Tag Archives: Poetry

Gaze

I look into your eyes till you become a feeling and desire consumes my heart. I no longer see us, I feel the space that’s always one pulse away from something unexplainable. A place where love pales in comparison.

I keep writing in hopes of finding the words; in the same manner I keep looking deeper into your eyes hoping to find that space where you and I no longer are us. Where a minute is eternity.

Your eyes are embedded in my soul. I breathe to see you past anywhere sight could take me. Blinded by the beauty of us. The beauty of two people without a world to cloud the light of love.

I no longer look at you; I’ve seen what loving deeply means. Your gaze draws me within myself where the embers of us burn forever. Your eyes are like a soft breeze igniting memories and hopes into the fire of now.

Every time I look in your eyes is like looking into the lucid heat of a mirage. I feel the heat of our love warming my soul and suddenly the world melts around us. So I’m lost within now stretched across moments and space, hiding from time and the world, lost within you.

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Circles of Crazy

They say I’m poor, downtrodden and lazy
Because I sit and watch these circles of crazy

My worth doesn’t count on dollars and cents
Like others who live and lie behind a star spangled fence

My clothes are worn, not tattered, and my hands are soiled
But my mind is callouses from the hours toiled

No suit or tie except Sunday’s, weddings, and funerals
Only slaves wear things around their necks like animals

My back is hard with pain and glory, no time to tell, just living my story.

So don’t count on me for dollars or votes
I’ll be workin real hard on next weeks notes

I ain’t got time for drama or fiction,
Just the truth I see about you and conviction.

Exceptions

Truth is real as reality is true
For those who enquire
Bidding ignorance adieu

To move along in the realm of subjection
Denying what is objective
Is a grammatical prison

So move past the post modern
Into a new reality that’s old
As the books you burn
Where truths are bold

This ain’t no microdot mishap
With melting doors and walls
Oozing memories like sap.

It’s that one exception that gives you away
The one I have to ignore
To believe what you say

That’s the point of no return
For sanity and coherence
The truth of you
And a trail of ignorance

So speak your mind
Not your heart
I’ll respond in kind
And fresh we’ll start

Morning Street

Asphalt sighs in the stillness, sweating an acrid mist not even the birds chirp for. Cats dart from darkened corners chasing prey or each other as dogs let out the one obligatory bark.
You can hear the rumble as the one lone truck in the distance reverberates through the fog. As it gets closer the staccato sound mixes with the hum of rubber and asphalt. The splash of tires shattering the rainbow of grime along puddles of water collecting in the troughs has a wet feeling.

Then the first horn of the day reminds us it’s morning as we drive into the sound of traffic and lose a day.

In My Own Way

Neon thoughts blinking and begging for my mind to settle. Racing thoughts speed past my brain leaving my mind to a primitive state of survival.
I close my eyes and the scenery doesn’t change, it enhances the confusion making me dizzy with nauseated fear the day won’t end if night is all i see.
My ears are deaf to my surroundings and scenes of an electric existence replace the sound of the tv that sits alone repeating episodes of drama.
I hold my keys in my hand forgetfully trying to escape wondering if the hum of the car and the sound of rubber on asphalt will at least transport me to the nowhere that’s quite and relaxing.

I can smell fresh cut hay and exhaust with my memories. I can taste the straw dangling between my tobacco tax stained teeth. My muscles tighten at the memories of the work I hated that I wish I could still do. At this moment I want a field of hay, or a 60 pound ruck to sweat the world away with the calm feel of exhaustion.
I’m never in the proper tense. Then I was here, now I’m there. I travel off kilter never in the moment. The hope and dread weigh heavy on my footsteps. It’s hard to move forward while I’m trying and difficult to sit still without thinking of every move that would get me to now.
I don’t know if I should slow down or speed up. I can’t seem to have my ambitions align with my motivations. I’m intelligent, but being smart eludes me. I’m compassionate, but angry. I’m engaged, but distracted. The pace of my life is impossibly random.
So here I sit writing to you hoping I’m not the only tortured soul who’s spirit has a mind of its own. I’m thinking about the work I have to do and the words screaming to get out of my head. Then I remember my mind controls my brain that is full of experiences and dreams. My life is full of hopes and dreams. So all I have to do is move out of my own way.

I Hope!

Hope is a double edge sword tempered by fear and sharpened by faith. It matters not what we know, or learn, or experience. It only matters that we feel we deserve the possibility of brighter days and calmer nights.
Tempered emotions see through feelings of doubt. It’s the trepidation that guide each step silently through the crowds of reality. Desolate figures strewn throughout rubbles streets boil grease slicked water for a blessing.
Looking for a sign through hundred yard stares, hoping, not sure whether the sun is beating down on your back or shine down on your life. Then rain washes away the doubt leaving you shivering with the reality that hope is lonely.
Lonely in a sea of faces and exhaust that pollute the air revealing your soul in grey shadows on graffiti drawn walls. Your thoughts dwell behind the fragmented words that leap off the wall with anger. How can you lose hope to the point anger is soothing.
In this twisted state of emotion you sit in the filth of one hundred souls shedding their spirit for noodles and a God who gives that one chance to cleanse your soul and stand tall in the face of poverty.
It’s not the grime or the hunger that hides hope. It’s not the clothes or the state that sees hope is possible. It’s the mind that says “one more step is a step closer to something, and something id better than nothing”!
I hope!

Free Spirit

I choke on plastic words creating packaged sentiments of empathy or condolence. Lies slither through cracks in the walls of closets and basements like smoke through an open window. Where do you live in a reality where nothing is real.

To know the truth but carry it buried in the pocket of a smoker wrapped in wolf’s bane for fear of it catching wind. For fear that the others will know and suddenly the scrim will melt away like embers in a moonlit breeze. What would we say, now naked and free, no cloaks to hide our intent. How would we continue without truth layered in embers, but blazing with glory in the dark of night.

These facades have taken on a life of their own trapping us within characters we no longer recognize, but can’t escape. Trapped, breathing though porous masks that suffocate a souls yearning to be free, dying to be released. Is death our only truth and birth no more than awakening to contrived realities dished out in plastic stages of development for the benefit of the play.

We fear nature for its truths. We hide in clothes, houses, and careers dreaming of freedom from it all. We dream of The freedom to be wild and human, compassionate and forgiving in a world without lies.

We fall to our knees looking up to a God who doesn’t recognize us because we hide beneath layers of decay for decades serving a different purpose. A faint pulse beats under a black heart starved of the blood and air nature demands. No one hears the rhythm or feels the life that screams to be judged.

I can no longer breathe the air that’s so polluted with purpose and intent I gag with each breath through constricted lungs. How can I free my soul to meet my spirit before the last breath leads me to a land promised by a bat wearing a doves feathers. I want to live before I die.

I want to overcome the clothes I’ve been given to wear as a child that fashioned my tunic for another mans dream. I want to overcome banners and parchments that hang on dilapidated walls and rusted poles. These shackled dreams of men kept me from wandering free where my God would show me mercy and resolve like Job and his ashes.

I have faith that though I was removed from God at birth I can feel His presence in the absence of the humanity I reside. Everything here is gray and steel, stale and stagnant like ponds of nuclear waste in a forest of deciduous trees permanently dormant. It’s the distant shrill of one lone cardinal that affirms my hope.

My banners are fabric, my honor is defined by laws, and my faith stands alone surrounded by lies. I am made to think. My places of worship have locks and flood lights illuminating signs with catchy slogans selling faith for tithes. It is in the wilderness where truth awaits, where God reveals his majesty, not within rooms decorated for posterity. A forest of mirrors reflecting man’s arrogance and contempt for God’s power and presence is just a step away.

So now I live outside myself. For my body may be imprisoned in this nightmare, but my mind is free to travel the earth searching for a handshake or a hug with the warmth of blood.

My hood drawn loose I walk narrow paths avoiding the noise and smoke from distant fires. My path is lit with the spirits of those gone before me. The spirits of men who walked alone with the weight of the world on their mind. I see with my heart and listen with my mind for signs of life, but the world is static and I was born robbed fluid.