Tumbly, Rumbling Roar

There is comfort in that sound of sounds
And that from out which it does pour
That low tumbly, rumbling roar
Beneath that blackened furry mass
On lanky stalks of padded four
That low tumbly, rumbling roar
It’s there just for mine to take
Just a stroke or two will give me more
That low tumbly, rumbling roar
Partake of its soothing comforts
Once or twice a day I do adore
That low tumbly, rumbling roar
Which lies curled and warm and dreaming
An arm’s length away on the floor
That low tumbly, rumbling roar

The Rose in My Garden

I watched it die, the rose in my garden
Slowly fade away at winters touch
And once would have thought it to return
When spring brought some life as such
But with the bitter cold of days gone by
And the harden frost that now holds sway
Such thoughts of beauty returning retreat
The memory of which is all that will stay

All That He Truly Was

And the door swung open wide
Revealing an open closet to his soul
Filled with boxes dust ridden and time worn
Each waiting patiently to be reopened
Containing all that he truly was
And with a deliberate, trembling hand
He pulled from the shelf only one
With a deep breath, he opened it
Revealing a single rose he called Beauty
And he remembered and smiled

And Then The Normal Things

Early morning
Morning pain
Time to dress
Glasses, teeth, brace, cane
Then the normal things
Time to tend the beast
A breakfast of pills
and liquid pumped
Nausea and passage
And then the normal things
Food, count and measure,
weigh and figure
Ears ring, head swims
Twist, jerk, lightning, react
More pills
My day begins
And then the normal things
The day passes
Twist, jerk, lightning, react
More pills
And then the normal things
Time to eat
Food, count and measure,
weigh and figure
And then the normal things
Afternoon pills
and liquid pumped
Nausea and passage
And then the normal things
Work and strive and stress
Write, and think and contemplate
The day passes
Time to eat
Food, count and measure,
weigh and figure
And then the normal things
Night pills
and liquid pumped
Nausea and passage
And then the normal things
Late night viewing
Required final feeding of the beast
Food, count and measure,
weigh and figure
And then the normal things
Night pills
and liquid pumped
Nausea and passage
And then the normal things
Time to put the beast to bed.
Rest, sleep, and slumber
And then the normal things


Zombies All

Morning. Rain. Miserably wet and cold.
On the rail to work, shuffle on and shuffle off.
Through the gates and into the street
passing all the other zombies.
Mobile, up right, and moving toward...
Thoughtless, stiff legged, driven by coffee
and some unexplained need.
Responsibility. Hope. Desire. Greed. Maybe.
We are lost in our own void,
and build barriers in between.
But we share a commonality in our avoidance
Ignoring those who desire what we have to give
hands outreached along the way.
We pass them by and use our bag of tricks.
We look past, beyond, and down, but save up
in cases where these do not work.
When we suddenly spot in the air a jumper, or even pterodactyl
Make that amazed face and pass as if we have not seen
their hopeful, pleading, needing faces.
But when we dare engage, then toss the commandments to the wind
We lie and deny and shrug our shoulders to the request
“I don’t have…”, “I can’t help...” or simply a silent glare.
And once passed, the guilt we harbor soon dissipates.
They move on to the next zombie, one more layer of callus
built up, one more scar to the thickness of the skin.
Of course we still lie and make excuses, reasons for our response.
After all, they could help themselves, they could find a job, there
are those willing to help. Next time. Next time. I don’t have…
And shuffle on we zombies all. Not because we are undead, or dying.
Not because we have no will to do what’s right or within our power.
We are zombies because we no longer have emotional meaning.

Nothing Coming

Coffee in hand.
Mind in place.
Eyes stare forward.
Sit and wait.
White glaring.
Nothing coming.
Deep breath.
Slow release.
Coffee in hand.
Mind is focused.
White calling out.
Fingers in pout.
Blank screen.
Thoughts fading.
Deeper breath.
Sigh released.
Coffee in hand.
Mind someplace else.
Eyeing distant object.
Pushing keyboard away.

Fourty Six

So this is forty six.
Aches and pains as daily companions
Hopes and dreams giving way to reality
Over the hill, behind the rolling stone
A downhill race to the big unknown
A breakfast of pills to push me forward
Up and at them, with a life to live
Though the fear is that the best is behind
Struggling to, and struggling fro
The pace of friends leaving first grows
More times have I attended
In the past ten years the funerary rite
Than all the years before them
And wonder how long will it be
Till somber faces stare down at me

As Adam

I am leaving now, letting it slip away.
Fall to the back of my mind, now but distant memory.
I am like the first man leaving his beloved home.
Olduvai Gorge. Eden. Paradise. Call it what you will.
And though others may not see it so, these places akin it is to me.
For I am Adam stripped of homeland, forced out yet again, repeatedly.
Though unlike Adam, no woman offered, no snake cajoled, no fruit condemned me.
No angel excludes me, for it is of my own choosing that I make exit.
Exit to a different life, a different path, a different state of being.
But I never forget the place from which my tendrils cling.
Nor the song that calls me back again.
Sung by the Iron god who watches on high all the madness and the fray below.
Across the many miles the concrete and steel fingers pointing to the heavens above.
The Magic City, a name once used, now misplaced, or so some would argue.
Its magic gone, its spark replaced, with hard and bitter reality.
But believe otherwise, for the show still goes on.
And though the act is very old, the tricks have all now changed.
A new rabbit from deep within is drawn.
Where once hot liquid red filled its veins, the bones of the past reach, a barren reminder.
Now they tell different stories, through plays, and music and laughter.
A cobbled street still runs its course to be travelled upon each day.
The trains still run to and fro, though not thorough its once magnificent gate.
Long since removed, now a blank yard that marks that olden place.
Along the paths, once dogs and hoses tore and inhumanity reigned supreme.
Now all move about, and mix, and mingle, each separated by their equality.
The Grey Lady still stands, though she is tired and feeble.
More legend now, her beauty faded, she barely holds onto her elegance.
To the center, the Storyteller utters not a word to his listeners.
Nearby our brother prays to another silent god, eyes ever up.
These are but a few of her mars and flaws and scars.
Each a tell tale sign of all that makes her who she is.
And I relish each and every piece as though it were my own.
This is the place where I began and as Adam, will always belong.

Jezebel of Slumber

I never want to meet the girl of my dreams,
that jezebel of slumber
The amalgamation of my subconscious sleeps
understanding of perfection
For upon the meeting with this reality,
we both would surely find
That just as her I too am not the lothario
of truthful late night construction

The Jester That He Was

-He wore his falsified happiness
Like a clown wears greased up white
And hid behind a painted smile
His nose blistered, red and bright
-This told more of his alcoholism
And his efforts to conceal
The gathered lonely sadness
That deep inside him was so very real
-And every day he drug on his suit
For the world that called him out
He would wander into the crowds
And smiled when he was in doubt
-Realizing one day the jester that he was
He stopped and reconsidered his plight
And stepped into the path of the bus
Just before the changing light

Leeches of Artistry

I created you
Carved you to
Flesh and bone
From ink and wood
I formed you
Breathed life into you
Fed you on a diet
Of sweat and blood
Of anguish and anxiety
Of heartbreak and horror
Of anger and need and desire
I am you
And you are me
And we are one
And I held you to my mind
And gave you words
And expressed your emotions
I shaped you from nothingness
Molded you out of a wink
A mental nod
And I loved you
Adored you’
Honored you
Cherished you
Dreamed of you
And with sweating palms
And quaking fears
I set you free
To find your place
To seek your soul
In others eyes
In other s whims
In other s visions
I cried
Often
Bitterly
Openly
With remorse
With sorrow
Not knowing your fate
Knowing your loss
The bitter sting of your absence
Waiting
Wondering
Hoping
And you returned to me
By way of others
In pieces
Parts of what I had envisioned
Bits of my love and adoration
Altered
Mangled
Destroyed
Meaning lost
Purpose not understood
And I flung the shattered remains
Slung them to the heavens
Where they should have been received
And clenched my fist
And held it high
And shook it madly to the stars
Crying out
‘Damn you leeches of artistry!’
‘Curse you foul blind ones!’
‘Dare you touch what is beyond you?!’
And then I lowered my clutched digits
And spread wide my hand
Tossing off that unseen loss
To the deafening, uncaring earth
For they may have the mangled remains
Of the creation of my heart
But only I may have the vision of her soul
 

Gods in Sport

Why, Eros, Why?

Have you turned so bitter?

Must you burden me with that which I cannot carry?

Have you conjoined with Chronos?

Why pass you twenty turns of the glass between she and me?

Why do you in a drunken revel with Bacchus conspire to torture one soul for sport?

I beg you, withdraw you jibs and jest.

No more, you cruel gods.

She is too precious.

She is too perfect.

She is too much of beauty.

She is too much of mind.

Would she were my Gallatea

Would I were her Pygmalion.

Patience

Tortured soul cry not for you are never alone.

There lies in you beauty yet unbound.

Passion unbridled.

Love so pure: So innocent.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Dreaming.

So it will find its release when time

and destiny no longer quarrel

over the tainted sands of the past.

Patience, Love, patience

Eyes

My eyes follow yours, longing, looking, searching.

What would I find?

What would I hope to see?

All that is there is your soul: Your heart: Your being: You. Me.

Oh, yes, and eyes that would not approve.

But I cannot help but look.

You are simply too beautiful: In and out, not too.

Among the weeds

Among the weeds

Choked by others more greedy

I see a flower so beautiful.

Striving for light,

looking for strength,

hoping for a touch of sunshine

Forces

How can it be that I, the immovable object, have met my irresistible force?

I change now, no longer fighting the wind.

Now I bend like the reed, giving in to more than I could ever hope for.

Giving in to a force I should not.

Damn.

My Universe

The universe is eternity revealed

In your eyes I see the universe

In my heart I see your eyes

Fresh Baked Cookies

The sight of you is like the smell of fresh baked cookies to the nostrils

Upon sensing, a smile runs rampant across my face

and my body and soul yearns for something decadent and tasty

Attraction

Toss, turn

Shift, roll

Frown, sigh

Yearn, contemplate

Thoughts, images

Curse, mumble

Sleep, Hah!

Hope and Rainbows

In you, I am chasing a rainbow

looking for a myriad of colors

that run the gambit of the sky

A lofty ambition for a quest that

only leads to heartache and disappointment

…or a pot of gold.

Paths

Grasp my hand and never let it go.

Together, somehow,

you and I will walk through the thorns of life’s harsh paths,

past eyes uncomfortable,

beyond the scope of humanity:

Into the bliss that love creates

and all the beauty of a flower garden

full of roses

Price

You are the beauty I have waited for

You are the reward at the end of the maze

But nothing comes without a price.

Am I willing to pay?

With my life

With my very life

Wrong

It is wrong, I say, wrong.

It cannot be, it is not allowed.

I must go away, far away.

Away from the very thing that

keeps me believing

Away from the fairy-tale of true

love and the hope for thereafter

Away from me

But how can I?

You are perfection

wrapped in beauty

bathed in sunshine and hope

A Knight in Tattered Armor

I am but a worn and tattered knight among men;

My armor tainted and dented, rusted and ruined.

A second false skin to protect me from

those that would do me harm.

Upon a sway back steed ride I

Don Quixote at my side to companion me with

the reality of what I am.

Then comes I upon you, my maiden,

high in your tower surrounded by demons and monsters

Do you want my aid?

Would you allow me to be your savior: Your hero?

If you but nod yeah then I will fight your demons

and monsters and bore you from your castle tall

And in a field of flowers next to a cool stream

remove my false skin of metal

and to you and you alone reveal all that I am.

Burdens

My heart bleeds for you

Cries for your pain

Weeps for the wrongs that life

has dealt you.

Give them to me.

I cannot destroy them

but I can help you carry

the burdens laid therein.

Dancing

There you are again.

Dancing on my ceiling among the daisies.

Where did you come from?

Surely there is a heaven from which you floated.

I see wings of flowers.

I see a soul that is fresh as the wind over a mountain stream.

I see a face drenched in beauty.

Yes, there must be a heaven.

Hold me

Hold me.

Hold me close.

Hold me close to you.

Hold me close to your heart.

Hold me.

Among

Among fields of flowers walk I with you;

Through paths so thick with the musk of beauty that my senses overload;

But it is not those paintings of nature that I smell.

It is you.

You, whose beauty is so pure;

You, whose soul is so innocent despite.

It is you who make me sense.

It is you who make me alive.

Run

Run with me in the rain.

Walk with me in the storm.

Dance with me in the puddles.

Spin with me in the after-glow.

Enjoy life with me.

I will not disappoint you.

More

Eternity is not enough time

Not enough to tell you all I would

Not enough to look at you.

Not enough to love you.

Not enough.

I will need more.