Some things change; some things stay the same

I’ve decided to blow up my blog theme again and try something new. Actually I’ve had this theme for a while, just never used it. I’m undecided as to whether to do full blog post on the page format or some variation of the grid style blog or the read more style. The advantage I think the full blog post …

Nightmare hooligan

I wasted many years chasing windmills and waterfalls. Now I finally act my age, and my friends feel uncomfortable when I’m serious. So I play the clown, the eternal court jester, the fool. I’m a nightmare hooligan with a bloody nose seeking the Book of Knowledge and the Truth, if there is such a thing.

The chief function of poetry

The chief function of poetry is to use words as charms to evoke life and colours and smells - a sense of joy, of awe, of compassion, and so on.

Emily Dickinson

I finished reading a selected work of Emily Dickinson’s poems. She wrote over 1800 poems in her lifetime, although only a handful were published while she still breathed. I found it helpful to read about her and then read her poems. The understanding of who she was as a poet helped inform her poetry at least to me. Armed with …

One more wink

A lone car rumbles down the street the morning yawns you pretend to sleep not ready for the hustle just one more wink

Something new

I’m dog tired tonight. Weekends make you weak. The only thing keeping me awake right now are three pieces of spearmint gum and the promise of watching Walking Dead later tonight.  I have some neat pictures from my Bristol trip over the weekend which I haven’t edited yet. Bristol left me city-sick. I’ve had enough of small town living. I …

A different kind of war

I felt like reading some Bukowski over lunch. I landed on the poem Mademoiselle from Armentieres. It’s a contrast between old wars and new wars. All boys like to romanticise war. There’s something in our DNA that makes us want to run around the neighbourhood playing army-man, cops and robbers, cowboys and indians, and I guess these days autobots and …

reminisce – 1st draft

She reminisced in my name. Fire, meltdown and the sanity they let lose in a tangled abstract fantasy of post apocalyptic let down. She reminisced in the attic for the wind, the damned, and the free. Her shadow slipped further. Soft she lay as the boys came for her body. She looked to reach them in their sleep. One by …

all the paths i could travel & jane doe

Here’s an excerpt from my poetry collection, A Thousand Bullets Gone Astray: all the paths i could travel All the paths I could travel are pointing me in 360 directions Which path I choose is hard for me to imagine. If I move in one direction the circle collapses and my path becomes fixed I can’t help but wonder what …

Can we breathe

Already clustered full, my morrowed eyes looked beyond her vintage lips. Can we breathe, once again, marked and boundless, a broken wing, crushed by ignorance. I could have wandered on, lived my life asleep like an old door. I never really understood why she said she could only hate what she should love.

Who is you? – 1st Draft

My friend Julian Stodd has inspired me do what he calls working out loud, which is, in effect, sharing your works in progress. I thought I’d do the same with some of the writing stuff i’m doing on the prose poetry/flash fiction/aphorism side, beginning with this piece, which was inspired by one of Gregory Corso’s poems from his book The …

sunday afternoon

black coffee pounding def beats through my veins a jazz rift drifts like dead flies against the newscaster’s sand blasted voice scratching head lines across my brain. senior prison officers pimping passes for pussy, didn’t see that one coming, male guards female prisoners human beings in denial of their base instincts. ann abramovich knows the score: ‘i wish u peace, …

desire

Her breasts bounce in step with each step on the step master they bounce, Like over-filled water balloons on a string, they bounce. Sweat drips slowly between her crevasse We lick our lips like on a hot summer day, standing before a merchant’s stall of freshly cut water melons, full of thirst She steps. Process notes: I was looking for …

two live wires

It isn’t nice to be naked. Two live wires, hot, exposed, to dangerous to touch together under the night sky. Dark, unyielding, no moon to light the way toward salvation and bliss. A kiss delivered on velvet lips awaiting the morning dew to deliver parched lips from a thousand nights of thirst. Process notes: I wrote this piece after reading …

in search of peace

III.  in search of peace I searched for peace but could not find her on the troubled city streets I climbed a mountain seeking peace in the clouds, but saw only gun-smoke rising from heated barrels I listened by a babbling brook for peace’s soothing song, but heard only the drowning voices of the thirsty cry I sort solace in …

dark eyes

i want to know the story written in her sad, dark eyes i wonder why she cries at night, her sad, dark eyes never smile, but captivate, trance like pleading, needing sad, dark eyes i want to know the pain they hide and hold the softest touch the tilted chin the lightest kiss to ease the pain away, her sad …

saxophone

Got my Lucky Strikes and Jesus doll Pinup girl in yellow shorts pouts love Through lips red as the dawn sky on The fourth of July, I’m ready to roll Cowboy hat no Texan to stand Jack Daniels and Coke drank separate like a man, I hitch a ride south on ninety nine Door opens and slams Yellow convertible, white …