Enough Gold To Hoard

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How did that happen?
Where was the tipping point?
I must have missed the exit sign
on the freeway of my feelings
and kept driving

Did I have the radio on too loud
was I caught up in the music?
Did I allow my mind to wander?
I have awareness but did I use it?

Or did I want to keep going?
Did I choose to pass the off ramp
and see what another stretch of freeway looked like?
It’s still blacktop, white stripes, my hands are on the wheel
but now I don’t know what to do.

Caught in the once familiar
I stood and looked at myself in the mirror
and heard the words spoken in my ear
I smiled and felt sexy
with new clothes and my prowess
now I am dressed to the nines
waiting for the phone to ring

I’m annoyed
that’s always a dangerous feeling
needle pricks inside my brain
that has me wondering and feeling foolish
I can taste copper inside my mouth
as I bite down on angry words
now the dragon’s been bothered

I hate when people do this
speak the truth and call the shadow what it is
make clear roads in, identify the moment
and the vanish as a sort of punishment
with whiplash-like ferocity
leaving me asking, “What the fuck did *I* do?”

Nothing. I didn’t do anything.
You made you feel those things.
Fantasize those things.
Dream those things.
Just like I did.
My guilt is mine.
Keep yours.
I have enough gold to hoard.

Poetry Book (Review)

The first book review for my new Poetry book happened today.

Five stars!

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“This is a book of free-form poetry, containing the poet’s musings about nature, youth, seasons; reminiscing about family, lost loves, faith and religion, and life in general. Some are profound, others less so, but I think poetry, like music, speaks to each of us in a different way.

Personally, I prefer poetry that rhymes, but my standards are pretty high. In my opinion, the best poem in the English language is “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe, and nothing will ever top that. The rhyming and alliteration is that poem is beyond brilliant, but Poe was a genius beyond compare. Free-form poetry, on the other hand, is more like short artistic essays about feelings and moods. Having said that, some of the poems in this book of poetry will provoke a very emotional response. For me, there were several that I enjoyed; the ones about trees and nature, and those about lost loves, but the ones that moved me the most are ‘The Rain Remains the Same’ and ‘The Man by the River’. If you enjoy poetry in general, you will enjoy this book.”

To read it on Amazon follow the link here

To purchase your own copy click the link here

 

The Collective Unconcious (Poem)

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unsplash-logoRedd Angelo

The wind is howling
at seven thirty in the morning
a bitter wind
shoves it’s way down from the north
I’ve walked the dog,¬†
dressed in Corpus Christi Coture
which consisted of work out shorts
a hoodie, and a robe
before dashing back inside
and now with a cup of Earl Grey
my dog asleep in the corner
the cat asleep on a chair
I come to the altar of humanity once more
to bear my soul
and write my song
as if I didn’t know the dangers
of being naked
to the bitter winds of the world

Lately, my mind
has not been my own
my body
has been in pain
and I’ve spent countless hours
my arms splayed out at my sides
grasping realities
trying desperately to hold myself together
but the reality of my situation is
that I am in the most danger
when I cannot give myself away
when I cannot imbue a part of my soul
in a book, in a story, in a poem
and set it to sail among the many souls
adrift in the collective unconscious

No children, have I, at my age
that fate wasn’t written on my heart
due in part to a hijacked mind
but I do have family among those
who kneel at the water’s edge with me
and murmur their truth to the stars above
that family, no one could take away
not even death
their truth lives on in stories they told
when they in a living way
took time to kneel beside the ever-flowing river
speaking their truth to the firmament
when they bowed their heads to pray.

 

My first Poetry Collection

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I am proud to present to you a collection of poetry I put together over the past 2 years. My poetry, like my other writing, is informed by life experiences, memories, seasons, or by things I’ve observed about the intrinsic beauty and complicated nature of humanity.
For a very long time – having been raised in fundamentalism – I believed there wasn’t much about humanity that gave it worth. However, through the act of creating art, I have discovered that simply isn’t the case.
In a few short years, I have discovered love, regained my faith in God, and most importantly, regained my faith in my fellow human beings.
I also discovered that the things that attract us to a person aren’t the same things that make us stay. Often times it’s our imperfections that are the most endearing qualities that we possess. I believe God regards us the same way.
I hope you enjoy this collection

 

Buy Link for Amazon here

Smashwords links will soon follow

 

Empty Threats (poem)

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unsplash-logoChristian Sterk

It started with a statement on the television
from the leader of the free world
‘He want’s to hang all of em’
he said with a smile and a hand gesture
as they talked about men, like me

My chest tightened
the floor fell away and suddenly
I was falling without moving
Shaking, sweating,
the rope tightened around my neck
“You are dying,” my mind screamed

Empty threats
from an exhausted mind,
fear of murder of my own kind,
where can I run?
Now that liberty’s run dry

I am not on my own anymore
my vagabond existence
two trash bags of clothes in the trunk
fleeing my past as soon as it
catches up with me

No more no-name face
no more hooking up
with cigarette smiles
trying to remember what’s his name
some random fuck, in some random place

there’s another, now
a family, now
I’m a husband, now
trapped by my vows
my marriage license now
a potential death warrant

Two pills a day
significant weight gain
gasping for breath at the edge of sleep
empty threats from my
tired brain
God, how do I deal with this?

I feel like there’s a storm coming
and I’m naked and standing in a field
with mud up to my knees
how long before it crawls up to my chest
and down my throat?
How long before the empty threat,
becomes too real?

Elton John (Poem)

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unsplash-logoAustin Neill

Is this all there is?
Elton John at quarter til midnight?
A black cat next to me
with the ceiling fan up high?
Silent Karaoke 
About a song about the blues
I am driving down the freeway
of my mind

It’s not the holidays
those are done
It’s not homesickness
my family home is gone
why do I feel so tired
and emptied out?

Chicken soup for the soul
Ice cream for hurt feelings
I feel like I’m starving to death
thirsty and lonely and bored

My husband cried tonight
and asked me not to leave him
but would it be him I am leaving
Won’t I be leaving myself?
Cyclical Dysthymia circle around again
pick me up and throw me in the trunk
I don’t know what to feel anymore

I just know I have concrete shoes
a sore body, and a numb mind
I am sad but have no reason to cry
Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolfe?
Rocks in my pocket
there’s a river somewhere close by
I can smell it on the air
the last vestiges of the mind altering chemicals
from a month prior still have their white bony fingers
around my brain

I’ll bounce back
one day I’ll sing aloud again
I’ll dance on the driveway as I pick up the mail
but for tonight, swing low sweet chariot
pick up this letter from me to God
It’s lyrics from an Elton John song
and sad songs say so much

 

Winter Solstice (Child of the Moon)

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unsplash-logoMax Smith

I am a child of the moon
I come to the window clad in my pajama bottoms
teddy bear dragging along the floor with me
and i stare out into a wintry scene
from the second floor

All is still in the world of white
the sky is purple and dark
and the moon is out full and heavy
and the snow burns in celestial light

A heating register begins to hum
it’s warm wind wrapping around me like a prayer
I raise my hand and touch the glass
feeling the cold radiate through me
up my arm and into my heart

Below, a stag has wandered into view
noble, white chested, chestnut body 10 points easy
his delicate feet and easy stride
leaving imprints on the once unbroken sea of white lawn

He raises his nose, looks this way and that
and comes even closer to the home where I reside
when all of a sudden from the tree line breaks
a herd of a dozen, maybe more

It’s midnight now, and they’re in full view
and I caught between warmth and the frozen world
with my hand pressed against the cold glass
I wait in a house as silent as a tomb

Then the stag see’s me, eyes locking,
heard standing shoulder to shoulder
and without much fanfare, save the beating heart in my chest
they bow to the boy standing here

I with my teddy bear clutched in my hand
the heat register cloaking my bare narrow shoulders
return the bow with the sincerity of my station
for I am a child of the moon

 

Frantic (poem)

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The simple act of breathing
the heartbeat
thoughts receding
rock me gently in the afternoon sun

relax, I tell my body
let the moment heal you
listen to some music
and let the words distract you
as you lip sync the lyrics
that you’ve learned to know by heart

keep busy, must keep busy
write something, say something,
ten more pounds on the weight bench
heavy breathing in the moment
there’s no rest until you’re done

walk the dog at a fast clip,
come home and set out some chicken
think about dinner, think about bills,
check the status of your sales
and wonder if it’s all done

Try to relax, I say again
but i feel lazy, unrepentant
must do, must do something
to justify my existence
give me worth, make me worthy
where did all my book sales go?

I am still but I’m not stable
guest come to eat at my dinner table
get up, clean up, entertain
My God does this ever stop?
undeserving, under serving
a little blue pill (no not that one)
I am taking
take away the panic
understanding nothing’s wrong

But it is wrong, isn’t it?

I am half here, half somewhere else
hungry, horny, needed, needing
please believe me when I say this
I want to just lay down
But I love you,
God, I love you
there is no one else above you
except for him and maybe her,
and then there’s Christ
What have I done?

Relax, I tell my body
let the moment try and heal you
until the thoughts you have been thinking
have been emptied from your heart

Wickedness put down on me (Poem)

 

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There was a wickedness
put down on me
when I was but a child
evil serpentine lashes lay about
with cold metal teeth,
smelling of leather
and containing many eyes

It was black
and it’s bite burned me
my young flesh welting
bleeding, forcing me
to do things I didn’t want to do
breaking things I couldn’t
handle
I’d scream

We lived in a wicked place
where God was fat and white and ugly
orgasmic hallelujahs from drunkards
dry and barren and thirsty
who’s habits were evergreen
if unseen buried deep
in their own shame

There was a wickedness
put down on me
drove down deep inside my body
coiling its leathery scent
around my spine and squeezing
me
the smell of musky flesh bound books
that bled me under the sign
of a cross

Oooooh, I was wicked
naughty naughty little boy
yanked around by my hair
punched in the head
diving under a counter
I must have stolen something
but when I opened my palms to
reveal my possessions
all that was there were half moon shaped
impressions

There was a wickedness
put down on me
knowledge of the fruit of good and of ill
and while the scars are still bleeding
wrapped red round my spine like Holly
i can take the pain of it like a champ
wet, naked, shivering
this wicked man can deliver some soul to heaven
because the child he was has been to Hell

Dragon Slayer (poem)

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Mohamed Nohassi

…and in the midst of it all
stood a man
quaking at the knees
fires burning on the horizon
fanned by the wind
dance in his eyes
there’s a sword in his hand
a mage’s staff in the other
a dragon lay dead at his feet
the acrid smell of smoke
and cinders dance in the air
there is stills screaming
the damage the dragon had done
has yet to be fully realized
the scar on his chest
broken and bruised bodies scattered
his lover, still missing
dawn is hours away, still
as he licks his lips
with a papery tongue, thirsty
his heart still hammering away
sweat, piss, fear, the stink of decay
He doesn’t know what to do
he jealously regards to the dragon
he’s so tired, so very tired
the castle is half destroyed behind him
there’s nothing but uncertainty
from his moment, onward
What was that?
His nerves jump, his heart plummets
a cry of dismay emerges from his parted lips
it takes a moment to register
the smallest change in the air
something sweet, perfumed, merciful
the first drop, the second,
the thirty third before his shoulders relax
and as the sky opens up
his knees give and he sinks
to weep, the child of many moons passed
can finally express itself
his tears mingled with the rain,
washing his soul clean
“I’m okay. I’m okay,”
he says over and over
shuddering wildly, trembling
convincing the world, the dragon,
himself
as he hangs suspended
in between life and death
warrior and weak
as heaven breaks over his
supplicant tremulous form