My Kind of Beauty
February 10, 2013 | Filed Under Music, Poetry | Leave a Comment
WOODEN HEART (sea of mist called skaidan)
We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living
and since that first breath… We’ll need grace that we’ve never given
I’ve been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts
and it’s not only when these eyes are closed
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach,
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north,
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will…
so I’ve built a wooden heart inside this iron ship,
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts.
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new starts
we all have the same holes in our hearts…
everything falls apart at the exact same time
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step
but my fear is this prison… that I keep locked below the main deck
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward…always running out of fight
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we’ll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
The one who lit this flame for good
October 22, 2012 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
Fiery and feisty
a fighter
her mind moves
like well-crafted hips
pulsating with life
She fights
pulls punches
throws twice as many
She’s literate
in music
and the deepest
penetrating
thoughts
of
philosophy
and physics
even when she doesn’t get it
I say,
Newton met his match
with “action at a distance”
she
made
this
heart
beat
1000 miles of distance
compacted into nothing
at least for a second
those flickers of light
those flames
those fleeting moments
that fancy footwork
feminine
fragile
full
fatigued
still fighting
the fall leaves
are bright
falling
facing death
fearless
and forgetful
meditating
by the Indian rock house
the waterfall is flowing
with full fall foliage
failing to free my mind
of her face
The one who lit this flame for good
may someday forget
but for now, today
this is real
life
fierce
and
fiery
and
wild
Smoked Out
September 16, 2012 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
Here’s an early stage poem called Smoked Out.
________________________________
Hot simmering smoke chokes the man;
sweat running across his brow
burning his eyes,
the fog of war
at his own home.
a gazelle
facing the bright hot prospect of death.
a lion
driven by hunger, chasing it down.
both basking in the scorched summer sun.
his hands not quite like the firehose he needs.
flames fan out, fly up the pines
pandering to the whims of the wind
wandering.
the wind.
the wind.
the wind.
that’s it.
it’s the wind.
the enemy.
the predator.
the man is smoked out, burnt out,
stumbling.
a dry, sour taste,
smoke in his mouth.
melting away any hope that his hands
might become the firehose he needs.
tired and torched up
the man gasps for air
stumbles to the ground
the bucket of water spills
to the earth
useless
defeated
unsure just what to do
but sure that something must be done
he gets up
the house
the boys
the one he’s not quite sure he loves anymore
the ones he’d die for
and he waits
and he waits
and he waits
Vincent van Gogh’s Almond Branches
April 27, 2012 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
I saw this painting at the Philadelphia museum of art yesterday and had one of those moments in life of being pierced in the heart with a deep joy… a profound sense of appreciation for beauty.
The Latest Loss
July 29, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | 1 Comment
A tree outside my window
lost its yellow leaves
just like every other oak.
Except.
July looks like
the loneliest month
for falling leaves.
And
Not-quite
Dead
Trees
An odd patch of green
in a sea of death
new growth, new fight
and at least a few breaths left.
the dirt that inevitably splatters on the mirror of our self-regard
May 30, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry, Small Talk | Leave a Comment
Beautiful, Lovely
April 27, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
There are after all
a few
in this lonely universe
who radiate
smiles that soften
the weathered
stone cold hearts
of grown men
not shallow
at all
they feed
not suck
the soul
dry
beautiful, lovely
like morning dew
dripping slowly
down the pointed tips
of Cercis canadensis
Thank God for Grass & Wine
April 4, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
He makes grass grow for the cattle,
and plants for people to cultivate—
bringing forth food from the earth:
wine that gladdens human hearts,
oil to make their faces shine,
and bread that sustains their hearts.
- Psalm 104: 14-15
Real love is not a fragile thing
April 2, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
but neither is it dull, silent or sterile
Can a man think of Love when Jealousy
Sears the retreating soul within him?
Yes, for Love is not a fragile thing,
Not a child in the heart.
Love must be hot with the glory of strength:
At the bidding of Jealousy, unwelcome guest,
We look at Love through green glasses.
Then Love, who is lusty and strong,
Smashes the glass before our eyes-
Strides into our wounded hearts with a sword of reproach;
And only when we feel that the heart will break,
Love, the strong, the sweet, the terrible, becomes
Our rescuer and not our conqueror.
Philip Britts, 1935
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic
February 9, 2011 | Filed Under Poetry | Leave a Comment
