Hemingway’s Shotgun

The muse is not listening.
The fuse is glistening.
Fire, flame, glimmer, shame.
Am I forgetting

How many times I have been applauded?
How many times I have been lauded?
Will it ever be enough?
I think of Hemingway and his Pulitzer.

Drunk on whiskey ready to pull the trigger.
Shotgun in mouth.
Brains blown out.
It was never enough.

And what about me?
What do I need you to say?
That my words touched you today.
That you did think and pray.

For peace. For love.
For a better world to make.
Would that be enough for me?
Is creativity an angel or demon I seek?

Can one survive this thirst to create?
Always needing to captivate.
Always needing to communicate.
Hemingway’s shotgun to take.

Say It Again

what do people write about when they have nothing to write about? that nothing they write about is their everything. that black spot, hole, mole is their cancer. their immortality they are fighting. fingers move and thoughts groove. i don’t know what more i have left to give. does a person reach a point where there are no more choice words? no more voice to give? no more rhymes to craft. no more room to laugh. we have reached the end. the plane has landed and you are standing at the edge of the earth.

there is play.
words crafted a certain way.

a blank canvas to fill with color.
darkness you know like no other.
because it follows you.
the lightness too.
all wrapped up in one.
the moon and the sun.

so when you get to that place and there is nothing more to say, what are you to do? do you repeat your thoughts like a mantra? I love you.  I love you. hoping to get to the other side. where your words are not heard but prized. where conversations begin and end. where dialogue is not a sin. this is the existential price to pay for a life spent searching for truth. for a life searching for you.

there is exercise.
muscles strengthened to realize.

the body that you own, owns you.
you drive it as if a vehicle to bruise.
when wrecked it is discarded.
treat your new vehicle more guarded.
that is, if you are to be obtained
into the system again.

if you are pushed back into the vortex let it take you. shotgunned into another life begun, if you let it. hold back and you will become pure static. where sound is not heard but is ecstatic. Ecstasy. where in the vacuum of space you find your place. where energy is eternal. this is the prize you win for a life spent doubting. for a life seeking love.

that is everything.
start it over and say it again.

Democracy in Action

angry at being angry.
blame everyone for being blamed.
see jobs being jobs.
see government being government.

see politicians being politicians.
angry like me? then you are me.
know that i am nonsense just like you.
tired of political commercials as usual, usual.

then go outside and cry.
cry really hard, then try
to touch your toes. can you?
better run fast because it’s true.

they are coming for you.
black helicopters are flying over your house.
I don’t think you should think out loud.
shhhhh….. maybe you should just stop thinking.

two for ones are everywhere.
good times are here again.
forget about the gulf oil spill and the war.
forget about your neighbors multiple battle tours.

get angry at someone you don’t know.
blame all of your failures on him or her.
when you do that, you will feel the cure.
be sure and tell everyone who they should blame.

put a sign in your front yard to feel close to fame.
let everyone know you believe in the system.
cast your vote again and that will show them.
let them all know that you are no victim.

that you are democracy in action.

The Front Porch

Julie Baby
Let’s say maybe
You and I were only
Three years old
When I remember
The story you told
About the Redskins
In Atlanta near the front door
I look at that photo
And my emotions pour….
They reflect a lifetime.

Bleached Like Me

I am waiting for you to feed me.
I am waiting for you to clean me.
I shuffle in my feces like another species.
I have been bred to be fat.
I mate for you so you can take
My children and feed them more.

They never know me as they are stolen.
Put in another cage to grow in.
I used to scream but now, no more.
I realized the loud ones were snatched before.
So now I sit here and eat this corn
Hoping to last another day.

I take two steps with dismay.
My muscles too atrophied to move me.
My eyes swollen shut so I can’t see.
Next week I will be someones treat.
A snack sandwich or maybe nuggets to eat.

My body defeathered and boiled.
Then slammed through a machine to destroy
All my bones and cartilage for
That driv-thru you so deplore.
My body now paste like and pink.

Bleached white so you will think
That I was once healthy and well kept.
Raised with love on this great planet
As I ate, sat and shat inside a fence
Never able to see, hear or experience.

Flea Ridden

I don’t need an MBA
Because it is of no use to me.
I am surrounded by degrees.
People have diplomas like fleas.

I don’t need an MFA
Because it will not increase my pay.
A mountain of debt I would explore
Making allies and enemies waiting for tenure.

I don’t need a PhD.
I don’t need to hear doctor to be free
Because being an artist is all I need.
Artist is the only title I will concede.

I am surrounded by people who do
The same clicking and typing voodoo.
Who don’t realize that to make truly great things
All one needs is creativity.

Creativity can’t be found in a class.
Creativity can’t be found on a map.
Creativity is so often under tasked
Because most people are wearing a mask.

Having their creativity stolen from them
They enjoy forcing artists into the same system.
Will artists ever find the validity they deserve?
Only from within their hearts can respect be served.

DigiFriends

A Skype portrait between two friends
Who now see each other every two years.
Who used to be roommates who shared fears.

This is the closest friend I now have.
Who would my friends be without the net?
Maybe that’s not worth thinking about, yet.

The laptop was taken around our place
As I gave him a tour of our new space.
After the call it felt like he had just left.

A friend in a box on my countertop
Makes me wonder what we have got.
What ever happened to real flesh and blood?

Is this the way we connect before the flood
Or will we emerge into one hard drive?
Communicating together forever, live.

The Mental Picture

Imagine a network node of your consciousness
Extended outward to all other nodes
To the great upload.
Forever creating and retrieving data.

Flowing and dangling loosely like a tree in the weather.
Limbs stretched outward and upward.
Leaves bending and branches stretching in the river.
The mental picture…

This site has tentacles
That reach into inner and outer space.
Spreading consciousness to the human race.
This site connects my mind and heart to this place.

Downloading the passion I feel we need to face.
This site is much more to me than what it may seem.
It has become bigger than I could have ever foreseen.
The topics discussed primordial and never dreamed.

Where do we all belong in this culture?
This site is my job I now know.
Everything I do is to help this site grow.
To share my life experiences with you all.

To have more enlisted to its call.
So we might know each other better.
So we might grow stronger together.
This is my mental picture.

We All Fall Down

The wars go on,
Innocent die.
Bombs explode,
Parents cry.
Each side knows,
Its cause is just.
We must be right,
In God we trust.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Ashes to ashes,
In God we trust.

Ring around the many
A pocket full of pennies;
Ashes, Ashes
All stand still.

The years pass
Another cause.
Another fight.
Defend our ways.
Invade today,
To free the poor.
Spreading democracy
Is what war is for.

The King has sent his army,
To fetch a pail of oil;
Ashes, Ashes
All fall down.

We all know the path,
but need a plan.
Take you and me,
And every man.
Live your life,
With love. Be kind.
Spread joy,
Help fear decline.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Ashes to ashes,
In God we trust.

The bird upon the capitol,
Sits high above the sheeple;
Ashes, Ashes
All kneel down.

The Autumn Leaves


All weight removed by flipping a switch.
A brand new perspective, I must admit
Created the day I left my life.
Awoke and was reborn with no strife.

Realizing that to change
I needed to see differently and rearrange
The obstacles I created in my brain.
I no longer live with tension and strain.

How can one heal so quickly you might ask?
By realizing I can write freely without a mask.
I don’t have to write anymore as if a dead man walking.
I can be in any city I wish to be my calling.

Enjoying the freedoms I have in my mind.
There is no prison that can keep my thoughts intertwined.
No bars that can contain my imagination.
No disease that can cause new lesions.

I now sit on the mountaintop looking out.
Having driven along the same route.
I’ve sat here many long hours dreaming.
I walked upon a deer, the mist steaming.

Our paths crossed for that one brief moment.
An animal so strong I could barely comment.
I was walking with a spirit I now believe.
I can stand with him again, relieved.

I can walk freely with him among the autumn leaves.
I can view the Hudson where I grieved.
I might find a home with him once achieved
Only by those with many years of therapy.

I am now walking with that young deer.
Tomorrow I might decide to be a bird and steer
Clear of the mountains and fly to the sea.
For there is nothing here that can contain me.