Getting Nowhere

Insanity, this manic key

to damning possibilities,

the storm before a calm

embrace, displacing

and defacing me.

Imagination-killing spree;

ingest an hour’s rest

before investing every

inch of me

      to best

a blank computer screen.

And lo, do I succeed?

Fuck no, but that’s the way

destruction goes, when words

forget their flow,

      effete,

like old, depleted seas.

But suddenly, a spark

ignites ungodly

tides of genesis-light,

a pyre, bright, it smites

my indecisive tendencies.

I feel the turn at hand,

and if I’m any man

      of value,

I’ll be Hercules,

unleashing multitudes

in spiritual liberty.

That’s when I’ll see

the end and every row,

      I sow,

will find its flow,

insanity can go to hell

and finally leave me be.

And when I’m

bullshit-free, you’ll know

the Starry Skies, I see,

and when you close your eyes,

my undisguised

designs will set you free.

For Percy

He lies upon a bed of glass,

In the broken shade of a blackened tree,

As demons shake the ground

With gouts of flame

And the world turns upside down.

He lies upon a bed of glass,

Undisturbed by the discord of war,

Where bullets burst from powder flares

And sinful rains

Howl with deathly showers of red.

He lies upon a bed of glass

And doesn’t see the skirmish’s end,

Nor hear the rallying cry… “For Percy,”

When their nemesis fell

Beneath the grim wheels of vengeance.

He lies upon a bed of glass

And cannot feel the trembling hands,

Of tearful allies, who sob, “Come back,”

Yet find their anguished pleas to go

Unheard by stagnant ears.

He knows not that he left them behind,

Nor cares where he goes from there,

He abandoned all worry

As his soul spilt upon the battlefield,

Where he lies upon a bed of glass… asleep. 

Just Another Saturday Night

I met a girl down by the station,

On my way to a swank celebration,

Said she “wanted to talk”,

So we went for a walk,

Now I’m feeling a burning sensation.

Every Little Bit

 I’d love nothing more than to impart a sampling

Of tantalizing verse to brighten up your soul

When it’s grayed with weariness… I truly would.

Unfortunately, I’m feeling bereft of any poetic

Sensibilities, today, so the most I can offer is this:

Close your eyes and picture sodden magnolias,

Silky and pale, lying upon a luxuriantly grassy bed.

A cool September breeze laps up their perfume

And bathes you as you laze away the afternoon,

Picking out shapes in the opaline clouds, above…

…does that do anything for you?

Spinning Wheels

Nostalgia is a time machine,

Whisking us off

To a faraway past,

When we knew what it meant

      to dream.

Somewhat ironically (as it were),

Didn’t those vivid

Fantasies of our youths

Chart the courses that carried us

      into the present?

Humanity

To civilized minds,

Underrated will always

Trump overrated.  

The View from the Summit

The View from the Summit

It’s been a grueling sojourn to the mountaintop;

Can you remember when your ascent began?

You ached and bled to leave that daunting base

In your wake and will the summit into reality,

And here you now are… planting your victory flag.  

Embrace the sweeping landscape of your success

But stop for only a moment, for aurulent stars

Are within your grasp and a new adventure awaits.

I've Seen This One Before

I've Seen This One Before

Hazy memories,

Projecting in my mind’s eye

Through sentimental filters,

Are nothing but a

Bogus Capra-fication

Of underwhelming events.

Everybody has

Cinematic reflections;

More compelling, I suppose,

But what, then, is real

In our art-house memories…

And can “genuine” compare? 

Nighttime Drive

Nighttime Drive

Misty tangerine

Explosions in onyx clouds…

A storm’s rolling in.

Heading to a Gig

Heading to a Gig

He stands beneath a stop sign…

            …waiting for his ride.

He tugs his jacket tighter…

            …to leave the cold denied.

He left one gig behind him…

            …with one left on the side.

A six-string in his hand, now…

            …some music in his head.

Just waiting for a bus, now…

            …until he walks, instead.

And when the sun lies low, now…

            …he’ll know the day is dead.

Put one foot on the sidewalk…

            …and now it’s time to roam.

Playing blues inside a gin joint…

            …beneath a neon dome.

And when the clock strikes 3AM…

            …he’ll finally make it home.

Barfly

Barfly

Always hidden

at the bottom

of a glass…

Eventually,

being

discovered

in the gutter.

YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!

David Caruso,

Putting on his sunglasses

And… here comes the pun:

YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!