Staring blankly at the wall…it almost acts as an inner movie screen…I sit back and rewind time in my mind. So many flashes up there…days fly into weeks into years into memories that seem like a movie of someone else’s life. I casually nod off into my daydream while staring blankly at the wall. I follow the path I’ve made…the one that winds loosely through my history…feeling such an array of things in the span of a few seconds. How do I stop and ponder on one when one naturally leads into another one and then repeats the pattern over and over again. I feel my ass slipping off the pseudo-plush seat while at the same time I become consciously aware of my slouching posture and a few curious side-glances from the other poor slobs stuck here in waiting room limbo. (There’s nothing I hate more then waiting rooms. Set out some cots, let us recline…yeah, recline. Bring in some recliner’s, let us snooze while we wait…maybe pump in some music, personal stereos mounted on the wall next to the recliner’s with some kick ass headphones. They can call you over an intercom that pipes in over the headphones. Yeah. But I seem to have slipped off the subject) Why is it these journey’s into yesterday don’t come when I am sitting under a tree on a fine spring morn? Why can’t my life be that picture perfect one that was promised to me so long ago in some childhood poem? Where’s the White Rabbit to show me the way. I’ve poked so many holes trying to catch the dream but it always alludes me, confuses me then loses me when I need it the most.
streams of dreams
came to me…
i know it’s there
locked up in me…
dying streams of
had the key
has the eye
that always sees
bits and pieces
it sets free
waves of dreams
wash over me
my mind is burning
has got me
the tide starts
has got me
echoes bouncing off the walls
and childhood songs
i know the tune
and hum along
forgot the words
of yesterday’s song
and blinds my eyes
grab and find
in my mind.
to always search
but never find.
the streams of dreams
i wish i can speak to you true & clear, loud enough so you can hear but…i cannot.
i wish i could paint the perfect picture, strokes so fine and colors so bright, make your eyes see the light but…i cannot.
i wish i could sing all the ranges of the scales where my voice doesn’t fail & fall apart but…i cannot.
i wish i could dance like a ballerina’s prance & walk on clouds, the beat my feet would pound but…i cannot.
i wish i could rhyme & keep time in your mind with these words of mine but…i cannot.
i wish i could snap pictures, a camera in my brain that would try to explain these things that i see but…i cannot.
i wish i could open my soul to the world, a hole that would spread all these things i just said but…i cannot.
all i can do is give my point of view & reach out to you & you & you over there & you in the air & you & you & you.
i got a few gifts but my wrapping’s not perfect, the bow may be frazzled & the paper is torn & my technique is worn out but it’s all i gotß & i hope it’s enough to say what i feel when my soul starts to reel off rapid heart thoughts & i hope that my ink will sink into paper & you’ll drown in the ocean of pages.
i hope that my strokes…although not the truest & the colors not the bluest…may paint on the canvas my soul’s wishes.
i hope that you’ll see me dancing along to my cracked voice’s song & that you’ll dance along like no one but god is watching.
i hope that you’ll see this, i wish i could make you but i’m not the creator, just the curator & i wish that you’ll feel this love in your heart from sunrise start ’til the sky turns to dark but as i said…i cannot.
the ones for me have always been
the mad ones,
the manic ones,
the passionate ones.
the ones who can look at the crooked aged tree and see the beauty in its twisted limbs.
the ones whose eyes catch the horizon set fire in the dawn and their breath is stolen by the view.
the ones who devour a piece of prose and lick their lips, wanting more needing MORE!
the ones who hear music not with their ears but with their souls and even if their limbs lay limp their spirits are dancing with wild abandon
the ones who ride the wave of the moment, uninterested in what happened or what will happen, engrossed in the now and here.
the ones whose inner beat inflicts those around them, setting the tone, the rhytym, their momentum is contagious.
the ones whose eyes do not hide but show the true color of their souls. the ones who light fires in the minds of the frozen masses, bringing mad thoughts and swirling visions to a sad gray world.
these are the folks that are for me.
these are the folks that understand me.
these are the folks that are kindred souls, these are the mad ones that color my world.
these are the ones i have in mind when my fantasy turns to reality and i have my stage to speak with my tongue on fire from a spirit ablaze with life. cut from the same mad cloth in the same mad pattern, brought to this world with the same mad purpose…to bring the truth to the forefront and to knock down societies walls and to free the flow of divinity from the dam of mediocrity.
the ones for me are the mad ones,
always have been and always will be.
their sidewayed glances
dance with me
for once I’m free…
only they wish they can be.
Too bad I can’t just break my head
and feed the world with the fruit of my gourd.
Make their belly’s distend with the savorin’
of my flavorin’
that is boiling
in my blood
as I speak with this twisted tongue
that no one else seems to comprehend.
Just a crazy talkin’
sideway glance me
but don’t be rude
just leave me be
and see me free
just walk and talk
along with me.
now allow me to wax poetically sympathetically to the nationality of breeds out in this vicinity who take things so goddamn seriously and only see the reality they choose to be seeing and being who they were told to be being while us society deficiant vultures venture to the pharmacy physician to fill our scripts with around the corner hospitality to quiet our brain activity allowing me to flow free poetically and not giving sympathy to those fuckin folks who may not “understand” me. this me that I am being is the me I’m meant to be being and I’ll wax poetically if I choose to and I’ll wear my heart on a sleeve if I choose to and I’ll bite your hand if you get too close if I choose to but then again, maybe I won’t if I choose to. But that choice is mine and I guess that’s the reason and the rhyme for this ranting and raving I’ve been spraying all over this page while silently praying these words I say may never become a crime.
What’s going on in our world today?
War and hate
and is it too late
to save our skies?
Our fragile world quickly dies.
Hear the cries of the extinguishing creatures,
birth defect children with monstorous features?
We hate them
but create them
and then we ask why.
Isn’t it OK that they should not die?
What’s going on in this world tonight?
How can we turn it and make it alright?
Car bombs rocking the buildings to rubble,
terror in hearts, our souls are in trouble,
please hurry up God and make it a double.
The hatred is growing,
the red blood is flowing
and we don’t know if you’re coming or going.
What’s going on in the world this morning?
The rich keep riching and
the poor keep pooring
and the old man upstairs is taking a nap,
the thunder you hear is only his snoring.
Children get madder
their friends and teachers
in nonchalant matters.
The Mom and Pop stores have all gone away,
mommy and daddy smoke crack and decay.
Grandma and grandpa have nothing to say,
they’re grateful they’ve got one foot in the grave.
Who out there will try to help us?
Is there no oneout there to save us?
With everyone taking the love no one gave,
what’s going on in this world today?
I’m a seer
a midnight mover
a midnight walker
and a midnight talker.
Midnight’s got me tossing and turning
the things that I dream
have got my mind burning.
Gotta remember, gotta hang on
gotta make note, gotta belong
gotta do what I can
the message is clear
the meaning of life
sits so far yet too near.
I’m confused and I’m lost
I’m abused at a cost
I’m turned upside down
around and I’m tossed
as the hands keep a’moving
and the beat keeps a’streamin’
and there’s nothing I’m provin’
‘cos it’s nothing but dreamin’
and nothin’ is somethin’
‘cos it all has a meanin’
the midnight me sees
what the wakin’ me’s missin’
If I’d only shut up
if I only could listen
I might catch a glimpse
of what I’ve been missin’
but the alarm rings out
in the predawn of night
and my feet get a’movin’
while my mind holds on tight
I’m no longer a seer
I’m no longer a doer
I’m just grasping for straws
but it’s not a fair fight
as my dream starts to crawl
away from the light
I’m trying hard to find myself. I looked high and low…in the dusty crawl spaces, under yesterday’s ragged boxes, at the stained bottom of my old coffee mug and even thru the cracks in the sidewalk. Who knows, maybe I’ll find myself somewhere between these letters and words and p.u,n?c!t;u:a(t)i”o’n-s…stranger things have happened, believe you me.
I could have sworn I saw myself on the shit-eating-grin of Mr. Moon man on my latest canvas. Smiling at nothing and everything at once, tinted in fiery reds and oranges and yellows in a swirling sea of blues and greens…
…but then again, maybe not.
I also think I caught wind of my trail somewheres around the Tropic’s, Val and I chasing down the night without a penny between us and loving – every – minute of it. He told me to just live…”joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely…” He told me so many things…screaming whispers of midnight exploits, crazy cunts he’d fucked in the hall, hearty meals on someone elses dime, days filled talking at the café, drinking bitter Absinthe and wrestling with our muses. He lives and I live with him, myself and Val painting the town any damn color we choose…
Perhaps I’ve been right here all along, stalking me in the shadows of the evening shades. Out of the corner of my eye I see me and when I turn to catch me I’m gone…poof…an elusive SOB I be. But either way I know we’ll meet someday when walking down the street and maybe we’ll mutter a quick how-ya-doin’ and maybe we’ll go catch a cup of joe and ponder the life at the bottom of our mugs. Who knows? Stranger things have happened,
believe you me.
“The scientist has marched in and taken the place of the poet. But one day somebody will find the solution to the problems of the world and remember, it will be a poet, not a scientist.” Frank Lloyd Wright
the thumping heart beat
seems to get louder
with each passing moment
we bottle it up
pass it around
the momentum catches
the glorious wave of change
comes crashing down
and we are on the brink
of boiling over
spilling and filling
seeing and being
flowing and glowing
the fire is spreading
in this twirling world…now
our voices, our choices
bringing the forces of change…now
the whole mad swirl of
everything to come begins…now
we’re a part of this everything
setting yesterday on fire
and taking the reigns
of the moment
we watch it
we whirl and twirl it
in our collective creative hands
the poets shall inherit the Earth!
yes, it’s true.
the mad ones whose slacked jaws
hang loosely, words flowing easily
speaking raw truths
the poets who speak freely
of what hangs heavily
around their hearts
the poets shall expose the bankrupt world
the poets hide for no one
is afraid of no one
never owned by no one
the poets shall be the voice-box of truth!
no one knows
what will be exposed
from the blue-eyed soul of the poets
the poets shall not quiet down!
the sad and passionate ones
the dry and high ones
the mad and manic ones
the poets shall ride the tides!
it’s just a matter of time
when the reasoning in the rhyme
will rise to the forefront and finally
knock down societies fragile walls
and free the holy divinity
from the broken, old hands
the poets shall inherit the Earth!
and the world will fare better for it.