Some Old Poems I Wrote

TO BE OR NOT TO BE
my train of thought gets bad gas mileage

but i believe i'll be.

i hope for morning,
stiff like jeans worn
swimming in the Atlantic.
Frantic, panic, Static, Elastic.
Patience for parenting;
Silk double breasted paternity suits for parents.
and God, He paid His child support
in fame if not fortune;
His ever-present involvement left
no question of custody, only
how to distribute the effects
after life after death.
His grace like blood beats hearts
to heart beats and after all
there is no breath to breathe,
the pay-off for belief
IS TO BE.

Can you imagine what sight it
must be for mountains to move
and make ponds of seas just at
a word and waving hand, The
Beginning and The End, my God:
the landscape developer,
innovator of graphic design,
naturalist environmentalist,
Tree-hugging feminist,
Loudly cheering revolutionary
Barbarian family oriented
Father who rocked the Earth
(Violent)
when His only boy became
the lamb on the altar;
asking, "Why don't you see me, Father?"
I believe. I WILL BE.


I Could Make Excuses, too.
Spending so many seconds
sitting still, I contemplate
motion - Yeah, I complicate moving
and sketch a smile - I'm losing
my mind in the midst of life,
oh dreams tonight let me know
does this train have some
get up and go?
or, you know, am I out here alone,
stressed out by circumstance;
I choose to sleep not dance;
I choose a computer screen over
Travel and place bets on a four-leaf clover.
The plastic kind you find
on walls Mid-March and
I wish it would fall apart
So I could wish upon a shooting star
or blame my stationary status
on a gas-hog car.

I sometimes wish I was Waldo,
blending in to exotic locales,
but with better fashion sense.
I wish I could tell the future
in the present tense and
life suggests that the more I trust
the less stress I'll be blessed with.

So, on Tuesday the twentieth
I'll smile and raise a fist
for unity, comedy, and everything else
like dreams.


strike the match!
this building is on the verge of collapse -
a glass-littered floor,
the tattered remains of a door
and drought-dried frame await
a flame to take them away.
all it'll take is a spark,
and everything that's been built up
will crash down and fall apart.
all that's been so dear
will fall to flames, yeah,
the way will be cleared

and like an island in the ocean
something new will rise from the ash
and awe will replace awkward
in a flash of light - in a day bright night

strike the match!
this cigar won't wait forever to celebrate -
and this glass of champagne,
this last bit of yesterday
anticipates a tomorrow
even more different than today.


**Her Sullied Name**
Her sullied name is sex,
And to see her best, I suggest
You ask her to please undress.
You see, it seems we've clothed her
In disrespect.


The Letter R.
i wrote a letter.
it was "r" -
and why, I don't know,
but knowing's not worth the
moments spent
thinking which to write.
Right? Left on my own,
entertainment plays out
in letters.
Like Wheel of Fortune, but I
never buy vowels,
and my clues come out grunts
and moans
frrrrrrghs and mmmmmmmhmmmms,
the expressions,
expressing,
the sinking
feeling
in my
gut.
when i've got nothing.
Nothing but writers' block
and one letter.
It's "R"
if you were wondering,
then maybe you should think about
doing something
more interesting.

to add to r, i write
words, randomly and sporadically
starting with the twenty most common -
the, of, to, in, and, a, for, was, is, that,
on, at, he, with, by, be it, an, as, his -
and marvel at the masculinity
of our verbosity.
and more than half of english words
end with e t d or s.
and yet, still, i have one letter
It is the letter "r"
and add to that writers block.


11/3/06

The space between my thumb and index finger
states in thick black sharpie, "1P1:3-12."
A silent reminder to shut my eyes
And push aside the negativity that I find
Choking me.

In the unsuspecting second before
The head-on collision we never saw coming
We whistled along to Karma Police
And smiled,
What we should have said was
Goodbye, I love you,
I'll see you in heaven,
but regrets are worthless.


SCALPEL, NURSE! I NEED TO OPEN THESE VEINS.
Let's open ourselves up and tangle our veins;
Braid them together like ponytails in first grade.
You could be my heartbeat cause I let mine break
Back when we were still playing puerile games.
Doll, your pulse whispers a mourning rhythm.
You cradle my heart, an orange left in the street,
And I caress your face, striped by tears;
We fall asleep to the constant, throbbing beat.

Let's open our minds and see what's inside mine
Cause gray matter matters; I'm seeking black and white,
A simpler explanation for paradox and puzzlement,
Anything I could use to fuel the fire.

You speak in whispers knowing that I can't hear you,
(The hum from holding my breath speaks volumes)
You laugh at my requests for repetition,
But that's the way I learn my lessons,
(I'm holding my breath for perfection,
But black creeps in on my vision,
And you vellicate and I exhale violently)
Like my scratched vinyl I repeat unexpectedly.

Let's be one, conjoined twins, I'd invite you in
If I thought I could keep you out,
No, you seem to always seep through the cracks,
Like January air in this house from 1954.
With open hearts and minds, we're susceptible to cold
So lets climb into bed, we can dress like a centerfold.
You never know where this promenade will go,
But its okay; we never have to feel alone
again.