Monthly Archives: March 2013

365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety

God, I hope I spelled that right. I am one of those people who gets drunk for the holidays. Especially since I have this tooth pain thing going on.

 

calling up the voices of the past.

through song.

this is the day I morn.

both founding mothers.

their presence still here.

in me.

and their daughters.

her sons.

two have left and she,

she had only one.

that night, we remember.

I hope he doesn’t have to.

today.

I have not told.

my brother, what happened.

we are long removed, but

you do not do such a thing to our family.

I want retribution.

he is lucky.

the distance is great.

and there is no funeral.

this year.

one day, one day though.

we will have our tithe.

and he will fall.

for his sins.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty-Nine

four cigarettes stand in a row.
this is the way holidays go.
when your family’s down South.
or soon off to work.

four teeth rot in a row.
this is the way pain goes.
when too many hits and too many dreams
takes focus from mundane things.

four drinks stand in a row.
this is the way life goes.
when sickness and lies tread ephemeral ties
and the ink is left to sink.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty-Eight

a new toy.
made from.
old things.

I am happy.
if hurt.
patience is key.
to the healing process.

I must believe.
it will get better.
before the break.
there were other problems.
but none compares.

pain, fear, compromise
the stuff of life and
suffering, tomorrow
focus will shift and
progress be made, another
week of dreams.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty-Seven

and this is what it feels.

to be at peace.

and this is what it feels.

to be released.

and why did I ever stop?

and why did I ever stop?

 

and this is what it feeds.

to be the beast.

and this is how I bleed.

to beat the beast.

and why did I ever stop?

and why did I ever stop?


365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty-Six

the rudder is locked.
an irritation.
months of an open bore.
waiting to be violated.

intruders are always standing by.
bakers and bandits questing for–
an easy score, but
the rudder is locked.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty-Five

The first song I wrote. About ten years old. Songs are poems, though poems are not songs, so gonna post this today. Spent a lot of time getting any sort of webcam/recording setup to work today, so want to share. I know the frame rate sucks, as I used a netbook to record. So may have to move most of the setup down here.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Eighty-Four

the cutting age of technology.
now a VHS dream.
no longer about magnetic film.
entertainment is the stream.

a mix of old and new.
a way to be unique.
focus is a scattered path.
that helps me feel complete.


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