My Poetry

inhale_eternity @ 2007-05-20T17:58:00

2007-05-21T00:58:58Z

sometimes when i can't handle things i don't leave the house because it affords me a chance to think on everything...

everything that has changed so suddenly

i don't even know what i want anymore...

self
same

close the blinds, close your eyes, listen to the heartbeat count those seconds
let the light in, let the warmth flow, listen to the sounds count the growth

or do it all for
you

therapeutic...

2006-09-08T20:20:22Z

SHADOW-MEMORY

i’m cold and alone
and i rock back and forth with pin needles in my side
forces of shadow-memory that breathe darkness upon me
a simple light beam echoes within those dark clouds i see with eyelids turned under
through the light a beacon of joyous times erupts
as dark tears glisten down the cheeks of youth
because its over as the cripple walks down the stairs of time
towards the immortal pool of the unknown
a black lump in the memories of man
i’m cold and alone
and i sit here with the dragon’s eye
look forward into the future where
people sit huddled in front of the warmth of a shadow-memory
holding onto it forever
cradling it like a newborn child for that is the joy it brings
i’m cold and alone
and the mists move around me in their darkest hours
prostrate I lay
waiting for an outstretched hand
that will never come
a kiss that only lives in those shadow-memories
of mine
i’m cold and alone
shadow-memories
engulf
shadow-me-memory

This is an excerpt from a longer poem I wrote called: "The Triduum"

2006-09-07T07:06:14Z

HOLY THURSDAY - MASS OF THE LORD'S SUPPER

I think I finally realized I go to church just for the singing
the only time when its perfectly okay
for me to belt out words in an uneven harmony
because I’m just participating
and not looking like a lunatic
like I do in my car

that I don’t go for God, or Christ, or the Holy Spirit
trinity denied
might I go for them
or can’t I pray at home?

“To learn the mystery of sacrificial love, O God,
we come to the supper hosted by your Son,
to the table where the sinless One
delights to eat and drink with sinners.”

the plumes of incense
surrounding both holy men and child abusers
deacons there for prestige only
and the women that run the church in the background
all with various nicknames thanks to my mother, which have stuck
have you heard? “K.R.S. yelled at Bebe and now she’s throwing a fit”
“Jonesey has done it again, now there are only five lectors instead of seven”
the cross
I used to carry when I was draped in white
every Sunday because my parents made me and
it really helped church not be boring anymore
even if the older priests smelled like moth balls
and too much vodka from the flask under the fake façade of faithfulness
the liturgy of the eucharist
spread out in multiple columns
in a “worship aid” for both groups
white suburbia and Hispanic working class
all under one roof
proclaiming the same devotion
the sanctus:
“Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord;
Dios del Universo.
Heaven and Earth are filled
with your glory:
Hosanna en el cielo. Blessed is he who comes
in the name of the Lord;
Hosanna en el Cielo.”
the wafers raised
which are real bread right now because it’s a “special time”
and it takes longer to break the bread into the individual pieces
added poignancy or just a longer bow
the memorial acclamation:
“Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again”
the wine now raised
the worst wine ever tasted
because it still hasn’t aged properly
but its cheap and of course Christ would want the cheapest stuff possible
(cheap wine helps a poor parish thrive in a neighborhood of
Hummer driving woman and Ferrari driving men)
the doxology:
“Amen”
the washing of the feet
an extra part of the celebration
to show our faith
but Dad never comes
even though it is the Mandatum
“Mandatum, the Latin word for commandment, is used for this reenactment of the servant-hood of Jesus. Obedient to His command and example, we wash the feet of our fellow disciples. We believe that Jesus, who is present among us, commands us to imitate this profound act of humility.”
even though it does leave your foot smelling like lavender
and the water was actually warm for once

do I really need the building
can’t I speak with God directly?
that whatever race, creed, or language
(the mass was bilingual)
we can speak directly and thus I don’t need the building
which is just a gym after all

A poem on good ole Byron, lol

2006-09-07T06:58:54Z

BYRON, CA

Sitting on the edge of orchards
Cutting down for progress and bypass
Looking at the expanse before you
Think

Of summer’s languorous pulse
Where the heat rises visibly
And even green water invites a splash
And the laugh of children echoes chirping
Where we are eating apples from trees and green tomatoes
As corn stalks stand over heads cooling the day

Of spring’s sharp reality
When the days are still cold but the rain enticing
When we could cover the walls and ceilings and floors
In blankets and pillows and wear padded purple jackets
To keep ourselves warm while
Rocking to the lullaby of grasshoppers

But the sun has set and reminded me of days when
At night I’d climb down with prickling fingers
From my memories simpler and look out at the expanse
And see what man has done to nature

See the high towers encroaching
Two story boxes all placed in a line
With convenience shopping a mile behind
Complete with groceries and cops watching

I’d see the developing road maps
Interlaying city upon city
A progress to make one dizzy
A need to sit down and say perhaps

If I were a king I would breathe
Boring dirt trails and
Dance in the fields where old graveyards lay
Showing the simpler times I yearn

For the desire to zig zag
Between peach groves and vineyards
To run and run until all the flowers fell out
And were rearranged the next spring

Why do all my poems seem depressing?

2006-08-31T03:17:15Z

SORROW'S SEA

I remember a time when
teardrops melted into moonbeams
and we all could smile under the same
sun with the blue jays twittering by

but now that’s all gone
cold frost settles in on my windowsill
as I see you walking with him
talking with him
laughing with him

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will melt
because this salt sea is too much to contain
this salt sea is all there is
and we’re without lifeboats

I know I’m not the only one this hurt
that there is another sea connected to mine
where teardrops fall because of false knowledge
a betrayal from a specter’s kiss

yet I also see that my teardrops cross farther space
and plunge to greater depths
breathing up new sea monsters who jump
over the caps of waves, green eyed monsters
dancing in the salty waters

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will dry up
because this salt sea is too much to contain
this salt sea is all there is
and I need a new sunny day

there’s a ship in the distance
waving a flag of new found freedom
where chords of jubilee can be heard
and I just keeping thinking it’s because
they got what they wanted while
walking all over me and my sorrow

beyond that there even is a flag
on a new found island because the other
has begun to cope and his teardrops
have stopped, receding the sea waters
as a dove with that damn olive branch flutters by

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will recede
because this salt sea is too much to contain
this salt sea is all there is
and I need that day when I can relax upon dry land again

and I sit here looking out my window
wondering when my teardrops will stop
because this salt sea is too much to contain
and this sorrow just clings on with the monsters
dancing around in the water I’ve created because
this salt sea is all there is for me
and I need that day when my footing can be secure again
upon that dry land

inhale_eternity @ 2006-08-23T20:08:00

2006-08-24T03:09:47Z

THE MELODY OF INCOMPATIBILITY

Fallen snow on cedars
sounds like a nice poetic beginning
that is never mine
instead my feelings jumping farther than even the most intense
could imagine for the beginning
a life with you who I’ve only known for not even past sunrise

leave me alone to myself and the fallen will rise again
quicker than Jesus even
three days can only take three minutes
in my cloud filled synapse firing brain

where white petals fall around that mystic body
that boy who will completely understand me
and let me be me while I let him be him
all to the beautiful melody of some piano laden chorus
of an angel who’s song is actually depressing
but the melody moves us to tears
because we are on the same reverb and time
we both flow in 4/4 or 3/4 or cut time
whatever it is that Fate has deemed for us

leave me alone though and the fallen will rise again
the demons who come looking in all the wrong places
will be mystically transformed
before the altar place of imagination
where the Lord is my mind
and the Son is my heart
they’ll play together
forcing the demons to play dress up
like a four year old little girl
they’ll sing hymns to lure me in
make me think the melody is a beautiful a cappella croon
when in reality it is the screeching of incompatibility
yet the priest will perform the ceremony quite well
to fog up my inner vision
and allow the demons deep into the Son’s clutches
where emotions flow wild and falling falling falling

I will cry later when I’m alone being comforted by
the lonely voices of tori, imogen, regina
letting the sorrow fill me completely
because once again the fallen rose to my personal savior
the boy of my imagination which I yearn for with all my being
and try and make reality equal
when it probably never will

and I will sit listening to the lonely voice sing of loves lost
the melody that seems set up for me
from all eternity

this poem came from listening to "Lady" by Regina Spektor

2006-08-09T21:01:22Z

ON STATE STREET

"little wet tears on my baby’s shoulder"
reflect the moonlight off the buildings
on State St. where we first watched the sun go down together
we laughed then, now we cry
a eulogy of smog filled, smoke filled sorrows

down on State St. where the corner stores used to blossom
like tulips in Holland they used to bloom
Mr. Turnip’s, Mr. Smith’s, Ms. Daversham’s
they all use to sell those cigarettes too
the ones we puffed away on, for cheap
and things seemed to flow down here
where the money was always low

but now all we have are dead poplar trees
in our backyards on State St.
ladies light cigarettes, puff away, no regrets
men come home aggravated, puff away, slump down lower
hard winters mean hard springs mean hard summers
and the moonlight is the only reflection
of the old sunsets we watched on State St.
now we’re just too tired to watch them anymore
purple and pink have become charcoal and ebony

here on State St. all the flowers have wilted
like tulips in the summer heat
nothing blooms now but the shots fired
at the hours of gloomy shadow
when we dare not cross the street to the last remaining store
Ms. Daversham’s old habit
now run by a man colder than the weather
who stares as we buy our Marlboro’s
puff away, no regrets
"little wet tears on my baby’s shoulder"

~Based off the melody as well as lyrics of “Lady” by Regina Spektor on her album: "Begin to Hope"~

Untitled poem

2006-08-05T06:55:12Z

Intoxicated by a piano chord progression depression
Because your ship is still in my heart’s harbor
The violin weeps off to my right slight
Each string like the ropes that have stayed subconsciously tied
The moan of an ancient singer lingers
An elegy to a rhyme of the dead
Connects me through the countless walls I had placed
To keep this teardrop away
Re-inflamed by the heartbeat of the drum of time’s crime
They wash over me like winter’s rain
Flood my senses with every emotional darkness
I cannot even count them all
But I feel like a falling star must feel
Hopeless to the fate it's been given
I am hopeless as the final piano riff rings stings

Just Written

2006-08-05T05:54:29Z

SILENT NIGHT

breathe in the insolence of this solitude
this harbinger of negativity and doubt
where a small clank becomes a cacophony of danger
and the shadows suppress a reality found with sound
where a simple idea gets tossed and turned
through the washing machine of ideas
but instead of becoming clean
gets tarnished with disdain, depression, disgust
where the solidarity breeds a complexity
not found in the singularity we’re accustomed to
but the singularity of silence
where human warmth cannot intrude except for with
a shadow’s kiss
this complexity forming a growing weight
that none of us can carry
and forces us to live in this solitude
a solitude that leads to demon curses
coming from human lips

Experimental

2006-08-01T20:41:31Z

SHE SITS AT SUNSET

She sits down on the simple metal
fabricated by mechanic hands and minds
that is in front of the stone circle
where no burial is to occur
except for the death of a full pocket book

A black silhouette glides to her side
a faint whisper wafts to her ear
and a small sheet of shiny paper is placed in front of her
along with simple liquid crystal shining in slowly fading sunlight

She returns the whisper and the paper
and the silhouette returns to his hovel
where the air is not crisp like the forest morn
but filled with the pungent odors of fabrication

The sun hides behind the distant mountain
yellow, orange, pink still pierce the sky
and she still drinks from the glistening crystal
snacking on post production pastries

A leaflet wafts in with the night twinkle
of twilight and singing cicadas
and there is a transaction of cold hard greenery
that never saw the hand of nature

With a swoop of blue material
shimmering in the moonlight
she stands turns and clicks down the ancient pavement
to a simple patch of tan and green
where women kiss the past
and make love to the future

Musical Poetry Pt. 2

2006-08-01T20:37:32Z

MEDITATIONS ON "MER DE NOMS"

Judith dances in the moonlight
With white lotuses petals falling on snow white sand
Her dance intoxicates the undulations
The curve of her wedding gown only adds purity
But she dances to a sea of snow and in the
End no one claps or cheers

Orestes, a name twice forgotten
Rests plaintively on the lap
His father cries above him
Silhouettes of rain drops
Fall on Orestes’ tiny head
As a single bud of red rose redemptive falls
On midnight lowered

Magdalena breathes
New life into mundane
Desires of cherry blossoms and verdant green hills
As the cattle cross fields with men in backgrounds
She sits under tranquility’s gaze
And the blue jay eats seeds from her right hand

Musical Poetry Pt. 1

2006-08-01T20:35:53Z

SHEET MUSIC

On this grey day of February forlorn
Breathe sweet symphonic music
Let your guitar strum above the humdrum of the day
To bring pastoral peace over the careening car cacophony of
This busy burden that we carry in a race just to place
Bring me instead simple time and do not cut the chords of this blessed bird hymn
Listen not to the siren sounds clock punching pulse that surrounds
Move not with congested conglomeration from work to home to work again
Let the somnambulistic gnats dance to their own cyclical salsa
While you arise above stale airs with your concordant chorus
To amorphous ambrosia streams with shimmering drops of
Honeysuckle dew comforting continual
Bringing us down from the summit of our stress to blessed bliss
On this rainbow colored February of new-found felicity

Something Simple

2006-07-26T21:18:16Z

Found:

A moment to breathe

Inhale eternity

Swimmingly follow shockwaves home

If freedom finds itself in being found

Forward this to mother

Crisp cool clarity

Feeling funny...

2006-07-26T05:49:27Z

DISCONNECTED

the specter at the finish line
with the hazy pop gun which I failed to hear
at a race where everyone has their best Nikes on
running faster and faster
blurry lines that mirror the smoke from the specters hazy breath
in the cold moonlight
but everyone running towards the golden light
a light that I fail to see
as I run in circles
continuous loops surrounding an unknown darkness
that seeps into my soul
and leads towards depths unknown
ferocious desires play with knives
as lions hide in dens with devil’s kisses
and blood trickles down from a wrist
under a withered grape vine dying from the heat
where an unnerving melody lullabies me to sleep
and in the swaying dream I fall down onto the bone pile
as the bones rise up and start running
farther and farther on the track
where the specter just sits there smiling
watching me run bewildering
in a race without an end
because I cannot find that golden light
which even those dusty bones are running towards
and turning back to grin at me a toothless smile of wormy decay
as I just want to stop
forever

Rough Draft...

2006-07-25T21:55:16Z

SEND SOMETHING MORE THAN ROSES

send purple kisses
across a flowing ocean
of heart strings that palpitate
a rhythm sublime
where men dance together
around chandeliers
of ancients pride
illuminations transfigured across time
where the gathering of fellows has continued
with the minute hand slowly ticking
on ancient grandfathers
clock strokes at midnight
as men’s hands clasp together
an embrace surreal
with petticoats trailing across centuries

send orange sunsets
across the moody ocean
where seagulls speak like song birds
to the myriad matrons waiting
for strong bard husbands to return
from golden shores where promises abound
falsehoods loom large in the forests over head
in a world where few have breathed before
breathed anew fresh spring water
while the matrons just longingly suck in stingy salt water

send lucid letters
where the s’s curve
a slanted sing song
of loves long lost
beyond the sands of time
in the fatal hourglass
where women sit in their backyards
at tea parties by the stream where they
penned their last poetic kisses of
dreamscapes and silly paintings
that are reflections of turbulence within
because they are shut out from everything
except inner feeling
and the blinking of an eyelash from the misses
across the way

More poems...

2006-07-25T21:54:10Z

THE MASTERPIECE

its in the corner of azure eyes when I see piano chords moving up and down rectangles of ivory and midnight I see the wink and the twinkle which reverberates so its always there but transmuted to a new melody a new sound which still pleases but could be different entirely

can you bring it forth? can you recall it? you’ll need a deeper memory than free association

for the new melody brings forth new lives

two cross together in a sea of green staccato sounds and lives are placed on hold, under the radar of black and white

and sing anthems of a scottish bard moving backwards to a time of Gods and hells where Blake was king, before english professors enjoyed conversations with literature - Blake did with God and the devil, as did Milton, all to a musicality of verse renewed

run away and break the chords to sunlight freedom joy

and the drumbeat keeps me going forward and forward towards a completion but the melody renews without a continual pause and images sublime unbound:

a swing rocking back and forth with the ghost of a dearly departed memory
a rainstorm with a friend where you laughed as you were soaking and melted
a falling stone snapshot
a prophet keeping time under the street light where all time stops and embraces each
the Lord lost in darkness and the world placed in a side room where magic will flare up again with lightning fire
earth water

underneath the lens looking upward with manipulation

the happiness of the upbeat which became eternal and allowed images to reverberate up to your conscious where designs spiraled

but how do you melt on a page?

where moonbeams become lucid allures and grasshoppers sing songs soothing simply and concede that they truly are in love with a slip of the wrist

where they breathe blue crystals from the moonlight as lamps light the walkways where children play hopscotch with crystal white chalk and hop even slower to drumbeats from their insides

such perfect tonal quality like the musings of a pianist with the foot pedal accentuating perfectly the crescendos and decrescendos of the piece that Imagine wrote which you find

with the most beautiful we are waiting for that special someone who will agree waiting for them to turn around and smile a beauty most complacent and know that the piece will be there for ever in key

First Poem

2006-07-25T21:52:27Z

IN-SIGHT-FULL

Green escaping silver
Nature from the mechanic
With an orange glow

Blue playing with purple
Tufts of cotton candy floating in a sea of dream
Like tranquility
Fancy above the ordered rows
Of modern suburbia

Metal divides
A symmetry beyond random
Yet it is
Cars parked
Silver and midnight
With an inlay of gardens green

The halo around poles of moonlight
Illuminate celestial midnight
Shade the palm tree in plasticity
And light my way home
Guiding rays of man

* * *

A base blue stares back at me
And I question its existence
The necessity of a rectangle
Questions me
But the blue is framed by white
So its purity gets protected
But the uneven green still
Disputes existence

Looking at a tree above
Green drips down below
A cream exaltation underneath
And clarity overhead

* * *

Blackest night with sheets
Silver hued in artificial moonlight
And snow capped hills
Feigning mountains grandeur
As I sit pondering the headlights of a Hummer
And how well it must fair in a storm
At high cost

* * *

Palm tips to skylines
Jumbled by the bars
Of blue blinding blinds
Reflect on the tips of light white
Matched by the purest blue and
The tips of green to be burnt to ash
With a hosanna fanfare
Later in the year
When this same cold will keep me huddled
In blue comfort looking out
My window at
Palm tips to skylines
Crossed by blue blinding blinds

Cerulean eyes stare at me in wonder
Surrounded by the purple of a mystical sunset
In the distance the silhouette of a devil
With three humps that, if you look hard enough, become faces
In the daylight
The eyes have separated now
A face floating away
As orange fades out behind the mountain

A New Beginning...

2006-07-25T21:43:37Z

Hello.

I've decided to put up my poetry here, hope you like it. :)