Monday, December 16, 2013

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


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.


Tuesday, December 10, 2013


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.


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.


Tuesday, December 3, 2013


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. :-)


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.


Saturday, November 30, 2013

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.

Friday, November 29, 2013

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.

Thursday, November 28, 2013

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.


Wednesday, November 27, 2013

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.


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

A Poem a Day for November - Day 26: First

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


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.


Monday, November 25, 2013

A Poem a Day for November - Day 25: 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.


Sunday, November 24, 2013

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.


Friday, November 22, 2013

A Poem a Day for November - Day 22: 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.


Thursday, November 21, 2013

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
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
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.
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.


Wednesday, November 20, 2013

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:

Here is a news report on HOPE Connection:

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.


Tuesday, November 19, 2013

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.


Monday, November 18, 2013

A Poem a Day for November - Day 18: Spark

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

brain ignites
nerves shoot messages
to hand muscles
I write

thoughts flow
out on to paper
bringing life
to my words


Sunday, November 17, 2013

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!


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.


Saturday, November 16, 2013

A Poem a Day for November - Day 16: 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


Friday, November 15, 2013

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
                                                              for a day.

Never knowing
                            (maybe even realizing)
that you held a city
                               and country

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.


Thursday, November 14, 2013

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.