Friday, June 24, 2011

Your A Wizard Harry

"Your a wordsmith, Abe."

Uttered in a second, not affixed to one time or place,
Instead a a state of places where we had spent moments
stares and smiles, sighs and dies,
that rolled up snake eyes as the seconds ticked away.......




The moments are rushing and my beat is pulsing.
Some electronica infused, bass blasting burning of boundaries that need not bound me.

Fleeing, running ,
And there is no cowardice,
No fear of police, only relase.

I said good night. I thanked you for the light.
That was the second time and place that I would never again disgrace.

The fox has left the building.
Slinked off back, with hands in pockets, tail twitching along the breeze.
And maybe he'll be back one day,


He has gone,....

Gone Away.


from the perpetual dream state,
The time for dreaming is too late,
The future abounds with endless posibilities,
Inifitity is beyond our sensibilities.

My brother here,
My brother so dear,
The day has come to wake.

And so our mistake,
Was dreaming our life away.

Slumbering sleep,
Was falsely deep,
The waking state,
Can be a scary plate,
Just desserts and fleeting verse,
Can never stop the chiming alarm.

The gentle hands of sound,
Wisened and raw,
Shake us...


Thursday, June 23, 2011

Random Musing

When you walk,
can you sway your hips,
Parting refined lips,
To the sweet scent of roses.

The crosses,
Of the star struck lies,
In the fields of flies,
Where once your heart did occupy,
Now the fiends choose to lie.

You are rotting,
Bulbous growth,
You are stinking,
sour note.

Someday soon

I'll meet you in the morning,
When the new day is dawning,
When most are still yawning,
I'll meet you in the morning.

I'll meet in you in the morning,
Cause a new life is dawning,
Cause I'm tired of wanting,
I'll meet you in the morning.

The day is gonna break,
The time is gonna take,
An eternity is calling,
I'll meet you in the morning.

Someday you'll see,
What I was meant to be,
Instead of always falling,
If you meet me in the morning.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011



Make your inevitable escape,
From this place of chains and restrictions,

Make your hurried flight,
From this place of stifling discontinuity,

The cells have closed the sun,
The bars have poisoned your liver,

The need to run is overwhelming,


Make your labor, you life,
enjoy the frenzied rush of the fevered revolt,

Against standing still.

Movement is life,
Chasing birds and bees,
Life, Winds and trees,

Stagnation equals death,
Necropsy and staunching blood flow.

Feel the screaming of your beating heart.
Relish the revelry of running.

Just be free,
If only for me.

Friday, June 17, 2011


Standing here ,
With my feet planted firmly,
I am stronger than the mighty oak,
That has shielded me in my growth,
In this untamed wilderness.

Standing here,
With my chest heaving,
I am swifter than the hunting wolf,
That has chased me in my dreams,
In this untamed wilderness.

Standing here,
With tears streaming down my face,
I am wetter than the flowing river,
That has drowned me in my innocence,
In this untamed wilderness.

Lying here,
With the stillness of fright,
I am quieter than the darkest night,
That has welcomed me back home,
To the untamed wilderness of the unknown.


The road is longer than our feet can bear,
And there is nothing in between here and there,
One foot continues to ride its path,
One foot in front of the other.

The time for us, continues to slow,
We have no knowing where we'll go,
One foot continues to ride its path,
One foot in front of the other.

The sores burn our beaten flesh,
We start to wish for instant death,
One foot continues to ride its path,
One foot in front of the other.

Someday the journey will be over,
Our destination will be met,
That day will come ever slower,
As we continue with the mindset....

One foot in front of the other.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Pen to paper and still continues the thirst, left wondering why even drink?

Hungrily, dehydrated hands grasp a a cup of glacially cold curds and whey, Wondering when will the day,
Evaporate into still mists of night,
With friends and fiends in sight,
Of the ever watching elipitical eyes,
That watch, and watch and fry,
The mind standing behind a screen,
In dozens of dungeons, miles in between,
The mountains that form the valley of the ache,
Thundering land under seems to quake,
Of non exsitant control scheme,
Ripping the clothing apart at the seam,
Of time, here in the present,
Backwards to the end.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

If I could but taste your thoughts....

Would they be greasy?
Grimy, dirty, filthy, slips of momentary lapses in judgment,
Good clean consciousness.

Would they be crisp linen clean?
A throwback to some childish notion of peace and fair games.
Sun soaked slipping and sliding summers.

Orange saturated autumns.

Glass plated looking glasses at a foreign zoo?

Would they sour?
An acrid atrocity for our fellow man, woman, and child.

The thoughtless tinkering of a sociopathic, soul sucking misogynist.
The Mormon thumbed polygamy.

Would they smell like cinnamon?

A steaming cup of consciousness.
Ramen noodle,
Spinning and swirling away from every spoonful glimpse.

Poetry, pen,
Speech, lips,

If I could but taste your thoughts,
That would truly be delicious,
But food can be bland,
Or gritty like sand.

But hell, that’s just food for thought.


Can the harpies hate filled call,
Crawl from the wings spread tall,
Towering above the sea of our discontent,
Will the end be before us lent-
From  the moment we walked away,
Landing us here today,
Listening to the harpy call,
Wondering what of it all.


When the orchid dies,
And its petals fall like tears,
Will you cry for it?


When the days temperature reaches into the infinite fires of the sun,
Blasting away from the rising asphalt,
The king of the finches flies and fusses over his dwindling dynasty.

Will you wonder where we've been?
Will you whine and wash our broken skin?

Trying to mend our misplaced mourning, for the brother that blasted away boredom.

The seas of tears that cascade upon your face,
Will wash away the taste of waste,
Of a life that seemed full of awe and glory,
Snuffed out in a scene all too gory.

Monday, June 6, 2011

I lied.

Can you answer my question?
Can you read my thoughts?
Can you make me better than I am?

The day began with begging.
Pleading and prostrating in the pitiful pit.
There was no remorse,
There was no reprimands.

A silent shrieking of silence stared back against the stealing sighs.

Warming and wallowing in the wind soaked west, the night leads us good bye.

The earth is the eternal blanket, a mothers lullabye.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Do you want a taste?
Of the sickeningly sweet ambrosia,
Taste its rose color on your lips,
To sing its praise.

Do you want a taste?
Of the acrid amber melancholy,
Taste its rancid fat upon your lips,
To cry out in disgust.

Drink up,
cause its bitter fuckin sweet,
Taste my defeat,
Fill up your cup,
Quaff it down.

Thursday, May 19, 2011


Urgent news!
May I have your undivided attention!
There are riots breaking out in the streets of the mind,
Looting progresses at an uninterrupted speed.
Shattering and crashing cascading glass showers upon the pavement of the cemented soul.
The eidolons of thoughts continue,
 Away against all altruistic endeavors.
All attempts by the constraining superegos goons have been in vain.
Marshal law has been declared, the mans souls is now soulless.
Remain inside your individual heads.
Do not venture out into the street of shared consciousness.
I repeat:
Do not venture out into the street of shared consciousness.
For fear of angry atrocities,
Rape, murder, pillaging and paganism.
Stay, don’t stray out.
If you do, prepare to lay down your arms,
Your legs, give in to disembodied consciousness,
 if you enter here.
The dark corner of cannibalistic consciousness.

Mice, Lark

If I was a cat,
Would I be lithe and fit,
Or overwhelmingly fat?

Would I live in an alley,
Instead if a furnished apartment,
Or would I wander Napa valley?

Could I see in the dark,
Catching mice and flies,
Or maybe a flying lark?

If I was a cat,
Id meow all day.
Great would be that.

Love = dedication. Dedication = loyalty. Loyalty = love.

Swear, to the oaks in the forest, that we walked in our courting.
Swear, to the tides of the sea, that lapped on our bare feet.
Swear, to the sky, that enveloped us in our flight.
Swear, to the earth, that bore us from its breast.

Swear, to the heart, that beats inside our chest.
Swear, to the eyes, that saw your best.
Swear, to the lips, that pressed upon your head.
Swear, to the hands, that held you tight.

Tight, yet still light, enough for you to get away,
Tearing and trying to instill love away,
Here we are, and there we’ll be,
Till that we sweared on ceases to be.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Nice people

Nice people
Nice people,
Have family style homes, a ranch, a loft, a mediocre mansion,
Nice people,
Live in the suburbs, with white picket fences, and lush green yards,
Nice people,
Play golf, not cause they want to but because they have to,
For work,
Nice people,
Have 2.5 kids, the mothers stay home and fathers wear neckties to work,
Nice people,
Give money to charities, instead of their time,
Nice people,
Don’t curse, cause they don’t fuckin need to,
Nice people,
Take family vacations down to the shore,
Nice people,
Celebrate holi-days with their families,

New years- DAY, Easter Sun-DAY, thanksgiving- DAY, Independence -DAY, Halloween -NIGHT, Fathers -DAY, Mothers- DAY, flag -DAY, Christmas- DAY,
And if their Canadian,
Boxing- DAY,
Nice people,
Have the answers, to questions no ones asked,
Nice people,
Don’t kill other people; they just pay other people to kill other people,
Nice people,
Aren’t racists, but there REALLY ,REALLY glad their neighbors look like them,
Nice people,
Are accepting, as long as they don’t have to directly accept it,
Nice people,
Smile, even when they take a jab at you,
Nice people,
Don’t fight, mostly cause they don’t need to, they have the police to protect them,
Nice people,
Shop, Cause shopping is an American past time.

Nice people,
Are just that, freaking nice,
Their just so peachy freakin keen,
But even peaches are rotten on the inside.

So just for reference,
I’m not a nice person.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


Im beggin you,
Take a hold of my hand,
This place scares me,
I don’t know where I am.

Im beggin you,
Look me in my eyes,
Enjoy the view,
See past my lies.

Im beggin you,
Press your lips against my lips,
Flesh upon flesh,
Drink me down in sips.

To the sound of my voice,
Gently spoken against your ear.

Do you even hear?

The desires I have begged you for,

Only moments, only seconds,
“Where are you?”
In the dire deepest depth,
The cell of this forest is closed upon this sight,
A sight,
A sound,
A drowning of stimuli,

Where is the night?
Where has it gone?
You have left in its embrace.

The sound of the morning rise,
Reminds me of your loves demise,
For days ago I held your heart in my hands,
Now the grasp is open, revealing nothing but the sands,
Of the passage of time,
 The erosion of our loving monument,
Breaking, cracking,
 Into shoddy compliments,

Hollow, so echoes the call,
“Where are you?”
Where are you this fall?



Weep and wipe the raindrops tears from your eyes,
Salt, the sea has come from inside,
The earthly heart, the sinew and bone,
Inside it’s hallow is our home,
The den, dug down, keeps us cool,
From the blazing sons of the fleshy ghouls,
Outside, with their fire in bottles,
The cure’s is theirs and their fathers.

War, fighting, disease and strife,
Here, in the den we have none in our life,

The den keeps us cool and safe, free from strife ,

So we watch the end, of the flesh of men.
Staying safe in our deep den,

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

why we fight

Its starts with a gnashing of teeth,
The animals fury is frightening,
The man has left the shell,
The animal has entered,
With an animosity so amazingly austere.

Cries in the night,
Nullify the gentlemens words of withdrawn aggression,
The beast has bellowed, belligerent,
It demands destruction,
It adheres to its animalistic advances.

The fighting forces feel the ferment of an advancing atrocity,
An alacrity so alien to the civilized,
The animal eats its, quaffs it down,
With inhumane celerity,
The man with the bellicose boistering,
Finds fear in the animals furious eyes.

The once present man is an eidolon,
No longer physically present,
The beast has unburdened itself upon the fragile flesh of its foe.

Monday, April 4, 2011

1:45 Fight

Did you get the memo?
Spring is arriving tomorrow,
Shes flying in on the red eye at JFK,
Her baggage will be late two weeks...

due to international stipulations.

Reflecting pools,
Tears stream down the rocky facade,
cause they know that she'll break their solid still beating hearts.

Bringing warmth and adulations,
Pleasant breezes whispered in the night,
Close embraces in a fronds light,
Raging, bringing forth a delicious sensation upon this granite exterior,

Life, lust and joy, unhampered growth.

So cry mountains, let loose your springs of tears,
Though spring will be here before the end of the night,
She'll be gone for good before you'd like.
Eons of epitaphs have echoed for ages,
Through the timeless transversing of titles and tithes,
from all the profound sages,

Knightly courts,
Capricious gentlemen,
Have catcalled cattlemen,
Blasphemed blacksmiths,
Curtailed callers and squirely stitchers.

On goes the gallant glorifying genuflections.

Answer in anvils,
Answer in austere remarks,
Recall, Remember,
Revolt, Relent,


The toiling troubles.

The singular suffering,
was without,
was without,

The true tenacious travelers,
Always answer to the cacophony of the call.


All great men die before their prime,
Die at too soon a time,
It takes bombs, guns,  and fire to stop their flesh,
Their words cut short.

Clay was a warrior of this solid earth,
Sinew upon sinew,

You are a fighter of words,
an orator for taking up swords,

Dictionaries, Theasaurus, Jive Talk,

All great men die before their prime,
Die at too soon a time,
Just look at me,
Im still alive.
Crucify ME,
Make a martyr of ME,

Not that long limbed, ivory skinned,

Cat called christ,
Who spoke the finest jive,
Whose body turned to ice,
Hanging from that cross,
For the souls of the lost,
Down the wrong alley of morality,
Did that COOL cat ponder his mortality?

No that jiving, hippy hipster, Pounded a tambourine,
Swirled in the living, If you dig what I mean,
Turning water into wine, Resurrecting the dead unseen,
That was his living,
That was his moment,
That was his scene.

What a cool cat,
Long hair, sandles, on a goldent throne he sat,
Yeah they martyred him,
For what he had been,
A jiving young hipster livin in a squares den.

Friday, March 4, 2011


Repent o you rambunctious rebels,
The established echelons has excelled at keeping common counterparts in courteous contempt,
Work but dont willfully withdraw from formalized functions,
To expand is extermination
To contest is counterproductive.

Crying is commonplace,
Walking, waking is not.

Talk trash in triumphant tones,
But belligerent biting of tongues is tantalizingly tasteful.
justice isn't blind,
its eyes are green,
reflecting dollar signs,
its gregarious greed.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


Reflect my soul in this moment,
The time it takes is gone in an instant,
Release me from the mundane curse,
You are my captor and best friend.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011



Fear has been in the bellies of men for far too long,
But a catalyst has been introduced,
And Its name is change,

That fear has risen,
Up through the trachea of humanity,
from the mouths of men,
A cry,
A roar,
A rebellious cat call for order through the mayhem,

Fear has transgressed against the dreams of men for far too long,
Now those dreams have proven the victors in the Battle for right,

Victory is ours my brothers, my sisters, my fathers, my mothers,

The dark ages of ignorance and fear mongering have come to an end,

Hold on to your steadfast courage,
Hold on to your conviction,
Hold on to your rebellious hope,

For the fearful night is ending,
And a new day is about to break.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Keep the hallows clean, do not reem the gallows,
The holiday stops, and dancing mops dance along their way,
Hey and ho, low and day,
Upside down reverse and confligerate.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Fur is murder

Tears continue to roll,
from the chained lions,
the bleating lambs,
morose sirens,

Suffrage in the fifth degree,
paid the price,
Put them in zoos,
O how nice,

We are man,
this is our domain,
Follow my rules,
I am not insane,

The world is our oyster,
though pollution kills the orginal,
what will we call it,
when there total is nill,

tears stream from the last man,
when he realizes there is no more land,
no birds calling in the trees,
he has spread, a never ending disease.

Merry Finch

The temperature is frigid,
Though the sun continues to shine,
That doesn't seem to bother you,
As you continue to pine,

Ruffling your feathers,
Merrily skipping from branch to branch,
Life is here in a moment,
Your flight a joyous dance.

Do you recall that time in June,
When you visited my home for sustenance,
In the frigid air you have flown,
Your journey a path of jubilance.

I a giant,
You so small and frail,
If i held you in my hand,
I'd fear I'd fail,

In applying a gentle touch,
To cradle you in a childlike grasp,
For I'm clumsy, A brute,
And You are natures own spun glass.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Free Wednesdays

Here we are in this line at the zoo, waiting to buy tickets for me and you,
Yes its the zoo where mating zebras preform at 12:00 on the dot.
Lions and cheetahs are racing speed demons in their prospective slots,
And hippos are juggling meerkats through rings of fire,
The meerkats for reference have no clue of thier situation being dire,
Siotting around munching on popcorn and popped souls,
The gorillas stand on the opposite side of the glass witht their hands pressed against it.

I hear the other visitors,
"o isnt he cute, it could look like a human. I wonder what its thinking."

The gorilla child,
Looking through the glass,
"I know your out there, and i know your free, and though i may be here, behind this seperation, At least i am here against my choice. Fate has landed me here without a care, except freedom has never been in my voice."

Thursday, February 17, 2011


Let us ululate to the half crescent sun, in our pajamas of skin from the rarest of national monuments, Let he sun come and go, i will still be here.

We are never at home unless their is adventure in the air or the sun continues to shine on my bare neck. i am speeding along the river, i and our passenger full of people. relatives, distant and close, friends,  strangers and liquor bottles. "Fill my cup", as the oither hands steers this monstrosity along at a cool 1000000 miles down this god fearing river, exotic, birds fly over head, letting out squawks along their fight, "you do not belong" stop mowing the lawn. Stay out my jungle, it is my own. But i do not listen, we do not listen,  we are the jaguar, we are the shark, speedily cutting the river with our hull.

The road is dust and i am holding your hand, night, cool and calm and i, we are being eaten alive, in this the jungle of my soul. You hold my hand and i hold yours and i feel no sex, no desire, no heating in my private parts, instead we are the children in the yard, boy and girl, but sex doesnt not divide us. We are simply you and i and here we are walking in the unpaved, untamed road  of my jungle.




Madmen run this world,
witht their religious fantastic fanatics,
Grasping the arms of hallowed out husks, the animals inside their eyes have been culled, castrated, killed.
WHOA , joey says to blossom, a flower, a fury of fantastical fuming visions.

cries that ring,
PAST the empty echoed halls,
PAST the wooden cemented celings, high on high in the sky, floating
PAST a boeing 747, carying precious teeny boppers and disney wards,
PAST the sun, the moons and the sands of the sky, into the visceral, guttural, existance,
Dissolving into the universe in strands of prepubescent adrenaline,
sighing, sighs, on highs that never last long enough,

Yes there madmen are on the streets, hiding inside alleys ways and dark corners that corrigate from the rain waters,
Tears of victims, that splash on the faces on the ill advised reporter covering the story that will eventually make the six oclock news,
Blasted into "living rooms" in tenaments,
a block away,
that will stuff the TV, frozen, ill packaged rabit entrailed meatloaf into their mouths and disgustingly say
'What a pity" or "No ones safe."

Damn right you maniacs, you heathens, you freaken lunatics,

no ones is,

cause their are madmen running the streets,

MADMEN dressed in blue jeans,
MAD MEN dressed in blue uniforms,
MADMEN screaming at the corners about the new age nazi zionist alien agenda,

What the fucking hell?
Have we all gone mad?

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Consume -ism

I am alive in an age of lieing,
Politicians and slick soul pickers,
Forked tongue and armani suits,
Smiling god fearing dupes.

I am aiming for a new republic.

Speak your mind and one may find
that things thought and dreamed,
are far from what they seemed,

To the rules of the real world and legal stipulations,

The paper is just that,
While the people are not.

Papyrus people and ancient parchment,

fire lights them all,

No red trucks to the rescue,
There will be nothing left too,

Stipulate, regulate,

Deemed and control.

Manifest destiny, Ego has no soul.


"If was a man i'd make my move."

One foot in front of the other,

We are moving towards a monumentous monument,
A magical misaligned adventure of advantageous sorts,

We will travel hundreds of steps ,
speed will be our sensai,
The road our once forgotten path, is adventure,

We will have fun, funny, funintaneousist
(yes i created it, im an artist)
We will throw our bodies parallel to the earth to meet our destination head on.

LISTEN to me, we will reach our spot, see the beaming reeling face of our irish friend.

We belong together, you me and her, we have it , we dig it, and we will feel it.
Cause we are lolligaging rebels, were rebelious aging renegades,

We are strangers in a very remote adult land.

Friday, February 11, 2011

-To the reader, dont look for purpose. No oedipal complexes or hidden fraudian meanings. I am trying my hand at free hand, a ghostly appartition on what goes on in this hollow space between my ears.-

Little lessons, i need a tyype writer, my face is strecthed upon the concrete the beaming san francisco sun is alighting upon my face. I am a dharma bum , here i am free. perpetually free in this minute moment waiting for the bus.
My fedora, the symbol of my status, an individual, is here, it is my pillow, below my head. My head. Am i smiling? never can i ever really remeber the face i had on, on like a mask, WOULD YOU F_ me i would F me says the serial killer with his junk tucked in, MANGINA, yes a compilation of words, combined, like the souls of me here and yesteryear.

Goddanmit. Why cant anyone here get me a coctail. i am the hunter, not a wolf, not a lion but a thompson. yes a thompson, crazed and chatoic, there are way too many bats here to count. The proper way to deal with a traffic cop is to speed up, gve them a  challenge. FEAR, the first rising fiends of an acid frenzy. Yes spout, but do not pout.

I had friends once. Close, intimate friends, we lied down next to each other in our beds of ferns and sunshine and delved into hope, fears and whiskey. Yes the bottle was full when you got here, yes this is grasss, tea, sodium pentathol. Sitting under the stars on a road to nowhere. We were friends, close intimate platonic friends, that laughed at each other, and cried for each other, feared nothing but disease and strife. Drinking partners and violent offenders, accesories to crimes.  Ranting, but listening friends and there i was cool, there i was indeed a round peg in a round whole. hip , cool. digging it. i had friends once, close intimate, platonic, beat friends.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


" Wake up!!!!"

The alarm chimes  with a non familiar voice. Its dark but the sound of the waking worlds widens my eyes, slit that opens and bright natural light erupts on the back of my eyeballs
SLAM,i merrily say hello to the clock, stopping its incessant wake up call. This isnt a a hotel, there is no cholocate mint under my freakin pillow. The chiming continues

'WAKE UP!!!"

Its not my freakin alarm, its my roomate, J. " Dude, wake the f up" dude, dude due, am i cowboy, isthis the wild west, am i covered in cowsht? The fire starts to burn in my belly and danm is it bright, I explode. "What the hell man, why is it so important i wake up?" He looks at me dumbdfounded, a wounded puuppy look spreads across his face.  This is the first and only time i have yelled, the only time my aggression has been geared toward him.

Sheepishly " I thought you were dead, you've been sleepin for days."

This ass is drunk, did he say days. No way. Now i am more pissed than before. Probably hit the bong before i got up and is on some super freaker trip. " what the hell are you going on about, you better not be tripping man."

Disbelief. Dis -freaking - belief. Clock look. I do and its thursday, noon. sit on the edge of my bed in pure freaking disbelief. What the hell is going on here. J looks at me simply, that identifiable i told you so face all along his grill. I turn on him, "so your telling me Ive been asleep for three days?"

Friday, February 4, 2011

Daredevil Daves Dance with the Deadly Dervishes

Dining and wheeling in dire despair,
Its tantalizing tales of transversing travels will terribly transpire without trained presumptuousness,
To leaven an over loaded life onto lithographic liberty,
one would rather rambunchously ramble over ramshackled ruins of time a tallies transcribed there,
So welcome to a land far from here.

Perhaps to properly portray the projected personality,
Albeit persona,
of the personified person,
We must lenghtly look at the  long and ludicris life.

To begin at the beginning,
The marvelous man of mighty myth,
Traveled through tall tales and trouble in his journey to judiscious justice.

The propagated pen was once protagonist,
while truth twice told was the triumphant tale,
beguiling that beginnings so bright would dimmer dastardly under diluted dimensions of discourse
and deadening desk dealing.

His cell with silent shrinking solitude
kept him dire distraught despair
at the cost of complete cordialty for confining conventions.

Apathy was appreciated if not altogether achieved,
resigning rented reserves of resolute rigidity,
In categorically constraining ones complete control over care
leaving lifes limiting liberties for lasting laughter.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Be my friend Forever, Benjamin Murphy Fiffs

Chilly was the day, when I met the coolest cat I would ever know. The park was the setting, high noon the time and my mind the meeting place. I was traveling to nowhere coming back from a missed appointment strolling along with my overcoat and second hand sweater. I was winded from the walk, a steep hill, and juggling the responsibilities of my unusual life. The somberness of my mood weighed down upon my chest. So I pulled my rear into a seat, to languish in my lolligaggerness. The sky was mostly clear but a few wisps of cumoulus clouds constantly diddling themselves high in the sky.Squirrels dawdling and discoursing on daydreams, as was I. But I was violently awaken from my conscious slumber, by a rambling by my side. I hadnt noticed the eccentric figure to my right, how i could have missed him is beyond my permanent recollection. He demanded attention, commanded respect, his figure stood as tall as the himalayas, his beard mirrored that of its abominal inhabitant. I remember being drawn to his eye patch, the woven facade of a skull outlined the once filled socket.


The shamans hands circled above his head, hands undulating in the phosphorescent smoke of the burning jungles leaves, howler monkeys raucously laugh at his attempts to incorporate the divine. The village is silent, if silence is possible in the midst of a living jungle. The steam is its sweat, it never sleeps, the rivers its tears, the echoes its past, present and future.The eyes of the native children widen as the voodoo doctors hands crisscross over the flames, singeing his skin, his eyes roll back , hes blind. Tongue stretches out , contorting his face in a grimace of what? Pain, pleasure, divine ecstasy? i cannot tell. he lets out a guttural yell, a growl, and for a moment i swear there is a jaguar in the middle of the village, a fierce primordial beast, a killer of men, a myth of legend. The shaman collapses, blood pours from his nose, The elders rush to his side, as the pained face relinquishes a smile. "Auk co wae tae. Sino chuk take." Translation: The gods are angry. There is no blood.

Old Glory

"Keep alive out there." the grizzled veteran yelled to the shaking recruit.

One could hardly hear over the roaring of the engine,the bouncing of the bed and the screams of his country men. The blast echoed all around, mortars, gunfire, echoed all around, ripping through flesh vibrating deep inside against his pounding heart. The veteran had played the game before, he knew the rules or lack thereof. Point and shoot, run and fall, fight and try not to die. The same game his father had played, his fathers fathers, and his fathers, fathers, fathers.
The recruit shook, from his head down to his feet, shook like a child falling into a winter brook. The brook back at home, shook like that time his brothers and him went to the brook in winter, to run, to play, to venture into the unknown frozen land. He had fallen in, after proceeded farther on a frozen bank that was just not frozen enough. He had fallen in, its freezing waters engulfing him, in a panic he tried to call out, but the call was a silent one under the ice. Only bubbles of air escape the icy current. Thank god his brothers had been there or he would have frozen to death under that river, dying ten miles away from home instead of thousands of miles away today.
The veteran eyed the recruit, with paternal eyes that seemed to affect men once they'd seen to many young faces in the dirt. "God how old is this kid, whats he doing here?" A mortar shell erupts, splaying earth across his faces, the sound of mud thudding against his helmet a wanton reminder of the severity of the situation. An inkling of panic rises up, the personal dialogue had kept him off guard. The off setting push into this ghastly reality has caused a moment of discombobulation. But the animal keeps him calm, the man has fear, but the animal survives. The explosions go off all around them, a fireworks display on a deadly level.

Silent Walls

Looking on from the flies vantage point it was plain to see who the murderer was.

Too bad it would be dead before the victim.

The sleuth walked into a crowded room, with flashbulbs going off, a silent echo to capture the nonexistence that took place. " What we got chief?' he asks with one hand on his corn cob pipe, the other in his worn overcoat. " Murder. The fifth one this week." The chief replied with nonexistent lips due to an overwhelmingly bushy walrus sleeping beneath his nose. " This ones younger than the rest."  Shucks, the detective said to himself, the smell of Cavendish twirling about in the air, arcing, circling, ceasing to be. "Scenes been ruined by the press, got here first. Might as well charge them for it and call a day." Its never that easy, the no name detective quipped to no one in the room, it never is. The body was in a chair , turned to a window in the corner of the room. The victims face was serene, almost peaceful, at least that's what the Mr. No Name hoped. Things are never that simple though. "What's the time of death?" Mr.No asks without any particular care, in that moment he's far from there.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Keep Steadfast

Which way do you go when a wall blocks your path,
When wild brush grows with thorns that seem to laugh,
The misfortune is yours and yours alone,
With out the direction of the unknown,
You climb over that blocking wall,
Scramble over that brush and dont fall,
The quickest route is a straight line,
Have no worries your determination will keep you fine.

Mourning had Come, The Life has Gone

Mourning had come to the land.

The wilson's son had kicked the bucket and would soon be brought back to the earth. It had been an accident but there were whispered rumors of foul play. The tears streamed from the eyes of the young wilsons mother, no cotton cloth could hold back her sorrow. Sorrow that echoed across the plains, past the mountains into the wild land beyond.
Solemn, stoic stood the no more wilsons father,standing side by side with the younger son, the living brother.

"Brother, brother",whispers left the lips of the living wilson, falling on deaf ears that could never again answer the oath of blood.

The morning sun rose, shining the light of days so many passed on the wilsons homestead, but this light brought on the day of a new beginning and a sad end. The casket housing young wilsons remains bounced and slid alng the wood carriage of the morticians cart.  Wilsons mother, creeks combining and forging themselves into rivers rolled down her cheeks, the cloth comes up to her mouth to stifle a scream.

"Help your mother boy." the stoic father orders, not able to move from his roots for fear of collapsing to the ground, leaving the young wilson stading alone.

Morning has come to the Wilson homestead.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Why does the caged bird sign?

Ask the question,
Await the answer,
I was born of the chaos, of warring personalties,
battling for control, waging war for preicous liimited resources,

War is my creed, battle is my forging,
I am steel,
Blood shed is my crucible, fear my anvil,
pounded by the pressure of uncertainity,

I was rasied in the zoo, the cages enclosed the man, the shaking let the dog bite,
Daily visitors, prodding, tapping at the glass, ignoring the postings, what a travesty.
No one can read the signs, no ones cares to understand that enternity and purity, have no places in the cage.

Never ending hunt

Give me blood,
Give me guts and glory, 
It starts and ends on this line.

The wolves gather in their packs,
Lions shield themselves with their pride,

Listen to the howl in the night, the air reverberates the call,
Silent, stalking, the hunters move,
Paws pounding, tongues lolling , the heat of the hunt escapes into the mist of the night,
exhalation of life and fire,
There is no fear here ....
Only purpose.