Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Lyrics and Poetry

I will add more later when I have the time...(these are all pretty new) ENJOY!

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

Lunch Boxes To Razorblades

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