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.