Tuesday, May 24, 2011

passing me by (song)

passing me by
i never even showed up
not sure why

passing me by
i hardly even showed up
not sure why

passes me by
i can't give up
if i never tried

passes me by
i never knew the truth
so i lied

passing me by
i barely even showed up
not sure why

passing me by
i don't want to show up
not sure why

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


your voices
if only they can be as strong
as you hope
shape them with breathe
and fury
to be a slave
to justice

try to ignore their reply
of metal and powder
exhaled through steel lips
shouting faster than the speed of sound

there will be time enough
for candles
and prayers
and martyrs
the wounded and dead
will be tended to
like red memories

do not let your hands
be cuffed
anywhere but
before your mouth
do not let your doubts
be heard
by anyone
by yourself

barricade the streets
and your resolve
half understood ideas of democracy
and rust and wire
words shouted in unison
and disabled  machines
splayed wood and crumpled newspaper
and fidelity to the future

one is a demonstration
the other a crowd
one is a mob
the other a mass

Maybe for the Rest of Your Life (song)

Waiting outside a truck stop where he'll spend the night
Maybe not today, maybe for the rest of his life
Tips his baseball cap at the women passing by
Last year's team weren't nothing
All they did was try

Riding the bus West, watching  her past slip from sight
Maybe not today, maybe for the rest of her life
Packed a bag with regrets and made sure to leave it behind
Pushes her hands in her pockets, wonders what she might find

     None are so blind as those we will not see
     Stepping forward into uncertainty
     Most things don't come easy, even fewer are black and white
     Maybe not today, maybe for the rest of your life

Lost his job in Bakersfield, same as all his friends
Heard there's work out East, in Chicago or South Bend
Kicks his tire and looks across, the highway that's nearby
Everyones in a hurry, most of 'em aren't sure why

Left her folks one night, before her bed was even warm
Snuck out through the backdoor, just like she'd always swore
Momma took her sacraments but mostly drank the wine
Daddy thought himself a prophet, hope he's wrong this time


He leaves his grandma a message to say he's doing fine
Maybe not today, maybe for the rest of his life
Cracks his window, let's the engine run, smell of gasoline in the air
Elvis on the radio, sounds just like a prayer

She smiles on the noisey bus as the rain beats down outside
Maybe not today, maybe for the rest of her life
Leans her head against the window with her jacket on the glass
Falls asleep to the voices, that sound like Sunday mass


Friday, February 4, 2011

hell is a support group

locked down with knees
pressing against the
black underside
uneven & pockmarked by
things added
or things taken away
of a desk borrowed
from the classroom
down the hall,
your leg shakes
when you are nervous,
'sorry we didn't expect
to have such a
turnout tonight'
the loose screws from
the inclined desk
to the craining bar
that leads to the seat
the bar looks like
a swan's neck,
dirty and silver
tired under the
pressures of elbows
and teenager's textbooks
they squeak, the screws,
the desk, the bar, from
your jittering leg
across from you
not directly but
still across, a man
sits with a cigarette
in his hands. the
tip black and stunted,
the man had put it
out underneath his
chair. there is no
smoking, underneath
your chair or otherwise
but he still holds
the cigarette, thumbing
the filter and rolling
it back and forth
between his middle
and index finger
there are times
he reaches into the
jacket pocket he put
the lighter in and
pulls out a handkerchief,
he is older, maybe
in his fifties, but
there are also times
he reaches in and pulls
out nothing, what do
you do with your
hands, while you are
talking or listening,
uncomfortably to others'
stories that are too
similar to yours in
a general sort of
way. what had
set you apart outside
of this room, green

blackboard with Spanish
for tomorrow or
leftover from today's
lesson, makes you the
same here. the man
in the blue, union
t-shirt's son goes here
as does the woman
to your right's
daughter. you went to
a school far away
from here. Sue,
Shirl, Sally, the
woman to your
right, whose nametag
you cannot see
but her name,
you recall, starts
with an "s",
speaks of her problems
as they relate
through her daughter
and with her hands
smoothes her slacks
repeatedly. most
try to keep their
hands very still
the man across from
you, not directly
but still across,
lights his cigarette
again. "sorry i wasn't
thinking" he stabs
it under his desk.
the counselor, commentator,
moderator smiles with
a little too much
compassion and understanding
for such an insignificant
thing. the smoking
man pulls out a
fresh cigarette and
begins rolling it
between his fingers

ashes (song)

- yeah so i'm posting some songs i've written up here too. they are a bit different from my poetry. anyways, i've got music for this as well, but i'm still aways away from posting myself performing-

if ashes
can stay ashes
and dust
remain dust
i want to be

if my thoughts
the night
they would scream

if words
and wishes
could shape
our fates
i would sing

if i could
lay here
with you
all day
i would dream

if every
made me feel
this way
i would paint

if patience
and virtue
burned a deep
blue flame
i would pray

i've written all
your troubles
on a single
and burned it so you could be

i've stared here
for hours
and tried to remember
your face
hoping it would keep you

if ashes
can stay ashes
and dust
remain dust
i want to be

if ashes
can stay ashes
and dust
remain dust
i want to be


-lordy mama mia, this is old, found it amongst some old short stories-

the moon looks like a nail clipping
perspective lost in darkness
car lights collide
separate themselves from who they were
a mistake
they are still separated from the rest
not a safe place to make decisions.
thoughts fueled by something
stronger than reason
it seems
is stronger than reason
that is the reason I am upset
excuse the pun
I know I won’t.
Is reason a healthy state of mind
what the hell is a healthy state of mind
or a mind for that matter
is it matter
does it matter
mind is even more slippery than health
but not as slippery as happiness
and there is no proof that happiness is health
or health is happiness
or that either can exist in a vacuum
there was a time I lived in a vacuum
I wrote a lot of confessional poetry
a lot of crappy confessional poetry
a lot of poetry like this.


there are fields
which have trapped me
and joys which
have stolen
the dyes from shirts
and drawn the second to last
breath from my
i walk with legs
built on songs
sung underwater
by lost sailors encrusted
in stone
the same fury
that punches its way
out of a drunks skull
and turns a child
something frightening and
sometimes horrible
is in my lack of motion
it's in me sitting here
emptying a room
drawing conclusions