Oh Look, More Poetry

Graciously, There Are No More Holy Lands

Pillars held the sanctuary high
eight of them in the beginning
Strong and resilient and reliant on themselves
but grateful for the company

and the prayers inside the hallowed walls
were offered up to ancient gods
of innocent chaos
and pubescent fury

And like all things that are predicted
they all met their various inevitable conclusions

One by one in their own time

Some broke down into crystal quartz
and became the playthings of children
some into soft sand
for lovers to lay on

and a couple held their form
as best as they could
and eventually became ruins
for only the eldest to whisper within

“If you had only seen them when.”

Please God, Play It Slow

I learned something about the blues
something I think I was always supposed to know
you never know you’re playing them
until you’re nostalgic enough to write a song

To us, it was just humid August nights
driving as fast as we could for a just a breeze
looking to add more heat to our skin
or a way to forget the month

I think if I had been listening
I could’ve heard a guitar
as we fished the muddy waters
or a harmonica as the lightning hopped out of the clouds

But as far as we knew

the only music
was the silent tune of American Melancholy
and we had sold our souls to it
so how could we have known the songs we were missing?

My Shoulder Will Not Be Cried Upon, Not Tonight

The sun has gone away, far away
and along with it’s rays, my sensitivity
In this darkness I think I prefer you shattered
I am not concerned that you’re wounded

I couldn’t give a damn for your cries for help

In the morning I swear to you,
I’ll curse the waters that are pulling you under
I’ll hold you upright
I’ll keep your motion forward

But tonight


Just lay yourself upon me
and compete against the howling beasts
there’s a wild constellation above us
and these heartfelt talks have become too civil

Thrash, shake, and writhe
we can be the demons in the absence of light

and tomorrow


the sincerest mending can begin again.


I Still Write Poems Sometimes

Every Door Is A Pearly Gate At 9 o’clock

I prayed to god the other night,
simply to thank him
thank him that he made me a non-believer
’cause I don’t think I could handle
the balance between damnation and paradise
with her name in my head

It wasn’t always like this
I didn’t always
have to rely on sex, sad songs,
wine and blank walls to help me
figure it all out
there used to be salvation somewhere
But I think its found a better home
somewhere in that rectangle

I refuse to say I’m lost
because you’d find me if I did,
god, you were always better at finding things.

Open Mic With Only A One Person Audience

The radiator banged and wailed
like anyone that age has a right to
but the man played on,
like anyone that age is likely to do.

He played songs that weren’t his
but no one could dare to steal
the ghosts that came with them
and the specters brought
brought their own chains to give
that cast iron heater a run for its money
I’m sure somewhere
in the mess, an angelic chorus
lead by a drunken balladeer
peeked in on the revelry and offered up a whisper

In fact, the only spirit
that failed to show was hers
She used to always be there
enduring all the fights
now her void will haunt me.




I Do Poems, Sometimes


Some of you may know that I didn’t start out writing fiction. The first few years of my journey into the world of writing was guided solely by poetry. I had aspirations of being the second coming of The Beat Generation, but for those of you lucky enough to see my earliest attempts, know that that was never going to happen.

I don’t write poetry much anymore. But every once in awhile I still dabble. One of my favorite things to do with poetry is to take the titles of some of my favorite songs and write poems around them. Since I’ve never been good with meter or rhyming, this is one of the things I can do that gives me a decent challenge without making me furious with myself.

This here is a quick poem I did, using titles from one of my favorite bands The Gaslight Anthem and from a side project of their lead singer called The Horrible Crowes,if you haven’t, check them out.  But without further ado….

I Listen Too Intently

I was the worst kind of Casanova, Baby!
A Ladykiller without a bed.
I welcomed you into my home
but made your past stay outside.

And we’d drive that shiny white family sedan
like it was a classic car with top stuck down.
I’d belt out Old White Lincoln while you hummed along
just as long as you leave my radio alone.

In the tail lights you glowed Red At Night,
you bathed in an aura, a lifetime in the making
but my favorite color is green,
so it’s time for me to go.

I pray you Stay Lucky,
and keep missing those bullets,

If we survive through the year,
Meet Me By The River’s Edge.