Welcome Back

featured in the poetry forum August 27, 2011  :: 0 comments

It’s been awhile. It took a spell to feel well but now I’m back on track. Ol’ Humpty Dumpty me fell off the wall carelessly and my broken pieces scattered thin and it took all the King’s horses and forces to put me back together again. But, I am back…

I’m finding my heart again. Seems all I needed was a kick in the seat and just a little traction for my wayward feet. Now… I’m planted firmly (sorta) and my head’s back on straight (kinda) and my mind ain’t dwelling and cloudy and shouting at my sleeve bleeding heart which is finally starting to feel and thumping excitedly at all the possibilities awaiting me. The ticker was sick but not no more. What’s opened up with all this reconstruction from its mass destruction is a bigger door! From my heart’s shore to its other shore, from tip-top ceilings to down low floors! Now there’s room for so much more. I am back my friends and ready to feel.

I’m finding my eyes again. I’m no longer staring at yesterday’s whats, whys, whos and whens. I grew so tired seeing only yesterday’s classes with half-filled glasses. Now I’m looking out and seeing what is presently. My eyes have longed to see the here and now… soaking in this urban scene, quietly chaotic and loudly serene seeing hot assed summer breezes waving dreamily to the pock-holed pavement, Tejano music bloating and fading, floating and falling, accordion chords ricocheting off these technicolor walls on this X+ street seeing all kinds of beat and diggin’ on how beautiful it feels to see again. I am back my friends and ready to see.

I’m finding my ears again. All I kept hearing was chatter and lies, soul shaking sighs, breaking good-byes. But they opened up and I’m ready to sit and listen, to really hear, to perk up and give you my undivided attention and to fully absorb all these pictures you’ve been saying and praying and hoping just to be heard. Speak to my years, sing to my tears, shout to my fears, whisper in my ears, I hear you. I truly do. I am back my friends and ready to hear.

I’m finding my voice again. It was cracked and weak, ignored and meek. But it’s no longer keeping quiet. I got some words that have been waiting to speak, patiently sitting and bidding their time to bounce out in shouts out of my mouth and pair up and make them some rhymes! I’ve saved up a few stories or two too, believe you me. And my shout is back on, along with my whisper, too. They’ve just been waiting for the right time to play and say… “The time is now!” because I am back my friends and ready to speak.

I’m finding that the finding finds me finding more doors. Discovering something everyday as I’m scratchin’ at my surface. There’s still a whole lot more of me left to explore in this quest of rediscovering all of me. But you know what I really feel? I feel back, my friends, and really feeling real.


featured in the poetry forum November 6, 2010  :: 0 comments

I’ve seen the rains of changes
come crashing down in torrential waves

But it had been awhile for me

it had been awhile
since I’ve felt the rains of change
wash down these cheeks
it had to have been a few decades or more
not since I was no more then four.

I thought I grew immune to the tears,
(big boys don’t cry, big boys don’t cry)
I couldn’t imagine I’d ever hear
the tune of this grown up man
& breaking down

But one day, one day the clouds in me
threatened to finally break free
As the blowing winds stroked my parched cheeks,
and the skies began to crumble
the lightning ripping thru to those
broken dreams,
stolen things,
used to be’s,
woe’s are me’s

and once the rains came they didn’t stop
they started with a drip and a drop

drip drop
drip drop drip drop

And I cried for all the things I failed to shed tears for – drip
I cried 34 years worth – drop
I cried all those held back tears – drip
I cried for childhood fears – drop
I cried for the the ones that used to care – drip
I cried for the long lost years – drop
I cried for world despairs – drip
I cried for the dearly departed – drop
I cried for the gone good-hearted – drip
I cried for the disappearing dreams – drop
I cried just for me – drip

I cried just for me – drop

And I cried

I cried for all I was

drip drop

And I cried

I cried for all I am

drip drop

And I cried

I cried for all I will be

drip drop

And I cried

drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop
drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop

til finally the rain ripped a hole in my sky
and all I could do to stay sane
was keep on crying
and oh how I tried
to stop the storm
but it kept on coming for more
and I kept on crying

drip drop

the tears rolled down my cheeks
in streams, in rivers, in crashing waves
pounding on my shores

drip drop

and my once parched cheeks
welcomed these rains of change
and as each one fell it relieved the pain
that I kept so deep inside me
until finally

I let go
I released my hold
I opened my soul
to the raining skies inside

drip drop

I let go
I allowed the clouds to open up
I welcomed the storm
I let the rain drops flow
and fall from my eyes
and my once dried up, thirsty baby blues
took on a different hue
as they swam in these streams
from these rains
washing down my cheeks

drip drop

each one falling from me – drip
calling to me – drop
reminding me – drip
that this storm is – drop
healing me – drip
releasing me – drop
cleansing me – drip
opening me – drop
baptizing me – drip
freeing me – drop

and the drips and the drops
of this internal storm
began to stop


and the sky opened


and the sun shined down
upon me

once again


featured in the poetry forum May 31, 2010  :: 0 comments

Twenty years erased and faced with buried memories of some other me from some other time and from some other place. Something was said which set-off thoughts in my head and I was whisked off to desert lands of oil and sand while in my cozy corner. Finding myself halfway across the world remembering…

Devil Dogs & M16s.
Camaraderie & war machines.
Fragile farewells & goodbye to our families.
Live-fire dry-runs & everyday MREs.
Letters from home & sand storming breezes.
Spades was the game & hating the enemy.
Watching our backs & getting home strategies.
GI Joe games & barely nineteen we be’s.
Not old enough to drink but could kill with ease.
Smuggled porn mags & uptight Saudi’s.
Sista sent candy and found hidden doobies.
Shield became Storm and we hunted Iraqi’s
“Gas! Gas! Gas!” & “Where the hell are we?”‘s.
Young old salts & old young newbies.
Just trying to get by & survive the atrocities.
Surrendering armies and our easiest victory.
Homecoming parades & tied yellow ribboned trees.
Semper Fi’s and remembering “when we”‘s…

Twenty years later and I find I can still be brought back to that some other me from some other time and from some other place, silently remembering these memories I know I will never forget.

Who the Hell Am I?!

featured in the poetry forum April 16, 2010  :: 0 comments

I’m a nobody looking to be a somebody in any way I can. Or perhaps a somebody that nobody but me notices. Either way, I can’t help but wonder why my words and day screams and insane rantings and ravings aren’t splashed across every page? Isn’t it just a travesty? A crying shame? Why must I suffer with the hunger and pain, with the knowledge that I should be a somebody that is something more than some sometimes piece of shit, lazy fuck? My mad dreams tell me so. My swirling gut tells me so. My whole being tells me so when it does twists and turns for no reason at all. What else could explain that empty feeling growing in my chest, in my mind, in my soul, in my art, that never seems to be satiated…sits thirsty and gnawing and there’s nothing I’ve found yet to shut it the fuck up.

Who the hell am I?! I’m a-knocking on 40’s door and still wondering why and when and how I got moved into the 35 – 50 demographic. Damn! I fear age. I fear the clock’s tickings and tockings and the days passing and the months falling and the years rolling and…and…and what’s that ache I’m feeling in my knee, in my wrist, in my stomach, in my temples, in my heart. And my almost-40 year old heart, it tells me to hurry this shit up ‘cos time is running out and wouldn’t you know it, bad tickers run in the family. Shit, why not have another smoke and give this some more thought?

Who the hell am I? A dreamer without a bed. A writer without a plot. A painter without a brush. A Midas without the touch. A bong without a load. A big fucking cock with no fucking pussy. Do I need to keep going? A rummy without a bottle? Or how ’bouta druggie without a jones? I got it…a whore without a john! Yeah, I like that one. Picture painted enough for you? I sure hope so.

Who the hell am I?! I’m Johnny Olson, that’s who the hell I am. And if the name rings a bell then you’re probably knocking on 40’s door…or more…too. You’re probably thinking… “Tell us who our next contestant is, Johnny Olson” “Well Bob, it’s Joe Shmoe! Joe Schmoe, come on down, you’re the next contestant on the Price Is-goddamned-Right!” Oh, and don’t be confused with the weasel friend of Superman, Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy/Johnny OLSEN/OLSON. That’s right, I’m Johnny Olson. Write it down, make a note of it. I’ll wait. I got all day night.

Bright & Easy

featured in the poetry forum December 11, 2009  :: 0 comments

O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child, things’ll get brighter

I hope and pray these words ring true.

We are coming to a place
in this collective race in history
when we need some divinity
Our world is crumblin’
Our futures tumblin’
and the bright future that
was promised to me
just isn’t as bright and easy
as they said it would be
as they hoped it would be
when they sang…

O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier

When? When will they?

Sometimes there seems to be
nothin’ but trouble a’brewing
scrolling headline news crawls
scrolling in my mind…
useless wars, needless famines,
fat-cat economy crashes,
angry earth weather clashes
this global we that we be
in our collective entity
needs to see that…

O-o-h child, things’ll get brighter

I pray that this is so.

I pray every day
that every everything’s
are gonna get easier
are gonna get brighter
but I fear they must get harder
before they get easier
and I know they must get darker
before they get brighter
I know.
I know.
I know they must.
So I pray and I trust that…

O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier

I feel the shifting.
My spirit is lifting.
The overriding tides of
love and compassion
of harmony and peace
washes over me in divine waves

O-o-h child, things’ll get brighter

I am cleansed by the realization
that I am the love
I seek to feel
that I have the compassion
I need to heal
that I am the harmony
that makes me real
that I have the peace
I long to feel

it is me
it is you
it is we

lets believe that…

O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child, things’ll get brighter

Right now…right now…

I know. I know they will.

Mad Circus

featured in the poetry forum November 6, 2009  :: 0 comments

This swirling illusion
is only a fusion
of creative energies
forming a synergy
which completely
transforms the ordinary
according to the
quintessential strategy
of transcending humanities
increasing mediocrity
by joyously
and drunkenly
this creative energy
and expressing living in
all its raw honesty
in this fusing unity
of collective communities
thru sandblasting
the senses
past these present tenses
creating and curating
this moment in time
that’s a timeless, weightless,
pageless, ageless
circus of madness
and rhymes.

The Whozit Who Knewszit

featured in the poetry forum September 4, 2009  :: 0 comments

The Whozit’s who knewzit don’t knowz it no more.
The Theyzit’s have done it and stolen the door.
The Themzit’s have moved Therezit’s to some faraway shore
while the Wezit’s can see it when knocked to the floor.

The secret for Wezit’s written on walls
penned by the Whozit’s who wants justice for all.
The Theyzit’s and Themzit’s never heed to the calls.
The Wezit’s sit patiently as the walls start to fall.

The door, you see, that the Theyzit’s have stolen
sits closer to Wezit’s the more that they’re growing.
For the Wezit’s and Uszit’s must bridge Therezit’s door.
If not, the Whozit’s who knewzit will knowz it no more
‘cos the Theyzit’s will take it and destroy it for sure.

The click-clock tick-tock mocks as the Uszit’s chase time,
the Wezit’s find keys to mold into rhymes.
Amazing things these Wezit’s ‘n’ Uszit’s will find
while crawling and clawing and gnawing their minds.

And the secret, it gets closer
and the shore, it grows nearer
and the route, it is clearer
and the time, it is dearer
and never ever ever fearer
the Super Wezit’s’ n’ Uszit’s are right over herer
to welcome new days!

As for the Theyzit’s and the Themzit’s?

Well they’d bestest fly away.

the mad ones gather ’round…

featured in the poetry forum July 4, 2009  :: 0 comments

to say their words,
to play their songs,
to dance their jig,
to snap their fingers,
to clap their hands,
to hoot their howls,
to boldly go
where mad ones




to the swirling frontiers of
creativity, sensuality, comedy,
insanity, divinity, sexuality
& maybe, just maybe,
even debauchery.

the mad ones gather ’round…

because they feel the seed
of mad expression needs attention
thru the unconventional means
of evolutional revolution.

they speak to their fellow mad ones
who understand the words they recite,
who hear the notes they ignite,
who want a place to share their light,
who want to be a part of this swirling madness
because it feels so right
to be tapped in
and connected to
the collective source
of synchronicity.

this madness is our madness.
this swirl is our swirl.
this moment is our moment.

the whole mad swirl
of everything to come begins




every second,
every minute,
every hour,
every day,
every week,
every month,
every every every there is!

the mad ones gather ’round…

and i’ll be shuffling after as i’ve always done,
after the ones i love the most,
the mad ones.

Blue Notes

featured in the poetry forum May 28, 2009  :: 0 comments

words unspoken
meanings unheard
feelings unfelt

short-termed promises turned to lies
long-termed amnesia’s broken the ties

the buzz of rolling dallas
quiets the night
in abrupt silences
while the weak-day’s erased,
& placed back-burner

plans & promises
sputtered blindly & loosely



if floated words
still carry weight
when sunrise
licks its’ withered edges

ready-made phrases & places
remembered & forgotten faces
lost conversations
hidden by midnight’s blue hue

this night’s now might mean
everything or nothing
depending upon
tomorrow’s misery

but aren’t we so strong
before weakness sets in
profundities, vulnerabilities
insights, spotlights, dead nights

then insecurities become false comfort,
a blanket with holes
that knows something
that knows nothing
& is always out of reach

can we feel this way again?
what keeps the feelings alive?
is it beyond this moment?
will it die & will we die with it?

resurrection’s holding ends with timelines
it’s this bliss with strings
which will bring nothing to the table
when it’s time to eat

this dying feast
this fading peace

satisfaction is fleeting
in all night meetings
of lost-in-time rhymes
& notes blown blue

time ticks by carelessly
as plans & promises
sit in waiting
baiting tomorrow’s destiny

keep dreaming
it’s a necessity

start over
it’s really ok
this night was
as good, as profound,
as open, as honest,

as what it was
as what it is

start over
really, it’s ok
this blue night
was what it was
& is what it is
& will be
what it will be
as long as we…

keep dreaming
it’s a necessity


featured in the poetry forum February 22, 2009  :: 0 comments

click here to listen to the spoken word mix by 10k Poets (spoken word track courtesy of PAO Productions)

Some folks say there’s no voice today that is willing to reach the hearts and minds of the average Joe. You know him. He’s the:

The 50+ hours a week with no OT Joe

The let’s build our lives on shaky credit with a 21% APR Joe

The one pay check away from living in the car Joe

The American dream that’s drifting away Joe

The let’s kill the pain with spirits, herbs and chemicals Joe

The fear for our tomorrow’s in a world chock full of sorrow’s Joe

The class I was born into is going extinct and there’s no moving up but only going down Joe

The masses that passes the classes and still works the mailroom Joe

The man on the street with nothing to eat Joe

The barely legal boys with their lethal toys who play GI Joe Joe

The dying too young my song never sung Joe

The teenager dad who wasn’t so bad but got dealt the bad hand Joe

The drug addicted fool who sits outside the schoolyard retracing his steps to find his way back home Joe

The lonely poet who has lost his voice by no choice of his own Joe

The can’t find it behind them and can’t find it in front of them ‘cos tomorrow may not there Joe

The living in fear of the 6 o’clock news afraid to hear another 3,000 are struck dead in the name of God Joe

The seeker who seeks and finds nothing worthwhile Joe

The fool who struck gold only to let it go up in smoke Joe

The I’m too tired to deal with this head, sometimes I think I’d rather be dead Joe

The coping and hoping for someone to hear their plea Joe

I hear you Joe. And this one’s for us Joe.