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8 May

To claim the ego to say to everyone

that we have anything to

say, well it takes a lot to tell someone

how we feel, how we are, what’s new?

The future we won is

just another bend in

the river we carved with

the way we hold our hands.

The way we watch our sands

fall from the rooms with

feather beds and bear skin,

But that’s not the future we want, is it?

And if I was the moon

staring at stars across the room

and I saw you,

I would eclipse and fall into

some shadow state

and hide my face

in fear that you

could see right through.

Some celestial scene.

Seems extreme,

but it’s meteors

we’re juggling.

Did you know you live

in the wrinkles of my skin?

And did you know that

what you want I would live?

The future we won is

just another rend in

the silk black sheets

that make up our memory.

The felling of another tree

to protect our heads from sleets

I wander in,

ivy, rains and winds I miss.

Tags: poem, Poems, Poetry, Reflections, thoughts, writing

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Categories Poems, Reflections

Then and now

3 Apr

The tongue I’m biting on

is the tongue that doesn’t quit.

And in all the old records

wish I’d used my teeth sooner.

But I don’t know the state you’re in.

Washington?

Porcelain?

I’ll wait and see.

–

Smooth skin I was writing on,

write fast, memory goes quick.

According to old records,

insight lost the fight for

I fell into a state of mind.

Borderline

cognizant

–

that I could even talk at all.

Communication’s just a thing

I didn’t have. I didn’t call.

Now it’s old and splintering.

–

The hands for writing on

are hands of a finer grit.

And in all the old records

my hands foretold the future

that I cannot see that face again.

Face of sin.

Inky skin.

A poor medium.

–

And instead I sang some psalm.

Then laid the shit on thick.

And I didn’t win awards.

I know I lost our fight for

connection of an honest kind.

A mastermind

disinclined

–

to even talk at all.

Communication’s just a thing

I do not have. I don’t recall

having said anything.

Tags: poem, Poems, Poetry, reflection, Reflections, writing

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Categories Poems, Reflections

The lighthouse formula

31 Jan

Acetone – Germs

There’s a lifelong montage

with almost no audio

just your own breath and footsteps.

Your ride is not exquisite when

you’ve blinked and you’ve missed it.

And strangers won’t tell you you’re fascinating,

your ego cogs need more calibrating.

–

And it helps if you’ve had

a few daydreams maybe

enough to sever tethers

that tie you to this Earth.

–

It’s the meeting of

sea green green of the sea

and the green gray sky above the marina.

It’s the reach for the stars

with your feet in the waves.

–

The skin of my feet

the seed of a pearl

keeping my head above the rolling fogs

of drunkenness, lust and greed.

My light may shine but I’ll never be freed.

Tags: poem, Poems, Poetry, reflection, Reflections, writing

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Categories Poems, Reflections

These falling waters

22 Jan

daduk – tourbillion-intro

Eyes serene

eye a scene,

the trees are upside down.

Water falls around

turbid clouds stick,

churn nostalgic.

Twelve or thirteen years ago ties

me to eyes I would not recognize.

But I have lived this life.

And I’ve known luck beyond my imagination.

A once and former mare

spitting cherry pits in hair.

And if I still have some life to live

I saw it at the station.

Walking home in my old gloves

holding two small hands that will one day

write their own metaphors for love.

Tags: poem, Poems, Poetry, reflection, writing

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Categories Poems, Reflections

We get thoughtful and then we get drunk

18 Dec

We leave the poet’s house at dusk,

pulling trails of steam

by our scarf baleens.

The shishy gloves

and cark of gravel follow

us to Main.

The sky was purple.

Now it’s a weather vane.

Thick orange cloud tallow

lit by lights from the plant.

And faerie lights off farther still

wink and weave in pines until

we’re forgotten. Just some town

five miles east of Bonneville Dam.

We reach the bar.

“What did he mean by

‘the din of yesterday’s sin’?”.

We order up and layer down

shooing table crumbs to ground.

At the window seat the panes

creak and bend with each squall,

the roof above drooped from rains

and snow. The glasses hum. Lights flick

tired wires plus the train’s cello

drains the hours and pints tick,

discussing Halls and When Heroes Fall.

It’s midnight now, there’s work tomorrow.

Layer up, a nod to Cal.

Outside the dark is deep,

surrounds our drawn hoods,

frost stealing feeling from our feet

between the high and wild woods.

A playful nudge, a shove, a kiss

as if we’re home

before we reach it.

Tags: paradise, poem, Poems, Poetry, writing

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Categories Poems, Reflections

Verse

8 Nov

Major Label Debut (Slow)

I could give it to the gulls most every season.

And I could split my eyes upon the stone.

Some chore to do.

Some thought to atone.

–

Well I’m just here to talk about the day

the autumn leaves had spun you a dress

down by the lake.

Totally weightless.

–

And I’m not fucked up

anymore

And im not fucked up.

–

A lot of times it’s not a certain thing.

And God I hate the way you shook my shoulders.

The demons I sing

have melded with hers.

–

Taste her hair, fumble pants.

Easy to sing the words that I know.

Dancing a dance

to the song that I wrote.

–

And I’m not fucked up

anymore.

Not fucked up.

–

In the end it’s medication I seek.

A quick dose of feeling old feelings.

Sound of the creek,

another form of healing.

–

Unless it’s mistakes I make again.

Then I live them every verse,

in every refrain,

shame and a curse.

–

I’m not fucked up.

Anyways…

Not fucked up.

–

I know it’s the case with every good thing.

The way the down’s just a little bit further.

You know every ring

comes with a burglar.

–

But back to the foliage dancing,

and pretty birds with colorful ribbon.

That’s really everything

I came to speak on.

Tags: poem, Poems, Poetry, reflection, Reflections, writing

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Categories Poems, Reflections

Tracking Dirt

24 Sep

Tracking Dirt – SoF

I sewed seeds and their harvests reveal,

the need to retread,

the paths in my head.

Ruminate while tending to plots,

I forgot,

oh, I weed a lot.

Captivate me quietly,

and take me to that place,

where the past leads the way.

I can’t slow down I am jumping between,

a bay side town,

and a swamp and a frown.

Culminate can I stop the clock?

I’m backed up at the block,

a metaphorical clot.

You can fake me perfectly,

I’ll talk about today,

in my regular way.

Step outside to a luminous shock,

with my feet in the grass,

and my eyes at half mast.

It permeates and by the time I can see,

cool grey sky has arrived,

tornado inside the eye.

Jar this ghost reality,

and take me to the place,

where I lead the way.

Rain falls down and this drought is repealed,

and it’s flooding my fields,

spring forth a bountiful yield.

I cultivate and I am present again,

you’re a delicate wind,

and you’re taking my hand.

Image: Lotus Carroll

Tags: music, Poems, Poetry, writing

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Categories Music, Poems, Reflections

Probably something about hands again

9 Jan

Michael Homnick – Moment

I’m going to blend, because the rest is blended. Only known because I’d descended, amended and transcended. Soon I’ll have those old man hands. Finger flexation result of a thought’s creation to end destination.
I’m going to blend the thing I lost and the thing I’d condemned. A long struggle come to an end.
But in the end, what will I defend?
What is false and what is true? The things in cinemas, what is staged and what is us? The difference between Lake Quinault and Las Vegas.

Same ideas, same old loops.
What’s the difference between me and you?
In between dragons and rains, remember?
I sewed seeds for complex floodplains.
I’m a new man of a different age.

Image by Pocket Images

Tags: Poems, Poetry, reflection, writing