It's not easy to breathe -
this suffocating hot-dog & apple pie
down through the throat -
it's everywhere;
shops, churches,
schools, hallways,
bedrooms & bathrooms.
I'm choking on Uncle Sam's cock;
forced to swallow a load
of bullshit jingoism -
I used to love you America,
but we've changed -
I've moved on and met other people;
better people -
So while you call me up & ask if I want to
go out on a date,
Know that I'm banging Europe -
and they've rung my
Independence bell.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
A Night at the Bar
Loud pulsing club music,
within a post-modern,
no fish-and-chips,
Irish pub specializing in the typical daiquiri,
a snake bite, a nine-euro watered-down Long Island Iced Tea,
and a mixed fruit Jameson.
New friends mix with the old -
New friends mix with the old -
all drinking by themselves next to others -
all yelling over the music about work,
about failed and triumphant affairs,
about fresh geopolitical conflicts -
which none truly know the answer for,
and that hot new neighbor who moved in next door...
All for the conversational dominance that
loud club music - which no one dances to -
even can afford...
The fresh faced fly in,
the downtrodden drunks dribble out,
the taste of silky Guinness coaxes the mind
into finding silence a midst the chaos -
only for a breath and a gulp,
as the bass beats it all away.
Bartenders with glassy and bored eyes fill,
refill, relinquish alcohol for the slam of a five
on the table, the counter, the bar -
one down, six up,
more to drink for an exuberant price.
"One more in, one more down,
one more cheer for shot-ing the Crown,
one more drunk, one more stud,
one more to get out of the rud..."
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Eulogy for Robin Williams
"O'Captain my Captain..."
you brought tears to my eyes,
I'm standing on my desk, can't you see,
you've gone, and now our laughter's replaced by cries...
O'Robin, our Robin,
we will remember you so,
your laugh, and mirth,
your comedic worth,
now, we lay the funniest man
on earth, into the dirt.
My friend, long-lost brother,
you brought me out of pain,
you made me laugh out in the rain,
dear, sweet Robin, you've flown away;
Away, funny Robin, fly away to Heaven,
and there, our Robin, is your final place to
stay.
you brought tears to my eyes,
I'm standing on my desk, can't you see,
you've gone, and now our laughter's replaced by cries...
O'Robin, our Robin,
we will remember you so,
your laugh, and mirth,
your comedic worth,
now, we lay the funniest man
on earth, into the dirt.
My friend, long-lost brother,
you brought me out of pain,
you made me laugh out in the rain,
dear, sweet Robin, you've flown away;
Away, funny Robin, fly away to Heaven,
and there, our Robin, is your final place to
stay.
Grasping Dreams
"Are you ready?
You must be so excited!"
This is another new step -
a new journey, a new page in my book,
a new leaf flourishing on my tree.
I smile, and nod,
and realize that I've grown older and up,
that I'm no longer a child,
that I'm almost out of my teens,
my Peter Pan story now fully flawed.
The thought of growing older scares me,
the idea of staying young is only worse,
I'm sick of hearing life steam by,
of seeing it disappear faster than I can grasp on,
of wasting half away before I can get my degree!
Time, though, has a way of slowing down,
of resting on a pin's head,
of breathing in between the heart beats,
Time has a way of pulling us back in,
just before life flings it back around.
I'm tired of being nervous and quick to excite,
of counting down the days,
and waiting near the door for it to arrive,
I'm tired of being patient for it to come to me,
I'd rather pounce on it in delight.
I'm no longer going to stand idly by,
I'm going to enjoy my flourishing tree,
enjoy my own evolving story,
of grasping onto fleeting dreams;
so my life can soar and fly.
You must be so excited!"
This is another new step -
a new journey, a new page in my book,
a new leaf flourishing on my tree.
I smile, and nod,
and realize that I've grown older and up,
that I'm no longer a child,
that I'm almost out of my teens,
my Peter Pan story now fully flawed.
The thought of growing older scares me,
the idea of staying young is only worse,
I'm sick of hearing life steam by,
of seeing it disappear faster than I can grasp on,
of wasting half away before I can get my degree!
Time, though, has a way of slowing down,
of resting on a pin's head,
of breathing in between the heart beats,
Time has a way of pulling us back in,
just before life flings it back around.
I'm tired of being nervous and quick to excite,
of counting down the days,
and waiting near the door for it to arrive,
I'm tired of being patient for it to come to me,
I'd rather pounce on it in delight.
I'm no longer going to stand idly by,
I'm going to enjoy my flourishing tree,
enjoy my own evolving story,
of grasping onto fleeting dreams;
so my life can soar and fly.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
A Warning from the Angels of Mons
The Angels of Mons visited me last night,
four bowmen made of light and crystal and quartz -
oh what a voluptuous panic and wonder seized me.
Standing in between the four brethren was a figure,
clad in battle-tested armor made from the scales of a dragon -
a flaming ring, a seraphic crown above his head
burned perfervidly against the dark within my dreams.
My voice would not respond to my surprise,
my throat having been silenced -
a single look from the Angels commanding reverence.
In the silence between we celestial and mortal beings,
the seraphic being spoke softly yet earnestly -
a tone of a young heart with the years of a learned soul.
"Be still, find comfort in me,
know that your mind is not deceiving you,
I am here before you. I bring grave news,
a warning against your brethren,
a lesson for your children."
"Only a hundred years ago, your past ancestors
gave war in the most destructive and inhumane of ways -
Young children left without fathers or mothers,
mothers left without their sons,
wives left without their husbands.
Terrible machinery - made by the cruelest hands of man,
sought to maim and destroy their own kind.
And only when the hunger from the
creature of Death was satiated, then
open war was silenced."
"We were called out into the open,
and we have been called again.
You maim, you destroy, you kill -
all in the name of your God;
your savior, your creator. You kill
in the name of your dollar, your land,
your benefactors. You kill with more
vile machinery made by your hands,
you destroy all the beauty which was made
by you and the world. You seek to create
and placate a world of only yourselves as
ruler - to eradicate all others unlike you.
You do such horrible things in the name of goodness,
that your own souls have been tainted by the
creature of Death, reborn and regaining of
its strength with every bomb, every bullet,
every death of every man, woman, and child."
"Quiver, dear one, for only until Death has
become satiated once again, life will seem
bleak and uncontrollable. You will learn
what it is your brethren are made of,
what fresh hellish clay your skin contains,
what impure water your veins flow.
Tremble, man, for the world will grow
dark before it sees the light again."
"Your children will learn of your own
brethren' mistakes, will learn of
injustices in the name of kings,
of gods, of wealth, of power.
Your children will learn from the memories
held deep within your eyes,
what horrors haunt your soul from experiencing
the pain of watching your own brethren die
by brethren's hand."
"Sleep, now, and awake with a passion of life,
with a rekindling of humanity's intolerance of evil,
awake from a slumber of oppression and injustice,
breathe new aires of compassion and love;
only when you awaken, and your brethren awaken
from their deep slumber of death-filled dreams,
will your world reawaken from it's slumber through
the night - to see fresh morning where peace rules
hand in hand with equality and humanity."
The Angels of Mons appeared before me last night,
five celestial and seraphic beings from another place -
a dark night lit up by a warning and a lesson.
four bowmen made of light and crystal and quartz -
oh what a voluptuous panic and wonder seized me.
Standing in between the four brethren was a figure,
clad in battle-tested armor made from the scales of a dragon -
a flaming ring, a seraphic crown above his head
burned perfervidly against the dark within my dreams.
My voice would not respond to my surprise,
my throat having been silenced -
a single look from the Angels commanding reverence.
In the silence between we celestial and mortal beings,
the seraphic being spoke softly yet earnestly -
a tone of a young heart with the years of a learned soul.
"Be still, find comfort in me,
know that your mind is not deceiving you,
I am here before you. I bring grave news,
a warning against your brethren,
a lesson for your children."
"Only a hundred years ago, your past ancestors
gave war in the most destructive and inhumane of ways -
Young children left without fathers or mothers,
mothers left without their sons,
wives left without their husbands.
Terrible machinery - made by the cruelest hands of man,
sought to maim and destroy their own kind.
And only when the hunger from the
creature of Death was satiated, then
open war was silenced."
"We were called out into the open,
and we have been called again.
You maim, you destroy, you kill -
all in the name of your God;
your savior, your creator. You kill
in the name of your dollar, your land,
your benefactors. You kill with more
vile machinery made by your hands,
you destroy all the beauty which was made
by you and the world. You seek to create
and placate a world of only yourselves as
ruler - to eradicate all others unlike you.
You do such horrible things in the name of goodness,
that your own souls have been tainted by the
creature of Death, reborn and regaining of
its strength with every bomb, every bullet,
every death of every man, woman, and child."
"Quiver, dear one, for only until Death has
become satiated once again, life will seem
bleak and uncontrollable. You will learn
what it is your brethren are made of,
what fresh hellish clay your skin contains,
what impure water your veins flow.
Tremble, man, for the world will grow
dark before it sees the light again."
"Your children will learn of your own
brethren' mistakes, will learn of
injustices in the name of kings,
of gods, of wealth, of power.
Your children will learn from the memories
held deep within your eyes,
what horrors haunt your soul from experiencing
the pain of watching your own brethren die
by brethren's hand."
"Sleep, now, and awake with a passion of life,
with a rekindling of humanity's intolerance of evil,
awake from a slumber of oppression and injustice,
breathe new aires of compassion and love;
only when you awaken, and your brethren awaken
from their deep slumber of death-filled dreams,
will your world reawaken from it's slumber through
the night - to see fresh morning where peace rules
hand in hand with equality and humanity."
The Angels of Mons appeared before me last night,
five celestial and seraphic beings from another place -
a dark night lit up by a warning and a lesson.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
A Fresh Mind - A Birthplace of Wonder
There is this joy -
this perverse glee every time
I feel a pen, pencil, charcoal touch a page -
I feel a pen, pencil, charcoal touch a page -
when memories and fantasies
flood fresh tabula rasas,
when hearts bleed inky reds, blues, and blacks,
when whole universes, worlds, dimensions, and beings
explode into existence
with a single stroke of a pen.
When the deep sea valley truths
When the deep sea valley truths
give rise to mountainous emotions -
the volcanic passions threaten
to overtake and destroy all traces of realism -
only to give life to further creations of the
mind and soul.
Only is it when every space, ever crevice
Only is it when every space, ever crevice
of the tabula rasa filled, is the
tabula plenus born but yet,
not realized.
Friday, July 11, 2014
The Soul Behind The Register
I met him in the winter just before Christmas, my coworker named Alva Turstell, yet I only truly began to learn who he was - what journeys his life afforded him, just before I left in the late summer for college.
He was 68 and quiet and kept to himself mostly, occasionally remarking to customers and associates whenever a question was asked his way. He was slow to action; his stroke and a battle with skin cancer, along with his time through life's journey left him more measured and tired in step. While he wasn't the most outgoing of my coworkers in the store, his attention to detail was his skill; whether it was stocking the medicines or putting new arrivals of candy on the shelves or even taking basic inventory of the sodas. Yet, while his retail cashiering skills are commendable in their own right, it was the small details of his life that he would mention in passing that drew me in, in those last two weeks of working with him.
Hearing quips and short tales of living in Heidelberg and China for many years at a time, of attending both Georgia Tech as well as Duke, of traveling through Italy for weeks on end - I began to believe that after the many years of his life, the autumnal years began to breathe truth into fisherman's tales within his mind.
While stocking energy drinks, his tired demeanor would disappear, his eyes brighten, and his stories of college life at Georgia Tech or at Duke would unfold, occasionally his mind switching the colleges without his lips knowing. From art history and art criticism lectures, to studying mathematics and mechanics - course after course, his memories allowed him to relive his past.
But even when things were going well for him, working in retail did throw unfortunate occurrences - unapologetic, impatient customers who demanded instant gratification from a man who's speed was not set to the notch eleven. The only thing worse than the intolerant customers, were the intolerant customers vocalizing their rather crude remarks - however not directly to him, instead to other cashiers where he was in earshot. He never retorted in any fashion, never shot back - instead he continued on, acting as if nothing was said. But oh, when the face remains calm and stone-like, how the eyes betray the soul within - the pain and anger visible, only to be drowned within sadness and the feeling of being used to such comments.
He wasn't as fast as us young summer-hire cashiers, wasn't as sprightly or as flexible as us, but he was more mature and calm than us; not only in action, but also in speech - for when he was silent in the fray of busied conversations and ringing up customers, his mind ran laps around us all; catching minute details whilst we young bucks tried to appease every customer who walked in the store.
That summer I met a man who has lived more than I have, who has seen more, and done more, and loved more than I have. He has seen oppression and joy in everyday moments, has seen love and warmth, and hate and despair. His movements were slowed down compared to us, but his mind was miles ahead of us. He was quiet and docile but his memories exuded noise and life. That was the summer I truly learned what a well lived and traveled human soul looked like - and I've yet to encounter another one.
He was 68 and quiet and kept to himself mostly, occasionally remarking to customers and associates whenever a question was asked his way. He was slow to action; his stroke and a battle with skin cancer, along with his time through life's journey left him more measured and tired in step. While he wasn't the most outgoing of my coworkers in the store, his attention to detail was his skill; whether it was stocking the medicines or putting new arrivals of candy on the shelves or even taking basic inventory of the sodas. Yet, while his retail cashiering skills are commendable in their own right, it was the small details of his life that he would mention in passing that drew me in, in those last two weeks of working with him.
Hearing quips and short tales of living in Heidelberg and China for many years at a time, of attending both Georgia Tech as well as Duke, of traveling through Italy for weeks on end - I began to believe that after the many years of his life, the autumnal years began to breathe truth into fisherman's tales within his mind.
While stocking energy drinks, his tired demeanor would disappear, his eyes brighten, and his stories of college life at Georgia Tech or at Duke would unfold, occasionally his mind switching the colleges without his lips knowing. From art history and art criticism lectures, to studying mathematics and mechanics - course after course, his memories allowed him to relive his past.
But even when things were going well for him, working in retail did throw unfortunate occurrences - unapologetic, impatient customers who demanded instant gratification from a man who's speed was not set to the notch eleven. The only thing worse than the intolerant customers, were the intolerant customers vocalizing their rather crude remarks - however not directly to him, instead to other cashiers where he was in earshot. He never retorted in any fashion, never shot back - instead he continued on, acting as if nothing was said. But oh, when the face remains calm and stone-like, how the eyes betray the soul within - the pain and anger visible, only to be drowned within sadness and the feeling of being used to such comments.
He wasn't as fast as us young summer-hire cashiers, wasn't as sprightly or as flexible as us, but he was more mature and calm than us; not only in action, but also in speech - for when he was silent in the fray of busied conversations and ringing up customers, his mind ran laps around us all; catching minute details whilst we young bucks tried to appease every customer who walked in the store.
That summer I met a man who has lived more than I have, who has seen more, and done more, and loved more than I have. He has seen oppression and joy in everyday moments, has seen love and warmth, and hate and despair. His movements were slowed down compared to us, but his mind was miles ahead of us. He was quiet and docile but his memories exuded noise and life. That was the summer I truly learned what a well lived and traveled human soul looked like - and I've yet to encounter another one.
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