eyes peering down
as if you know
I am alone like you.
We were out of place
you and I
on such an autumn evening
won’t you come inside
to share some chocolate
and a bit of reverie?
The chill is wrong for the two of us,
two gentle souls
deserve better.
Driven
I have driven the high Sierras
in silence, in snow
falling like confetti
against high beams
I drove
through treacherous curves.
I was driven by passion
across the Mojave,
through the bearded fields
of Nebraska, the panhandle
of Texas, red clay of Oklahoma,
driven by my passion for you.
The Voyeur Moon
How obsessed this moon
bent so on exposing
the rawness of night
disrobing nightshirts
from each tree and shrub
searing holes through drawn drapes
such rude uncovering
of my nakedness
how pale this voyeur
searching keyholes
in every cloud
respecting none.
The silent rapist goes unscathed
until diced into a quarter
then sliced into new.
R and R
Two young soldiers passing
on a hot steamy Tokyo
street…stop
they stared in awe
smiled, old friends
buddies from school
two country boys living
the big boy’s life
lean and innocent
to bullets, frags, and bombs
I the one to stay behind
He went back to the jungle
I went back to healing minds.
They called it R and R
I called it purgatory.
Terry met hell
I met an empty space
black like a night
without stars
Terry’s dead
a part of me went with him.
Questions for My Cat
Do you feel the agony of losing children
grief as strangers rob them one by one
leaving you with breasts crying for hungry mouths?
Are you sad when I close the door behind me
leaving you with an empty nest with no one to touch?
Finally do you long for the warmth of another’s mouth
of another’s tongue to search you through and through?
Seems to me you and I have much to talk about
but I can only try to read your eyes, mute
emeralds which only reveal your hunger
If only you could speak to me
and help me lick these open wounds which never heal.
Without A Hand
Vacation’s over
slowly sinking into this ocean
another trip into the hardship store
makes me cry
just cry without a hand on my back
no rhyme no reason
but isn’t that how it works?
No one knows, I never tell
I just watch the family oven,
watch it beckon with black knob eyes
oven mouth at the ready
Brief Peace of Mind
Sweet solitude surrounds me
a drama portrayed by silence
coupled with a spring breeze
an overture of my being.
A soft kiss of peace
rests lightly on my brow
only to vanish from my thoughts
hastily into harsh reality.
Last Call
I have danced the bar room scene
disenchanted skeletons
swaying on a liquid floor
with eyes pasted
in their sockets, vacant
no one home but a fuzzy navel
or volumes of ultra light.
Piss breaks to cool off
the dying libido
no one smells the urine
shit or vomit.
So skeletons dance tonight
into tomorrow and last call.
I’ve been there too often.
Looking into the mirror
I see an empty skull
staring back at me.
Mirrored
I woke up in the mirror
peering out at someone
wearing my clothes
wearing my life falsely.
I spoke
their lips moved
they smiled
I died
they merely slept.
Leaves
They’re all leaving town
one by one
soaring by my window
smiling
as though dying is happy.
They depart in a noise
some in silence
others in curling smoke
through narrow city streets.
They’re hell-bent,
they are
to be somewhere in a hurry
in a scurry.
Leaves are too much like people.
You Silence Me
Rain you silence me
touching places
no one else can touch.
You silence me
in shadows
in fissures
where flowers bloomed,
but now
silent syllables fall
in hyphens of rain
like postcards
from the sky
soaking me cold.
Rain you silence me.
Night Ride
Windless night greet me
old friend like friends should
smile before going
into a world without hope
or mutterings of daylight
you the blackest of stallions
galloping through my dreams
boldly running through washes
long forgotten
old memories return riding
roughshod for daylight
your wicked grin chagrins
even the pinkest streaks
of twilight.
Chalkboard
Sunday morning sits outside
like some kind of gray monk
in meditation, quiet,
unassuming but I am here
squatted and listening
to Joe Cocker reruns trying
to muster emotions from his era
thinking only of erasures
on my mental chalkboard
I see only
a smearing of dust showing
part of the “l” and half of a “y”
in lonely.
Deranged
Deranged?
I’m not sure
is dirt deranged
for wanting rain
for parting its dry lips
and cracking its teeth
in ugly protest?
Deranged
is hung sanity
severed arteries
death camps
decomposed and quiet
amid the greenery
of Auschwitz.
Deranged?
Maybe derailed.
Stood Up
The fat man lit another cigarette
staring sadly out his window
He waited for a woman
pretty as a picture, she never came.
Thinking with certainty
she said tonight my love
but surely she said
goodnight my love.
Well Half Empty
I live in a well
my cries for help
bounce off cobbled walls
falling in splash
to be wiped from my eyes.
Five years old
this rope between us
frayed and stretched
has yet to carry
a bucket full of hope
to taste.
Each day the well becomes drier
each drought you send this way
each time I cry for help
you pull the rope away
sometimes with bucket half empty
seldom half full.
Between Us
The carpet between us
seems a mile
red speckles scoff
you lay fluid
I lay still and wonder
if minutes can turn this year around
you offer me
less than your tongue
I close my eyes
and feel knifed by it all
candles flicker
in a breeze of life’s orgasm.
Hot Night in the Neighborhood
She did that purry cat walk into the nightclub
alone and ready for what dear god knows what
to say everyone sat muted for more than a moment
would be more than likely a lie.
Her breasts pushed up and high
just a touch of pink showing for the boys
proud in their blue jeans tight and swinging
Zack sat with a wad of chew in the back
near the sweaty girls waiting for a twitch
ah but the blues never sounded better
than on a hot thunder midnight.
Perry played the piccolo to some steamin’
lyrics coming from Jake’s bluesy mouth watering
like a gardener’s lips in a baking yard. Perry’s
piccolo fell from his lips as the new girl rolled
in like an Alabama summer storm.
She was the little girl next door dancing on the floor
snake venom lilt with a southern tilt out of her coil
into the oil. Black summer nights change everything.
It was a hot night at the Neighborhood.
Judgment Day
Take me lead black night
you forgetful jackal
laughing without humor
laughing at me.
Take me hole-less tunnel of night
make me yours
turn your lipless mouth
inside out.
I claw each day away
bite each living moment
on its ass until I feel good
about the blood of existence.
Pile stones high upon my sleep
cast muted roses on my eyeless
face waiting in darkness
sweet forever darkness.
My soured repose
awaits the final critic
to remove my wallet
and my keys.
My Healing Rain
My need to watch the rain
to watch it fall in syllables
to many for poetry
outweighs my need to breathe
the brackish air of city nights
endless nights of witches’ tales.
It is my need to watch this rain
hanging my life each day on threads
suspending me like a spider
above the uncertainty of death
evoking me to greater heights
orgasms of a mental kind.
Rain the fluid poultice which draws
on festered boils of memory
healing the acne of my history
rain cascading down my darkened window
seals me in this womb of warmth
where I will stay and wait
for freedom and yet another rain.
Dead Dogs on the Highway
Asphalt cemeteries
catacombs beneath wheels
of trucks, sixteen wheelin’ mamas
a curiosity of colored death
blacks, reds, a rain
of shrapnel spread
across a concrete canvas.
Each one his own death
for most
a silent surprise
like unexpected snow
on a cold October night.
No pilgrimage of mourners
to help them into heaven.
Just county trucks and shovels,
two workers drunk as hell
eight bucks an hour
and stomachs like black iron kettles.
Let’s keep our graveyards clean
death is such a dirty business.
Dreams of Youth
Sugar dreams softly serenade
my mind with all I once desired
in my torrid youth.
Now the gray bearded
reality forces me to think
I am but a hologram
an empty reminder of childhood.
I stand amazed and frozen
with my loss of blue blankets
crib toys and a mother’s touch.
And so the story goes
dark knights and white stallions
are simply a freshly fallen snow
cast upon my funeral pyre.
Sad Lady
Sad lady with a teddy bear
clutched tight against your breasts
where are you traveling
after midnight on a night like this?
Glowing cigarettes rush by
in cars you ignore
I wonder who you are
and who you were.
Did someone break your heart
to cause such vacant staring
those lifeless eyes like stars
reflecting only headlights
and the big city glow?
The same big city
I have driven through
so many painful times
always picking up
always dropping off
people I have loved
so dearly sad lady
if only I had a teddy bear.
Coastal Heartbreak
We drove Highway One up the coast
no destination in our minds
radio played static-filled love
it’s a lonely feeling not knowing
where to go, not knowing.
Not much in our pockets
except holes and lost dreams.
Not much in our trunk
a flat pancake spare
and a suitcase full of air.
This love, broke and coughing
climbed across the great Sierras
stuttering in contempt of such a trip
where does it go from here?
Tomorrow always the answer.
You’re Gone
I have watched a blood sun
lower herself into the ocean
like a lustful woman
climbing carefully
into a fragrant bath.
Awaiting sounds of hissing steam
I hear only the thunderous clamor
of your absence.
Time Kills
We kiss the cross
which killed the Christ.
We kiss the gun
which killed the Czar.
We kiss the pill
Hitler swallowed.
We kiss the gas
in darkened chambers,
but we never kiss the clock.
Earth Calling 9-1-1
Today is in a coma
breathing life but showing none
perhaps some kind of catatonia
a memory lapse for the sun
forgetting to blink through the trees above
find the wires and tubes
Dr. God must resuscitate this earth
I fear its spinning will slow to death
and all aboard will fall
into a black hole of cynicism.
Aluminum
A curious sight indeed
old man hobbling
unshaved and dressed
as nineteen fifty-five
glad bag and silver cans
every stop a nickel
everyday a dollar
good days three dollars
sleeping every night
sixty-two Galaxy
and an army blanket
graduated nineteen sixty-three
never could spell aluminum
alu-nuh-mum
aloo-muh-numb
aloo-men-uhm.
Choice
You have dared to cup
a sparrow in your palms
to help it live
or help it die?
A choice for the nature of you
a choice which drizzles
in your eyes, in your voice
quivering
such uncertainty
like the quivering
of your sparrow heart
beating inside
innocent and trapped
waiting
for your hands to speak
with syllables of your conscience.
Catch Up
You want to catch up
on my poetry you say
as you dress and leave
your scent upon my pillows,
static pressure upon the hairs
of my naked chest
your wind follows faithfully
down the stairway to an awaiting street
I watched it all and wondered
if you’ll ever catch up.
Universal Loss
I spotted you
you spotted
gave birth
to our last born
whose name I plucked
from the cosmos
like eyebrows from Buddha,
but he left town
so did you.
Heroes
A child but crumples
a fallen leaf
and calls it conquered
he plucks the innocent
of daisies and names it
love or not.
Ah but youth is spent
this way and that
narcissistic heroes
never fall
but autumn finds
our wrinkles reading
the hero’s name in bronze
and love more times
than not, is not.
Slinging Rivets for Freedom
Lady with your torch burning dimly
was it the huddled masses
made you bleed dark
insignificant masses huddled
in back alleys and crusted warehouses?
Was it the dirty streets of Wall Street
making you cry into a corrupted bay of hypocrisy?
Of course your muted answer
manifested in tears and fears
of builders long dead, dead and proud.
White boys with lunch boxes
grinning tom cats living in a row
unaware of the irony wrought.
Did the Black boys carry your rivets
wheelbarrows and smashed mouths?
Maybe the brown haired poets
maybe the native man with strong prayers
made you what you are today
a teaming mass of white shirts.
Neckties made to order, silk
with matching kerchiefs
time has exposed calloused hearts
monetary beating of brains
forgotten daddies
slinging the spit and rivets of democracy.
Assateague
Flying kites was easy
on Assateague
breezes never failed
to lift the paper wings
where we wish we could fly
alone thinking birds
I always wanted to let go
set it free
I didn’t
I was in control
Sometimes I let you hold the string
after all
you were only seven
I was your father after all
shouldn’t I be the one to decide?
Father’s Day
Gray crane in the mirror
the years have been sad
spider wings above your eyes
sun channels on your cheeks
time caught you undressed
for the final dance
the final song wind chime haunting
will touch the ailing heart
and carry your river home
beneath the northern star.
A Generation
Young heads bowing for the elders
in a world without elders
never tasting dirt or winds of war
never bloodied asphalt noses
or found themselves trapped
between manmade generations.
Some say they are future heads of state
some tongues slather demise from lips
never touching bayonet steel
napalm unfamiliar to their smell.
I say mutterings are in vain
for what we have we have
the future is blind and muted
just let go and come back to bed
our tomorrow soon will be our freedom.
A Letter From Prison
Chicken scratch letter to dad came today
you’re in prison from somebody else’s mistake
I can send a letter and money if I choose
Guilt never felt this bad since the last time.
Prison is a place for thieves, shooters, and dictators
which are you my son?
Did you pull a trigger? Which vein did you shoot?
Was it a spoon full, nose full, or drowning lungs?
No answer for fathers and mothers just anticipation
of money orders and support until you open the final gate.
Freedom is opportunity
Freedom is a small cage for you
Remember what Max said about cages
some small, some large, some infinitesimal
handcuffs with feathers for a bird
unable to fly, wings clipped and no guilt.
Unwanted
The old man slept
through the jangling
unsettling.
Abandonment
gnawed his dreams
after each swallow of wine
pissed into the world.
He sleeps
the barn tremors its disgust
for his trespassing
for the rudeness of the man.
He sleeps curled into a fetus
swimming, drowning
his dreams of bouncing balls,
catcher mitts and words
godawful words.
Batwing whispers reach
through his liquored fuddle
long enough to bid
him farewell.
The barn settles once again
glad to be rid of the stranger
no one knew.
The Mountain of You
Mountain laurel spread itself before me
as I climbed in search of my tracks
which followed me two days before.
It seems I’ve lost days between the mountain top
and me. You have cast such shadows to impose
a mountain every day I breathe.
Each day shallow whimperings grow weaker.
Their soundings tossed through chambers yet explored.
The mountain looms much higher each day I grope
foothills in search of all those tracks which followed me.
Dreams of Youth
Sugar dreams softly serenade
my mind with all I once desired
in my torrid youth.
Now the gray bearded
reality forces me to think
I am but a hologram
an empty reminder of childhood.
I stand amazed and frozen
with my loss of blue blankets
crib toys and a mother’s touch.
And so the story goes
dark knights and white stallions
are simply a freshly fallen snow
cast upon my funeral pyre.
Lost Friend
Thought I saw you
in my backyard
clothed in sharp thistle brush
your dark eyes peering
beneath fading fodder.
I looked again and caught
a breath of bitter
fall breeze scaring leaves away
from your olive skin
draping you I’m sure
it was you
the lingering scent
of ginger and nutmeg.
Surely God knows you are gone
but not the wind
or swaying child-trees
in my backyard.
A Moment
This is a place and time for me
a place holding deep sanctity
a bucket catching whispers
as they fall lightly and randomly
droppings of memories
I just dream of them
in snowflake thoughts and stillness
such is this place in time
a place called soul
a place called me.
Global Tears
A speck of sand can blind a generation of lovers
eyes tearing with irritation and no direction
they are a compass without a needle
true north can never be found but for one speck
in watery eyes and an ocean of ignorance.
Jesus Came and Left
If I could tell a story to you
not one of sadness
but of joy and jubilation
Jesus has been here and left
two days later back in sixty-four
saw him on a bus headin’ for Louisville
said he was a soldier
I couldn’t look him in the eyes
cause his head was missing in action.
Octogenarian Dream
I had a dream last night
Octogenarian nightmare
young ladies dressed
In white saying
“Welcome to Happy Hollow
Nursing Home.”
They wheeled me into a room
diapering me with smiling faces
feeding me blended carrots
just a touch of spinach thanks.
“Where do you want your funeral?”
“Can we use your rectum
as a launching pad?”
“Such fun we could have.”
“Can we dehumanize you
old man at our whim?’
I woke up in a cold sweat
with a polyester blanket wrapped
around my wrinkled neck.
The Decision
Take a peek
she said smiling
I peeked I saw
a small yellow butterfly
fluttering against
its small fingered cage
Can I keep it?
she asked
I asked
how beautiful
will the world be tomorrow
The Edge of Dying
I fell into a silhouetted sleep
alone with tubes
catching my life
between two worlds
angels touched my arms
and whispered numbers
My dreams were ethereal
filled with flying silk.
Masked faces whispering
numbers exponentially
“Can you see the angels?”
Someone softly questioned.
I sadly said, “no.”
The low humming
of oxygen
and more silhouetted
softness stood next to me.
I knew the sweet smell.
It was you.
Angel
please take me home
that’s where I belong
sleeping next to you
into whatever eternities
await. Flightless
I shall pass and not return.
My End
There it is again
that sound,
that sound
in still darkness.
That sound
down deep
in cleavages
of thought,
that sound
like a well
finding bottom.
That sound is me
eating my heart
swallowing
its pulse
forever.
Life in a Freeze Frame
Silence a freeze frame
a microdot traveling
the speed of quiet
towards the vacuum
surrounding my space,
the final frontier
of living
of dying
of being.
Still a Boy
Folks urged me
join the service
become a man
I joined
became a boy
with uniform
still a boy
no time for fighting
just beer
and girls
pretty girls.
Shine your shoes
spit polish
I didn't
shave your head
look sharp
I didn't
no time for fighting
just beer
and girls
pretty girls.
I was still a boy
with uniform
and dreams of home
dreams of clouds
cornfields and beans
fight and kill
I didn't
no time
no desire
just dreams
I was still a boy.
Get married
I did
still a boy
still dreaming
be a writer
I didn't
raise kids
I couldn't
I was still a boy.
Grow old
I did
still dreaming
grow wrinkles
get fat
I did
drink beer
be a boss man
I did
still dreaming
after all
still a boy.
Prepare to die
I did
leave a legacy
can't
none to leave
dream of boy
in uniform
dream of cornfields
white clouds
write a poem
I did
I'm still a boy.
The Hereafter
Slack jawed death
blank eyes staring
at a new zone
no one else can see
beautiful bible death
just words
and nothing more.
Syllables of Age
In the silence of my room
I listen to the sounds of my life
syllables of a literary graveyard
for nothing is said
never said before
just jumbled differently
Life is like that you know
on any given day
we are somewhere
over the rainbow
next
we are somewhere over our heads.
In my youth I’ve tried to kill
subconsciously
my body and its need to live.
in age the haunting
starts
and the dying begins.
There is no turning back
you know
the boot heels of reality
knock down doors
of naiveté
and the butterfly hides
but not forever.
Forever is left for youth
bruises disappear when young
but stay as skin folds
into its new cocoon
on the first floor
where nurses can watch more closely.
Everyone has a Dream
Every road ends somewhere
every ocean has a bottom
every flower has a scent
and every mind has a dream.
The paths we share
sometimes lead us
to our home or more
and every mind has a dream.
There are cowboys
custom made for a saddle
riding trails to nowhere
and every mind has a dream.
You carry a guitar
singing love songs
by memory and soul
sing one last one for me
because every mind has a dream.
Cherokee
A trace of Cherokee blood
courses beneath my white skin
drawing me to trees,
the moon,
dark rivers
and moaning coyotes.
I am steel
the earth is magnet
I run from the white man
yet my hands are white
black from dirt
still I’m drawn to Mother Earth.
It is the blood
the wedding chants
the eagle’s feather
the barefoot need
to feel wet grass
to white hands catching fish.
A secret blood
no one knows
it’s mine
I give it to you
now you can dance
to the tune of a warrior.
A Faint Sound of Creation
Beyond the apple orchard
pregnant for harvest.
Beyond the small creek
with crawdads crawling
Beyond the shack where
Miss Black once lived
and died
a nature of things
I guess.
Beyond all the bustle
where dogs shuffle
and streetcars whine
Beyond my mind
I hear a mourning dove
mourning for his Maker
Beyond man children
with crayons and pickup sticks
I feel a faint heartbeat
of our creation.
Can you feel it too?
Attic Treasures
There are chambers in my attic
where toys are stored
books too complicated to remember
scattered from winds of change.
There are chambers too, hiding
faded roses from my life
in boxes dust sealed
Pandora will never open.
In a certain quiet chamber
where cherished memories wait
I spend time sifting
your yellow salted words.
Certain chambers in my mind
hold thoughts vaulted
and veiled not even I recall
my dreams insist it’s true.
Canine Discontent
A dog stood silently staring
contempt for his loss
laying in the road
technicolor and flat
mane unkempt and bloody
incomprehensibly he barked
at the vulgarity of life.
Cans
The park bench held two men of time
Sam a butcher and I
carted our cans across town
sweated and smelled as old men
in the staleness of dusk we knelt
to handle and count nickels and dimes
“Too few quarters” says I
Sam only counted and wept
“I don’t understand” says I
Too late
Sam was asleep in the snow
fast asleep
The park bench held an old man of time
toting his cans across town
pissing his pants without shame
smelling as old men do
if they have no shame left to lose
He handled and counted nickels and dimes
“Too few quarters” says he
stopping to stare at the snow
“Too few quarters in deed”
He fell to his knees and wept
fast to his knees and wept
and the snow laughed him to sleep.
Lost Battleground
Today the cornfields hide a battlefield
where once I played
chasing snakes and arrowheads
not many know its whereabouts
nor think about it much
when ten and chasing frogs
ghosts were there I swear
telling me of blood the white men shed
brown bodies rotting sweetly in summer heat
since then farmers’ plows have heaved
history beneath steel discs into fertile ground
yellowed starching leaves of corn
are the only soldiers left standing
yet even they must bow with time
and weight of winter snows.
Except for wind and river sounds
the battlefield lies still today
those ghosts still there
I heard them when I was ten
and chasing snakes and arrowheads.
Kenny
The distance between us
seems shorter now
those quiet moments
briefly stated now.
You are a friend
I know now
you are my son
I know now
cold gusty wind knows now
it blows much gentler.
We’ve carved a father and son
forever.
How was he we forgot
what some have never known?
Bittersweet Memories
Sweet bitterness hangs on my tongue
a swinging arm memory of my past
changes with every gust of time’s wind.
It hurts to search for good memories
my mind’s changed little one and isn’t it a shame
time is like a self cleansing ocean
the tsunami of each wave undulates my history
scattering it randomly and drops it up current
or whimsically brings it back to where it lay.
I lift this Conch shell mind towards the stars
and maybe I hear God without remembering
only sweet irony, bittersweet irony
Pictures from the Past
Crumpled and wearing
hummingbird expressions
across their faces
no horror no shock
just blank shallowness
only death can give.
Ovens cooked them
bleached them away
leaving only nakedness prey
to self righteous maggots
and voyeurs
clicking one frame at a time.
What say you to that
what whisper have you
for those so chosen
to lay entangled in tombs
bulldozed and scraped
into eternal ditches of hell?
Wonderment
You lay there quietly
half smiling
a gray monk morning
catching you beautiful
pristine
I shiver and cover
our nakedness
wondering in dead stillness
if you know I am here.
Looking Forward
It’s time to find hidden rainbows in my heart
new paths to walk upright
without stained shadows following me.
It’s time to catch a summer breeze
to lift my spirits high
rise above dark clouds holding my heart in doubt.
It’s time to walk on water, not drowning in tears
it’s time to look into a mirror
and find what’s left of me.
God and I
After a morning drizzle
sun baking soil hard
I breathe deeply
sweet nature’s perfume.
The sun casts my shadows
wind gusts lightly lingering
just a moment and visits
a neighbor I’ve never known.
Good earth beckons me
to lay upon its warmth
meditate and dream
my sweetest thoughts.
My life takes strides
no one else can know
just God and I
and a soft morning drizzle.
A Child Watching
Ships in a blue sky
warriors with white masts
floating away
on an endless sea
in triumph heading boldly
to another land, another battle,
another victory
for gallant rudderless frigates
to pen this moment of beauty
is an isolation left only to
poets and philosophers.
Wings of Paper
Our love is like wings of paper
gliding in gusts of wind
teasing the midday sun.
Our love has legs of clay
as it walks through life
daring the mighty rain clouds
Most of all our love is made of passion
as we touch throughout the night
scoffing the critics of our fate.
Homer Grady
God’s voice came straightway
out of heaven above
and spoke to Homer Grady
Homer spoke not a word to anyone
exactly what the Big Guy told him
no one paid no mind to him anyway
he was just the town drunk
who heard God on occasion
folly most said and passed it by
ceptin’ when he disappeared
with nothin’ but his Gideon
red letter edition and a bottle of wine.
Hell, he was just a town drunk
imagine Homer talkin’ for sure with God
no one paid no mind to him, or did they?
The Mirror of Poverty
Little man in a raincoat
marching with the city
in a sea of endless eyes
probing your appearance.
Little man without a friend
with crutches of your own
cardboard for your harbor
take the subway to the sky.
Little man in those trenches
broken man in the sewer
stripped of sanctity
for everyone to see.
Little man can you see me
in the shadows of your soul?
It could be I am you
looking in a mirror at me.
It’s All Gone Sweetie
The egg’s been cracked chick
you’ve left the yolk of our life
on pages of your goodbye letter
what am I to do?
Did you imagine life without me
before smashing our nest?
Did you think about tomorrow
and what I would do without you?
Twenty years in the making
twenty days in the breaking
you’ve forgotten those in between years
lean years sometime mean years
The egg’s been smashed
your suitcases like shells in an omelet
sitting in the foyer like statues
of empty morning plates.
Memory of Gorky
I dreamed of Gorky Park
standing next to Moskva River
just two friends holding tightly
hands of age and our love of Moscow
in a clinging snowfall
makes me wonder if anyone
can love you more than I.
It was a dream, just a dream
clenching memories never
loosening our love
some day we will meet again
on a snow covered Red Square
I do hope we will remember
that day at Gorky Park.
Starkness
Traffic on Market splashed through the downpour
windshield wipers moving in concert
like a well rehearsed ensemble.
Chase and his floppy ears snuggled next to me
lights out and a cigarette red star in a night
glowed bright with each slight night movement.
Where is the fantasy on a night like this?
Spartan honesty never seemed so real than now.
You’re absence like an empty cup of coffee
with only bitterness in wasted grounds.
Money
Born 1946 the Big One was over
1950s playing with Lincoln logs
Korea was playing cymbals of hate
1960s prom night and passion
Vietnam hot and sweaty reared its head
Jungles beckoned my youth, my dreams
dashed by a steel military helmet
black boots climbed hills in Kentucky
youth stolen by the vulgarity of war
Now a million stars ago I sit in my recliner
watching a sad lady torched and crying.
America never failed me
not even in my darkest hours of growing old
I guess man doesn’t change
money lives on eternally,
true heaven writes a bitter epitaph
for the man with jingling pockets.
The End