The thunderstorm

Thunder roars above my head
while I lay in my bed-
Lightning lights up my room
casting shadows-

Monsters appear upon my wall;
some real short
some ten feet tall-

A fire breathing dragonfly,
a hundred demons before my eyes-
Shouting, roaring in my room
Certainly they herald my doom?

Scraping, scratching against my window
"Let me in, Let me in."
Shivering, shaking under covers
Too scared to move, too scared to move

All the noise lured me to sleep
And when I woke everything did seem
as if last night's happenings were naught
but a dream-

Those before me

She taught me why the caged bird sings
and a hundred other things-

He taught me to rage against the dying light,
No! I won't go gently into the night-

He showed me where the sidewalk ends
and many other destinations-

And Oh! The places I can go
of wondrous places I now know-

I believe in taking roads less traveled
for then endless possibilities unravel-

When I behold the night's starr'd face
my dreams, in starlight, I do trace-

Dreaming dreams no mortal dared before
imagination extends forever more-

The most terrible thing in life is finding it gone,
he said, but in poetry he'll live on-

Featured hope perched on my soul
and despair I knew not at all-

Those before opened the world to me
So I write that you may too can see.

It shouldn't be so funny

I wonder if the gods laugh at us
we race through life
so many dreams; so many aspirations
so much to do
so little time

so, so, so

not enough

I wonder if they laugh at us
we're so pathetic
making important everything we do
we're just drops in an ocean
microseconds on the clock

in our minds
everything
is a big deal-

If only we took a moment to realize

It's not that we can't understand
the Infinity of time and what

little, little, little

time we occupy in it
we just
refuse to devalue ourselves

choosing to believe we are something

more, more, more

the gods must truly laugh at us

Short Break

Taking a short creative break, written so much and have so many other things I need to do. I'll get back on the creative train sometime this weekend :)

A bottle of the finest

She said she didn't want sex
"I'm not that kind of girl."

I'm an ugly son-of-a-bitch
but I can be the sweetest, most genuine
precious man you'll ever know
and that's all the more dangerous

beauty might tug at your loins
but words tear at your heart
lower inhibitions like wine

two hours later and she was undressed

the next morning regret
must have
struck her like a hangover

I awoke alone
still an ugly son-of-a-bitch
knowing I would be pouring my wine
into the next woman
tonight

Mirror Mirror

I always hated looking in mirrors
For what I saw staring back
was not me-
I always smiled and laughed and
played away the day
But he never smiled; he never laughed
just looked back with eyes of fire
envious hate-
Angry at the world for reasons I could not
understand, or
no reason at all-
He wanted to die
OH!
You could see it in his eyes
And sometimes he threatened to break
through the glass
to make it so!
STOP!
I begged, not yet
Some day, I promised, but not today
And peace came over his face
the anger faded and he nodded back
Some day
I realized it wasn't that I hated what stared back
because it wasn't me
but because it was

Something Treasured

Back then I wanted to be loved
So I let you in my arms and in my pants
I thought that if I gave you something treasured
That ours would be a love
that'd last forever

That's what I always saw on the T.V.
If you love somebody you give them your virginity
And your love would never fall apart
That's all I ever wanted down deep
in my heart

But the media never did tell the whole truth
I am still alone, filled with so much ruth
But I learned a valuable lesson that day
Your body isn't some prize meant to
be given away

The only treasure one can truly give
Is what little time you have left on Earth to live
Virginity isn't as special as they made it out to be
Time should be treasured as the
truly precious commodity

Company

The cheapest motel in the dirtiest part
of town-
A knock at my door 'shave and a haircut'
I opened the door, she peeked in
probably making sure there weren't any cops waiting
before stepping in-
I took her hand, without a word
led her to the bed
I turned away from her, turned on the lamp
put on my glasses
Looked back
she was undressing
I could see the scars, faint
across her body
She didn't look old enough to have been married
Her father then?
Her skin was so fair otherwise
She turned to me, ample breast swaying
unbound
"Ainchya gonna get undressed?"
I don't feel like it
"I can't really do nothing if ya ain't"
Sure you can
I tossed her one of my notebooks
Read
She just stared at me, quizzically
You know how to, right?
"Of course I do, I ain't stupid"
Then read
She cracked open the book and stared at the first page
I picked up my own pen and paper
pretending to write
watching her from the corner of my eye
She kept glancing back at me at first
until she read a funny one and
she laughed-
A clear, beautiful laugh that told of her youth
And I watched her as she read on
her emotions, expressions so evident
how her lips pursed and she blinked hard
failing to hold back tears

Time passed and I watched emotions dance
across her face
It was beautiful to see
It was beautiful to see because
I knew I was in control and
I admit
I took a perverse pleasure in this
She finished, in tears again
Looking at me, mouth trying to find words
"Why'd you end it so sad?"
Life always ended sadly
"Does it?"
It always ends, no true ending is happy
She nodded
I gave her the money
"But we didn't have sex..."
Your advertisement offered company, not sex
She stared at me
"Can I...keep you company a while longer?"
I nodded
She curled up next to me, felt so tiny
so fragile
She kissed me fervently and I let her
but I didn't allow her to go further
She seemed disappointed
I told her to quit this lifestyle
Anyone who can appreciate poetry can do
much better for themselves
She didn't say a word
We fell asleep and in the morning she was gone

The next time I saw her
I was reading the morning newspaper
She had been murdered
by her boyfriend, her pimp, for wanting to leave him
Life always ended sadly

And sometime later I cracked open my old
notebook-
And in the cover was a simple note
written in the most perfect handwriting
'Thanks for setting me free'
And I held back my tears
for they wouldn't bring her back
Life always ended sadly-
I never opened that notebook again

Bruises

She had a bruise on her face
and others I knew were hidden elsewhere
She didn't say a word and I didn't ask-
it wasn't my place to
She curled up in my arms, burying her face
in my chest
and asked me how my day was
I ran my fingers through her hair, but
didn't say a word
She looked up at me and I could see
the tears forming in her eyes
I kissed her-


We had sex that night
I was gentle, I was always gentle with her
Passionate, sensual
I didn't tell her how much I cared
I just showed her; I made her feel-
And I knew
that she would leave once I fell asleep
and go back to him and
earn more bruises and shed more tears,
but I also knew she would be back come morning
in my arms
running my fingers through her hair

Ramblings #1 - Writing

I am always envious of those who can just write to write. I just can't will myself to do that some days. Some times I stare at the paper and no words even come to mind, blank. I dig deep and try to find something, anything, but there isn't. But out there, there are those who will put pen to paper and it doesn't matter if it's good, bad, or somewhere in between, they'll still write. I wonder if that's the key to successful writing? Of course there are those who never make it anywhere no matter how much they write, so there must be something more.

I can't say I only write when I'm inspired, though I'm particularly more prone to. Inspiration is a fickle thing and hardly reliable to draw upon. I like to take life experiences, not necessarily my own, and put that to paper, I find that I am most prolific when I do. Of course life has an infinite amount of experiences to choose from, though it doesn't yield to me an infinite amount of inspiration.

I'm sure others can relate to the feeling like they're in a quagmire, trudging through the creative writing abyss. The only thing that truly separates those who make it big and those who flounder into obscurity is perseverance; you'll never make it anywhere if you quit.

So I'm sitting here, kinda staring a blank paper searching inwards for something to put on it, looking longing at the game of Call of Duty I have open fighting the urge to just play instead, and occasionally reading some poems by Charles Bukowski (Sifting Through The Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way), which is currently one of my favorite books.

What I really need, or feel like I need, is someone to tell me what they think. I love being told that what I write is good, but, while the intention is honest and forthcoming, it feels shallow. I guess that's the writer in me. Don't just tell me it's good, tell me why it's good, tell me what made you feel that way, was it the words, the format, the topic, was I able to relate to something in your life, was it personable? I'll never be satisfied with just being good, anyone can be good, I want to be great.

And revisions. I've read that some people go through five, six, and more rough drafts of a poem before they are satisfied. I have never done that. Once I have finished it, it is done. I may change it when I go from paper to computer, but that in my mind is now a separate poem, there are two versions of the poem that exist now, not one final version. Take a look in my notebook and see. I also never throw anything away, my notebooks are collections of half-written pieces that may one day become fully fledged poems - they were never finished to begin with. It's nice to keep everything. It lets me look back and see the change in my writing, to see how different writers have influenced me greatly (I used to prefer stanzas and meters and rhyming in a consistent theme, but now I like a more post-modern approach, using rhyming to tie things together, but not forcing it). Look at Emily Dickinson and Charles Bukowski and you might see how much I favor them. I wonder and worry where the line between imitation and emulation is. Sometimes I feel I'm too much like one or another, but other times I know I'm just writing the way I enjoy writing. It's a silly thing to worry about, but it crosses my mind.

I think that's enough rambling for now, I should probably get back to writing.

CAB

The explosion rocked the room
and I tried my best not to let the
pallor of fear
show-
"Did you feel that?!" yelled another soldier-
No shit, everyone did
"I wonder if that was close enough for a
CAB*."
as if being shot at could really be called
'action'
"Hey, what do you think? Was it close enough?"
I looked back at him,
I could never understand one's desire to
be so close to death-
I just shrugged my shoulders and went
back to work-
Then again, I was in a combat zone too...

Another explosion in the distance



* Combat Action Badge

Untitled #3

Three, two, one
Beep
The movie starts
The lights are out

It’s a thriller and
I’m on a date
Her curfew is eleven
It’s only seven

The movie is a scary one
‘Bout a killer in a small town
Just like ours

She grips the arm rest
In anticipation
‘This is my chance’, I think
I rest my hand on top of hers

I blush
And look away
Hoping this wouldn’t end my day
I turn to her

She’s looking away
Then turns to me
Rosy red cheeks
But puts up no struggle

A real scary part
She gasps, popcorn spills
She whispers to me, “This is giving me the chills.”
I hold her hand even more firmly

She leans into me
And I into her

The movie is over too soon

Leaving we find a bench
Chatting idly
She passionate about books
And I, history

Smiling nonstop

Her curfew is almost up
I take her home
Parents glad, I made it in time

Parting phrases
I leave the porch
The door opens

She moves to me
Kisses my cheek
Tells me to call her soon
Leaves

I smile

Untitled #2

Quietly quaint, looking long
The road labors ahead
Carrying us upon our journey

Tall tree’s shadows shroud
The path we choose to take
My father, gently, tells me – this trip is for my sake

There’s something, I know, I don’t understand why
But I see my mamma’s face – they look like she could cry
And something tells me soon, I will die

My sister holds my hand in hers
My brother’s arm draped ’round my shoulders
Smiling, though not sincere – I know what it is they fear

We reach our destination – but it is just a start
Mamma’s hand in my left, Papa’s in my right
Mamma prays, “Please do your part.”

Up a trail we climb, high–high–high
I wince, my chest hurts – it’s my heart, my hand’s squeezed tight
Brave and strong, I say to them, “I’m alright.”

We reach our final destination and at once I see
My dream come true, far out below me
Nothing but clear sky

Untitled #4

Love’s sweet mystery
Falls upon my ears–
But I know I’ll never comprehend
The woman I hold dear

Iris colored lilac
Red rose upon her cheeks
Honey scented sweetness
I hold upon my knee

Voice like bell chimes ring
That tells me of sweet things
– Lost in her sound
She squeezes me tight – it brings me ’round

Cherry colored lipstick sits upon her lips
With which, from my cup, she takes dainty sips
The dress she wears, complements, and makes her look a beaut–
And she promises, quietly to me, her undergarments are as cute

And if all my moments could be like this – in bliss
I know these times, forever, I’d miss
But they will soon come to an end — And that sure makes me sore
Because, when the Sun comes up,
I go off to war

Flinch

“Why do you flinch so much?”
They ask me, unknowing-
“I’m not going to hit you.”
But I guess the truth is showing
“Relax!”
They say, but they don’t understand
That underneath my flesh
Lies the impression of your hands
“I was beat as a child.”
I say with a laugh
But look into my eyes and you can see
The very act
“I’m not going to hit you…”
They tell me soothingly-
I used to hope the same of you
 - I was wrong, constantly
Cause every time you drank too much
Or work had made you mad
Some how, some way
I was ‘being bad’
And every time this happened
You would raise your hand-
And beat me for reasons I still don’t understand
I would try to hide away
Just to escape your wrath-
But no matter what I did or where I went
I would always cross your path
And now in everybody’s face and hands
I still fear the same
Afraid that I will anger them
And once again experience pain
“Why do you flinch so much?”
They ask me unknowing-
That upon my heart lies the scars
That I can’t keep from showing

The Abused

How could I have known?
I was just a kid-
About how wrong it was for me
All the things you did
I remember, years ago
When in my bed you crept,
And held my head against your chest
Like this, the whole night, we slept
How could I have known, it wouldn’t
Stop there-
How much pain could one cause
Whom once,
I held dear?
I remember, moons ago, all the
Pain and hurt
As your fingers found and fondled
Things-
Hidden by pants and shirt
And listened did I, when you said
To never speak of this
Cause you said, if someone found out
At me, they’d be pissed

How could I have known?
When at night, in my pillow I did cry
That all those words you said to me
Were naught but big fat lies
Their anger wouldn’t lie with me
It was fear that made you say
The things that you had-
Cause you didn’t want to get
Caught
Doing all these, things, bad-
The silence I kept, it did cease
For no longer would I keep my
Peace,
And in that courtroom
I did watch
As you lied through your teeth
And I watched
As the judge did let you
Go free-

My innocence has long been lost
But at what price? At what cost?
For you to enjoy your perverse pleasures?
Doing harm to whom you called
Your
“Little Treasure”?

I hope you die a million times
And a million more-
But eternal hell nor all these deaths
Could ever settle the score

I look at me
And all I see
Is a body ruined by yours.

Though time and years will come and go
And memory will fade-
Never will I forget
The things you did
And
The price, I
Had to
Pay

Untitled #1

I don’t know if there’s a heaven-
or if I even want to go
Cause most of the people who say
they know how to get there,
are people I wouldn’t want to go with
And even if there was a heaven-
how do I know you’ll be there too?
An eternity in Paradise
would be a Hell
without you
But my mortal years, unfortunately
are not near enough time
I could have a thousand of them
and every one be happy
so long as you are mine
Sadly, my time is short-
and lessening with each passing day,
I can’t waste a single second of it-
so I’ll love you with every chance I get
and in every way

Sarah's Sunset

Just off to the right of my little black Chevy
The Sun sits-
and my heart is heavy
‘Cause I’m on the long road home
that takes me further away from you-
Further from your arms, from your lips
My eyes may be misty-
‘Cause the Sun’s glare, I swear
And I’m singing sappy songs-
They’re all that’s on the radio
But if I were to be honest;
I wish I didn’t have to go
I wish the Sun was on my left
Carrying me to you-
Maybe…
Maybe someday soon
it will

Mortality

Hope is an illusion
for the dying man,
Death is the only thing
for which you can plan,
Mortality is certainly
the cruelest trick on man
for nothing you will ever do
can overcome a lifespan-
You won’t know how-
You won’t know when-
But it’ll happen suddenly,
And then-
There won’t be pain nor suffering,
There won’t be peace or respite,
There just won’t be-
And when the last memory of your memory
fades from the minds of those who once knew you
and when your gravestone has been worn by time
until not even your name is left in record-
It’ll be as if you never were-
Hope is an illusion
Everything will eventually never be

'The Wall' and 'Ice Sheets'

Part of me died today-
Watched my facade break away
Felt exposed, both heart and soul,
But only for a moment.
The walls came back strong as before
The outside showed not a scratch,
But the inside was torn


The heat reminds me of those early days
When I was still in basic training
Fort Jackson-
It seemed unbearable at times, or damn near it
100 degrees constantly, sweat dripping from every pore
And a white box just to the corner of my eye
Full of ice, stuffed with blankets
For those who couldn’t take the heat, they got the ice sheet
And with every one having something to prove
Noone wanted to get them
Although the heat was unbearable, or damn near it
So you’d hope for a cloud to provide respite from the Sun
Little fluffy heroes in the sky
But there aren’t any ice sheets anymore so you just hope for a cloud
And remember that little white box
In the corner of your memory

The Road and Work

The road goes on or so they say
and it never ends
But at some point you’ve got to stop
The next stretch of road wasn’t meant for you
That’s where another’s begins



Some work to live
Some live to work
The lucky ones live with no work
The unfortunate work, but don’t live

The Back Forty

I was driving around the ‘Back Forty’,
Not sure why people called it that,
but it was a winding country road
that most people didn’t have any business being on
and I didn’t either
Except I didn’t want to bring her
to my place
Nor did I want to pay for a place-
Her being this girl I met
and knew I could get into her pants
because I have a lot of charm
and she had no defenses to it-
But I was always a gentleman to her
I said sweet things and meant every word
And I listened to her talk, and talk
and talk, and talk
And talk
And then I remembered a video I once saw
So I pulled her in for a kiss, she smiled
And I pushed her head towards my lap,
a pretty universal sign of my desires-
She didn’t object-
I’m not sure what was better
the blowjob, the silence, or the pleasant drive
but I still don’t know why they call it
the ‘Back Forty’

Our First Kiss

I remember our first kiss
It wasn't my first kiss
and certainly wasn't yours,
but it was ours
I think it was the last day of school
or near it
and we had been going steady
which meant I could hold your hand
and go to movies with you
and later, when I was really brave
try to go further,
but that day I was still young
and innocent
I was a romantic idealist who
always saw the good in everything
gullible
oblivious to my youth
and how little I knew
but none of that mattered in the moment
I ran up to you amidst the crowd
of other starry eyed students
and kissed you, a peck really
You didn't expect it
and I took off for my bus without
a word
I was happy
It didn't matter that it wasn't my
first kiss
nor yours
It was special because
it was ours

It’ll Happen Eventually

I often wonder if it’s going to be painful,
My death- ?
Being a soldier: will I be riddled with bullets
or captured by the enemy, or in a crashing plane
where my last few moments I’ll know
This is the end.
And panic- so much that I wanted to do
no more, knowing it’s over in a heartbeat!
or
Will it be slow, like the encroaching sunset
Steadily creeping on me as my body fails
Everyone staring at me with those eyes
wondering ‘When?’
Hate staring back at them, envious
because they have more of what I don’t
Time!!!
With regret haunting my every dream
All that could have been and never was…
But then I remember: I’m not dead yet

A letter in War

Child
Someday you’ll understand that I do it for you
Every day spent away is all because of you
I’m off in another country, trying to keep you
safe-
Fighting in the U.S. Army cause I know no better
way-
You may rather that I was more often
back at home-
And I admit I do too
But I’m fighting so you don’t have to-
Better me than you
Stay away from the news-
It’s always something bad
Always always support the troops-
That’ll make me a proud Dad
I promise that I’ll be coming home
Just you wait and see
Child

It was a long drive

It was a long drive-
Not sure if it was long because I
was nervous
or
because there were many miles to go,
but it was long
The Internet is an amazing thing-
connects you to people far and wide
and if you’re lucky it’ll connect you
to a good time
So I was on the road, going to a
good time
and I was nervous
She may have been the most beautiful woman
I ever hoped to lay with-
or she could end up being a dude,
that’s the risk you gotta take sometimes,
She was a she, fortunately-
I sat there in the hotel room
sweaty palms, heart racing
waiting for the knock at the door
jumping out of my skin when it came
And there she stood
every bit as beautiful as I imagined,
and then some,
clearly she had gotten dolled up for me-
And I felt special
And we kissed, we touched
we fucked
I don’t even know how many times
And then we lay in each other’s arms
smiling, kissing, talking; talking about everything
letting music play in the background
and we slept
and when we woke we didn’t want to leave
each other’s arms
and we fucked, we touched
we kissed
so many times did we kiss
And somewhere in that room it wasn’t
about sex
and I began to like her
and when I drove home I thought about her
the whole way-
and wondered if she liked me too
It was a long drive-
Not sure if it was long because I left my
heart back in the room
or because I couldn’t wait to go back

‘Double-speak’ and ‘Often I’m asked’

I mean every word I say
but sometimes I say two opposite things-
“I Love you.” “I hate you.”
“Well which one is it?”
“Yes.”



Often I’m asked if what I write is true
as if all those fanciful things could be
true
and even if they were-
I wouldn’t admit to it,
might end up in jail!
Some girls ask who I wrote
this or that for
Love poems, sweet poems, sappy romantic ones
I think they want them to be about her
or they just want to glimpse into my past,
women are weird like that-
Sometimes I tell them “For you.”
they love that, “You inspired me.”
Sometimes I say no, they seem sad
and I love the expression they make
disappointment
and then I turn the conversation
to something else

‘It Didn’t Fit’ and ‘Paying for Sex’

The condom didn’t fit
Not sure if I should have been proud
or upset,
that was supposed to have been my first time
and I didn’t have another
and I was a cautious boy; I always
calculated risks and rewards-
I didn’t want to risk being a father
so I didn’t put it in
Smart move, I think
and across the room my buddy fucked his girl
his condom did fit; they were both his
He fucked and kissed her, she made the noises of
pleasure-
I had never seen people fuck in person before
and I wondered if he knew just moments before
when he was getting the rubbers
that she had her mouth on my dick
he was kissing that mouth “Gross…”
I thought
My girl was giving me the same treatment,
head bobbing, me squirming
And when she was done, she looked up at me
and kissed me
I thought nothing of it



I was too scared to pay the hooker
cause I had read many times of them
turning out to be cops
I don’t get why it’s illegal
You have to pay for it in the end anyway
Sometimes it’s a fancy dinner and a chick flick
Some guys pay for it their whole lives
Unfortunate suckers, especially when she’s ugly
but this girl was beautiful
Not sure why she let guys sleep with her
for cash
Maybe she just knew she was worth it,
I wish I was worth it-
$80 and I could do anything I wanted
She was on her way, a house call, I had
the cash in hand
but I chickened out
Not afraid of jail
but of the shame and embarrassment
because if you get caught paying for it
you get judged
Even though we all pay for it
Sometimes I wonder if she was a cop
or someone who just wanted to get paid as
much as I wanted to get laid
but I’ll never know
I was too scared to pay the hooker

‘One Tissue’, ‘Genius’, and ‘Famous’

That motherfucker threw a tissue at me
Just one
I’m a young man and I didn’t need my prostate checked
but it was part of the physical and he did it-
why couldn’t I have gotten the doctor who didnt?
Lubed up, en-gloved finger,
I swear it was the whole fist,
shoved the wrong way up my poop chute
Him talking to me, telling me to “Relax.”
seriously
don’t talk to me when you’ve got your fist
in my ass
I’ve got nothing to say to you; we’re not friends
And when he was done
that motherfucker threw a tissue at me
Just one
Told me to clean myself up while he
typed at the computer
my asshole dripping with enough lube to
grease a whale through a doggy door
And the walk of shame through
the waiting room
Hoping no one knew what just happened-
That motherfucker



I fancy myself a genius-
Maybe I am
Every kid has dreams of being a hero
or something cool; even adults have fantasies
And it didn’t help that I was smart
or maybe everyone else around me was
dumb-
I do know a lot though and I remember much
and people often came to
/ME/
for answers
and sometimes I was a real pretentious prick
about it
“How come you don’t know this…?”
I love knowing and I love being right
sometimes someone would school me
and I would suck up the knowledge;
I would never be wrong again-
Unless it was math
I hate math



I’m Jealous-
some people get paid to do it
I just write because I love it
it’s great therapy
right up there with drinking and sex
Some people get paid to do it
To write
some are famous, but I think they’re garbage
some are great, but they ain’t famous
but they get paid
and here I am writing, wish I had
a buck
Hoping I don’t end up one of those famous
after I am dead
because at that point, I wouldn’t give
a fuck

Migrating

I'm migrating over from wordpress to blogspot because there are several features of blogspot I prefer that I might otherwise have to pay for. And since no one is paying me for my writings, I can't afford to be paying so that others can view them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. It'll take some time, because I can be lazy, but I'll get all that I have on my other blog over to this one. Thanks for your support (the two of you who actually read this). TRC