Saturday, March 11, 2017

Serpent Of Taillights


The line of traffic

This morning

Looks like

A serpent of taillights

Flowing like a Boa

On the shoulders

Of

Candy Darling

Or

A mink

Wrapped around Vivien Leigh 

Winding and twisting

Its way toward

Yet

Another day!

Some days are better

Than others

And

Some days

By all means

Are worse!

Yesterday was a day

I caught up on sleep

As a writer

A poet

You need these days

You have to step

Into dreamland

And

If only for a moment

Not hear the sink dripping

The phone ringing

The door knocking

No TV

No one walking past your home

Talking on their phone

You see

The writer takes it all in

Whether or not

They want to

We can’t just turn that shit off

Block it out

We hear

We see

We absorb

The world around us

And

It’s exhausting

At times

But

It’s who we are!

So

Sleep becomes

Our best friend

Waiting to walk

Hand in hand

Into the darkness

Resetting our thoughts

So we can awake

And

Write once more!





Friday, March 10, 2017

The Melvins And The Van


In 1989

A friend and I

Went to see

The Melvins

Play in Gainesville FL

At

The Hardback Café

The underground was alive

And

Well

That night

Breathing in

And

Sweating out artistic energy!

A moving motion of music lovers

Mingled among

Moshers and Metalheads!  

A strong sense of community

Was in the air

Waves of sound

Washed over us

I could feel the music

Alive

Inside my chest

As the band played

It felt like

My lungs

Had filled with

Notes and tones

From the guitar

From the pounding drums

From voices singing

Into microphones

All of it

Was rattling within my ribcage

Like a canary

Trapped by a grinning housecat

Pawing its cage

Back and forth

Back and forth

Or maybe

Hunter S. Thompson’s beloved bird

Edward

Flapping around frantically

While Hunter banged

On the outside of his

Wired framed home!

Either way

The sound was shaking

My insides!

After the show

We made our way outside

Onto the brick street

In front of the bar

Leaning against

The Melvins

Tour Van

My friend and I made small talk

Small talk was made between us

Within a few minutes 

I started to notice

A Kiss Mural drawn on the side

Of

The van

Four painted faces

Of

Rock and roll royalty

I thought to myself

Whoever drew this

Understands

The art of the underground

Years latter

I read Kurt Cobain

Did the drawing

Yes

Kurt had a good grasp

On

The art of the underground

And

His art

Brought the mainstream

Rushing towards it!




From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Tarnished In Time


The newness

The shininess

The absolute beauty

Of

That special someone

Or

That someone you encounter

Who you believe will be

Someone special

Will tarnish

As the days slip by

No matter

How much your eyes

Are pleased

With their outer shell

And

Your mind believes

All will be

The same as the day

You laid eyes on them

They will corrode!

Like a coin tossed in a

Fountain of wishes

End over end

Sinking to the bottom

In time

The breakdown will begin!

Nothing can stop this

Natural process

Of

Corrosion

On the coin or on the body

The games people

Once played

Will be

No longer possible

Once days turn to weeks

Turn to years

Turn to decades!

I’ve seen this

Since I was a child

Looking upon the rich

And

The popular

Within our population

The vain

The good-looking

All will wither 

And

Father Time will then smile

Gazing

At the work he has done!

For

He knows

His artwork is perfect

Unsigned age lines of perfection

Bring the beautiful to tears

And

The ugly to great laughter





Friday, February 24, 2017

Layback


Bathing


Bathing in the silence

Of

Morning

Washing in

The cool air of spring

The birds

Will awake soon

But for now

All is quite!

Sometimes

I wonder

How the birds

Are still singing

At all?

For

The world

Is covered in hatred

Wars drag on

With no end in sight!

It seems

People have become

Numb to

The death and destruction

Of it all!

Sometimes

I wonder if the birds still sing

In these

War torn lands

Or

Do they sit silent

Waiting for it all to end?

Not much has changed

In my lifetime

Two days after my birth

Firehouses were turned on

Crowds fighting for equality

Down the street

From the hospital

I laid in!

Not long after

The Gainesville Eight

Would go on trial

And

Become the anti-war

Talk of the town!

Vietnam and race relations

At that time

Had reached

The boiling point

In the melting pot country  

I was just dropped into!

Yes

Not much has changed

In the last 45 years

In this crumbling world of ours

A place where

Mass shootings

Bombings

And

Killings in general

Happen so frequent

It seems like

Only a few days pass

Or

Maybe even week

Before the next tragedy

Comes!

When will it ever end?

Amazingly

For now

The birds are still singing

Or

At least they will be

As soon as the morning sun

Climbs high

In the eastern sky

 


From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

My People


My people

Could have come straight

From

A Faulkner novel

The generations that came

Before me

Were rugged

Denim wearing folks

Logging timber out

Of

Florida’s backwater swamps

Making moonshine

In the Appalachian Foothills

Sitting up all night

With the dead

Before laying them to rest

In the sandy soil of small-town

Southern cemeteries

Shaded with cedars

And

Longleaf pines!

My people were  

Truck drivers

Farmers

Factory workers

War heroes

Parolees

And

Preachers

They doctored themselves

Because

They couldn’t afford

Going

To a doctor

Or the medicine prescribed

Afterwards!

They clotted

Bleeding wounds

With spider webs

Drew poison out

With tobacco

Relieved toothaches

With honey

And

Chest colds

With camphor tree leaves!   

Yes

My people could’ve come

From a Faulkner Novel

Or

Maybe something

Flannery dreamed up! 




From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave