List of Titles Appearing on This Page:
Lunch Boxes to Razorblades
My Beloved
Forget Me Not My Music
Ballpoint Calligraphy
1764 (Nursery Rhyme to Abhor an Existence)
Sonnet of Childhood Callings
Back Porch Stories With Ivan
My Crayon for Garret’s Fairytale
Fireflies My Love
Lunch Line Sex
The photographer fell for your pseudo-smiles
And left you there in a perfect box,
Looking so damn depressed in grayscale ..
Or, maybe you weren't pretending
And maybe you really did, smile ..
Because
You made it--from December rain to lunchroom facades ..
Where you picked labels off plastic soda bottles
And crumbled in Sony headphones while you dissolved
With blurry backgrounds. left, unfocused.
You made it--from thrift store T's to old backpacks
Blemished with pins and sharpie markers.
As pocketknife signatures on mahogany desktops, fade
Into your graveyard limestone ..
You made it--from lunchboxes to razorblades..
Sustained smashing pumpkin songs
And funeral fetishes only to be placed in
Black and white yearbooks, where unused spaces are
Left there with nothing to do but drown your
Red autograph
And ghost photographs.
The photographer fell for your pseudo-smiles
And left you there in a perfect box,
Looking so damn depressed in grayscale ..
Or, maybe you weren't pretending
And
Maybe
You really did smile,
Because you made it .. because you made it ..
My Beloved
“Yours truly forever” my pseudo-poet
Thy words though cliché sound entrancingly sweet
Trite yet loving while stroking my soul
Fret not my dear for still I smile
So sing me a lullaby for pool halls and Coke
Of moonbeams and wishes on candle lit cake
In mystical strolls along locker-clad paths
Your ballad for I
Sweet love
Entwined concertos and fake synthesized
Guaraldi and Bach with nu-metal bliss
Thou sing for thy own yet hear for thy love
My song though contrasting is yours for eternal
I sing you a lullaby for star searching nights
Of blackness and street gutter facades
In whimsical ballet through cobblestone path
My ballad
My dear
Blameless I’m not, but guilty for you
Since impish impulses partake in thy kiss
Thou aren’t why I breathe, yet breathe I for you
Your Shakespearian mistress
My musical suitor
Forget Me Not My Music
Placate the rhythm of written song under the placenta
Of sonatas and Beethoven’s 5th soften old notes
Streaming and screaming the breath over dew
Kissed welcome hate for the Classics
Danced midnight ringing through the stereo two blocks south
Of synchronized computer frenzy
Buzzed and façade behind waterfalls of static
Radio bliss somewhere between FM and PM
Of top 40 hits and grunge nu-metal spins on
Old age soul and new wind frontal assault to
Birdman and Charlie Parker
Acoustic revivals of Eleanor Rigby slip daintily under broken rent Four
Amid smoke screen fairy tales and incense pictures
For Vanilla coke and Opium wishes
To dive into the world and wallow in
The pity of welfare checks and cheap highs
For E strings and F minor chords
That only play in perfect tune
Amongst the chalk residue of yesterday
Monotone melodies float from deck to deck
Along crowded summer kissed nights
In dusty suburbs hiding from city paradise
Fading into their 80’s rock and new wave
Cocooned in alchemy bleakness
For their beer and cigarette delight
Amongst their faded sunsets and
Stone washed jeans of yearning
Tip toe through valleys of forgotten tied for
Love retching music bringing the jolly old soul to tears
Ballpoint Calligraphy
I hope your pen fails you--midway through sentences
Leaving broken analogies to taper off
In unavailing progressions
In bleached blanks, where your brilliance fades
With clever catchphrases
Running off cold ink
And the most insincere of all inspiration ..
Because this is nothing more than unprophetic.
Chickenscratch scriptures with
Revisions seeping through scrabble metaphors
And kaleido-images, serving
As just another play-on-words
Brinking margins,
and the avail guard you never were ..
But perhaps, in this drab-monochromatic world
Where pens produce the poet and
Gaudy fonts feed the starving critic,
Your bravado slips off silver tongues
As something beyond poetic.
And you grace these lines--with the glory of un-nailed palms
But I can see right past your rough draft heroics ..
Nothing more than
Ballpoint calligraphy--at its finest.
Misleading green eyes
And artless minds
To believe in poetry
That is imperfect enough, to slide as masterpieces
1764 (Nursery Rhyme to Abhor an Existence)
Element 7 marking a painful yearning to distant oneself from
The skin inside hope and PH levels
On the chair two seats from nowhere by the window
Tainted yellow from one too many sun filled sickening days
Wallow in opulent disgrace my little One
Thesis stating the cold reality that no ghastly one ever made
The jump from knowledge to synthesis
In a room where light refused to glow understanding
From the pseudo-freedom ache of decreasing hope
Kiss the charred vibration from Seven catalyst eyes
Define and converse the transposed fake of nothing on 32
With doubts and sighs
Where half of the population will never grasp
The meaning of proving their statements
Pierced Six plus one extremities in ringlet golden medals
Molding the box of literacy smaller to trap inside the works which she knows
Nothing except to constrict
The only source of self-display left without half naked bodies
Which offends only those who wish to see it
Bulging canyons rebel in pairs of Four across full naked stares
One at night to morning cried
Seven children eye despise
Six to beat the pulse mutating
Four in strange repulsive aching
RHYME
Sonnet of Childhood Callings
While dreaming under apple plaid
Blankets of mystery wondering how
A world full of untold miseries
Could ever stand a chance to hold on
Gateway to further the melodic passion
For turkey under cooked
In scarce disarray of colored
Crayons inside the broken pencil box
To fly is not to float
Away through day green
Dog dew smiles
And Popsicle kissed
Drooling rivulets
Of sticky goo
To nothing except
The opposite
In tainted shavings of small smelly
Beings of other creatures
To stand guard on the wall across
The forbidden childhood valleys
A leap of faith in turkey and virgin
Embarrassed eyes on the leaves who fall
Amongst the sacred hollowed ground
To walk home by
To fly is not to float
Away through day green
Dog dew smiles
And Popsicle kissed
Drooling rivulets
Of sticky goo
To nothing except
The opposite
Luscious verbs across the page
Falling slowly through the air
A song drags on through out a life
A sonnet for child to come home to
Back Porch Stories with Ivan
Phone rings gothic stolen hymns
Within your mind your reflection
Little somber drunken fool
Fall away into the dateless game
Of life tone dial pulsating
Shadows on the wall
Voice over calm my northern way
Of thinking wrong playing right
Until daddy’s gone stray
Random puzzle piece stares
At confusion laid back
Summer drift way
Highway to
Northern Oneida
County road to no where going slow through highway 39
Calming lame scent of flower
Your way to perfect days
Going no where vast
Fast until the dealing cards
Of birthday whishes you
Broad wither ways
Selling stolen happy hour smiles
To soda pop her golden faith
In everything to dust
Random puzzle piece stares
At confusion laid back
Summer drift way
Highway to
Northern Oneida
County road to no where going slow through highway 39
Granulated calling cards
Poker faced drunken
Fun in vast to belated
Ivan
My Crayon for Garret’s Fairytale
Chastised to varnish and his dew kissed smile filled with Oreos and Tony the Tiger alone within his Crayon
Suspended in place of Crayons and willows
Opulent papers with waxy expose
Dissolute red and vagrant blue spirals
Sing lonely along his Mother Goose road
Together in display his storybook facades
Melodically sketching with cookie cut hands
Paper-thin dreams of crickets and stars
Drift lovely above the autumn red skies
Concealed to his laughter and macaroni stares to the monster on the sidewalk shrieking with vengeance for his Oreo smile
Oval brown eyes failing too big for their face
Where spiders and creatures dance in their rounds
Wispy brown hair in forgotten array
Blows lightly above his fairytale grin
Merciless he scribbles sun drops and dragons
Painting the mystery within his head
Lackluster days of crayons and liquorish
Battle back with fiends of an amateur world
Shadowed by Downs his fairytale fails to compete with the ant spied just feet away
Fireflies My Love
“Death is no dream for in death I’m caressing you with my soul”
Cuddled midnight talks amongst the shadow dancing lights
Mixed with florescent glowing screens to separate the time
And I’ll wait for you to breath to know
I really wasn’t dreaming
Fireflies and summer breath with in the mystic trees
Along the trail which glows a yellow hint under the stars
As I caress your being with
Quiet breathless touches
Movie screens too distant to watch except the blur of noise within the background
Calling softly to turn away and forget the sound
And hold my breath to paint
The time when melodies are silent
While creatures dance possesso flights amongst the cold stone walls
Painted crystal cream and melodies deep within the soul
Quiet drones suffice the pulse
Of flaking dew drop eyes
And I’ll wait for you to breath to know
I really wasn’t dreaming
As I caress your being with
Quiet breathless touches
To stay would kill another day except it will never come again
So live now through soften eyes
They dance alone in firefly dewdrops
“I’m caressing you with my soul”
Lunch Line Sex
Scandalous cross-fried potatoes of crispy grease
With eyes on her headlights and drool through his breath
In taking her partake in a chicken deluxe
As random extremities shake in melodic proportion
Pulsating vibration for orgasmic delight
Giving herself to child-size shirts
Naïve ballet through sexual halls
Where tensions run high through out malformed schools
Lunch room façade of J Los and Brittanys
Where iridescent drained mutants strut stuff they don’t have
And boys drool for breast of tender thick meat
Jacking off to underwear MTV “hotties”
“Chicken patty on a bun” inspired hormone
Rage of Patty shake me your bum
While she gives her soul to Da Vinci
To paint sweet smile for the boys
Tight shirts to suffice in a dog eat dog world, I beg to differ and save what few brains cells I have that haven’t been sucked into a pathetic TV Reality state