Picture This

A gift or 3, perhaps even 4 intended
for your love, but I didn't know, so
I took it as mine.
It wasn't just a random act of kindness,
If only I'd known...
It's been a week (and a day if you need exactness)
since I've open it,
ya know? since the truth.

Today, I whipped it out... it was like old times!
More times than not,
I beat around the bush,
but today
I'll come right out with it,
LIE TO ME BABY,
Fuck yea, I can take it.
Cause half lies ain't half bad,
when it comes with
happy endings......................

light

void

the chill rode the currents
to a distant land
leaving the jacket
for a brief innocence
cast and hung.
lying in the furrows
the passing moments of warmth,
but for what it’s worth
I fell.
upon waking on
a bed of chagrin
the jacket, now draped
head to toe
colored with suffocating
blackness
buttons lay waste
replaced with glue and staples.
the craving hurled
to a dying dream.

The Sting

Numb and Dazed, living half a life
in the isles of the Winn Dixie. Day after day
the wobbly cart, in her firm grip she circles
round and round waiting
for the next demand of products to pick up
or put back, for the sake of it.
Her feet, unnoticed have grown raw and crusty with dried blood
and her ears deafened from the unending fire alarm that
she ignores into non existence.
She sings a song or two from time to time,
a desperate attempt at masking the chaos.
Strangers see the moo moo and curlers, unaware
of the fire brewing inside.
Until one day, The Delilah appeared, below the exit sign... she sensed the fire
and screamed till the woman woke from the haze.  Now fully aware,
she smiles, reaches out
only to find, it was all an illusion.

the shovel and the crap

The city is not big but the demands
are no less. It is her life, after all.
She gives it all, till there is nothing left
Never expecting anything in return, but
hope is buried
under the apple tree in Freedom Park
(if it hasn't rotted)
The city buzzed with superior importance, just as long as
she gave day and night, without
a fight.... Of course.
If you do, of course we'll love you.
You know how lucky you are, you are the chosen one
be grateful... he's in the shadows, waiting and will do it better
anyway.  If it weren't for this job,
you'd have nothing....

-------------------------------------

"You know, I think nothing would beat this crap.  Where's my damn shovel???"

A Kiss...

What can you see with closed eyes?

the cage

thoughts, caged in solitude
like the wild lion, once free,
pacing,
waiting...
for one of the Many locks to loosen
its grip, always
forgetting that upon escape
euthanization inevitably follows...

Landlord

Just call me G and my body
Shakes like a quake at sea.
You have no desire
to close line me on a wire, but
It don't matter if the rent on intent
Is paid. Fuck it, I'm still livin' it
unless she evicts my ass!
Shit! I'd hit it if I had the damn key.
But that don't matter, there's always
Whiskey and the shine of the moon.
That ain't just a line, girl
Come here, let's give it a whirl.
I know you're listening.....

Flatlined

...they weren't just words. (FYI,)
but 2 nights ago, maybe 3?
I took a blow
BAM! right in the gut,
Everything stopped. (my heart,)
It wasn't because of that girl, but...
duffle bags?
hm!
I'd been considering
a yard sale.
I've been trained (please note)
My mouth now
zipped. (is yours?)
Please, no? 
I'm afriad of 
what a yard sale sign (...for the taking!)
is gonna cost
you know, in case
I get strapped.

Incessantly Aware

Not a touch or a glance,

but your sheer

existence, like origami

curls a toe or ten.

Hell, just the sight of your name

sets me aflame, period.

And well, not even 9 hours without ac

in hundred degree heat, birth

more wetness in me, from just your aura

 again and again.

I can't even imagine

what more you could give me baby...

Without any effort at all, you've

given me every

color in existence, in a world

that for me,

was always black and blue.

I don't know how you do

what you do,

only to say, I'm grateful

that you are.

yea, whatever

Dreams,
they buzz
like a trapped fly
beating its head against the window,
being taunted
from the beauty that
LIES
outside.

on a diet of strange

eyes shift
with regrets and     Lies
never spoken         Or
even whispered
but swallowed, and absorbed.
with a hallow          Vulnerability.
                            Even
purging, a constant failure.

Like                 A                Slippery rock,
It    drops
Emotionless,

just below the heart
right in the gut, where it
grows into a massive mass
             
                of
broken dreams and promises

...becoming so full, there's
no room for dessert.

fyi

my name is g and i will no longer b what you thought I should....  s'up?

Perpetrater

I only need look up to the skies where
her eyes are the seething storms, passing me by.
Those lips. OH, you must know
they rip me at the core, leading me.
needing.
pleading. For a score.

Those fingers, HA! Just one
caress from those fingers lingers
a decade, or four. But who's counting?
Because with
Just the thought of your breath, well... it keeps me
at the depths of a plea that will never hear me.

And you know, next comes the pleading
of no more goodbyes at the meeting of
her thighs.  Holy High Hell!!! The Beginning
of the ending, and back again in a slippery slope.

In a pervasive haste, if
you need the body of mine against yours,
meet me at nine, leaning back
feeling it in the rhythm of the universe
calling your name. and mine.

Dissonance

Reflection

Thirst

2 4 1

No matter how hard a ball is thrown, it will always find stillness if no one is there to catch it….

Love's Memory

8 days or nights
or both, more
than 16 moments
to rest in your
bosom
The clock ticked
I didn’t notice
the tock
leaving time,
breathing in
your divine sensualness,
again.
my soul
resting in your hands,
the awakening of you,
me, us…
the taste of you
playfully dancing,
lingering
beyond 8 days or nights
or both, more than
16 moments,
I hope

defiance

Being stuck in a pit is not an excuse to ignore the rope…

The Last Fall

Fightin’ my second cold
in as many weeks.
.... it’s gettin’ old.
Things are lookin’ bleak,
feelin’ numb up and down
.... my spine.
Feeling rather inclined
to leave it all behind.
There's gotta be a way,
.... to stay
when all I wanna do
is get the hell away




....from you.

Stranger Friend

She gives and takes away
the same gift
in one quick gesture
without knowing
she did either one,
simply
by saying hello.

Shame

because I’m here
in disguise
her whole life
is nuts.
she can’t quite grasp
how I take over
when you come near,
just like any other.
I’ve spent a lifetime
convincing her I’m real,
now she knows
and so do those
who let me in.

The Blue Starred Journal

Carly’s song plays
in my head
everytime
I pick up a pen
and begin to write.
My words
unshared
cause even though
it is written for me
you will think it’s not.
It really doesn’t matter
what you think,
cause only I
know my own code!
The blue journal
with a star
that was sent from afar,
knows all there is to know.
It doesn’t have an opinion
one way or the other
whether what I wrote
should have been
or not.

tuesday mourning

The following poem was written many years before 9-11-2001. 3 years or so after 9/11 I was cleaning out my desk drawer and came across an old notebook with notes in it. When I used to be an avid writer, I kept a notebook with thoughts and ideas that would come to me so I could later write a poem or story. You can imagine how I must've felt when I found the skelton of this...




late summer morning
tuesday, like any other.
sun shining...

suddenly

CRASH, CRACK, BURN
FRANTIC FAST FEET RUN,
SCREAMING ALL ABOUT
people stop, stare...
CRASH, CRACK BURN
again
FRANTIC FAST FEET RUN,
SCREAMING IN DISBELIEF
GASPING

CRASH, CRACK, BURN
again and again
lives lost
souls torn
heroes made

we’ll never forget
that
late summer morning
sun shining
stillness
gasping
disbelief
in one moment
UNITED WE STAND

HAVE WE FOGOTTEN?

the poetry of growing old...

The other day, one of the teenagers in my life was telling me something great about their day.
To show great, short winded, enthusiastic support, I snapped “Awesome!”

What I heard back was, “Oh no, you did NOT just use that word!”
“What word?” I asked.
“Awesome! You’re too old to use that word.”

-----Insert sounds of me laughing, HYSTERICALLY here!!!-----

Oh, right…. I forgot I'm past the age of awesomeness.   
 "Okey dokey, GOLLY GEE THAT SURE SOUNDS NEATO!” I said instead of the very efficient, but most appropriate word, awesome.

“Well now you’re just being sarcastic”, comes the reply.

YA THINK?????

Golly gee growing old sucks!  I know I'm not past the age of suckiness!!!

This Shirt

I used to have a shirt, not a blouse, it was definitely a shirt hanging in my closet. I made sure it was always clean, it was after all, my favorite shirt. I loved it because of the way it hung on my curves, or rather the way it didn't. It wasn't revealing or feminine and it wasn't refrained or masculine. This shirt, the color of burnt ash matched any mood I might be in on any particular day. I flowed with a sense of purpose in this shirt. This shirt clung not only to my body, but to my mind, my soul and my spirit. It was who I am inside and out!

The first time we met, I was wearing this shirt. This shirt gave me confidence and in my minds eye, sex appeal. I doubt anyone else saw what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Most people are this way, living their lives being directed by the reins rather than holding them themselves. I don't mind so much because I have a sense of freedom from knowing what they don't. Because of that fact, this shirt gave me the confidence I needed to walk right over and smile my most sensational smile, and say hello! The smile and hello were returned and I do believe that at that precise moment, I was not the only one who saw something special, in this shirt. I was grateful.

For many years we were inseparable. That's something I've never been able to say before, so I knew this shirt must have magic! This shirt brought us together, and it was rewarded by being worn over and over again. This shirt gave me 8 faithful years. I loved this shirt!

I'm not sure which came first, the dying of this shirt or the dying of our relationship. This shirt became the center of hatred and eye rolling, and the mouthing of words, "Oh God, please not this shirt again! I'm so sick of this shirt!" Did my shirt lose its magic, or had I? No sooner had this shirt lost its appeal, so had our relationship. I was back to being the only one who saw something special when I looked in the mirror.

This shirt hung in the closet, never to be touched again. But the pain of seeing it there hurt too much, and I was forced to put it to rest. This burnt ash colored shirt that had given me so much deserved no less. As I sat on the side of the bed saying my last goodbyes, one of the last 4 buttons that still hung on, rolled down the sleeve onto the floor, just as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I often think of this shirt, and the magic it had within its fibers. Deep down a part of me wishes we had never met.

Blood Stains

Sitting on the bed,
Feet dangling.
Hands over ears
Couldn’t stop the stabbing voices
From behind the door.
His name bounced off
Every wall,
And every once in awhile,
Mine too.
My own blood,
Stains from a moment of
Heated passion.
Door slung open,
Smiles fixed,
Eyes pouring arsenic
Into my soul.

The vinyl slid out of its’ sleeve,
The speakers bumping so loud
My screams went unheard.
The beer cans stacked
On the counter, one by one.
He sang and danced,
gyrating hips, like the ones that were
too sinful to be on tv
like the man he just cursed.
Becoming him
If just for a night.

Picking up my Holly Hobbie
I whispered my fears into her ears.
The secret pocket
Under her rag dress
Held a piece of glass
I found on the step.
That was the first time
I tried to drain the blood
That would dry the
Tears of resentment.