25 September 2009

Christmas(A Time For Giving)

So yes this may seem childish ... but I just had to ... so today I was checking out the old app store and I came across this lovely app for my lovely iPhone ... many of you don't know of my love affair with my iPhone ... I even have a name for her ... of course I must keep that discreet ... but back to the app ... BlogPress! total on the go posting ... In my excitement i quickly downloaded it to my phone and like a kid at christmas ... i'm downstairs in a sea of wrapping paper opening ALL the presents including my brother's ... and then I realize ... oh crap what now? ... hmmm ... well its christmas time again folks ... where would I use such a thing ... will the sudden urge to blog hit me like a case of IBS? ... will something happen to me in public that will force me to stop what I am doing, jot it down and post the event? will I walk around like the blog police (iPhone holster and all) ... lurking, waiting for the blog worthy moment? will my blog turn into Twitter???????  ... well i don't think ill be posting like twitter here any time soon, but the app sure is cool ... so let this post be a warning to you all ... I am out there among you ... and yes now I have BlogPress ...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

my poem

"tempered by pain and experience"

I’ve traveled dark roads and
been down some sketchy alley
many never knew about

most would deny the existence of
such places

some were too self absorbed
too self righteous
to admit knowing but
those dark paths

some follow down this
accursed avenue with
for a time
only to turn back
knowing where the wide path leadeth

some were lured by
false pretense
only to fall
by the wayside
when hot
scalding truth
radiated its brilliance

some accompany me knowing
full well
what the cost will be
stay the path until
can bear it no longer and
I love them for it but
I must send them away

I keep on still
I travel onward toward
dark oblivion
bearing the chains of guilt ... addiction ... excess
weighted down with
self doubt ... insecurity ... ineptitude
I can feel my progress
come to a slow
even to a halt
I turn around
take a step back
only to move forward again
to face my fear ... my fate ... my destiny

I find the will to carry on
something pulls me
I don't know which sometimes
I know the beauty of it
the journey
is what makes the destination
so so sweet
I will get there someday
where ... when ... how
and with
remains to be seen

17 September 2009

tenderloin blues

the smell of urine mixed with medicinal marijuana
permeates through the air as i walk past a stoop filled with
some poor soulless soul's worldly possessions
old newspapers blowing in the wind
flashing yellow lights and the constant hum of
street sweepers echo down the block where the
young blinged out thugs hold court on the corner with hoes
tricks from downtown roll by as
my chucks stroll down Eddy St toward Market
Obama posters in boarded up windows with For Lease signs
ghetto store owners spray down sidewalks washing down amorality with
syringes, balloons, and used condoms underfoot like
fall leaves in Vermont but we are far from there
and gnarled tooth crackheads will never see those
vivid colors until the Afterlife
there is no recession here or bail out or public option in
the ghetto business is booming
time is measured by space between fixes and
i see all this on my way to find work but don't have time to
feel bad because i have problems of my own

04 September 2009

Thursday 10:44 PM

i reminisce about the day when we
first talked and it seems like a dream
somebody pinch me is this real
i catch myself looking to see if you are there
i feast my eyes on our conversation
reveling in the good feelings i felt
caressing each word savoring as
one savors a good meal and
i daydream
i catch myself checking my iPhone
for a hint of you like
one returns to the orchard to smell the blossoms perfume or
to pick the perfect piece of fruit
i was less of a man until that day
i was going through the motions
in my colorless world but
now i know what color the sky and the stars and the moon are
because they seem closer
because of you

i wish i had a dandelion ... i'd blow it's fucken head off

ideas come off
my brain like
seeds from a dandelion
blown away
from a breath landing
on soil or
like letters
from a pen landing
on parchment
some sprout words
in poetic
and some die
doomed to be forgotten
or worse
born ...

02 September 2009

down with the red pen

I really hate using sentences, and real punctuation. It actually reminds me of high school. I hated high school. I was the consummate slacker. No really, I would take pride in doing the minimal amount of homework but would always ace the test. Most of my teachers hated me for that, and I am sure they secretly were thinking they were going to catch me cheating. I'm sure they all had daydreams about catching me in the act and marching me down to the Dean's office in shame. I never did cheat though. My English teacher, which i loathed, was the bane of my senior year. Required class, No style, No fun, basically everything that was anti-cool. Imagine my favorite subject being taught by an old, set in her ways, teacher on the brink of retirement. Yes it was not fun. I dropped out of college but not before taking a few English classes. That ingrained in me a love for reading poetry at least. It wasn't until a brutal break up and the inspiration of a friends blog back in 2000 something that I began to write my own blog. It has evolved into what it is today. There are no accidents here. I write it in the fashion I think it. In my head there are no sentences or punctuation marks! So because of that my blog is just one huge stream of thoughts strung together by the ellipse (...). So I just felt i should share that. Plus its the easy way out of posting something right about now. I have severe writers block.