The Little Things

The disk on the radio

not the melody

yet what might be

waiting inside.

 

Remember random choice

when blues today

war zone tomorrow

yet always it happens

we want to hear

 

from her

about her

because her

designed by

her

 

not today though

say it in your head

three times

then watch your hand

 

reach for the dial

you know she is waiting …

 

… only love is …

her

From Anywhere to Now

This is for you,

as we cross so many paths with people

in thought, in race, in notion,

in an emotional rollercoaster

sometimes tamed,

often times needing a long time tuning

for perhaps safety

or simple personal enjoyment.

 

It is here we discover fascination,

a reality drawn by fantasy,

a need to find reason

a desire to know passion

when last time we checked

our human condition was certainly

the same as the next …

 

yet it is the words, the constant change

to re create the constant.

 

good night sweet writers

This Love Thing

Wakes me, lets me wonder

All the day left a ponder

Knowing I wander

When This Morning Becomes Yesterday

I used to listen to this,

it was called a New Age sound

Wyndam Hills label

I found myself compelled by

such simplicity,

a drug of sorts

because the music could not

take me places

i couldn’t go alone,

I felt there was someone with me,

all the time,

sitting at the keyboard

with a sweet smile

because he too

wanted some quiet,

but a purposeful journey

 

I’m struggling tonight,

because I’ve forgotten how to write.

I told a friend of mine,

I’d lost my words

and I couldn’t tell you where they’ve gone

traveling somewhere on their own,

waiting for the sound,

waiting for George,

he’ll repeat himself,

and there’ll be no carnage …

only sweet love.

Sylvia Plath

I wrote this because I struggle with my own depression, and I know that Sylvia is and was revered. What i don’t know is why or how our society has come centuries without understanding what depression is and what mental health and what matters to the sanctity of our lives. What i don’t know is why tragedy is the only way people can seemingly come to understand the identity of another.

What determines legacy – exhaustion or raw talent and how do we find a balance between the two?

This is for Sylvia, because I picture you in your state of mind in this what probably was your back yard one beautiful afternoon – a portrait in a series that contains smiles as well as sadness …

sylvia

How Many Poets Have Died?

Have you ever wondered,

was it really a …

did the traffic suddenly change

was the fall

timed in such a way

that every factor

mattered,

that all the t’s were crossed.

 

Because isn’t that what we’re left with …

figuring out why

understanding there is  a reason

and this was meant to

help to

clarify.

 

Or is just jealousy,

she figured it out first.

I think her name was

Laura Aschenbrenner,

somehow it stays with me,

the clothing line in her back yard,

with he lifeless body hanging,

waiting,

wanting nothing more,

having decided this would be the answer

to everything she could possibly

ever wish for in the

rest of her life,

the last ten minutes before

she could breathe no more.

 

I’m sitting here writing about

killing myself,

I’m already the hero,

the delusional martyr,

the one that calls himself

morose,

but without the attraction

of the gorgeous girl down the street

who seemed to be the only one whom understood,

the only one who cared,

the only remaining factor

keeping this writer alive.

 

But who really gives a shit,

the gravedigger,

thankful for the job,

the composer who wrote their music

years ago with a completely different

outcome in mind.

Who is the winner, when there will be so much lost.

 

On who?

 

Summer Is Sweet

Screen Shot 2019-01-06 at 6.22.45 PM.png

if

one might imagine

a quiet wander

with little reason to explain

beyond this simple beauty

a wheat length

with season to hold

a nostalgic prayer

her father once told

so now this sunrise

her favorite flair

to no one’s eyes

just for her

such is sweet

in reckoning

truth

beauty is

sweet response

we have so

forgotten

simple is nature

her

we will

notice

only believe

in what is real

on this

sun-swept

afternoon

please give

us peace

for it is all she

would ever might

want

Being Done

Ever wanted to be just done, just finished, just alone because Twitter & Instagram & reality & Grocery Stores & Flying & Books & Love & Laughter & Movies & Theatre & Sports & … just didn’t tell a good story any longer?

This Being The Year

my decision made,

I went many years

living this

imagining this

something that never became

 

I met you

I realized truth

I went through hell one time

I swore I never would again

now here we see

this is our destiny

 

Leaving again she said

listen to the winds

they are meant to be …

 

I cannot agree

the selfish part of me

gave myself

now I am alone

 

The winds of change

were not meant for you and me

The winds of change mean

 

stay this one together …

this being the year

 

~ I’ve found my way ~

goodbye my love