Running through my mind,
Running through my veins,
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night,
Cool air beneath and above the sea.
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand.
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing.
Up ahead in a virtue distance,
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods.
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality.
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again.
Twilight, rain stranger than strange.
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture.
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"
Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow.
If I accept, and then decline.
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways.
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?
When I no longer value the values of the young.
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart.
They're the voices give and take from our health.
Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me.
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria….
YES UNITY! Fantabulously-fantastic!
Always, wanting more than love can touch.
We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup.
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips.
Prisoners and doers;
All night…. Too late for a treatment.
Lungs, decaying, evil rats.
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation.
Running through my lungs,
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________
No longer at desk the typewriter has been given
it's final rest.
As he cant recall the day or year.
The once strong mind is closed the body
but a museum or tribute to what once was.
he his home but locked within himself.
Vist's from thoose who once knew the man
are like people viewing a body at a wake.
he calls from within the shell for for release.
Yet his lips will not move his voice never sounds.
Inside he burns for the chance to run as the river
chases the sea.
To be the man they never knew and the one he
could admire and both despise.
The page sits in typewriter like a willing
eager lover in bed.
Waitting in stockings that cling to delicate thigh.
the tears escapes it's minds prison.
He thirsts for it like a drunk for that morning drink
of whiskey waitting hands held togather trying
to keep from shaking.
He sits as a painter without hand.
watching the most beautiful sunset fade without
a chance of ever capturing this moment.
The ink is drying he feels it everyday.
Soon he hopes like the dust that does gather
he will be swept away.
The sun rose bright red not a dark cloud in sight
Few whispy cotton clouds spread around blue sky
Redtail Hawk in sky left nest for morning flight
On those cold air currents he did swiftly fly
Door was opened by east north easterly wind
Letting out illness, death, want_then in comes health
The sun set covered in dense clouds_cold its shroud
Will it rise in morn purple horizon proud
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
I suck at dying poems
Chemo poems, Metastatic Cancer poems,
Hair falling out in the shower poems
And I told a half truth
When I told you I could write you one
In less than six months (It's been eight)
I apologize for being so late
I wanted your poem to be pink and graceful
Like those ribbons
I see all over the internet
Filled with cheesy generic rhymes
That read like a Hallmark audition
But already my metaphors are melting
And my similes are getting soft
I guarantee you the rhyme meter will be off
When I went to Google
And the typed in the word 'happy'
Three billion links came up
Not a single inference to
Breast cancer, hair loss
No redirects to mastectomies
Yahoo wasn't any kinder
The only thing research could teach me
Is that a good day on chemo
Is when your stool doesn't come out tar Black
And has no blood in it
Or when your urine
Smells better on Wednesday
Than it did on Tuesday
Sleeping less than 12 hours
When 24 would be better
America has more poets
Than it does alcoholics
And Pot smokers combined
And you chose me to be
Your Breast Cancer
Trusting me to write a poem
About the biggest battle in your life
So I refuse to finish this poem
Without something bright and hopeful
And don't think
I didn't notice your Facebook activity
Had decreased by 88%
In the last three months
And you aren't really
Coming to any more of my poetry shows
Ever again. Are you??
But we still have March, April
But even if you had one breast
Or no breast
Or if you had less hair than I do
I promise to look only in your eyes
And never ever even notice
Or even think about it
And never for a moment
Would I feel sorry for you
Yes I suck at lying too...
But I don't suck at loving you
Or at hoping you wake up tomorrow morning
With no Cancer at all
And that The Eiffel Tower will be right outside
Your bedroom window...
And I would be right there with you
Holding your hand while we look down on Paris
And you can impress me with your French again
And if I ever make it
To the Pulitzer Poetry board
I might lose a thousand points
Just for this poem alone
And my hopes for the prize will be smitten
And some old person
With white hair will say
That was the worst love poem ever written
The rainbow of reason ends
With a pot of gold and jabberwocky.
When hippocampus dwells in solitary,
of the expatriated mind.
In planned visits
To familiar spaces,
When elapsed faces are still hailed with fervor,
As though they had never gone.
Deep in thought
In cavernous bowels tangled lost,
Remote repartees recurring restlessly.
and ever leery
of echoing footsteps anxiously nearing, as though someone might overhear.
As even eyes fail to mirror
The twilight of past vigor,
Speaking in feeble voices muddled beneath walls,
Walking politely in ancient, and empty, imaginary halls.
The stars stop still and unfleeting
Listening to last breaths, and the heart’s last beating,
To hearken timid last words from the past's last illusions,
Where celestial alae still go a-flutter with lost aspirations.
When the frail hand that once held and sheltered
Cannot even rattle dandelion clocks,
Or crush delicate imago wings into dust,
Save for Elysian veldts
Where the rainbow of reason ends.
R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee
Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.
I was as high as the eyes could see
A giant dark cloud of pure misery
I seemed to roll as one with the wind
A giant black wall that had no end
I stripped the land and left it bare
Of the lives I destroyed, I didn’t care
Those who stayed I covered in dust
As their children died I broke their trust
From my hell many families did flee
Left to wander homeless in misery
I changed the word these words are true
Black Sunday brought darkness on you
I didn't see any direct link but just goggle
pictures of the dust bowl and you will see
what i have written for Brian's Contest.
The Dust Bowl - Alexandre Hogue - 1937
Looking dead at me in this smeared mirror...
a lost man
the longer I stare
this stress abuses
my conscience with a glare
a guilty reflection warns
my mind is the prison I fear
as I long to escape
from the hell I dwell in
who have I become?
what have I done right?
crossroads appear suddenly
as fog fills the mirror tonight
darkness owning the room,
prefers I suffer slow
so I proceed with speed
because it’s the only way I know
flood my life’s hard bound chapters
while this smeared mirror reflects tears
dripping from a face
which was once filled with laughter.
As days go by,
And the pain gets worse,
I long to ride,
In my hearse
That "Exit Sign"
Above the door,
Calls to me,
Like never before...
I'm not a coward,
I'm not a fool,
But living with pain
Breaks the rule...
I hold back,
in fear of God,
And, I guess,
that's kind of odd,
Yet constant pain,
Just gnaws away
Makes me wish
Today's my final day...
And effects on loved ones,
Escapes me not,
To make them sad
Not a desire I've got
But pounding, twisting
Makes me wonder
How much more for me
That "Exit Sign"
Above the door,
Promising no more
So very tempting,
Believe you, me...
The meaning of my life,
Seems so well hidden
To die alone,
And in pain,
A life in vain.
My mother starts moaning, with another one due.
She won't live to see, as she struggles to wheeze.
I never knew famine would produce skies so blue.
But no need for toilets, I forget how to squeeze.
Searing sun inflates skulls into baroque balloons.
One whining dog, dying , from a surfeit of fleas.
I squint as my sister beats a roach with a spoon.
She's holding out hope, with a morsel to tease.
My eyes can still water from the feces and trash,
tossed up by vultures to release fresh disease.
I dig up what moist dirt I can pound into mash.
An old man collapses, not a single one grieves.
What passes for corpses- baking black as they pop.
Now the flies feel the heat and retreat to the trees.
My brother keeps wailing and I wish he would stop.
My breathing grows shallow in the oven fed breeze.
If it helps each of you,
I am down on my knees.
I beg you.
Hand me one piece of bread.
Would you, please?
14 hours in a New York minute,
I ought to stop,
But I can't quit it...
No answer to my call...
Is it the end
Of it all?
The pain, it does spread,
Making the future
Something to dread...
Somehow, some way,
I got to get out of here,
Cause I'm swimming
In a sea of fear...
So I say goodbye to you
As I acknowledge
Something is flying about....
Cancer, you are an artist
A prolific one at that,
For several dear ones
Have encountered your work.
Your wretched fingers as sculptors
Design imprints of faces unknown.
You smudge white, pain-ridden clay
A little here, a little there,
Till your subject becomes amorphous.
But oh you are not finished!
A red cross encrusted kiln
Invariably cements your doings.
A surgery of crackling and burning,
Until the shape is spit out,
A hard shell lost of all dignity.
Satisfied with your creation,
You give it one last look
Before it rests on an earthly shelf
And another project is begun.
I am sad to say,
You are quite skilled at your craft.
She's caught in the black rain, emotions are swimming in darkness, as the
acid rain impairs her vision; within the depth her soul she's unable to find goodness.
The falling black rain has her mind in a state of confusion, murder is no longer
an ill illusion, actions has drawn it's fatal conclusion.
Upon her the black rain fell bringing misery with pain, living life in vain, constantly
seeing loss with no gain, and her mental health is far from being sane.
Few have already seen the devastating effects of falling black rain, it's aftermath
makes the sanest go insane, and those who survive the storm their lives will
never go back to being simple nor plain.
Falling black rain is a storm formed from mental pain, financial strain, loss with
no gain, and living life in vain.
Though, in my theory of goodness lies this conclusion," Things that we see as
being favorable unto living life is nothing more than our ill illusions," and there-
fore it's causing us an in-depth state of confusion.
I do not know?
O strike thy wisdom
and thy freedom;
While picket signs aren't weapons,
they arouse violent hymns
and bayonet dreams;
Where authoritarian presidents,
governors and dictators
all think alike,
and strike thee common good.
with karma on their side,
where echoes fly like angels
and their halos shine so bright;
Where slavery's not an option
and poverty no life,
Where no act of violence,
aimed at stifling true justice
always voices it's complaints,
always finds some other means,
never ends with the moon
but starts with the sun,
Fore there's no future otherwise.
A tiny Heart pain
and now I'm less than a man
Right side numb Can't write
Just say GO
An imaginary race,
Running nowhere fast,
Sweat pours down my face,
Hoping time has passed.
Pop a pill an hour,
Distractions proving gold,
Hop into a shower,
Warm away the cold.
Drink. Drink. Drink.
Substitute the full.
Sink. Sink. Sink.
Deeper in the hole.
Hold on tight,
The pain will cease,
It might increase.
Watch the mirror,
Let me know,
Tell me truthfully
Friend or foe?
Touch me, Love me, Praise me,
If only you knew how,
The aching doesn’t phase me,
I feel what I allow.
Run, fall, stop,
Sweat, sorrow, hurt,
Water, faster, pop,
Strong will, assert.
Peel away my skin,
Please don’t ever stare,
At what’s left within.
Gorge, eat, fill,
Shower, cry, sleep,
All against my will,
Guilty secrets keep.
Awake again tomorrow,
Vow a better day,
Full of shame and sorrow,
Starting over is ok….
Run harder, sweat more,
Pill, water, hands shake,
A casualty of food and war,
Legs, arms, stomach, ache.
Fade into sleep,
Make it stop,
Pill, run, sweat, eat,
Spin my top,
Lose, gain, win, defeat.
I do not know?
Working double time
Feeling on my own
Now all I want
Is to go home
Where there is some one
There who cares
Yet I am so damn tired
Soul feels as if it has been impaired
Making next to nothing
In this full time job
Now I have to do school work
Oh my god
Have you ever felt
As if bitterness has overwhelmed the soul
Only wishing for it to be sweetened
Yet every day you wake up
As if your body has been brutally beaten
And nothing you can possibly do
Could bring joy to your life
All actions you make
Feel as if you’ve slit your wrist with a knife
I have been to hell and back
And understanding, I lack
So don’t skrew with me now
Cause I just may attack
And your bells I now
Intend to memorably rack
My name is James, born 1961
In Inverness, a small Scots town
To my father Andrew, and my mother Beryl
And Billy my brother, a pair of devils
In 67, we woke one night
Our house was ablaze, full of orange light
Our neighbour next door, for whatever reason
Started a fire, it must be crazy season
We had too move to a caravan park
By this time it,s three, to make a new start
My mother Beryl decide to leave
But the three of us left, never bothered to grieve
In the next few weeks, we ended in court
Two small children, in a marriage abort
We were asked to choose either Dad or Mum
But we ignored the parent, who went on the run
As we left the court, to start a new life
We felt sorry for Dad, as his illness was rife
He never told us that he was unwell
It would upset one of his boys, as the future will tell
Then came the night all parents dread;
Being told one of his boys is nearly dead
We were going to a boys club, on a Monday night
My brother was running so far out of sight
I turned the corner to see him ahead
No!! he's been hit by a van, Boom's Boom's dead
I ran to my father, sreaming and crying
I'm finding my life,at 7 - far too trying
After the funeral, and with my father unwell
We left Inverness, our eyes a swell
To go as two, and not three as before
It's like Mother Nature closed a door
So we headed west, to a place called Fort William
Was it in the stars, cause Billy " is " William
We moved there, as the air was so pure
Hoping my father will find his cure
For whatever reason, we left the above
We found no Angel or peaceful dove
So we headed back to Inverness
Fathers health decreasing, life still a stress
Over the next few years, i was fostered and loaned
In couples houses and children's homes
It was really strange in all those places
Different people, different faces
Then on the 16th of Feb - 76,
James, i was told, your dads very sick.
The cancer had taken your father away
To be with Billy, where you'll join them one day
In 77, i joined the Navy, as i promised my dad you see.
I did'nt enjoy it, i decided to leave
Back up north, where my futures to be
I wanted to have, what my parents had lost
And that was my aim, no matter the cost
see page 2 of 2, ty..
I do not know?
I once heard a saying,
that the happiest people are the saddest
Shining because they’ve seen the darkest
Like the lotus that grows out of mud
Or the rotting stump that bears a bud..
You never know what troubles the mind
So be careful with words unkind
The glowing person just beside you
Could be a crumbling ruin behind the hairdo
Most people struggle everyday
Souls burdened with decay..
I guess it takes a lot of courage
To act normal with that damage
Hard to believe that under the surface
Lives a soul with no purpose
A cry for help won’t be any crisper
Listen to the their inner whisper..
I saw the Four Horsemen -
the famous apocalypse guys.
They rode silently past neatly folded laundry,
They approached me in silence,
their breathe a rye and meadow wind.
Each of them in turn,
gliding ghostlike past where I sat,
watching steam on the mirror
War had no use for me,
past my prime, bum knee.
Not even as cannon fodder.
Famine had little to work with,
I had known hunger, want, poverty,
nothing he had could scare me.
Pestilence likewise dismissed me out of turn,
for which I’ll be forever grateful,
probably too sedentary to spread the touch.
And Death, well, we all must dance,
but today is not the day, now not the hour,
Death merely bid me good day.
And then they were gone, their vacancy tangible,
while I decided to look up embolisms or strokes,
trying to close this doorway into myself.
Until I saw the tracks in the talcum powder,
heard the soft whicker of horse,
and tasted their life on my tongue.
No more than 12 years old
Sees images of women
She looks in the mirror
She doesn't see the image
Her body doesn't fit the mold
Movies, TV and magazines
Tell her she is not what they want
She is not thin
She is not beautiful
Everyday her eyes cry as she looks at who she is
The perfect her hidden within
The beautiful soul they will not let her see
Still she does not fit the mold
She feels unloved
Eating less than a cracker a day
Throwing up the scant food she eats
Her body changes
They make her up
She wears a beautiful white dress
They close the lid
Denied the perfect her
The person she should have been
She lies in eternal rest
But she is loved
She is wanted
She will be missed
His face, withered, gaunt
His eyes cloudy, filled with a haunting vacancy
His voice weak , shallow
Seldom spoken these last difficult days
His hair is white and thin
His skin, so delicate and discolored
The strength has left his fragile body
And he lies, waiting
Yet I remember the man who was my Father
In my youth, so tall and strong
His eyes a deep blue with a depth of the seas
Thick, wavy, black hair tousled about his head
He walked with an unaware arrogance
Never knowing that all eyes were upon him
This handsomest of men, beautiful, confident
No one could match his brilliance, his seductive air
Unconscious, innocent of the power he possessed
The command he held with peers, a leader of men
A bright star in the universe, a life spent searching for answers
Politics, Economics, Religion…his battlegrounds
Yet, with all his perfection
He remained kind and true to all
Generous, loving; never an unkind word
A light for all who knew him
But the cruelty of life is worse for some
His body wracked with an unforgiving disease
Seizing him, slowly at first…a tremor
Then completely, leaving him helpless
Dependent upon those who had worshipped his strength
Lying in his bed, languished, weak
Nearly impossible to eat, difficult to drink
Each day descending further into darkness
Life’s cruelest blow to one so special
Chosen by angels as their brightest star
So blessed to have loved such a man
Still loved, but pitied for the terrible loss
For such men were never meant to suffer this fate
To fade each day, closer to oblivion
He would never have chosen this
Broken, suffering silently in stoic resignation
Pride now replaced with painful gratefulness
He tries to manage a smile
His rigid muscles fighting the instinct
For he spent his life smiling
But old age has given him no peace
No time to reflect on the legacy he leaves
He waits as life deals its unjust ending
For one who was so great, so good
I hold his cold, thin hand in mine
Holding back the tears that burn
I will remember him, the Father whom I have loved
I see him walk away, wavy black hair, a cute little wink
As he leaves this tired shell, worn, used up
Once again becoming the unbroken man
I see him strut again, his quick, bouncy steps
As he climbs the ladder to the heaven he has earned
I hear the trumpets of the angels
Welcoming their special creation
A man of compassion and ideals
My Father, My Daddy…How I will miss him
Here on a washed away hillslope
Water brought an acorn to grope
A little clay of Georgia red
Put down a tap root and make its bed
Took years to grow in this poor soil'
But it sustained on water___toil
Soil gave what nourishment she could
But help from rain that understood
Stony soil and hard rocks below
Was hurtful when Oak tried to grow
The soil strained to give very best
Oak was draining the soul of rest
This meager soil will starve the Oak
No! This Mighty Oak only grows
Had that acorn fallen on boulder
Would have sent strong root __grown taller
This Oak became a Kingly Tree
Soil is glad to have been drained free___
Of nourishment that nurtured it
Now the rain and sun supplies pith
For soil to be greatly replenished
So Oak but prospers___soil finished
(Idea came after reading Edna St. Vincent Millay..)
just reach your hand out to the sky
pull your loved ones back to your side
lets get to say one more goodbye
for we never wanted them to go away and die
as now the days and nights lay
in such sweet disguise
so let us once again our lord
stare into their illumating eyes
as we reach out for them
in your broad horizon sky
and get to hold and kiss them
even if their not by our sides
for if this is however feels when we die
then I'd like to be that angel in that sky
so I can just reach out right back
and wipe their tears too from their eyes
Tribute To Our Loved Ones
On The Other Side
May You All RIP