Harold, Call Your MotherHarold, call your mother. Douse those blue flames gutting your house first, though. Sit on the springs of what once was a couch and tell her everything’s fine. You owe her that much. She shouldn’t have to worry about you, you’re grown now, you can make your way in the world. The fire should have scared away the rats and roaches, that’s something, right? Watch the ghosts on your broken TV and sing their mad nursery rhymes; remember when you were a cowboy on a mop horse, and days lasted forever. Call your girlfriend and tell her you’re sorry, you want to get back together. Al you have to do is nod every so often as she chatters away. You can do that. You can live. You can’t cook worth a damn, though. Buy some frozen dinners; the refrigerator is black but it still works. Eat, drink, live. You owe it to someone.Harold, Call Your Mother by Bark
Fathers Who Lose Their ChildrenMid-morning, the pain meds are wearing offFathers Who Lose Their Children by Bark
I’m wearing down; descent
Twist that knife in my back until it comes through
All the way into my heart
Yesterday was glorious, warm and bright
Before the fall into grey
Today all I can see is train tracks receding over the horizon
The wandering poet forever gone
Fresh wounds appear before the old ones heal
I’m fading fast, away
Walk a thousand miles down lonely roads dreaming
You, huddled in a boxcar
Forever young, bold, full of love, standing tall
As I grow old, bitter, betrayed
By the bright promises of yesterday’s sun that failed
You, forever golden
Barefoot in the SnowYou ask me how I am; I’m fine, I’m fineBarefoot in the Snow by Bark
My toes have fallen off from walking barefoot in the snow
But I didn’t need them anyway, I’m okay
It’s you I’m worried about, grey –faced and dull-eyed
What’s going on, old friend? You’ve lost weight
Your step is slower, your shoulders stooped, are you in pain?
I see you’ve lost your toes as well
Let us walk together then; daylight will come in time
ScabbageCrust clings to skin, puckered edges spreading redScabbage by Bark
On elbows and knees, shouting out where you’ve been
Raised white lines across wrists indicate attempts
Salvation, damnation, maybe just blissful sleep
Fog rolls in your eyes, bees buzz in your head
You paint the world bright and colorful, sarcastically
Because all you’ve ever known was darkness
And you do like your primary colors to dream in
Walk down the street, head hung low, mumbling
Expecting nothing from the world, and getting it
Knives in your eyes and poison on your tongue
Born to be crucified; who am I to deny you?
Love does not conquer all, not the likes of us
Festering wound souls finding a moment’s solace
Before the wind howls our names again
I am you, you are me; together we are we
Briefly opening the coffin lid to daylight’s touch
You raise your head high for me, and indicate love
Clasping hands, we jump together into the maelstrom
Leaving two hearts carved on an aging tree
Three FlamesThree figures, arms outstretched, heads aflameThree Flames by Bark
Long black limos with headlights on pass
Babies with teeth and angel wings fly by, grinning
In the twilight shadows move, tiny lights flicker
The end of summer has come, three flames light my way
A door floats in space; all must enter at some time
Those who survive winter may see spring again
Those far from home may find it, lit up and waiting
The devoid of dreams may find new hope there
At the least, the restless will find peace at last; all must pass
The names of the ancient cities escape my lips
I thought that I’d forgotten, but they come easily
The One whom I denied will not deny me, but welcome
The long tiring day succumbs to sweet night
It is finished; a thousand stars burst into flame; let it be
Ten Real-Life Similes1. As slow as a pharmacy filling a prescriptionTen Real-Life Similes by PoetsHand
2. As unconcerned as a worker at the Department of Motor vehicles
3. As cold as the frozen food isle
4. As strange as the unnameable smells in a hospital
5. As long as the line at the Post Office
6. As annoying as the person in front of you questioning the sales clerk about everything
7. As rude as an outdated waitress
8. As confused as the new bank employee
9. As empty as my wallet
10. As dark as a tax appraisal
The Greatest Jokei no longer think this is funny.The Greatest Joke by RUNNrabbitRUNN
i've been counting the crows standing on my cables,
and all the gravelings are closing in around me.
eaten away my family.
hacking with hatchets my last decent core.
how much more could you hate one of your own?
ForgettingBrother smells like cigarette smoke.Forgetting by JuliJ90809
Pack of Camels,
red and white.
Newspaper for an ash
Brother smells like weed smoke
hanging halfway from his clothes.
Midnight as the flashscreen
Cranberries and alchemy, did he
That he'd fail?
Brother smells like alcohol
hidden in the fridge.
on the edge.
Brother smells like aftershave.
waking tired to the buzz
of the solid, wood-side house.
Dishes in the kitchen and
I live on tea again.
Diet soda with ice
and rain and smoke and candy.
Brother smells like friends
in empty bottles.
In-BetweenIn-between his sighs I look at the floor.
He does too.
It says a lot, don't you think?
We say it's love
but neither of us knows for sure.
In-between our fleeting eye contact
we quietly dwell
on the unspoken tension and insecurities.
We say it's just nerves.
It will pass,
but the silence stretches beyond what's comfortable.
In-between the untruths and unsaid;
our love a swaying complication.
We want it to work but…
Our chemistry heavier than a river rock.
blowing my teeth out the back of my skullI.
we are hynagogic wasteland words, unraveling
corpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasoline
and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones
( i will never be rid of you ).
LessonsMy life was never
A Golden Valley
It has had hills and mountains
With no guide
and often improper
tools or preparation
There was no harvest
Instead there was need
were often mixed with disappointment
But I never quit climbing.
This has made a difference
—What if the next ridge showed hope?
If there is a lesson it is
To keep climbing
The jagged the way
Will reap the most reward
You will find
Life should never simply be
A Golden Valley
SpinLet's jump in the car and start it up and drive
out of the driveway onto the road that is white
because it is covered with packed-down icy snow
and step on the gas so hard that the tires begin
to lose traction and then push the pedal all the way
down so the tires have no traction at all and turning
the steering wheel makes no difference and the car
cannot go in a straight line but spins 180 degrees
and then 360 and let's stay there stepping on the gas
and spinning round and round until it is spring.
Still-LifePerhaps now, I can finally write of romance; a tale with a story book encounter and all the stereo typical heart felt babble that goes alone with it. Probably not unlike many you’ve read, but I suppose it’s all relevant to somebody.
I suppose it starts with a name; not as cliché as one might think, but appropriate. Willow understood the words, their meaning. She was all too familiar with the stone-throws of life and their impact. Bright eyed and insightful, she was a true student of human nature and she learned it well. Perhaps too well for someone her age, but then again, eighteen was enough for me, so twenty-seven was probably enough for anyone.
She had a real eye for magic, a taste for still-life; capturing rare moments of raw uninhibited beauty with the snap of her finger. Now, I would never fancy myself as worthy of such an eye. The world can be an ugly place and sometimes we grow ugly right alone with it. So you could imagine my surprise when she took my pictur
Ceremonial Sicknessshe did not eat.
she imagined the smoke she blew out from cigarette after cigarette that
they were Native American prayers and that they would reach way up high past all the constellations, everything in space
past a radius vector sweeping the volume of the containment of the Universe.
she did not eat.
she blew out bulbous eyes staring at the television,
reality TV, monsters inside me
and she imagined they were inside of her causing her pain and swelling
she did not eat.
all through this she hurt, she hurt, she hurt.
the pain was an insane sort of ridiculousness, worse at night.
she did not eat.
she could not sleep.
She wanted to say, "Fuck you sheep, I aint gonna be counting your
fat white asses."
Good Lord and Holy Mother Mary
Help us who are too stupid to help ourselves, or don't have the energy.
She did not eat.
a cruel beautya cruel beauty
an autistic child
in the absence
of a mother, growing
surgery, radiation, chemo
A comatose kiss
And an all night vigil
turning off life support
She is coming home today
after the whimper (a rooster crows) a demon scours the skies
the air is deep with the scent of ozone
all is as it should be.
the clinking &
heaving of the aging wheels
come into sight
again. he is on the road
again, having burned the letters
punctuated with electric hiccups,
(nota bene: burn all that is written, what
is paper for?)
business card still reading
of a nuclear plant"
down. dead. nevertheless,
the waste is far from gone.
the carriage over the years
has grown into a tow
SkyA girl danced, twirling sunbeams around her waist on a meadow on the clouds that grew the tinkling snowbells of dreams. With her agile fingers, she wove wisps into seagull wings and set the birds diving down the sky with her laughter. Her bare feet sunk into the deep currents glittering mother-of-pearl and she breathed in rainbows in the shimmering water vapor and sung of cities of glass at the break of dawn.
One day she stumbled and fell through towers of cumulus and cirrus tangled in her long, golden hair. Her white dress turned into reliefs of a thousand unknown worlds in the wind as she dove through the endless, lucid hues of azure and fell into a pool of silver gathered on top of storm clouds. Light splashed all over like a Sun playing hide-and-seek among the deep greys and turned into cursive letters expressing her delight.
Swans that sing songs of endless horizons rose like white arrows in the sky as the princess dove like a dolphin from a glowing stormcloud to another, her back
The Love Affair His haunt is a heavy weight.
it comes upon the white light of the moon,
under the hush and sparkle of stars long dead.
he paints love words across my skin, hungers and heat,
devotion twisted with sadness and silence--
and like the wind, I cannot be still.
If I ran from this ardor, fled into the tall grasses,
he would follow. bare feet damp with dew,
his promises will find my ankles as vines; we
fall to the ground, my thighs naked for his whispers.
the spicy scent of night bloomers and desire perfumes the air.
how I long for morning and despise it.
For when the dead do not stay dead, they stir the ether
and there we find the cache of dreams untried,
heartache and sorrow, songs unplayed, memories unmade.
so I call, ethereal dark-eyed beauty, haunt me still!
search the shadows and find me there,
arms open, hungers billowed like sea-salted sails.
Find my mouth with yours in our strange dr
chaotic conclusionseverything is weighted
both of the above are true
self-referential thoughts have influence
over that to which they refer
expectations can alter reality
rub a wart with a silver coin
and it's hi-yo placebo! away!
momentum and time perception -
growth and entropy -
are effected by the feedback loops
of quantum conscious existence
with all this in mind:
does reality not morph itself
in both certain and uncertain ways?
as we endeavor to live our lives
we should never be surprised
at random chance's antics
even a raven is thermodynamic
[as we both quoth: forever-more]
llp - dA - jan2014