3 New Poems

Going through my prompts on my phone today. Here's what I can up with. Let me know what you think! Thanks! :-)

Busted Halo

I busted my halo long ago,

didn’t like the weight

of it constantly hovering

over my head tell

me and world

that I was suppose

to be a pretty perfect person.

I can picture my halo

unsteadily slipping, falling

to the ground. A golden

ring that shimmers as it hits

the ground and shatters into

a million tiny pieces of glitter.

Free now to strike

a wrong chord, step on

cracks, stand up and not

back down because sometimes

the truth needs to be told

even if it hurts.

Yeah, being halo-free

came with some challenges.

But I still prefer

to dance shoeless in the rain.

Headphone Infatuation

Carrying my music

crisply, cleanly to

my brain. Finally

peace.

Untitled

Some days I walk

with my head down,

headphones and sunglasses

firmly in place. With

my hair flattened.

I try to blend into

the sidewalk,

buildings, and walls.

Then there are days like

today, in which I’m staring

right back at a primly

dressed woman dining at

the coffee shop who can’t stop

looking over at me, a cross

between curiosity and annoyance

in her eyes. I’ve been minding

my own business for the better

part of an hour, writing. Yet

I can assure you that it’s

my mohawk that’s caught

her attention, along with my

beat up black hoodie that’s

faded and a little holey.

Yeah, the decor of the shop

lends itself more to the hippies,

hipsters, and coffee-aficionados,

but today I don’t care that

I stand out. I know

who I am, and that’s good

enough for me.

 ------

Pieces

It's already been a crazy December, and I've spent much of it already listening to my favorite songwriter's (Mark Lind) many bands & albums. I'm always blown away by honest his writing is. I am constantly inspired when I'm listening to anything that he's involved in.

Pieces

I keep a list

on my phone of themes,

images, scenarios, and prompts

that I want to write about.

Chaos, love, bits of broken

pieces, black ooze, the

guitarist playing his heart

out on the square to passers-by.

Somewhere, swirled in this

list is a semblance

of what I call life. A lot

like the abstract painting

by my brother that hangs

above my bed; heavy white

lines, paint splotches of black

and red that sometimes combine

to make purple. Life. Writing

lines, images; emotions experienced

by everyone, yet written about only

from the pens of the brave. I

wish I was one of them.

Maybe one day, after I’ve

picked up as many pieces

of my broken self as I can

find and glue them

sort of back together

will I find the courage to

explain myself to the world.

----

Arms

I've Always had a thing for arms. This is one of the other poems I wrote Sunday night. A remembrance of a past love, and a quiet night, from my wilder younger days. :-)

Arms

Your arms around me,

holding, reassuring, protecting

and comforting me.

Head on your chest, listening

to you, and me.

Tracing the curve of your muscles

lightly with my fingertips.

Failing in the fight to fall asleep

aided by the weight

of your forearms wrapped

around my body.

I felt protected, strong

and calm

with you whispering

words sweeter than any song

lyrics or poetry

into my hair. You paused,

pressed your lips to my head,

and smiled. I wanted

to stay awake listening

and feeling you and the weight

of your arms all night.

-----

CD Warehouse

Yeah, I know I wrote like 3 poems last night, but this is the only one I feel like posting, at least right now. I hope you like it. Let me know your thoughts! Thanks! :-)

CD Warehouse

One of my favorite places

is the local used CD store,

the one owned by the old school

skinhead who likes to give me

hints on albums to buy

if I’m having a hard time choosing.

It starts just pulling into

the lot and parking

in front of the wall of posters

for every local show, you could

never even make all of them.

Finding the correct entrance

stepping inside and hearing

someone behind the counter,  “Hey.”

(These are so my people!)

Before your eyes are a sea

of non-pretentious black bins

crowded with new and used CDs,

a wall of new releases behind them,

all nice and categorized

for easy finding. Although once

I had to move Patti Smith

from “Pop/Rock” to her

rightful place of “Punk/Hard Rock.”

I know where all my favorite

artists are located. Dropkick Murphys,

first column, fourth row. Ducky Boys,

same bin, a few flaps down.

Minor Threat, same column, last row.

Lou Reed, second column, last row.

Way too many amazing albums

have been found in these bins.

One of my favorites: a NOFX/Rancid

split, but with Rancid covering NOFX

songs and vice versa. You have not lived

until you hear Fat Mike’s impression

of Fat Albert. Perfect.

If I’m too overwhelmed with decisions

I retreat to the Minutemen

and pick a used CD full

of 90 second songs,

that I can pretty much guarantee

that I will love.

Up to the counter, and always a

a short discussion of great

punk music while my purchase

is being processed. A friendly

“See you soon!” followed by

my least favorite part,

leaving and joining

reality again.

-----

A Poem a Day For November - Day 30: Too Calm

Eek!! I made it all the way through the month!!

Too Calm

I love holidays,

time spent with

friends and family without

the pressure of having to

be home at a certain hour.

But sometimes the holidays

can create too much

peace, quiet, and calm.

On the lake an occasional

fisherman zips by, but

the roar of his boat's motor

isn't even enough to scare

the birds flying

from tree to tree.

Give me the hospital's

helicopters flying over

my house, drowning 

out all other noises

and jolting me back

into the present.

Calm energy can become

a weight if it takes over.

It bares down making

me not see all the secrets

in the space surrounding me

and gives me nothing

to write about.

There's a spark

in fast-paced energy that

makes me want to explore,

play with objects and with words,

and lay everything out, 

to show the world my world.

A Poem a Day For November - Day 29: Let Me Write

Let Me Write

I find it hard,

many times,

out in the wilderness

with only trees, water,

animals and wind.

It can be too pretty,

too natural, too ordered.

Let me write

in the city, among

dilapidated buildings

holding long forgotten ghosts.

I want to watch

people move through

their days, stopping

in a coffee shop

or to window shop without

any intention of buying.

These are the images

that stay in my head.

A Poem a Day for November - Day 28: My Thanksgiving

My Thanksgiving

I've been smelling a roasting

turkey for the past

two hours, and it's killing

me! We're all still in our

lounge clothes and bumming

around the living room

watching football and laughing.

A casual observer may say

that my family doesn't

really have much tradition

when it comes to today.

But I can tell you

exactly how this is

going to play out.

The turkey will come

out of the oven right

after the football game ends.

We'll all gather in

the cramped kitchen to

pick at the bird and its stuffing.

Then we will sit around the table

still in our lounge wear, and

Mom will comment that we

should at least make an effort to

dress nicer next year.

After we have all over

eaten it will be back to

the living room for more football,

but as soon as my brother

falls asleep we won't 

be able to hear the TV 

above his snores. At around

8:30 we'll finally want 

some dessert (even though we

dug into the apple pie last night).

And that will e the end

of my non-tradition based

traditional Thanksgiving day.

----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 27: Hey, I Wrote Two Today!

I ended up writing two poems earlier today. So, ya get double! The first one is not an attack on anyone, just me trying to tell my way of thought. The second one came from running around town with my dad today. Hope you like them! Tell me what you think! :-)

Always With Me

Pictures, torn tickets, a wilted flow:

I have them all

reminding me of happy times

and really wonderful memories.

But they are so

impermanent that looking

at them can sometimes just

leave me sad. I know

they will probably be

misplaced or left behind

in a period of forgetfulness or chaos.

My tattoos evoke memories

so powerful that sometimes

I have to stop and sit, and take

a moment to collect myself

after an image has ran itself

along my mind.

Five names are permanently

inked on to my back. Over time

I know I will add more

names of loved ones passed

from this earth but who will

always remain right here with me.

Next to these five names

are three Gaelic words

representing my family.

So many memories

on any given day

hit me when I think

of this simple tattoo.

Nothing else

would even come close

to being a reminder of

their love and strength

than having them always,

immovably, on my skin.

Every patch holds something

different: song lyrics remind me

what’s important in life,

a pattern of clovers always

tells me how strong I am

whenever I spot them

on my leg, my brother’s

unending companionship,

music that has the ability

to lift me out of

my darkest times.

No, nothing other than

permanent placement

on my skin will ever

do justice to

the things I hold most dear.

Fat Tony’s

Yeah, it sounds like

the perfect name for

a restaurant associated with

the mob, yet it sits

tucked away in the corner

of an old shopping center

across from a university

in a small city that boasts

of no connections to

that type of organized crime.

Fat Tony’s was recently

in the news because someone,

an ordinary fellow, was shot

right outside

the restaurant’s front doors.

The owner repeatedly refused

to answer numerous reporters’

questions on why he was not

the one to call the cops, instead

choosing to expel his patrons

and lock up for the night,

four hours earlier than posted.

A friend’s scooter went missing

one night right outside of Fat Tony’s.

She found it a few weeks later

adorned with a basket

and a sticker with the restaurant’s logo.

The owner told the cops that it

had always been theirs to use.

I still have no idea

how the food is

at Fat Tony’s.

 -----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 26: First

Like it, don't like it? Boring, exciting? Let me know what you think! Thank!! :-)


First

Cleaning out my closet

yesterday, I found my old wallet.

I opened it to find

a small torn-edged piece of paper

with a simple pencil sketch:

a K woven together by Celtic knots

and an outline of a shamrock

hanging off the edge.

I recognized it immediately,

what had been drawn

so carefully over 10 years ago

by my brother’s hand:

my first tattoo.

Mid-back, just to

the right of my spine.

Black, green, and white.

Simple enough, it assures me

that he will always

be right here with me.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 25: Hiding

Hiding

Wandering aimlessly

(as I am prone to do)

around the not-so-bustling downtown.

Hood up, headphones in and

blasting random punk songs

through my brain,

sunglasses on even though

it’s a grey and dreary day.

Wishing I could get

lost in my

not-so-big city,

but after over 20 years

that’s pretty much impossible.

Still, I enjoy my quiet

solitude and a little

escape from my world.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Days 23 & 24

Two poems in this post, yesterday's & today's. Hope you like them! :-)

Day 23

My Words, Our Stories

Stand up and I’ll stand with you

We shall succeed!

blares out of my computer.

I’m curled in my overly spacious armchair,

pen poised above my notebook,

ready to write,

an open beer beside me.

Guitar wielding tattooed men

play across my mind

along with skinheads,

people bouncing wildly around

in mosh pits,

and all different types

of punk rocker chicks.

I write to tell their tales.

Not the stereo-typing stories

of brats who just want to

have an excuse to push against society.

But the stories of us

who’ve always felt disconnected

from society for one reason or another.

So many images, ideas, and stories

flight against one another in my head.

I can’t shake them apart,

or get them to slow down.

Frustrated, I throw

my pen and notebook across the room

and chug my nearly full bottle of beer.

Unsteadily I get up,

reach over to grab my notebook.

But then I look down

at one of my poems.

I read my words and realize

that whenever I lay my words out

I write the stories

of my fellow rockers

as I see the world

through my own eyes.

Day 24

Lazy Sunday

I wake up unassisted

earlier than normal,

and almost immediately grab

a big cup of coffee from the kitchen

to clear my head.

Two hours are spent going from

reading to playing with my phone

to half listening to people jabbering at me

to staring out the window

at the grey sky and lake.

Below freezing, but still

we grill hamburgers outside for lunch.

A football game plays on

in my background

people yell curse, sigh loudly.

I’m sitting, writing,

and daydreaming.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 22: Haircut

Haircut

Many times when life

feels so out of control

that I can’t even seen

to steady myself,

I cut my hair.

The first time

was back in college

after my cousin died.

I had thick long hair

halfway down my back.

Then one day

soon after her funeral

I went to the salon

thinking I was just

going to get a quick trim.

But on a complete whim,

I told the stylist to

hack it all off

to just below my ears.

Last night

still spinning from the events

of this past week,

I decided to do

something a bit more drastic.

Well, now I have

a Mohawk.

Granted, boy-cut on the sides

so I can look professional

just for the office.

But I still feel

like I’m ready

to move forward.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 21: An Ode to My Notebooks, Both New & Old

Over at dVerse Poets Pub we're writing odes. Sweet!

An Ode to My Notebooks, Both New & Old

Yeah, I know

I don’t take very good care of you.

Old ones from

elementary and middle school

(filled with songs,

I was convinced

that I was destined

to be a rock star)

to college

(also know as

my stoner-poet period)

to now

(when I think I’m

starting to find

my voice)

are shoved

unceremoniously

into a closet.

You here with

me know, beat-up

and used also

as a coffee cup coaster.

Sometimes underused.

This month we’ve

grown even closer,

spending every day

together.

You all contain

my feelings, secrets,

wants, needs,

both my happiest

and darkest moments,

my words, my insides, me.

I won’t be

whole without you.

You let me vent, cry,

explain, share

and just take it all in.

You protect my words,

because you helped

shape them.

Quiet,

a good listener,

always ready,

always willing.

You hide

what I’m too embarrassed

to share with the world.

But sit calmly when

I share my words

crafted so carefully

on your pages

with the world.

I trust you.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 20: Somedays

Here is the article on Gus Deeds not being able to stay over night in psychiatric care: http://www.roanoke.com/news/2389287-12/source-creigh-deeds-son-released-after-psychiatric-evaluation.html

Here is a news report on HOPE Connection: http://www.ky3.com/news/local/hope-connection-provides-day-of-services-for-500-homeless-people/-/21048998/23073262/-/66ypehz/-/index.html

So yeah, this has been my last two days. Very emotionally charged.

Some Days

Some days

all I want to do is hide

in bed with my 10 year old Dropkick Murphys hoodie

pulled up over my head.

Some days

I don’t want to face the world

and all of it’s inconsistencies and injustices

like troubled young man attempting to kill his father

and then succeeding in killing himself

after he was not able to be helped by society.

But some days

I have to force myself

out of bed and out into the world

to help provide needs to 500 homeless

that I take so for granted

that I hardly ever even think about them.

Some days

I have to forget

why I want to hide.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 19: Tears and Comfort

I used to work in politics, on the campaign side. When you're out there for month after month, you co-workers & your candidates become like your family. Tragic news out of Virginia today about a candidate I worked for in '09: he was stabbed multiple times & his son was shot to death. I remember both as being as kindhearted as possible, smiling even in the wake of defeat.

Song lyrics are from "Forever" by Dropkick Murphys. It's the song I listen to whenever someone dies.

Tears and Comfort

At time we may fall like we all tend to do

my favorite band belts out

my favorite comfort song.

I try to sing along

to keep my composure while driving.

Your kindness for weakness I never mistook.

So many if-onlys

play through my head.

Home, finally, alone.

I sit on the couch,

pull my Superman blanket under my chin,

cry, and think,

and do the only thing I can:

let what happened just be.

There’s a piece of you with me they can’t tear apart.

----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 18: Spark

20 word, no punctuation poem, trigger word: spark. Let me know what you think! Thanks!

Spark

brain ignites

nerves shoot messages

to hand muscles

I write

thoughts flow

out on to paper

bringing life

to my words

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 17: Untitled

This one probably reads better as song lyrics than as a poem. I'm just bad at putting my words to music, so have at it if you feel inspired. :-) Untitled, because I'm kinda bad at titling my stuff. But first time all month it's happened, so yay for that! Let me know what you think. Thanks!


Untitled

It’s hard to watch friends

make the same mistakes I have,

know that the best thing it to let them be and hope

that they will come back.

I see so much good in you.

Passion, love, quiet understanding

of the world, a gentle darkness

making you not bitter but able

to accept life as it is and work

to make it what you want it to be.

Your friends, though separated

by geography, act as your family.

Pushing them away now,

opting for people who stroke your need

to drink to forget,

to party to numb the pain.

Not knowing, like I do,

that they will abandon you when

need music to forget,

and some to listen to you to numb the pain.

You bask in the attention

of a cute drugged up girl

and ignore the quiet attention

of a friend who just needs  to know

that you will be okay.

So I’ll sit here and wait

for you to need your friends

who understand more than you think

and can help you find you again.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 16: Inked

Inked

Last night I took my clicky pen

and drew images, shapes, and lines

all over my arms.

On my hands I wrote words

from my wrists to the tips of my fingers,

then wove colors between them

and traced my drawing with markers.

On my legs and back

are ink prints.

Others’ artwork and words

are woven, permanently, into my skin.

As I washed away the colors and ink,

watching my work disappear,

I wonder if I’ll ever be brave enough

to place my words on my skin

permanently.

-----

A Poem a Day for November - Day 15: Mortal Superhero

If you know me, you know that my favorite superhero is Batman, because he's just a person (with way awesome gadgets) doing good for his city. In San Fransisco today, a boy's Make-A-Wish was granted by turning the city into Gotham and him into Batkid. Here's the article that I first read after hearing things about Batkid all day and not really knowing what was going on (it will make you BAWL, btw!). So, of course, my heart just broke for this kid.

Mortal Superhero

Make A Wish

    stop a few faux-crimes.

Just wanting to be a

                                        Superhero

                                                              for a day.

Never knowing

                            (maybe even realizing)

that you held a city

                               and country

                               captive.

A mere mortal

     like your idol,

       but you will be gone soon.

So small,

                   so young,

you will be remembered by many

                                                             who never met you

                      for making a divided country

                                                                        join together

                                                                        to root for you

                                                                        on your superhuman day.

------

A Poem a Day for November - Day 14: When Sounds Fail

Two weeks in! Yay! Today's poem is part of dVerse Poets Pub's American Sentence challenge. Basically an American Sentence (coined by Allen Ginsberg) is kinda like a haiku, in that it has 17 syllables, but are not broken down into 3 lines, instead they are one continuous line. At the begining of November I got Laryngitis so I could not talk, just observe & write. So that was kind of this inspiration of this poem. I hope you like it! Let me know what you think! :-)

When Sounds Fail

Although I could write a novel for you, I stutter when you’re around.

Oceans between us, phones won’t work, but I’ll send you a letter instead.

Incapable of uttering a single sound, will I write to you.

-----