Lavender

That night you held the lavender

Beneath your sparkling eyes,

And charmed me with your giddy smile

Under the twilight skies…

As we waited for the concert

You sipped your glass of white.

The thousand voices buzzing ‘round

Thrummed with eager delight.

You caressed the back of my neck,

Your touch a calming breeze.

The multitudes faded away:

Alone among the trees.

Did we breathe among the trees?

Did clouds pass overhead?

Did any clockwork tic or toc?

Was time itself stopped dead?

The noisome thunder of the crowd

And lightning from the stage

Drove us from our sheltered trance,

Back where life’s troubles rage.

As the melodies erupted

I caught your hand in mine

And leaned in for a lonely kiss,

Tasting your breath of wine…

When distance now denies your touch

I wistfully reprise

That night you held the lavender

Beneath your sparkling eyes.

Never

That novel that I never wrote

Is something that you'll never quote;

The characters that never spoke

Rose to a dawn that never broke.

The mountains that I never scaled

Were met by legs that never failed.

The snowy peaks I never saw

Were cold enough to never thaw.

The friendships that I never made

Were full of games I never played,

And laughter that I never shared,

Pretending that I never cared.

For all the things I’ll never try,

Before the day I'll surely die,

I promise that you’ll never see

The fearless man I’ll never be.

Bad Mood

Don’t cross my path today,

Avoid my searing gaze,

Be careful where you step,

Don’t look to me for praise.

I've warned you many times,

Implored you to retreat,

Begged you to take cover,

Before I overheat.

Some stray spark’s ignited

The tinder in my heart.

Soot and ash are falling;

It’s best that you depart.

No Safe Distance

There is no distance safe enough

Once we've become entwined.

My fuse was lit some time ago

By circumstance unkind.

I regret that I’m constructed

Of such explosive stuff

And efforts to reduce the risks

Are never quite enough.

Perhaps a bright red warning sign

Should hang below my neck,

Screaming aloud to those nearby

“You’d better hit the deck.”

So perpetual combustion

Propels me through the years,

Laying waste to those around me,

Compounding all my fears.

Mediocrity

We’re seldom as good as our best

And rarely as bad as our worst.

The middling is where we repose,

Spectating last and first.

In youth we imagine greatness:

No obstacles to block our way,

But passing years dampen the spark

Yielding to beige and gray.

This vision may seem quite dreary,

The lament of an unskilled hack,

But we’re straddling the bell curve

When talent’s what we lack.

Cage Fighter

I could have been a cage fighter,

Or so I like to think:

A burly, broken-nosed brawler

Gushing blood on the brink.

Perhaps a brilliant scientist,

Peering into the sky,

Discovering ancient starlight

Transparent to the eye.

“Pulitzer winning journalist”

Might have followed my name.

Bold headlines would announce my work,

Showering me with fame.

These daydream thoughts dance through my brain

While laughing at my plight.

They beckon me to climb the ring,

Though clearly I can’t fight.

It is so much easier to settle

Than strive for higher peak.

Why risk a mortal head pounding

When comfort’s what I seek?

Anxiety

Undaunted by the sun,

They spiral in slow descent,

Dragging grim shadows

Beneath their

Mottled wings.

Their yellow eyes

Survey my naked flesh,

Exciting their

Tiny brains

With primal appetites.

Ravenous screeches

Prick up the hairs

On my neck

And fill my mouth

With metallic fear.

Swooping past me,

They stir the

Parched, dusty air

And trail rancid decay

In their wake.

Curled into a ball,

I cower helplessly,

Waiting for these

Worrisome thoughts

To fly away.

Nattering Little Monkeys

Nattering little monkeys

Brawling among the trees.

Slapping, spitting, and hissing,

Spreading filth and disease.

They chirp such inane prattle,

They stamp their feet so loud.

The jungle shakes and quivers,

They each remain unbowed.

He grabs a fallen tree branch,

She crouches in defense.

He swings a mighty circle,

She mocks him with pretense.

What petty crime has triggered

This latest rigmarole?

Did her sharp tongue assault him?

Or something that he stole?

No matter what the reason,

They fight like this all day.

To think they both spawned from me:

I shudder in dismay.

Yuppies Laughing

The sound of yuppies laughing

Curdles the retail air;

Hyenas howling at their prey

With no pity to spare.

Long nails are newly polished:

Straight teeth are brilliant white.

With credit cards in platinum,

They’re ready for a fight.

Dior, Chanel, and Prada,

L.V. and sometimes Coach:

They salivate with hunger,

Making their approach.

They prowl around the merchandise

Sniffing at this or that,

Trying on fine silken shirts

Hoping to not look fat.

A glint of gold and diamonds

Flashes when they attack.

Great sacks are filled with baubles,

Of which they soon lose track.

They know no natural predators,

They fear no foe’s advance.

They sit atop the food chain,

They leave nothing to chance.

So scrabble in the cold mud,

Seek safety where you must.

The sound of yuppies laughing:

A sound you should not trust.

The Girl And The Kite

She clutches the spool

With desperate joy,

Delighting in the gentle tug

Of the silky twine.

High above,

The faded nylon canvas

Flutters noisily.

The yearning winds awaken.

Yanked aloft,

Her toes escape the grass

And dangle free.

Giddy relief

Fills her heart

Upon safe return.

As her laughter

Echoes dimly far below,

He stretches

His tattered fabric

Against splintering rods

And is grateful

For her steady grasp.

No Words

Laying one word

Next to the other,

Neatly aligning

Each syllable and beat,

I suddenly find myself

At the end

With no words

Left to set.

What Gift?

What gift
Have I bestowed upon you?

Whose blood
Does your skittish heart pump?

A generation passes

Down from my

Sad eyes to yours,

Furrowing your brow,

Firing each nerve

With violent frenzy.

And I sorrow that

I have no better

Gift to give.

Cocaine Dreams

Still languishing

In fuzzy-headed stupor,

Eyes smoky and syrupy,

Flirting with waking,

I focus my brain on

Slumbering fantasies of
Powdered confection.

In that moment of

Being and not being,

Euphoria and Dread

Become entwined,

And beckon me

With sultry eyes

To join their dance.

A Better Poem For You

You deserve a better poem,

Not that vomitus tripe.

A tender echo of my love:

The dewy, flowery type.

Perhaps a soaring sonnet,

With clever turns of phrase,

Pronouncing deep affection,

Until my dying days.

Compare you to the sunrise?

Or roses in their bloom?

Strung together metaphors

Bemoaning true love’s doom?

I wish I had it in me;

My own brain stops me dead.

The words I strive to muster

Just clank around instead.

Forgive this poor apology,

This self-indulgent scree,

And all the silly nonsense

My poetry can be.

Angry Little Boy

There’s an angry little boy

Running ‘round in all my clothes

Pretending to be grown-up

While picking at his nose.

His suit is quite expensive,

Those shoes? Italian-made.

This boy had best be careful --

He knows how much I paid.

He struts about importantly,

Commanding with a glance,

Puffing out his hollow chest,

Pantomiming dance.

He bellows empty orders,

And stomps impatiently

As all around him cower

And search for ways to flee.

He spends his money freely,

On shiny toys and games,

And stuffs his head with candy

To soothe the burning flames.

He’s good at playing grown-up,

Though it brings no joy.

He fully looks the part,

This melancholy boy.

Undone Things

They recline among the cobwebs,

Vacation in the rust,

Sit high atop the garbage heaps,

And smell of moldy crust.

They dance 'round creaky door frames

And hide in old accounts.

They rollick through my waking hours,

Riding dust bunny mounts.

They gorge themselves on best-laid plans,

Feasting 'til they burst.

These undone things are stalking me:

I’d better get them first!

An Ill-fit Cog

Like an ill-fit cog

Wobbling about its axis,

Tracing empty circles,

Skipping and sputtering

Grinding down its iron teeth

As it vainly labors,

Until finally worn smooth

And left without purpose:

So I churn through my days

My Own Brain

My own brain is out to get me

Toiling secretly against my intentions

Conspiring daily to undo me

Scheming to entrap me

In its sinister machinations

My own brain is a sadistic vandal

Scrawling epithets and slanders

Hurling Molotov cocktails and

Ripping down the fragile scaffolding

I have labored so hard to erect

My own brain is out of control

Crashing about aimlessly

Stumbling through hazards

Rushing foolishly towards

Perilous destinations

My own brain has got to go

Or he’ll be the death of me

Shelter

Like fiery ants

Scurrying madly across

Sun-scorched sands

My frantic thoughts

Scramble fiercely towards some

Darker place

Voyage

I‘ve gone from you again

Left you standing on the shore

Chatting with my shadow

Wondering if there’s more

Echoes of my heart

Flutter ‘round  your head;

Spinning, twisting, turning,

Slowly building dread.

I stroke your warm fresh cheeks

With aging nothing hands.

I call your name so sweetly

While charting darker lands.

I leave you with so little.

I venture far too deep,

Where echoes cannot reach me,

And all I crave is sleep

My return is never certain

Our reunions far too brief

Each dawn an empty promise

Each kiss a step towards grief

Vomitus Shit

“If we’re meant to be

I’ll come back to you”

I whisper these words

My eyes filling with self-pity

My greasy mongrel heart

Convulsing in my chest

Pumping bile and piss

Thick breath seeping past my lips

Stinking of the vomitus shit

That I regurgitate daily.

And yet you look upon me
Lovingly
Pitying all my filth

Lucky

A throw of the dice

Bones banging about in a

Noisy cacophony

Scrambling some

Cosmic happenstance

Bequeathing riches

To the lucky

Who anoint themselves

The victorious chosen

Duck And Cover

You better duck and cover.
You better do it fast.
You better duck and cover,
Or this breath may be your last.

I heard a proud man say it,
He said it with a frown,
“The dangers that we now face
Are coming to your town.”

They say that we’re at orange,
Much worse than green or blue.
These threats we face are awful
And the next one may get you!

I’m not trying to scare you,
But I’ve seen what lies ahead.
Evil forces gather ‘round us,
And won’t rest until we’re dead.

They’re coming from the desert.
They’re creeping out of caves.
These Stone Age sons of Satan
Want us all in unmarked graves

We’d better shut the borders.
You’d better buy some guns.
Throw away those things called rights,
God shields his favorite sons.

Don’t worry about the air.
Don’t worry about your health.
Don’t worry ‘bout your freedom.
Just trust the ones with wealth.