There are

(Short Poem Series)


There are really only three

things a true writer needs-

1) a pen
(preferably, a good one)

2) paper
(so you don't forget what you wanted to say)

3) something to write about-

(?)

Two out of three ain't bad

In the dark

(Short poem series)

In the dark,

she shed some clothes-

And with 

it 

sheds light 

on the

last mystery.

Arggg

what is that sound you are makin?

should we be concerned?

is there someone we should call?

beyond our 

control

a technical difficulty

glitchy 

buggy

It sounded like

It reminds me of

Well now

get better soon

but really 

you should get that 

checked out

what was that?

come again

once more with feeling now...

"Arggggg"

Mr. KnowItAll

I've made it my business,

to know.

To know architecture,

books, movies and music.

To know art,

politics, technology and history

To know how to speak to the
 intellectual and the vapid.

I've made it my business to be

a real know it all.

So, when anyone asks,

"Why do you know so much?"

I tell 'em simply.

"When you're beautiful and rich,

you don't need to know anything."

This Also And

This,

Also,

And-

All absorb

Time.

Give Nothing.

Attach

This Nothing

Also Nothing

And Nothing.

Yes Sir, No Sir

I have a problem with authority.

I see my fathers face in:

Principals,

Police,

Popes, Priests and Nuns,

n'

Parking attendants-

My father would 

beat me 

mercilessly.

No Sir,

Yes Sir-

Telling

What to do-

How to do it

and

How I was fucking it up-

I have a problem with authority. 

Yes sir.

I have a problem with:

Control 

Power

Abuse

Yes Sir, No sir.

And now it is my turn

to tell others 

what to do,

how to it

and 

how they are  fuckin it up.

I do not see my fathers face in them-

No sir.

I see my 

face as a child.

 And with 

Kindness

Compassion

and

Patience

remind them 

its okay to make mistakes

its how we learn

its how we grow

I have become the father 

I never had, to children who not mine-

so that they do not grow to

resent in anger.

No sir ree bob.

Poem Scraps

I.
While writing other things:
 
De Incendiis Corporis Humani Spontaneis
Human Combustion

I hate the both of you,
one times 2,
one times 3.

She is ugly in a beautiful kind of way
She is beautiful in ugly kind of way

In the morning she will have a story
to tell of how she narrowly avoided getting wet.

II.
I have felt your
hands slipping before-

maybe I've no right
to try  to hold
your hand tighter.

From the moment you came into my life,
I've tried to prepare for you leaving.

I learned we are the same with
goodbyes.

Sneaking out,
in silence.

(We have that in common)

But if you don't hear from me again,
its because i've run out of ways to
say I'm sorry.

III.
Letting  you in,
has been a most dangerous thing.

I've know
Carelessness
Indifference
Rejection
before.

but compared
to the damage I do to myself
you and all the rest,
have been amateurs.

Fucking amateurs.

"If you want something done right,
you gotta do it your self."

IV.
I was told-
that my soul

was under the impression,
that suffering was the surest way to you.

There are times
I question everything you do.

Including your very existence.

In matters of my heart,
I thought you most cruel.

Waiting to the last possible moment to answer.

I don't want to suffer anymore.

So you've granted me
Mercy-

You let me see you in eyes of woman.
You let me feel you in her heart.
You let me feel you in my own heart.

Then you took it away.

Mercy-

V.
So hands join together not hold, but to clap
So she says "its time to go, I drawn you a map.
So the spring that released set in motion a trap
So empty the box, left behind like the gift to unwrap

VI.
 as if
We will never die,

though the flame will
weaken into embers.

What was once a raging fire-
(consuming all in its path)
must become ashes.

There is a cycle of destruction  and birth.

what came before
what comes after,
what was destroyed this cycle
gave birth.

It gives birth to us.

VII.
For the moment, I feel they have lifted the curse,
the one given to me at birth, to carry by hearse, on my way back to the earth.



12/13- 7/15

Sometime We Ask

Sometimes we ask for a miracle and the answer is no.

You tried your best 

to save me from my sins.

My mother stood by me.

There is a karma to theses things.

I think I saw a butterfly flutter by.

I took it as a sign.

But it was just a butterfly.

Sometimes we ask for a miracle 

and the answer is no.