She was a love I lost and regret
Awkward hugs every 12 months
A chance meeting that reminds me
So for a week or so that same chance meeting confines me
In and out of the past
Time traveler
She’s my catalyst, my mind unraveler
Her inner beauty surpassed by none
An outer glow that stuns
The average man.
But me, it stings like vaccinations
As a youngin I thought our brief affair was infatuation
Maybe I’m living in the past
And if I had more to grasp
Than these chance meetings
Then I would see
We were never meant to be
But until then
For a week or so after our chance meetings
I play over and over in my head my initial greeting
And wish she could greet me for the rest of my days.
And until this feeling fades,
I’m here.
Thinking of a love I lost and regret.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Fleeting (Unfinished)
I swore I’d never love again.
Too many battle scars
Lessons learned, too many burns
I’m beginning to think the lesson taught is don’t try it
Is love the forbidden apple?
Don’t bite it.
Have we created a world that touches too many senses
We skip the roses
Only thing that could hurt us are its thorns
Now we don’t have to stop and smell anything
Its in our palms
They stop and sell it all
As much as your rumbling belly can endure
Only thing that could hurt is our soul.
We rally to reduce the carbon footprints in our valleys
But the pollution that needs reducing is the lack of love we’re producing.
And I don’t mean lust.
We skip on love because lust won’t hurt unless you catch feelings.
So it’s no strings attached until we use
Love and other drugs,
And love isn’t a drug, so that’s the problem with the title.
What’s the problem with a title?
The idea of love seems to be a fleeting mystery.
Cheating between the misery.
Finding something more real with the mistress.
She becomes the new lady with the fleeting title.
Rewind. Repeat.
Now the new lady is cutting eyes at the old lady
At the youngest baby's recital.
While the memories of her 2nd grade rendition of Fiddler on the Roof
Turns to her trying to outdo
The fact she got to have two moms and two dads growing up.
Every Holiday, two sets of presents showing up.
The more the merry.
So the more she'll marry.
Rewind. Repeat.
Too many battle scars
Lessons learned, too many burns
I’m beginning to think the lesson taught is don’t try it
Is love the forbidden apple?
Don’t bite it.
Have we created a world that touches too many senses
We skip the roses
Only thing that could hurt us are its thorns
Now we don’t have to stop and smell anything
Its in our palms
They stop and sell it all
As much as your rumbling belly can endure
Only thing that could hurt is our soul.
We rally to reduce the carbon footprints in our valleys
But the pollution that needs reducing is the lack of love we’re producing.
And I don’t mean lust.
We skip on love because lust won’t hurt unless you catch feelings.
So it’s no strings attached until we use
Love and other drugs,
And love isn’t a drug, so that’s the problem with the title.
What’s the problem with a title?
The idea of love seems to be a fleeting mystery.
Cheating between the misery.
Finding something more real with the mistress.
She becomes the new lady with the fleeting title.
Rewind. Repeat.
Now the new lady is cutting eyes at the old lady
At the youngest baby's recital.
While the memories of her 2nd grade rendition of Fiddler on the Roof
Turns to her trying to outdo
The fact she got to have two moms and two dads growing up.
Every Holiday, two sets of presents showing up.
The more the merry.
So the more she'll marry.
Rewind. Repeat.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Conduction
Sweet and mild kisses
She likes the softness.
It is far from her old life.
His presence makes the pain fade.
She pictures him when he’s not there.
When days get bad, she beckons him.
Bittersweet, she tries not to be mean,
But the demons break through her calm.
She prays to control it, she needs him.
He knows, and understands.
He thinks he’s enough to make her forget,
Resenting that he’s not.
When he leaves the clock stops.
When he comes it seems to make up the time it lost.
She needs him,
But the demons keep breaking through her calm.
She resents them all.
He resents he can’t pick her up.
She resents the fall.
He resents the fall.
Now he begins to resent the calm.
“You can’t control it,” he says.
“Am I not enough to make you change?”
She replies, “I’m trying, it takes time to release this pain.”
He leaves, and the clock stops.
Returns, but the time moves slower.
She feels his presence no longer calms the way it did.
She grows stronger.
He now feels the demons breaking through his calm.
She likes the softness.
It is far from her old life.
His presence makes the pain fade.
She pictures him when he’s not there.
When days get bad, she beckons him.
Bittersweet, she tries not to be mean,
But the demons break through her calm.
She prays to control it, she needs him.
He knows, and understands.
He thinks he’s enough to make her forget,
Resenting that he’s not.
When he leaves the clock stops.
When he comes it seems to make up the time it lost.
She needs him,
But the demons keep breaking through her calm.
She resents them all.
He resents he can’t pick her up.
She resents the fall.
He resents the fall.
Now he begins to resent the calm.
“You can’t control it,” he says.
“Am I not enough to make you change?”
She replies, “I’m trying, it takes time to release this pain.”
He leaves, and the clock stops.
Returns, but the time moves slower.
She feels his presence no longer calms the way it did.
She grows stronger.
He now feels the demons breaking through his calm.
Friday, June 03, 2011
Things Fall Apart
Things fall apart
In other words, things change
No matter the city or town
The mounds of nouns we accumulate
In these rounds we call life,
Change.
These nouns that make up our life.
Defined as person, place or thing.
The answer to Who? What? Where?
And sometimes, Why?
The questions of life,
Answered by these mounds of nouns we accumulate.
That define us, mold us, make us, break us.
Because things fall apart.
From the Roots.
In other words things change.
As quick as the sun turns to rain,
And back again.
People change.
Places change.
Things change.
As they fall apart.
Not in the literal always.
Our notions, our history, our perceptions
Create a landscape sculpted from the nouns in our lives.
In other words,
Our notions, our history, our perceptions like sculpting knives,
Carving the lenses in which we see our nouns.
So when change comes, our old notions fall apart.
Rescuplting those lenses from which we see the world.
Things fall apart.
In other words, things change
No matter the city or town
The mounds of nouns we accumulate
In these rounds we call life,
Change.
These nouns that make up our life.
Defined as person, place or thing.
The answer to Who? What? Where?
And sometimes, Why?
The questions of life,
Answered by these mounds of nouns we accumulate.
That define us, mold us, make us, break us.
Because things fall apart.
From the Roots.
In other words things change.
As quick as the sun turns to rain,
And back again.
People change.
Places change.
Things change.
As they fall apart.
Not in the literal always.
Our notions, our history, our perceptions
Create a landscape sculpted from the nouns in our lives.
In other words,
Our notions, our history, our perceptions like sculpting knives,
Carving the lenses in which we see our nouns.
So when change comes, our old notions fall apart.
Rescuplting those lenses from which we see the world.
Things fall apart.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Playing With Your Emotions
Poets are just artists who can’t sing.
Putting an emotion to music strikes a cord.
A, C, E Flat.
Melodies and words mix from tears and lonely nights.
Hurt feelings and broken hearts ring the loudest.
Love gained and lost rolls off the page into sound.
From sound to writings on the wall.
Like a child’s height markings on the door.
The first three cords of a song take you back.
When you were only yay big, emotionally.
Those first three words remind you of those scars,
That only seem to ache when it rains.
Or when night turns to dawn,
When you’re tired, but can’t seem to sleep
Only yawn.
Nostalgia.
Like spring cleaning and running across an old mix CD.
When you know the randomness of the songs made sense to you at that very moment.
And as you listen you regain your mindset and think back.
I wish I was not a poet and could sing.
I would try to capture your emotions in every song.
Creating a memory,
Or reminding you of one you’ve tucked away.
Playing the human experience like you felt it.
Giving you the words you’ve felt,
But never expressed.
Like a lost love,
You would forget.
But on a night like tonight,
You would hum the tune,
And relive the first moment you heard me play your emotions.
Putting an emotion to music strikes a cord.
A, C, E Flat.
Melodies and words mix from tears and lonely nights.
Hurt feelings and broken hearts ring the loudest.
Love gained and lost rolls off the page into sound.
From sound to writings on the wall.
Like a child’s height markings on the door.
The first three cords of a song take you back.
When you were only yay big, emotionally.
Those first three words remind you of those scars,
That only seem to ache when it rains.
Or when night turns to dawn,
When you’re tired, but can’t seem to sleep
Only yawn.
Nostalgia.
Like spring cleaning and running across an old mix CD.
When you know the randomness of the songs made sense to you at that very moment.
And as you listen you regain your mindset and think back.
I wish I was not a poet and could sing.
I would try to capture your emotions in every song.
Creating a memory,
Or reminding you of one you’ve tucked away.
Playing the human experience like you felt it.
Giving you the words you’ve felt,
But never expressed.
Like a lost love,
You would forget.
But on a night like tonight,
You would hum the tune,
And relive the first moment you heard me play your emotions.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Untitled
I never knew we would be this cold
Met in warm weather
Warm kisses in May and June
Turned to cold Eskimo kissing in warm sweaters
Been here to see the seasons change
Left time and time again
Cold nights after cold-hearted fights
I would sit in the car, fall asleep
Only awaken to the morning light.
It’s warm again.
The thrill is on again
Walking hand in hand
Cold kisses from cold ice cream parlor visits
It’s like your heart warmed up,
And mine got cold.
Things got better
I felt the cold was missing
We faced the storm, but not together.
Revenge is a dish best served cold
And that’s how we served it.
Getting back at me for mistrust in you,
Me getting back at you for giving up on you
Cold decisions you made in the past
Never envisioning we’d cross paths
Hot-tempered and cold-hearted
Work together to drive a wedge
Not so dearly departed.
A cold disdain,
Hot-blooded passion.
Met in warmer days
Hot and cold until we parted.
Met in warm weather
Warm kisses in May and June
Turned to cold Eskimo kissing in warm sweaters
Been here to see the seasons change
Left time and time again
Cold nights after cold-hearted fights
I would sit in the car, fall asleep
Only awaken to the morning light.
It’s warm again.
The thrill is on again
Walking hand in hand
Cold kisses from cold ice cream parlor visits
It’s like your heart warmed up,
And mine got cold.
Things got better
I felt the cold was missing
We faced the storm, but not together.
Revenge is a dish best served cold
And that’s how we served it.
Getting back at me for mistrust in you,
Me getting back at you for giving up on you
Cold decisions you made in the past
Never envisioning we’d cross paths
Hot-tempered and cold-hearted
Work together to drive a wedge
Not so dearly departed.
A cold disdain,
Hot-blooded passion.
Met in warmer days
Hot and cold until we parted.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Would we listen?
Who will witness?
Be a testimony to the twisted and the lonely,
When the night falls
The night crawls
Children crying, “Who will hold me”
Prophesy of destruction
Never bliss and better days.
Would we listen?
And see through the hateful haze.
Or accept it?
Perpetuate that we’re in the last days
Would you mention?
Never flinching, implementing a new craze.
Where good news is reported and never distorted.
Who will witness?
Step forward.
Would we listen?
Be a testimony to the twisted and the lonely,
When the night falls
The night crawls
Children crying, “Who will hold me”
Prophesy of destruction
Never bliss and better days.
Would we listen?
And see through the hateful haze.
Or accept it?
Perpetuate that we’re in the last days
Would you mention?
Never flinching, implementing a new craze.
Where good news is reported and never distorted.
Who will witness?
Step forward.
Would we listen?
Monday, March 14, 2011
A.B.M.
I wish I had the guts and spewed dope
Like Gil Scott Heroine
So I could show you the gap is narrowing
Between a land of the free and the brave
To the grossly uneducated, poor and misbehaved.
The skin-heads no longer shave,
They earmark, lobby and lynch the masses unscathed.
1 if by land
2 if by sea
3 if bipartisanism
4 if by bureaucracy
Now coming from a man in 2011
Speak of change sounds of conspiracy theories
And angry black man speaking of proverbial chains
But despite how its spun,
The truth still remains
The truth still remains.
Our only identity is that we have none
Rooted in a buck, who's value is declining
Our values a muck.
Like Gil Scott Heroine
So I could show you the gap is narrowing
Between a land of the free and the brave
To the grossly uneducated, poor and misbehaved.
The skin-heads no longer shave,
They earmark, lobby and lynch the masses unscathed.
1 if by land
2 if by sea
3 if bipartisanism
4 if by bureaucracy
Now coming from a man in 2011
Speak of change sounds of conspiracy theories
And angry black man speaking of proverbial chains
But despite how its spun,
The truth still remains
The truth still remains.
Our only identity is that we have none
Rooted in a buck, who's value is declining
Our values a muck.
Spectrum
Ambition and contentment
Joy and resentment
Full pockets and a little lent
War rockets and bricks of cement
Opposite ends of the spectrum
Connected by the in betweens
Those with or without means
We all think of these things
Living them
Or seeing them in our dreams
Poor man dreams of riches
Rich man dreams of ditches
Both dream of the other’s world
To Richman a nightmare
To Poorman a fairytale
Joy and resentment
Full pockets and a little lent
War rockets and bricks of cement
Opposite ends of the spectrum
Connected by the in betweens
Those with or without means
We all think of these things
Living them
Or seeing them in our dreams
Poor man dreams of riches
Rich man dreams of ditches
Both dream of the other’s world
To Richman a nightmare
To Poorman a fairytale
Where I am
When I was young
I was in a rush to make a fuss
And at times it got my bell rung
Now I’m like hush.
And its not I like slowed down to hear the birds chirp.
I don’t stop and smell roses
Only chirp I hear is my text alert.
Seems like all I want is a pocket full of posies.
Ashes, ashes we all fall down.
Enthralled in a text.
Got me swerving
Almost involved in a wreck.
On the way to a paycheck.
Coming from a paycheck.
To pay for a life that seems
To be moving at break neck speeds.
I lived for the next step.
I know my friends think I’m all over the place.
I took some time off the race.
Got lazy, but never complacent.
You think I think in tangents
I’m just trying to be adjacent
To the things I believe that will make my lot in life stronger.
I’d be profoundly content on living the simple life
Grow food, hunt meat, live where I can sleep under the stars
And not rely on Google Sky Maps to point to where they are.
But this is where I stand,
And lay.
This is where I walk
And stumble.
This is where I talk proudly
And mumble.
This is where I am.
This is where I am.
I was in a rush to make a fuss
And at times it got my bell rung
Now I’m like hush.
And its not I like slowed down to hear the birds chirp.
I don’t stop and smell roses
Only chirp I hear is my text alert.
Seems like all I want is a pocket full of posies.
Ashes, ashes we all fall down.
Enthralled in a text.
Got me swerving
Almost involved in a wreck.
On the way to a paycheck.
Coming from a paycheck.
To pay for a life that seems
To be moving at break neck speeds.
I lived for the next step.
I know my friends think I’m all over the place.
I took some time off the race.
Got lazy, but never complacent.
You think I think in tangents
I’m just trying to be adjacent
To the things I believe that will make my lot in life stronger.
I’d be profoundly content on living the simple life
Grow food, hunt meat, live where I can sleep under the stars
And not rely on Google Sky Maps to point to where they are.
But this is where I stand,
And lay.
This is where I walk
And stumble.
This is where I talk proudly
And mumble.
This is where I am.
This is where I am.
Highway to Mars
The square and boring lead lives of monotony with no meaning,
Snicker and laugh at the dreamers demeanor so demeaning.
Leading down a roadway,
A path.
So traveled straight-laced and unbraced with no feeling.
Id be a fool to say all dream with no action is the road you must travel,
But living with no dreaming can make the mind unravel.
A dream reflects hope,
Hope drives ambition
Ambition leads to fruition.
Those who do great things often take the road less traveled,
Otherwise greatness would be the norm.
Along the embankment lies discarded plans,
Good intentions and rough sketches of new inventions.
The path...the road...this highway,
Is about the scars, the setbacks, the tears.
But forever within our sights.
So sit high on your horse,
Belittle my dreams because they're not what yours are.
And watch as I fade in the distance on my Highway to Mars.
Snicker and laugh at the dreamers demeanor so demeaning.
Leading down a roadway,
A path.
So traveled straight-laced and unbraced with no feeling.
Id be a fool to say all dream with no action is the road you must travel,
But living with no dreaming can make the mind unravel.
A dream reflects hope,
Hope drives ambition
Ambition leads to fruition.
Those who do great things often take the road less traveled,
Otherwise greatness would be the norm.
Along the embankment lies discarded plans,
Good intentions and rough sketches of new inventions.
The path...the road...this highway,
Is about the scars, the setbacks, the tears.
But forever within our sights.
So sit high on your horse,
Belittle my dreams because they're not what yours are.
And watch as I fade in the distance on my Highway to Mars.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Seed
Gathering my composure
Has turned into an epic battle
You may not see the seed inside
But I know you can hear it rattle.
Trying to escape
With every shake.
The back and forth makes the inside quake.
Time is all we have until it runs out
Life is about managing the droughts
What I’m lacking only gives me an advantage
If I don’t see the danger, I can’t panic
And if you don’t see my anger
You rehash it
I never feared myself
Until I saw the fear in the woman’s eyes
Clutching her purse and cutting her eyes
I feared myself at that very moment
The image my face portrays
The legacy my dominant gene relays
Through my veins coarses the very seed I may lay
And although my options give way
To women of all types and shades
From Italy to Bombay
My physical features
Pierce through the womb
And leave their impressions like good teachers
A good father wants his seed to have all the things he had plus some
I want mine to have better than the preconception of rocks and guns
Belief that all he’s good for is the box and 1
A need to entertain the masses
And skip classes.
I’d raise him better than that
But the world is full of those who will try to steer him clear
Of the beauty of his skin.
Has turned into an epic battle
You may not see the seed inside
But I know you can hear it rattle.
Trying to escape
With every shake.
The back and forth makes the inside quake.
Time is all we have until it runs out
Life is about managing the droughts
What I’m lacking only gives me an advantage
If I don’t see the danger, I can’t panic
And if you don’t see my anger
You rehash it
I never feared myself
Until I saw the fear in the woman’s eyes
Clutching her purse and cutting her eyes
I feared myself at that very moment
The image my face portrays
The legacy my dominant gene relays
Through my veins coarses the very seed I may lay
And although my options give way
To women of all types and shades
From Italy to Bombay
My physical features
Pierce through the womb
And leave their impressions like good teachers
A good father wants his seed to have all the things he had plus some
I want mine to have better than the preconception of rocks and guns
Belief that all he’s good for is the box and 1
A need to entertain the masses
And skip classes.
I’d raise him better than that
But the world is full of those who will try to steer him clear
Of the beauty of his skin.
Friday, December 17, 2010
USED
She told me I was a diamond in the rough.
I took offense,
But kept a mental note and laughed it off.
I saw the drunken daze in her awkward gaze,
But overlooked her crass remarks
Tipped my glass and sparked
A meaningless conversation.
I figured I’d pass the moment
With nothing too deep,
Let’s face it her pretty face will only sell wolf tickets
Those prices are steep.
The more I see
The more I understand she only wants a man
With enough flash and pazazz to make her feel alright about herself
When he gets in the pants
And the same man has enough know how
Because his pops was the man
To talk the talk, all the while knowing she’s a flash in the pan
It happens again and again.
Flashing a little money
That could be the rent
Usually showing a little clout
Is the most direct route to the honey.
Her name was Diamond
She once was more than enough.
Now she’s just rough and used up.
I took offense,
But kept a mental note and laughed it off.
I saw the drunken daze in her awkward gaze,
But overlooked her crass remarks
Tipped my glass and sparked
A meaningless conversation.
I figured I’d pass the moment
With nothing too deep,
Let’s face it her pretty face will only sell wolf tickets
Those prices are steep.
The more I see
The more I understand she only wants a man
With enough flash and pazazz to make her feel alright about herself
When he gets in the pants
And the same man has enough know how
Because his pops was the man
To talk the talk, all the while knowing she’s a flash in the pan
It happens again and again.
Flashing a little money
That could be the rent
Usually showing a little clout
Is the most direct route to the honey.
Her name was Diamond
She once was more than enough.
Now she’s just rough and used up.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Untitled
UNTITLED
I knew the extremes of the world
Garnered more attention then the subtle
Passive notions
Fluttering requests
Weren't heard like strong rebuttles
I once knew a queen
At least I called her mine
We had only high and low times
No in between
Since we couldn't fully understand
What those would mean
In the memories of her and me
In the grand scheme
The middle of the road is often forgotten
Lonely in the trenches of our mind
Hard to grasp
Even harder to find
Because the beautiful and the ugly stand out
Like a beautiful spirit in this cold world
And the extremes of her and me didn't pan out
And made out love unfurl
The adrenaline we rode like jackals ran out
The flame fanned out
The backdrop of our ugly drowned our beauty
And all is left is the memories we longed to see.
I knew the extremes of the world
Garnered more attention then the subtle
Passive notions
Fluttering requests
Weren't heard like strong rebuttles
I once knew a queen
At least I called her mine
We had only high and low times
No in between
Since we couldn't fully understand
What those would mean
In the memories of her and me
In the grand scheme
The middle of the road is often forgotten
Lonely in the trenches of our mind
Hard to grasp
Even harder to find
Because the beautiful and the ugly stand out
Like a beautiful spirit in this cold world
And the extremes of her and me didn't pan out
And made out love unfurl
The adrenaline we rode like jackals ran out
The flame fanned out
The backdrop of our ugly drowned our beauty
And all is left is the memories we longed to see.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
If you could fight anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?
I would probably fight any slave master, Hitler or the man that killed my great grandfather
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I Miss Missing You
I miss missing you
I never thought I’d see today
Beginning to miss the ache
That shook like earthquakes
I wondered if regret would fade
It became a constant companion
But now it visits with less frequency
My mind is healing itself instinctively
I suppose time heals all wounds
But I wished the pain associated with you still loomed
I swore I’d never love another
All I wanted was to make our plans
When things were new
Our reality
But as life grabs a hold of us I lost touch
And when you were gone
I clung to our pain
Like a dying man who doesn’t want to accept his fate
I’d rather feel the pain of our truth
Then lose the thought of missing your touch
I miss missing you
Like I used to miss kissing you
I miss wishing you
Would reconsider
And surrender to
Our plans when things were new
I miss missing you
Because if you came back now
I’d be through.
I never thought I’d see today
Beginning to miss the ache
That shook like earthquakes
I wondered if regret would fade
It became a constant companion
But now it visits with less frequency
My mind is healing itself instinctively
I suppose time heals all wounds
But I wished the pain associated with you still loomed
I swore I’d never love another
All I wanted was to make our plans
When things were new
Our reality
But as life grabs a hold of us I lost touch
And when you were gone
I clung to our pain
Like a dying man who doesn’t want to accept his fate
I’d rather feel the pain of our truth
Then lose the thought of missing your touch
I miss missing you
Like I used to miss kissing you
I miss wishing you
Would reconsider
And surrender to
Our plans when things were new
I miss missing you
Because if you came back now
I’d be through.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Souls of Men
I almost ran in the back of the same rusty Lincoln 5 times this morning
That rusty car started the chain of
Thoughts
That
Made
Me
Screech
On
My
Brakes
That same rusty car sparked old aches
That once moved my world like earthquakes.
That rust reminded me that everything on this earth changes
And rearranges.
Complicated relationships tangle and untangle,
Perception changes like looking at life from a different angle.
The rusty old car had me thinking of myself.
Once new and green.
Wild eyed and full of optimism.
Now I bend the rules so much
They aren't broken they're mangled,
Twisted and construed stacked on top of each other
Like works of art not to be hung in museums,
But hanging,
Weighing heavily
Making my head hang low.
I've become and artful expression of the evils of the world.
On display.
The souls of men.
That rusty car started the chain of
Thoughts
That
Made
Me
Screech
On
My
Brakes
That same rusty car sparked old aches
That once moved my world like earthquakes.
That rust reminded me that everything on this earth changes
And rearranges.
Complicated relationships tangle and untangle,
Perception changes like looking at life from a different angle.
The rusty old car had me thinking of myself.
Once new and green.
Wild eyed and full of optimism.
Now I bend the rules so much
They aren't broken they're mangled,
Twisted and construed stacked on top of each other
Like works of art not to be hung in museums,
But hanging,
Weighing heavily
Making my head hang low.
I've become and artful expression of the evils of the world.
On display.
The souls of men.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Am I Blue?
Am I Blue?
Or can you tell?
I wear my heart on my sleeve
But I wear a jacket as well
This hate courses through my veins
Sadness flares up like flames
Behind my eyes tears are stored
Inner turmoil in my soul
But am I blue?
Can you tell?
Do I wear it well?
Or can you tell?
I wear my heart on my sleeve
But I wear a jacket as well
This hate courses through my veins
Sadness flares up like flames
Behind my eyes tears are stored
Inner turmoil in my soul
But am I blue?
Can you tell?
Do I wear it well?
Friday, June 25, 2010
LITANY
Its so much easier to get up and walk away from a mess, whether you created it or not. Its harder to sit in it and clean it up. Most of the time, we take the easier route, myself included.
LITANY
There are a litany of things
That cloud my head and ease my mind
A litany of memories that ring aloud
When I close my eyes
How soon we forget our personal truths
History repeating
Are our minds aloof?
Babies raising infants
Low eduation and poverty
Is that not our proof?
So have this litany of things
That rings and sings our demise
We display the litany of things that kills our judgement
and clouds our minds.
Those with resouces
Seem too afraid or unwilling to share
And glare saying, "You can't force us"
So they move to better areas
And for a while they escape
But color runs like spilled paint
Until there are enough faces
That look like our faces
Now the new prestine place is
Not so prestine
Now you're off to the races.
But when the majority does the same
You scream racism.
I can appreciate a love/hate relationship for my people
Sometimes efforts to evoke change are feeble
But those who have the means must try
This situation isn't one to let sleeping dogs lie.
LITANY
There are a litany of things
That cloud my head and ease my mind
A litany of memories that ring aloud
When I close my eyes
How soon we forget our personal truths
History repeating
Are our minds aloof?
Babies raising infants
Low eduation and poverty
Is that not our proof?
So have this litany of things
That rings and sings our demise
We display the litany of things that kills our judgement
and clouds our minds.
Those with resouces
Seem too afraid or unwilling to share
And glare saying, "You can't force us"
So they move to better areas
And for a while they escape
But color runs like spilled paint
Until there are enough faces
That look like our faces
Now the new prestine place is
Not so prestine
Now you're off to the races.
But when the majority does the same
You scream racism.
I can appreciate a love/hate relationship for my people
Sometimes efforts to evoke change are feeble
But those who have the means must try
This situation isn't one to let sleeping dogs lie.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
When the Love is Gone
It's nearly 2 a.m.
I've driven this way from Sara's a thousand times
I pass the same patch of cows
While I'm hypnotized by the center lines
In Paris, I wonder if Pierre passes the Eiffel Tower
With the same feeling
While tourist trod up the Champs-Elysees
Mesmerized
He yawns wiping the coals from his eyes
There its nearly 9 a.m.
He's driven this way to Sara's a thousand times
He no longer is in awe of the Tower or Sara
She's become as routine as his drive
And as boring as my cows
I've driven this way from Sara's a thousand times
I pass the same patch of cows
While I'm hypnotized by the center lines
In Paris, I wonder if Pierre passes the Eiffel Tower
With the same feeling
While tourist trod up the Champs-Elysees
Mesmerized
He yawns wiping the coals from his eyes
There its nearly 9 a.m.
He's driven this way to Sara's a thousand times
He no longer is in awe of the Tower or Sara
She's become as routine as his drive
And as boring as my cows
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