Poetry · Writing

Saint’s Ancestral Plane

These are your shoes I wear:

Fireworks shared near by

and these are your shoes on my feet

I never saw this for me

wife and family maybe

but you believed in me

and will toast to the sky

to let you down for an hour.

Tell me, am I doing this right?

The last of a dying breed

a chip on my shoulders

and the nightmares that follow

impossible to not see the red run down my palms

but I know you’d say

I have more to say

more to live- more to dream.

To love that pretty girl who drives me wild

to put on that White Coat and wear it proud

to give a second chance-

Our time is up- the night grew cold

will talk next year

same place same time I’ll be here.

 

Poetry · Writing

Heaven/Hell

am i real if you can see right through me

blink away the flashing lights

do you believe it? do you believe?

do you ever wonder

if this is all we could be-

we can raise our glasses

dancing on the ashes

as it burns.

is this Heaven?

or is this Hell?

’cause i can’t tell

what you’re showing me is real.

false mirrors leading straight down

like a broken record

telling me what i don’t need-

i don’t-

is this?

have you reached the point of no return

we can raise our glasses

dancing on the ashes

as it burns.

if this is Hell will dance and live

until Heaven

tells us is this enough.

is it enough- because i’ve had enough.

Poetry · Writing

Carton of Milk

It’s all to different, honey

not enough money

for you to stay

here

in my arms

back to the farm

I never did you any harm

and now you say you found someone new

too late all those flowers done was turn blue

round trip tickets

popped bottles telling secrets

and you’ll tell me you’re happy with him

singing the songs you sang to me to him

except when you call me and not him.

Feelings stayed way to warm in here

two feet off the ground, no fear

chairs stacked to the roof- closing time

Semisonic burned the roof down- feelings time

and will be seen together

chasing bills and a dream our endeavor

and you’ll send me out in white silk

I’ll be back with a carton of milk.

 

Poetry · Writing

Restless Speech & White Clouds

Ripped off covers

 

light breathed in

and the bullets flew.

Tragedy, loss all stem from the adversity

in our knees and we cower from fear

like a monster destroying the city- sin.

You’ll show me the way-

to walk in light and past

the darkened house on the corner

the past crowds and home for a cooked meal.

Tonight might be the night~

wake from a restless sleep in a light bed

and it’ll be the end I read about

and you’d never know.

I can see you waiting-

patiently awaiting

and I won’t make it home on time

just know

I

Poetry · Writing

Sink The Lighthouse

The time is coming

fumes are burning

thee last lamps taste

tragedy face blue moons

a fear of temptation

the leaky foundation

bathed in star light

a lasting cruel night

Fatal addiction

a contradiction

cruel and selfish

since fear itself

a lone ship

blown warship

the fire is quiet

a tragic riot

a sailor will call

don’t quit, we’re all in

but they’ll cry their eyes out, if we

sink the lighthouse.

Poetry · Writing

forging of new rules

you’ll exist- at the end of my pen

the forearm of my brain

the nail flushed into my hinges-

hinges removed by giants with branches

gripped like pencils and you’ll exist-

past the smoke and mirrors mirroring the smoke

from my lips.

creation of god? maybe. existing in a white zone

of unforgivable walls spitting points of view

like an ice cream truck in a culdesac.

you’ll exist long past the shattering of the clock and sun

and past the falling of the gods

and the creation of the next-

beings to walk along side.

maybe they already are. questioning the questions as from a liars throat

and hold them high like a rope around our neck

yet

you’ll walk right past and a knife with the width of an anvil

set us free.

 

Poetry · Writing

Graves

Do you really believe what your saying?

Tears running dry

washing up your face.

Do you really expect us to care?

High in your towers, keeping an eye on the door

the exit, the door.

If I only see what I can see

I know it isn’t there

and if I only need what I can keep

I know it isn’t fair.

You can look away

while they’re dancing on our graves

but I will stop at nothing.

Do you really expect us, to drop all and leave?

The fire has been lit, keep chiming in

and we will be dancing.

Do you really expect us, to leave it all behind?

an we will remind you

that will rise on that occasion,

Poetry · Writing

Will of a lover

I’ll tell her everyday

if I have to. No short term loss

this isn’t ten second Tom, no

it’s a memory. A memory of a night

an elephant and a bracelet. I’ll tell her

everyday-

if I have too. She’ll never forgot or doubt me even when the clouds or black

food is cold or the bed has gone empty.

The light will flicker through our window, holding your hand

kissing the apple on your cheek

telling you for the day

that I’ll be here.

Poetry · Writing

Six Shooter

The thing about the bullet;

it doesn’t care about race, gender or who you’re fucking

it rips without malice and discord

tearing families apart.

Dreadful and honest the silver spins

signed by a government

not even ours or one we recognize

a human on the other end

no trail

just an executioner.

Sweet silver-

hear this prayer on your deaf ears

as I ask you to love a man.

Love the first man you’ll touch eyes with

and I promise-

you won’t need another.

Love until the spindle falls

the babies weep and the families mourn

and you’ll be surprised

as fate loads another.