Amber Colored (poem)


amber color

(Some Random picture I saw)

In looking for my rest
I found a bottle of amber colored joy
as I sipped – I let it burn my throat
as the fire cascaded down into my heart
upon a gut made of stone
There are a million miles
in the tattoos that I wear
and ten thousand memories with each
passing of the needle over my skin
as I proudly display each step I’ve taken in life
I hum dixie melodies
when I go looking for my soul
gospel songs and blues
when I’m lonesome and flesh upon flesh
doesn’t do what I desperately need it to
My church is a rusty and dusty bar
when I’m in the faith having way
Otis Redding the reverend
playing on a Wurlitzer Bubbler made in 1950
just one amber glass at a time

Jesus Serves Jamison (Poem)


(Photo by Tanja Heffner)




I have found salvation in Rock and Roll
My gospel in the rhythm and blues
when that drumline hits thump thump thump
I become the Angel Gabriel

When the trumpet sounds for me
it will be Janis singing Me and Bobby Mcgee
and as I lift up off the ground
the angels vocal arrangement will be by Barry Gordy
with the smooth sounds of Motown

Heaven will be an out of the way juke joint
where Jesus serves whiskey until two
who’ll light my cigarette and leave his bar
to slow dance with me, and sing harmony with me
when the juke plays “Chasing Cars”

See, what you didn’t know,
is that Jesus really loves Pat Benatar
and listened when she sang that hell was for children
and opened the bar, cause it’ll take a long time before
we can bear the golden streets of Religion’s hypocrisy.

So don’t you worry you hell cats and hip kitties
live your truth as best you can
because JEsus serves Jamison at the bar till two
and it’s ALWAYS midnight at The Lost and Found


Old Friend (Poem)



(Photo by: Ben White)

April is National Poetry Month and this one I’d written several months, maybe over a year or so ago. And I wrote it when I got to missing someone in my life who’s – a friend, brother, drinking buddy, just….

I suffer from what Cordelia suffered from in King Lear when she tried to describe her love for her father when she said, “I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.”

I empathize because even though I am a writer – nothing in the English language encompasses that familial blood/not blood connection we find with certain people. But anyway – enough about that. Here’s my poem:

Old Friend 

I miss you
Old friend
Heart of my heart
Fondest memories when
Mornings lasted until sundown
The air a Sweet summertime song
Our wisdom was shared between glasses of Amber coloured discontent
Bitter enough on the tongue
To coax a sweet melody
Well into an evening

I miss the old when
Ghosts sailing on the breeze
Thick with heavy songs and worry and humidity
When the mood struck our fancy
We’d sing down stars from the heavens
Or leaves from the trees
We were brilliant then, not so much now
Now, were grown up

But the faint notes I hear
Tinkling beyond the sunset
The ghost still ramble and the whisky’s still warm
Although time and distance and days and doings rob us
And give us grey in our hair, in our beards, in our eyes
They can’t steal the youthful sound of our voices

Old friend
Closer than my shadow
Thicker blood hasn’t run between two souls
Or maybe that was the liquor, or our Irish dispositions?
Or sappy drunkenness? Ha!
Who cares
We were young,
Old friend
And right there in those moments
We always will be.


(Love ya, pal. It’ll be alright, I promise)