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Four AM Musings .

Four AM, something calls me from my bed
Coffee and cigarettes in the Quiet Time
Before the world awakes and begins its manic noise
Time to think, and feel, and dream
But you, you're always the first thing on my mind.

Scattered dreams still cling like cobwebs
Fading but not yet gone, mingling with the
Lights-on reality of the dark morning and its silence
While you were here I'd have simply thrown
An arm around you, and gone back to sleep.

The world changes, people leave
Never understanding what they

Breakfast At Connie'sSmall birdbones, brittle
Large eggs over easy
Tiny dogs yip and nip at the feet
Under the table

A lock of hair in ashes
A crow cawing from the bookcase
Breakfast at Connie's is always
So damned surreal

Last chance for a smoke before the show begins
Light 'em if you got 'em, or just light a candle
Italian Catholic grey-eyed girls
Love ceremony

A pumping heart dessert
Hidden in plain sight
Ignored by all as proper etiquette demands
They leave softly

Marching in softshoe-step rhythm
Crunching small bones beneath their feet
Wondering why it's still dark and why the
Show still goes on

Shot On LocationThe flights were all canceled due to grey jello
The grounded were hounded by small barking dogs
O'Hare billowed skyways and vanished in grey
On the rooftops at Wrigley the saints were all safe

Tinsel, utensils and bright Christmas strands
Grey pudding for all at the end of the stand
The dawn came early with chirping grey birds
But the saints were all drunk, disordered and slurred

On a wooden raft down the Rock River we floated
Caressing their bones and singing their songs
Northwind pushing away from the grey day
And into the comfort of Logli's night deli

A Drunken HymnFuzzy and smokey, creamed and strained
Clap on, clap off, cornered and drained;
Seeing is sawing, kneeing and gnawing
Hammerhead rhythm, red herring brain.

Do you want more sentimental sleaze?
More eyelinered fat kids, diseased?
Perhaps Superman will fly in and drink gin
With you and your uncle's mad niece.

(I like my flatliners flat, my beer strong
My ghosts to stay dead, my wood to last long
Forty acres and a mule is not enough
Give me your head, I won't be too rough.)

Slippery and slimy, or scaly and dry
Cankered and cancerous, bloody well wry;
Being's believing, but knowing is fleeting
Fifty steps down to the what and the w

BitterBitter-sharp and angled
The stake through my heart
The brightest sun cannot penetrate
The cold seizures as I die
and die
and die, everyday;
but still somehow remain.

You only had to die once.
I've died a thousand times
since you left.

Dying is no way to live.

Pumpkin DaysWindy and gray, the colors of autumn muted beneath the heavy-handed skies
Treetops dance, nonetheless, shedding more of themselves without regret
Inside, the lights are on, a television screen flickers, dust settles
Watermelon days are a memory, pumpkin days are here, suicidal leaves fall

Falling AwayIt's not the falling behind, it's the falling away
Unable to stay vertical, no horizontal to catch me
Blindly boring white days falling in and out of sleep
Waiting for something to end and something to begin

Talking about white things and birds and death stars
The location of heaven, the door that won't open
The hollow sounds of the memory gears turning
The falling, falling, endlessly through a sea of white

(Did I mention the white nothingness? Of course, yes,
It's all I have left to talk about, the falling through white)
It's not the falling behind, it's the falling away
Catch me.

Late June DayShoes walking slip-slap flip-flap click-clack swish-swash
Mouths talking mumble-jumble shout-out murmur-whisper
Incoherent
Life happening all around the good the bad the ugly the
Walking dead
Talking heads
Hands clasped
Fingers pointed

Colored clothes and colored hair teeth clenched teeth bared
Opening doors closing minds slapping insects sun hot
On necks
Smoking drinking laughing walking in and out and away
Shaking hands
Crying tears
Hugging shoulders
Giving flowers

Life happening all around the fevered brains the waiting trains
The yellow taxi army city buses the single black funeral limo
Sad music
Scattered ashes soft g

RiverBleeding words from shellshocked brain
A mantra: Clocks, crows, plastic flowers,
Dust, dirt.
Dreams, pale winged,
Flicker like an old-time movie.

Mannequins. Barberpoles. August days.
Running freely down
and through
and again.

A sieve.
A stone.
A bleached bone.
A river.

It always ends in the river.

Damned Clocks, Damned CrowsRoselight sky, white snow tainted blue with shadows
The end of another beautiful drearyday's solemnity
Waiting for nightfall and a chance to fly away
From the binds that tie my soul down with consciousness

Damned clocks, damned crows, damned hospital rooms
Haunt my waking moments like needful succubi
Feeding on my life/ my mind/ my spirit/ my will
Upon everything that makes me human and alive

She looks angrily over my shoulder when I try to write words to another
Jealous even in death, she calls for me to join her
Tell me how a man's supposed to live like this
Even beneath the roselight sky in winter?

Tell me, dreaded crow, if i f

Lawnmower ManThe lawnmower man
carelessly murders yellow daisies
heedless of their cries

If there is a god
he is deaf

Raindrizzle-dream drops plop against the pane
the sun's so much farther, far away today
whispered memories replace buoyant talk
of starfish and freedom and flying away
no, no dreams of flying today, just quiet
words of long ago and what might've been
promises made in the sun hold no weight
on a day when the grey's pouring in
you remember her, now, from so long ago; dancing on sand so white
(it was bright as a headache)
hand-in-hand laughter, a day without end;
but it did end, when you weren't looking, and suddenly
it was ten years after, and you were sitting alone
watching the rain
inside the drops you hear gulls crying, waves rushing; children calling out
to each other as they play
a radio plays your song, she squints into the sun
(the most beautiful creature you've ever known)
you hear her whispered "i love you" and then it's just
rain once again

Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skies
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams

except this one.

This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
at nothing.

As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.

I'm going outside to make a grass angel.

I Took the Blue BusYou didn't put the phone back, left your pills on the table
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You made cookies I didn't eat, watched movies I didn't see
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You talked, then you didn't, then you talked some more
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her

You took the elevator, she took the stairway to the stars
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You swept out memories, wrote a manuscript of dreams
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
I had coffee and cigarettes alone at four AM
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her

She took the stairway to the stars
I took

Taverngraves in the pale sunlit afternoon
fields speckled with flowers
lost loves flying on the soft breeze
shadows grow long

the tavern is dark and filled with the smoke of unrealized dreams
stale beer, stale lives, stale music from a machine
we were young once, with futures
now we pass the time away waiting for death

how could it all have happened so fast?
i remember summer days that lasted forever...
but now i'm here, waiting with the others in silence
no need to speak, we all know.
we could tell again the beautiful tales of yesterday, but what would be the point?
we all know, we've all heard, we all understand.

slatted light squea

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More from =Bark

Tallmy words are green tonight
written in the air in a neon glow
standing on the corner in the snow
reciting poetry from memory
i feel very tall

there is power in words
and tonight i'm in control
looming large and strong and
razor sharp
and feeling very tall

have i had too much? no,
just enough to clearly see
my shoulders are straight, my
head held high
speaking green words

and very, very tall

PonytailI cut off my ponytail
and placed it in a metal box
with her ashes.

Black SandwichBlackstone, bleaksky, faint laughter from inside
I know that it's warm in there
light, merry...
I don't belong anymore,
An Outside Dweller now
Viewing life through thick glass and dust.

Blacks, browns and greys color threadbare days
But the yellowlight of warm kitchens
and tiled floors...
Persist in memory and haunt as I shiver,
raw, mute
Hot coffee would be nice, whiskey better.

A mind is a prison, memories cruel jailers' torture
Sweet void take me in, let me forget
let me rest...
Where there is no light to taunt
And blackness
smooth as satin sheets, covers me.

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Submitted: February 2, 2011
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by =Bark, Feb 2, 2011, 12:28:38 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Dead roses in a rusty can
On a rough-hewn table pushed
Against a peeling wall

Bare bulb

Ashes and a lock of hair
Dirty dishes and beer cans
Sketches of loss

Old coins

A faded photograph, a ribbon
Taped to the refrigerator door
Curtained windows closed

Thick dust

Talismans and charms and
Broken dreams in a dirty jar
Check. It's all here

Dripping faucet

Sharp as bone fragments
Fragile as moth wings
Miserable as dying slow

Pill bottles

Check. Check. Check.
It's all here. In all this
Nothing

Checklistby =Bark

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2011-2013 =Bark

Cover image manip credits:

wall

can

dead roses

texture

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~hoaxeye Dec 28, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

Excellent pic and powerful writing. We sometimes sell ourselves short; "i sound like a sad old man." Don't sell yourself short.

"I could never see tomorrow, no one ever told me about the sorrow." - How can you mend a broken heart?
Al Green does the best cover ever of this fantastic song. I'm no Bee Gees fan but they penned a winner here. Your poem is in the same vein. With maybe a touch of Bukowski honesty. Which makes me like it better. Much better in fact.

Reply

=Bark Dec 29, 2011 Writer

I remember Al Green's version of that song, hauntingly beautiful. Thank you very much!

Reply

~hoaxeye Dec 29, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

Most welcomed sir.

Reply

~MODDEYDOO Oct 15, 2011 Hobbyist Artist

Lovely

Reply

~RequiemsandReveries Apr 6, 2011

Oh the poem is just my style. Bitter and angsty and honest and real. Really sublime.

Reply

=Bark Apr 7, 2011 Writer

Thanks. It's mainly what I do.

Reply

~Meeq Mar 25, 2011

wow! This is an excellent poem! Great detail and visuals!

Reply

=Bark Mar 25, 2011 Writer

Thank you!

Reply

~Meeq Mar 25, 2011

You're welcome

Reply

~MorbidMac Mar 7, 2011

Wow man. you writing just keeps getting better.

Try singing this bit:

Sharp as bone fragments
Fragile as moth wings
Miserable as dying slow

It lends itself to music..

I like the manip too. It has a tense sort of feel to it.

Nice work.

Reply