flames burn
sky smoke filled
dark like late day
the smell of burnt wood drifts-
I weep
It's no surprise
that I'm back here
looking out over the river,
painting thoughts, dripping
memories, smearing streaks
of the here and now
across the canvas of a dull,
overcast day.
There was a time
when I had ambitions to be
an artist, high school dreams
of a life in smoke filled studios,
tee shirts and paint splattered
Levi jeans. ( A la Jackson Pollock )
Fate though had me
nine to five dressed in a suit,
white cotton shirt and a tie.
Over a long career I digested
libraries of corporate jargon,
studied the intricacies of office drill,
the dark secrets of management
all with consummate skill.
To survive, I mastered the art
of disguise and deflection
as an undercover poet
learns to do.
what must I say to get you to speak—
I’ve tried the soft approach,
the hard approach,
drank whiskey alone in dark corners
wrote letters I never sent
screamed at the night sky
asking the moon to drag your voice out of the void
I’ve said all the wrong things,
tried all the right ones—
sat in smoke-filled bars
with the ghosts of old conversations,
sat on bus benches with
a thousand cigarettes burning holes in my throat—
I’ve been your fool,
your priest,
your punching bag—
but you never say a damn thing back.
Perhaps the new pope
Can offer some hope
To those who are lost and in need,
But to ones who can’t cope,
At the end of their rope,
That improvement is not guaranteed.
Though white smoke filled the sky
And no one can deny
The selection was balanced and fair,
Many skeptics will sigh
For the clergy on high
Can’t help everyone desperate for care.
To the faithful, this choice
Is a cause to rejoice
And we all, with respect, will take note,
But the world as of late
Is in such a sad state
It’s not likely to change with this vote.
I wrote this on a bus ride through the city
An early morning excursion with no sleep
A chance encounter flooded by unknown
Original reference AM/PM 26 years ago
The gritty rhyme blindly spoke for itself
Like the back of a smoke-filled jazz club
Notes transporting me to another place
Destination decided with no destiny
For certain this was uncharted waters
A whispered verse beneath streetlights
Each syllable swaying with the potholes
Did I write this or did the city pen it?
Its pulse echoing in the hollow of my ribs
Doors hiss open stepping off into fog
A silhouette waiting for me at the curb
Eyes I’ve never met but already know
Together we disappeared into the abyss
My friend, how deep can be your sorrows?
Through smoke filled maze of modern days
When time flies by in bleary haze
And we don't know about tomorrow?
Your eyes, once bright and full of life,
Nowdays, instead, to my dismay,
Are filled, like rainy days of May,
With hate, and pain, and fright.
No, you can't plea, no, you can't flee,
'Cause life is known for no compassion.
Your lust for it and inner passion
Have been dried up, like bloodless fleas.
Yet we don't know of what's to be.
You shed your nightly tears in bed,
But love, I beg you, please, don't fret,
And share them here, with me.
In cozy sweaters, played with fire,
While smoke rings danced up high and higher;
Seven years of warmth I'd known,
Till her spark made me her own.
Through Italy, in knitted threads,
While cigarette smoke filled her head;
Each message wrapped in woolen lies,
As smoke and passion dims the skies.
The truth burned through, like raging coal,
As screenshots pierced my sweater's fold;
My comfort wear could not disguise
The burning guilt behind my eyes!
Now cold, without my shield of wool,
Two hearts I've turned to smoking pools;
No warmth can hide what I have wrought—
Through smoke and shame, I'm left distraught.
Like ashes scattered in the wind,
My sweaters torn, my soul has thinned;
No comfort clothes can warm this chill
Of hearts I broke, of trust I killed.
-
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can't hurt me so let's draw a truce lock arms and go dancing under this year's 1st full moon. Giving all praise to my creator while you give praise to his creation.Yes! Once I was you drenched in black mind loss and blue. So blue Lucifer said it's time to meet you. Day to night, Night to day oh my gosh! Morning dew seeped through this smoke-filled blacked out room,eyes aflame feeling gloom so much mind
dragging affliction. Ouch! No jerking,
Soul intact,
My love for God won't be doomed
The other woman I was not the other worldly one I was
with sexy strut she came she did this is what I ghastly did
with a ghoulish voice I spooked and thwarted no applause
no I never did forget the hurt she caused, he caused...
A solitary candle glowed on my gravestone mod it glowed
a putrid smell of stinking corpse arrived when I arrived
like a hunk of foul skunk hidden in an old commode
I sent her goosebumps and a lump of hate archived
Smoke filled the air a tomcat appeared at her heels
with claws, fangs and two angry eyes ready to fight
yanking at her flaxen hair I prepared for a tart meal
as she screamed and screamed, wildly into the night.
The other man he was not the love of my life he was
wearing faded jeans and a Nike T, he goaded me
Slimy slithery things crawled up towards him with a cause,
he never knew what hit him as he burned to the 3rd degree!
In cogs and gears, her heart does beat,
A clockwork girl, both strange and sweet.
Her eyes, like polished brass, aglow,
Reflect the time, the world below.
With gears that click and springs that chime,
She measures moments, day and time.
A copper bodice, sleek and tight,
Holds secrets in the fading light.
Her hands, of bronze, a delicate dance,
Point to the hours, a fleeting glance.
A winding key, a silver thread,
Keeps her ticking, unsaid, unled.
Amidst the steam and smoke-filled air,
A whisper of her presence, rare.
The city's pulse, she knows it well,
Her clockwork heart, a silent spell.
But in her gaze, a sadness hides,
A yearning for the world outside.
To feel the warmth, the human touch,
Beyond the gears, beyond the clutch.
For though she runs, on time's own whim,
A part of her, forever dim,
Yearns for a soul, a beating heart,
To break free, from the clockwork art.
they're cold but they don't judge
blue lights respond to everyone
even her, so small, hiding
in a wardrobe
tree lights are other lights
sparkling joyously, festively
it was difficult watching my own play
after her, so small, smoke filled,
never getting to play with whatever
she got under those other lights
Depression is a Nomad wanderer, searching for a hope to break
In that place of heartless, smoke-filled rot where even laughter proves to fake.
The Darkness is a bold intruder, a critique of one's existence,
And hides in places, corners of gloom, an outcast from soul's resistance.
In the Café of Apathy, the face of dejection reappears,
Taking up cudgel in bedrooms and bars, traveling through streets of tears.
I’ve walked
Many a mile
Since every Rainbow’s End
Was just a wish away
Every pot of gold
Has stayed a wish ahead
I’ve walked
Many a mile
Through smoke-filled haze
And alcoholic daze
Melody now gone
From lonesome cities
I took no time
To listen then
Now I’ll sit a while
By the Banyan Tree
Draw its cosmic force
Replenish my spirit
My energy
Journey on to
Find hope at
The
Rainbow’s End
I’ve walked
Many a mile
Since every Rainbow’s End
Was just a wish away
Every pot of gold
Has stayed a wish ahead
I’ve walked
Many a mile
Through smoke-filled haze
And alcoholic daze
Melody now gone
From lonesome cities
I took no time
To listen then
Now I’ll sit a while
By the Banyan Tree
Draw its cosmic force
Replenish my spirit
My energy
Journey on to
Find hope at
The
Rainbow’s End
Splattering dried soil upon my face
Lying on that bed for a space
Space for stars, rainbows, and the moon I plunged my eyes; the sky took me into a room
An inch of fumes and smoke filled my lungs
Drown in how they pierced their fangs
Space by space, acre by acre—work as a trade
My skin, eyes, and hair were cascading.
Treasures like golden quicksand,
Provider at most, even in their command
Midst of the haze, everything seems fine to me
Died at most, thou poorest tree
Let them cultivate their land and squeeze out my skin
Everything looks fine to me; I have no kin
Let them pulp my eyes and scorch my feet
Does not matter when I live in a threat
The gift of their deeds is the scaly land
Uncage the air and mutate the hand.
Living in hell or living in a raging tie
Raging storms, zapping lightning, polluted realm, and it looks fine to thine eyes
Stood a strong soldier with all those mishaps
Hiding my scar and fertilizing all my stuff
When you are all broke and I’m here to embrace you
Complaining is not my cup of tea
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