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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

A Dirty FloorThe yellowed linoleum is stained with uninterpretable patterns
Perhaps ten thousand nights of decadence, maybe ten thousand days of happy children
Thin sunlight through dirty windows shows only battered confusion
Leaving traces of lives that never meant a goddamned thing
No more than abstract patterns on a dirty floor

YellowLate August afternoon, the sky a strange yellow
Soupy light strained through a sieve of cloud
Foreboding, tornado warning, change coming

I remember Steppenwolf, and sit, and wait
For Autumn or death

A smooth sheath of silk holds a tempest inside
Soul gone yellow, the caution light warning
People come and go with the frail seasons

I remember sunflowers, refrigerator door drawings
Something slips away

RepetitionThe frayed edge of the day is pressed down by the weight of bulky cumulus. Smooth, pin-holed night has its heel on them. Treetops dance in ritual conformity. Raindrops plunder the stars and feed them to the clouds. Tall grass dances, is beaten down, rises to dance again. Repetition. Memories sweep in through the open door in a cold burst of October. She owns the wind, she is the wind; the wind that shrieks through your mind on nights like this. The Visitation. You know her name, but do not speak it. Why would you? Whether she hears or not, she cannot answer with anything but a howl.

Frayed edge of day pressed down by smooth, pin-holed night,

GentleIn the deep shadows of a summer's night
Close and muggy blanket spread
Frogs sing hymns to the sky for rain
Fireflies carouse amid tall grass
like fairies;
sparkle
flutter
dance.

Stars poke pinholes into the darkness
Too warm to cuddle, holding hands
The moon's hazy light disappoints the frogs
But shines delicately on her face
like a caress;
whisper
laughter
love.

Soft stirrings begin in the treetops
At last a gentle cooling breeze
Ice cream boardwalk memories of the day
Will burn throughout winter's wrath
like fire;
flicker
crackle
glow.

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

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.

DanceRusty metal oil drums
Ram/ Fire/ Sparks fly
Maddancing allnight
Until the soothing dawn

Darknight jungle slither
Throb/ Fever/ Flesh melds
Dreamdancing wild shadow
Until wild moon is gone

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

If there is a god
he is deaf

HalloweenThis is October's last song, before the winds
Rip the trees bare and November's cold grasp takes hold
The celebration of dead saints and sinners
The lonely wandering song, the looney tune
Flickers from porch-pumpkins grinning like skulls

This is the dreamworld, the fertile earth of imagination
Wet leaves underfoot, the song is carried house-to-house
Curses upon that house that does not receive it, spirits
Will play their mischief and sing louder than the wind
This is October's last song, beware, hear it well

DescantDescant soundwaves bounce off of my forehead
Seeking entrance to my brain they want to
wriggle through like high pitched worms;
Insistent, hungry, throwing themselves forward.
Long after I've retired they still seek entrance
How can I sleep?

edgethrough cloud-spackled skies, lightbeams;
longshadows race across longlawns
twilight's coming, better wrap it up soon
even the longest days aren't forever.

blackbirds fly low, the silver ones high;
treetops move swiftly but gracefully
soon stars will dance with them, winking
at the secret that everyone knows.

we're all sleepers here, this world a dream;
dervishes and banshees in our brains
we reach for the evening star.

a wish for freedom is a wish for death;
does anyone remember?

welcome to bo-bo land.

Grandmother's HouseThe smell of hot concrete rising from the sidewalk
and the tar on the wooden bridge
The sound of trains coming and going
So close that the small house was rattled

It was always summer, there.

Screen doors and a small rotator fan were enough
to keep out the mild heat of June
The train whistles sang me to sleep at night
With their wistful traveling tune

It was always summer, then.

Less Than NothingI've never had so much nothing
A gnawing Black Hole where you used to be
Not just emptiness, but a void that
sucks in all life from around it
Leaving nothing
No, less than nothing
Nothing would be better than this.

Before The Stars FadeThe world has grown smaller, more insignificant
Little men run about in the darkness, screaming their inanities
Quiet listening is abandoned in favor of shouting louder
over the top of one's neighbors

Dreams once soft and sweet have become meat for them
to tear apart and grind with their teeth, demanding recognition
But no one is ever fulfilled, untiringly grasping at shadows
The world shrinks a little more, and children grow up fast

I can hear the screaming and shouting from my bed, through
closed windows, all want to make their presence known
Seeing like a cat, hearing like a bat, I feel the need to go out and
shout with them, t

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The wind above moves stars
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Tall

by =Bark, Mar 29, 2011, 4:15:52 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

my 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

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Tallby =Bark

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Spontaneously written during a conversation with Ms Bee several weeks ago.

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Submitted on: March 29, 2011
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Tall by =Bark Suggester Writes: There's nothing quite so exhilarating as that flash of brilliance that so seldom comes. ( Suggested by `LiliWrites and Featured by ^Beccalicious )

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*jimfleming Jan 20, 2013

Nice work! Clear and strong

Reply

Mood: Love

~winterkate Oct 21, 2012 Student Writer

This actually quite reminds me of something by ee cummings - the trees so greenly leaping...

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=Bark Oct 22, 2012 Writer

Thank you very much, what a great compliment.

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~winterkate Oct 27, 2012 Student Writer

You're really welcome! No problem!

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`FuzzyHoser Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

WHOA! Congrats on the DD, Ron! So very deserved! (:

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=Bark Oct 15, 2012 Writer

Thanks very much, Rachel!

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`FuzzyHoser Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Of course, man!

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~musicgypsy Oct 14, 2012 Hobbyist

Might I ask how you came up with that phrase "green words"?

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=Bark Oct 15, 2012 Writer

Probably from too much acid as a young man. I once saw words coming from someone's mouth in a neon glow, hanging in the air for a moment before dissipating.

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~musicgypsy Oct 30, 2012 Hobbyist

How wonderfully odd

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