I'm still new on this site.

I'm still new at this, so it will take a while for me to get everything going. Please "bear"with me, I've much poetry, but little time to spare, to set it free and share it with thee.

The Art Of Acceptance (part 1 of 2)


The Art Of Acceptance
(Part 1 of 2)
(this Poem needs a better picture, but I don't have one right now0





The Art Of Acceptance
(Part 1 of 2)

I wish…. I….I wish…

I wish I could just, TEAR open my guts,

And show you why I'm nuts.

But I can't do that,

Because it would make me look fat.

And it's perfectly fine to be morbidly obese,

I mean, we all need some self-righteous release.

And,

Even every bad apple has it's shine,

But not ever sour grape makes a good whine.

So I got to bolster my bouquet, keep it ever effervescent,

And always be out there sniffing for everybody else's underlying odious intent.

Cause we all value honesty,

But the truth isn't always so sexy,

And,

The last thing I want to be, is the first thing you trying to see;

That acidic, Astringent,

Caustic, Cowardly, hollow, helpless, hapless, hopeless, unsure, insecure, weak, little UGLY old me.

Cause we're all always look'n around

For the cowardly clown,

The offish outsider,

The dangerous demented dark rider.

Any excuse we can use    not to trust

So we don't have to trust

Unless we absolutely must,

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Cause every stranger's a danger,

And they're all probably a bit like me;

Slightly self-centered, a little bit lazy,

And About five fourth's crazy.

All struggling to stand strong,

And not let slip or rip what's really wrong,

Just so we all can get along.

Cause we all long to belong to something successful and strong,

Someone who's always right and knows how to fight,

But admits when they're wrong.

Don't stand up try'n to sing

If all you can bring is a broken wing.

Cause beauty doesn't lie in the eye of the beholder,

The truth IS the LIE,

BEHELD by the EYE!

Make them think you can fly

Or they won't let you try.

The art of acceptance, is how well we deceive

What we perceive with what we believe,

And what is believed with what is perceived.

Cause we're all a mess,

All long to confess.

God bless,

Ahh yes

Religion and sin,

Two things between us

Common as kin.

Oh the bridges we blow apart

To keep from holding an outsiders heart.

Give them alms or give them bombs,

Anything to keep from clasping palms.

Got to hold the world at arms-length,

Till you've seen their weakness and shown them your strength.

So we,

Sit around and wait, watch'n for their weakness,

Just so we can offer some piteous pious,

"Well God Bless,"

And not to be disingenuous

Because I appreciate the effort,

But with all do respect,

God's not the one who can help heal my hurt,

Any more than he's gon'a magically mend my shirt

But maybe, maybe if I just prey REALLY REALLy hard,

If I really really REALLY believer,

And REALLY REALLY pray,

Maybe if I, go to church and give every single day,

Just maybe God won't let you walk away,

Cause I sure as hell can't make you stay.

Maybe I can get God to help you see,

Cause I sure as hell can't make you accept, let alone love me.

But I don't hold it against him or you,

Cause we've all got bills to pay and things to do;

We're all just trying to live,

And don't none of us really know how else to give,

So, here's a buck or two,

And I see what it is you're trying to do

And Thank's for the dime,

But maybe next time,

Well we could just screw.

Cause more than money meals or drugs,

I'm starved for stories, handshakes and hugs

But I can't just, tear myself apart

And hope to hand the world your heart.

It's…. just not safe,

The skin might chafe.

You don't want to see my viscera all vivisected

And dangerously dejected,

Yeah it's HELL to embrace

The Art Of Acceptance (part 2 of 2)

The Art Of Acceptance
(part 2 of 2)



The Art Of Acceptance
(part 2 of 2)

Another's raw humanity face to face.

No, you couldn't bare,

Wouldn't dare to love or hold me physically

But You'll suck on my sad gory story

Like a two month to a tit.

So let's just see if we can milk it.

Gather round little lambs

And I'll spin you a lie,

Bout' a lonely-ass guy  who wanted to die,

When he looked at his life and saw no real reason to try.

So he went to a shrink

Who said, "Well now what do you think?"

To which he replied,

"Well I don't need to sit around talk'n to some stuffy old therapist,

About how I've never been on a date, or ever even kissed,

But my H.M.O.  won't pay no hoe,

So I guess, here we go."

And I'm sure that's more than you wanted to know,

But, I'm not really that chased,

It's just that was a rhyme was too good to waste

Because some mornings I wake up awash with metaphor,

Rhymes in reams ripped from my dreams

Running through my head,

But I might as well be brain-dead,

Cause I got to go to work instead

No time for dreaming,

Just got to let those nightmares and daemons

Sit there steaming.

No time to exercise my gift,

I got pallets to place, boxes to lift.

But none of this is about me,

It's all just a story, an allegory you see;

About humanity

And society…

The struggle to be,

How you,

Shouldn't slam doors,

Or,

Bang on the floors,

Don't

Throw things or scream or shout,

No matter how much frustration or pain you're in

Or they'll kick you out,

They don't like the din,

You're creating a "hostile work environment"

Don't matter your intent.

Boss  's got to believe,

What your coworkers perceive.

Better learn to behave and act like a slave,

Just…

Do like the rest of us and dig your own grave.

Just,

Repress your raw reactions,

Your, epidermal emotions

in the heat of the moment,

Go find some other vent.

But

Don't play loud with toys,

Or make lots of noise,

Don't hit little girls or boys.

Don't try to kill your self drink'n

What the Hell were you THINK'N

Now go to your room and consider what you've done,

What if someone had a gun?

Better decide what you're going to say or do,

And prey to God no one want's to sue.

Just

Learn to "deal"

Don't react to what you feel,

Just deny the fact that anything's real.

Just,

Suppress you're pain; smuggle it all down deep down inside,

Make it hide,

Like a drug-runner's mule,

Till it all only ever comes out like blood in your stool.

And don't wake up screaming "bloody murder" in the middle of the night,

It gives the neighbors a fright.

They'll think your not right.

They'll cancel you lease,

Your "disturbing the peace"

Go find some other release.

But seriously….

Don't just do something… Sand there,

Try to listen, try to care,

Nobody ever said life was fair,

And

You're not the only one dying to share.

And if that's too hard,

Well then go mow the yard.

Go…. pick up a brush or a tool

And make something cool

Sing a song or a play,

Write an essay about what it is you want to say.

Just,

Take the tart truth and turn it into a terse verse,

And try not to curse….. dam it.

Go…

Write it all down in a poem or a story,

Then step up on stage

And set it ablaze

In a flaming allegory.

So…

Here I am, tear'n myself apart

Trying to hand the world my heart,

Cause I don't know where else to start

All I know is this is my art.

And in that cathartic release,

Sometimes I find a bit of peace.

And,

There may not be fewer fears,

But,

Sometimes there'll be a couple of cheers

And I ain't gon'a hold my breath praying to God above

For someone to jump up and want'a make love…………..

But at least I know you now hold my humanity.

And that might not be enough to save me,

But if I'm lucky….

Maybe the power of my poetry might someday set somebody free,

Even if it's not me.

Because this…. is all I can be.

Walking God


         WALKING GOD

Maybe I'm already walk'n with God and I just don't see,

Cause I feel like there's some Dog out there always watch'n me,

Like I'm a squirrel trapped in a tree.

Only when I'd turn around,

Hard as I'd stare,

Ain't nothing or no one there to make me care.

So finally one day I

Put down that gun,

And

Went out and got one.

Now I'm not  rich,

But I wasn't gon'a settle for just any old bitch,

Cause I was gon'a call my dog God

Because, well I'm a little bit odd.

And

I like the irony

Of

Who's worshiping who,

And the poetry

In

Everything we do;

How when WE slam shut a door God busts out a window,

And,

"Where oh where did my little God go?"

But she came with a name;

Lady,

And it occurred to me;

More than God in my life,

That's what I need;

A Lady, a woman, a wife.

(Or maybe there really is some "Dog" out there who just

Wasn't  really ready

For my level of blasphemy)

But what's in a name?

God or Lady?   It's all the same.

All the more metaphor!

Because every man knows that when he doesn't repent,

At any given moment;

His God, his dog and his lady can all tear him apart.

In fact maybe that's even how one or more of them won over his heart.

But I've never been good at talk'n to chicks,

Or

Turn'n tricks chase'n sanctimonious sticks.

Yeah when it comes to religion and

Women,

I just….

Don't think so quick on my feet,

But what good bitch doesn't love a scratch on the ass and a pice of meat?

Yeah I know all about prey'n with my God,

And I love chase'n pussy's and squirrels, or a fluffy white rabbit,

I don't need to where a habit,

And I don't need to be suave or successful, or rich or pious or pretty

To make here happy.

And when's the last time a pretty young woman walked up to you wanting to lick you face?

Or you felt the furry embrace of God's gentle grace

As she snuggle up tight

To keep you warm at night.

When's the last time your God brought your hat back

Or

Twitched her tail trying to share your snack?

When's the last time God (or your woman)

Showed their compassion?

Not just for pretend,

But gave you a hug instead of

Calling you sinful or lazy or crazy

When you were lonely or angry?

And when I pray,

I really can't say

If there's some "Dog up above"

Feel'n the love

But I don't have to say a word

To know I'm heard

By her.

And sure she doesn't always do what I say or want'a play,

But,

Well what God or good woman does that anyway?

Yeah, she's not perfect,

But she's the one I picked.

And you might be a gay atheist,

Or I might of said or done something that made you really pissed.

Or maybe you just hate or fear every last lousy cur,

But everyone who's ever met her.

Has always adored

My Lady and Lord

Maybe not from the start,

But soon enough well wheedle our way into your heart.

And I guess,

The next time I see a Johanna's witness,

Well I'll tell them "dog bless."

Because my Lady

Is the only one who gives me turly

Unconditional.... forgives.

And maybe I am here already

Just

"Walk'n god"

But I still feel like there's some dog out there watch'n me.

Only now when I turn around,

Like I heard a sound,

Like I feel some great spirit tug'n at me,

Well that's just my Lord and Lady,

Tell'n me I'm not the only squirrel trapped in a tree.

So "May the power of Eukanuba and the spirit of Iams be upon you

As you " go forth into the world,

Burry bones between us

And do your doggie doo-doo "

Wag your tail

And let puppies prevail.

Dog bless.

Just Another Day Bicycling In Rochester's Winter

 Boots slick with sludge slip on the peddles, slamming my groin onto the bicycle frame as I struggle to summon the steam to plow the trailer through the morass of mashed potatoes that suffices for Stewart Street on a frigid February morning.    The extra layers of clothing help cushion the blow (as does being a bit of a masochist), but now I have a wedgie four layers deep, and no time to attend to it with a car sputtering it's way fitfully up behind me.      With a bestial growl, I haul myself up by the handlebars and spin my own tire savagely in frustration a couple of revolutions, before finally relenting and leap  hastily off to shove the rig ruthlessly up the rest of the street.

  Now I know what your thinking; and yes, a trailer is often more trouble than it's worth to a bicyclist when navigating the waist high snowbanks that block every other corner and sidewalk   But I find it a necessary tool when one lacks a trunk.   It makes up for its cumbersome presence by playing the part of what would otherwise doubtless be the bed of a pick-up if I could drive, hauling things that are too heavy or bulky to fit comfortably in a backpack; laundry, groceries, cardboard for the dog to tear up in her crate, said dog when she is too tired to run… and yes even furniture when I move.  

  I manage to cross onto the slick-packed substrate of snow, sludge and ice that is South Ave after the most recent severe snowstorm without incident, taking heart in that at least from here my journey is literally all down hill beyond Highland Park, and I swiftly settle in to the familiar rhythm of alternation between shifting, standing, shifting, sitting and shifting again.     An act of syncopation that so subsumes consciousness in its adaptive awareness to the immediacy of the road ahead as to seem sublime, yet simultaneously so ensconced in the movement of muscle, as to be but a tertiary thought to the thrum of the world around.

  But alas, the gods and the universe are cold, crass, callous and cruel; callous in their cruelty, and cruelest when it is cold.         Hence just as I begin building a bit of momentum, through my eyes watering against the bitter biting wind, I notice the light at Highland and South Ave has just turned red.      Given a clear road and no cross-traffic, I'll often simply cut around any automotive impediments that may lie between me and my destination, beholden unto but one set of laws above and before all others;

"Come on, come on… Newton's law, Newton's law! "  I mutter with fervent prayer, easing off the gas so as not to draw too close to the bus belching noxious clouds of sulfur that congeal in its wake, compounding the arctic air sapping the strength from my every breath.…. but to no avail.    I pump the front break, the only one that works on this, my spare bike (my larger and more efficient 29er being stuffed in storage with a salt-rusted, over-stretched chain that slips in all but the hardest of gears), and the bald tire responds admirably.    

And of course, for no other fruit than to further toy with my temperament, just as my kinetic energy is nearing its expenditure, the light changes yet again and the bus lurches forward about a hundred yards before pausing once more to pick up a passenger.    Glancing behind, I note the pick-up with a plow about 20 meters and closing at a modest rate.  But a bit of adrenaline yet lingers from my earlier encounter with the bike frame, and I floor it to circumvent my gargantuan gray and black, often add-plastered arch-nemesis; the RTS (a.k.a, RGRTA).    The Great White Whale I can never catch, and yet am perpetually passing;

  Over a distance of several miles, the buses may well have me bested in terms of time (barely).   But inside of a mile or so, stop light to stop light, and especially down a hill such as this, I can easily do at least as well if not better (depending of course on such variables as traffic patterns, passengers, pedestrians and available paths of passing).    Add to that the simple independence, self reliance, health benefits, flexibility and satisfaction of carrying anything I want, wherever I want, whenever I want, and you have the calculous by which I prefer to bike even in the heart of the frozen hell that is a Rochester winter.   (either that, or I must be some sort of a masochistic adrenaline junky looking for a cheep challenge)    I figure if I'm going to freeze, I might as well be getting somewhere while doing so, even if it leaves me half exhausted at the end of my journey.   Then again, I don't know that I'd feel quite right if at the end of the day I weren't dirty, sweating, exhausted and frustrated from the effort of too much physical and mental exertion for too little reward.  (did I mention I might be a masochist?)

  My own exhaust combusts in long grayish-brown clouds not unlike that of the Chevy as it slips around me, condensing on the inside of my glasses, now several shades darker in their acclimation to the sharp temperature.    Stinging sub-zero wind compounded by my own speed lashes it's frozen feral ferocity full in my face, simultaneously sucking the breath from my laboring lungs and swelling forth a torrent of snot and tears to condense in a cataract on my face and further fouling my facade.       As the incline increases, I give over the gas to gravity (again owing homage to Newton) and take a moment to wipe at my lenses with a gloved thumb, thereby succeeding  in smearing a sludge of salt and greece atop the already frozen surface.        Yet even with a clean pair my visual acuity is only about 20/200, so I'm accustomed to the art of navigating through a haze of indistinct blurs bumbling about me, with little more than auditory cues, muscle memory, instinct and (above all) sheer dumb luck at escaping injury, and thus can afford to ignore the encumbrance for the moment.    

Passing the traffic speedometer by Highland Hospital, I manage to make out my speed through the morass obscuring my vision to be 13mph.      

  Most days I can easily average at least 18mph down this particular stretch (faster without the trailer).     But once the temperature reaches about 20 F, the wind makes one's eyes water more than is worth the trouble to attain such a modest velocity in heavy traffic.     Furthermore, in single and sub-zero digit weather such as this, I'm happy to hit 9 or 10 mph, as anything approaching 15 mph smacks too strongly of frostbite.   

  It is by equal parts skill, intuition, attention and luck that I notice the ever increasing backlog of blobs forming ahead of me, and manage to pull aside without catalyzing or culminating in a collision and take the opportunity to attend to my obstructed vision by tearing them tenderly from my face and licking the lenses,  thereby both cleaning and forestalling further fogging… if only for a few minutes.     However said victory is as bitter-sweet as the taste of road-salt upon my tongue.    Fore as soon as I replace them and manage to weave tentatively back into traffic…. it begins to snow.   

  Fat flakes plaster my face by the time I reach the corner of  South and Gregory, and I navigate as much by the heady scent of late morning coffee wafting from the surrounding shops, as any other senses for where to turn.    Turning, or rather slithering shakily , onto Gregory, I think of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken", and how I now seek the one MOST traveled by, which lays  ironically enough in the center of the street.     Slaloming sloppily from patch to patch of pavement, I struggle to maintain some semblance of a straight line, foregoing all propriety to traffic patterns in efforts to maintain momentum, to which my fellow commuters are commendably considerate to my condition in both their caution in passing, and forbearance from laying on the horn.

  Relief at seeing South Clinton relatively free of snow, is swiftly tempered upon turning once more headlong into the tearing wind as it cuts through the thin layer of my ski-mask.    Screw safety, I'm grateful for the moderate protection of the sound-dampening earphones that save my ears at least from frostbite, but are too bulky to fit over or under a helmet.   The rhythmic "tink" of the spare dog leash acting as zipper for the disheveled, duck-tape-torn yet still serviceably warm winter coat against the bike frame in time to my peddling, adds an annoying, yet triumphant tattoo to this, the home stretch to my final destination, reinvigorating effort with a resolve that is ill thwarted even by two more red lights, before I coast carefully into the parking lot of ABVI.  

  Back behind the loading dock where I lock up, I remove my hat with a heavy sigh, steam spouting from the 6 months growth of hair that adds both an extra layer of warmth and impediment to effective temperature regulation, leaving my face simultaneously sweating and frozen in the sharp shadow of the building.   Limbs stiff with cold, I move to dig out my time card, already warn weary with this warmup workout to my day, yet none the less thinking forward to the handful of hours of manual labor lifting boxes and oversized sheets of paper that lay ahead.        Fore truly life is indeed like riding a bicycle, in that one must keep moving to maintain their balance.      And at the bottom of the socio-economic slope, the choices we have are merely what compromises to make that will allow us to keep going;

  More effort and less comfort in exchange for more independence and flexibility among options of transportation; Smaller less efficient tires and bad breaks in exchange for the flexibility of more gears; No helmet for no frostbite; An employee who works with such speed and flexibility at  a variety of tasks in 4 or 5hrs, as would require the efforts of 2 or 3 in 6 or 8hrs, but is chronically absurdly late; The overexertion of energetic effort in taking on tasks for an obscenely low wage, in exchange for a supervisor and organization tolerant to and compassionate toward said lateness.

  In the end the decisions we make are based upon the principles of most pressing pertinence to our position, in relativity to the weight of our world and those around us.   The laws of living by which we are bound, much like those of motion and gravity; the very forces that pull us down, keep us grounded, are too those that keep us going, moving in an orbit of perpetual, yet purposeful poverty and decay.      And I for one am proud merely to be but another soft, silent speck burning humbly amidst that infathomable firmament sea.

(Author's note; the amount of time it takes to read this is narrative, is serendipitously roughly the amount of time ti takes me to make this commute)

Disabilities You Can't See, My Disability Meta-Fork poem

This is a performance piece, and I have a video for it, but the poem is still powerful and I wanted to get this on here as soon as possible.


Disability Meta-Fork


You think you understand me but you don't.

You think a disability, is something you can see.

What's more, you think it means I'm weak,

Or maybe just a freak.

If not too meek to speak. 

Just the insufferable neighbor,

Worse than a whiny-ass  cur.

That neurotic psychotic

Degenerate misfit piece of shit.

It's ok, you don't have to say it.

I learned long ago how to except those who don't except me.

I understand you don't understand I can't see.

I can accept that you don't accept me,

Because the thing that makes me strong,

Is I know how to accept those who don't belong

But obviously you are unfamiliar with what it means to be blessed by a disability

that no one can see.

You think you know me

Because you see so perfectly….

Through that  prejudice  prism of normality.

You try to judge and impose,

But the truth never shows,

Well to hell with the world you think you see,

Cause I got dissonance and harmony,

Melancholy and melody,

Bitter-sweet serendipity,

Swirl'n  in and around and through and through me;

ADHD creativity and energy

Bounce'n through my brain

Like a pinball-bullet train.

Skittering from synapsis to synapsis,

Erratic as static,

Every thought half wrought,

Can't be caught

By the tip of your…

Touretts tong tick'n like a tachyon,

Tap'n out a song,

Drummer riff'n on a rhyme.

Keep'n crazy constant time,

OCD sting'n like a bee,

Count'n every step,

Know'n every rock and tree

Just in case I got'a flee,

Jump-kick'n cross the lawn,

Dance'n like a swan

Just in case I got'a fight,

Got'a do it twenty times,

Till I know I got it right.

Ride'n the bi-polar roller-coaster round and round, town,

Chase'n the black dog clear across town,

Take'n the tiger by the tail till his teeth tear you down.

Till people think you're crazy,

But they'll never call you lazy.

Just a skitzoporenic, degenerate, misfit

piece of shit

Because I am a bear in human skin,

And when I look in the mirror,

I can't tell who's more afraid

And who's more jade;

The human on the outside,

Wish'n he could hide,

Or the bear within,

Wish'n he weren't trapped in this dam hapless human.

All you ever know

Is the side you think I intend to show.

You think you know me

Because you see so perfectly….

Through that  prejudice  prism of normality.

You try to judge and impose,

But the truth never shows,

Just That charismatic ursine personality.

Boo boo break'n free;

You think it's hard

Having to play the race card,

All you got to do to prove you're as good as the rest

Is pass a stupid standardized test.

How about a six word story for being a white guy with a Learning Disability;

Ironically,

You can't see I'm blind.

And not to belittle anyone's service to their country,

But not every PTSD

Stems from the military,

Some of us can only wish we had an I.E.D blow off our hand,

Cause a disability you can see,

is the only one the average anyone ever even tries to understand. 

Abuse, disuse, recluse….

Accident, ignorent, stochastic event,

Iraq, Afghanistan,

Where's my Candy Land?

At least you can say

You got to play.

Cause they don't let blind guys with ADHD

Be all that they can be.

I'm not say'n it's wrong or right,

I'm just saying some of us don't ever have the opportunity,

The option to fight.

And I think even you Vet's will agree,

A life without duty,

Well that's just a life without purpose,

Worthless as piss.

And a lot of times that's exactly how I feel.

Cause I just won't ever have the ability to take the wheel.

And it takes twice as much effort to get half as far,

If you can't drive a car.

Friends, religion,

Career, kith and kin,

Life is nothing without a reason worth give'n.

And what about family?

Well they're all up here swinging right along side me from the same dam genetic tree;

Neck's stretched tight on the nooses of low income (if not outright poverty)

And the modern dysfunctional family.

Each fucked up fruit another phenotype too ripe.

And not to hold a gripe,

But Try being a parent of the aforementioned misshapen seed,

Struggling with a chronically underfunded public school system to get their student

the support they need

To have a chance to succeed.

Try'n to teach their teen to self advocate

Tell'n them "You can be great",.

Not your average knife in the drawer,

You're something special, something more.

Dyslexic, eclectic,

ADHD, energetic creativity,

Asburgers, autistic artistic

Awe hell let's be realistic…..

You're just another fork who's fucked!

And every razor-tipped tine's

Another needle shot, stabbed straight into your spine.

Cause once you get to be about 25,

If you haven't figured it out,

how to survive,

How to control every little tick and twitch,

Carved out your own little social niche,

Well good luck chuck,

Cause the world don't give a fuck.

Cause the children are the future, but you're not a kid any more,

And there just isn't enough government aid

To reach someone that old and that jade.

And If you don't bear your bane

Like a brand upon your chest,

if you don't wield your weakness

Like a white tipped cane,

Well then I'm sorry son but we can't celebrate your pain,

You must just be insane.

If you don't walk with a limp or a lisp, or speak american sign,

Then then you must be just fine,

And no one gives a fork about you're fucked up tine.

Too late to try and fill your plate,

You're just another body to fill the line.

Cause the cold truth is that some of us simply ARE superfluous to the economy,

And if you're able to make ANY money,

Well then you know you're DAM lucky,

So just show up, sit down, shut up

And do your job

You quixotic slob.

Life ain't filled with rainbows and ponies and lollypops and care-bears,

It's bosses and bills and welfare lines

And fees and fines,

Dates and deadlines.

So fake it till you make….it

It takes too to lie,

One to deceive,

And one to

God dam better believe

It takes twice as much effort to get half as far

If you can't drive a car!

Injustice of reality, of this narcissistic, society of bashful bigotry,

If you don't have a crutch or a chair,

Then don't  nobody know to care.

Cause that takes time,

And that's just too precious and rare.

Cause there's just too many lies

For society to scrutinize and recognize

The truth of your cries,

From the wolf in disguise. 

People only want to understand,

What they can see placed plainly in the palm of their hand.

Security guard

Want's to see a service dog's ID card,

Request goes against the ADA,

But what the hell, I guess I could play,

Order one off the internet

And come back like it was no sweat.

But on second thought, screw it.

Who needs you're lousy lilac festival anyway?

Principle's just too high a price to pay.

And I can accept that;

I can accept  that you don't accept me,

Because I understand, that you don't understand I don't see.

And that's The thing that makes me strong,

Is I know how to accept those who don't belong

And the hard truth may be that some of us really are superfluous to the economy,

but no one…. NO ONE, should be superfluous to society.

And everyone, EVERYONE, no matter how schizophrenic, eugenic, radicalized, unsocialized, psychotic or neurotic,

deserves a bit of compassion empathy.

A bit of humanity.

And if we want to teach anyone any empathy,

We need to start by asking ourselves, "what's the disability I DON'T see?"  Cause it's all a spectrum of personality.

And we're all up there some where, in the U.V.

So please,

try to be just a bit more blind,

Because the best way to keep an open mind,

Is to look at the world like you know you're half blind.

Cause when you know you can't see perfectly,

You know you never have the whole picture,

The only thing you're certain of is uncertainty,

Because there's always more to the truth and beauty,

Than the freakish facade of the thing you think you see.

And I'm not say'n I do it all the time every time first rate,

Cause even though I'm listen'n hard,

It's hard to listen.

Cause my muse, my brain, my bane, keeps tell'n me there's something I'm miss'n

So I forgot what it was I was just about to do,

But I assure you I intend to,

Because I even wrote it down,

Then forgot where I put the pater seven seconds after I turn around.

But I know that it's never too late,

Cause even though my vision's not so great,

Hindsight is always 20/20.

Just cause I'm not always aware, doesn't mean I don't care.

Maybe it means I just don't know how to share

… how to dare

So I just sit and stare,

Just another thorn on the wall of roses,

Making pretty poses.

Trapped in this caustic cage of middle age rage.

Cause every time I think to try,

The words run dry and I want to cry,

Cause I'm drown'n in sand

And no one…. NO ONE…. can EVER understand.

Some people be sing'n "don't let the disability define",

But that's like say'n

don't let the grape of the vine

Form the flavor for the wine.

What the hell's wrong with me?

L.D,

Can't say it, but I can

Paint it        Play it,

Write it,       Work it

Dream it,     Dance it,

Build it,

Sculpt it,     Score it,   Sing it,    Solve it,

Like Shakespeare, Da Vinci,

Dvorak,        Nijinsk,

Pavarotti and Fibonacci

Rolled into one.

that's it, I'm done

ODE TO DEATH


JohnnySampson
Picture is from (http://www.singleape.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/JohnnySampson.jpg)
I don't think I could find a more fiting immage to this poem if I tried



             ODE TO DEATH

Hope calls like the whisper of sunrise in the light of your eyes.


Never before have I been a believer

in the fervor of this fever.

You alone could love me.

Me…

Alone…. lonely, aloft in my tree.

You alone could compel me.

Could Set me free.

Could sate my silent, cathartic need

My silent yearning cry to bleed.

You managed to crack my introverted shell,

Even as I drew back, deeper into that personal hell.

Time and again I eluded you

Unaware you were ever even there.

Breath bare upon my shoulder

Even as my world grew colder and colder.

Yet you, with gentle persistency, patiently pursued me.

Until at last I could see….

Could take stock of your beauty.

Like time you tickle,

A fickle foreplay

That pulls me away.

Sure strong hands who's strokes softly devour

With a swift sweet immutable power.

Minute by minute, day by day ,hour by hour,

You draw me out.

Drop by delicate drop, kiss by crimson kiss

In inexorable bliss.

Tongues trace like liquid lace,

Plumb the depths in orgasmic grace

Until

Silken skin upon silken skin

Slips in and in

deeper into sin.

Plunging again and again,

Poignant as pain,

In a sweet soaking rain,

Thrumming a thunder

Till bare-bodied bones and breath should sunder.

The shutter, the rasp

As we gasp and gasp.

The piercing, ringing cry that fills the sky

As my soul lets fly,

As I fell,

Unremitting into your spell,

Your heavenly hell,

Awash in your love,

Your final embrace

Your coup-de-grace. 

The release,

The peace,

As I lay there,

Trembling atop you

In the crisp autumn air,

Broken and spent...

Without repent.

Set free in a slick sheen upon your verdant heart,

Never again to part.

You took all I had to offer,

Unconcerned, utterly dispassionate to  whether I was king or popper.

And in doing so, gave me unconditionally

The chance to be.

You alone,

Were worthy of my virginity,

This once and only.

My beautiful banshee.

Wax Wings (please stop telling people "you can do anything you put your mind to", your not helping!

The picture is from
( http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/icarus-184x300.jpg),
I thought it went nicely with this poem.




icarus-184x300
Icarus / Wax Wings

Who will build your wings oh mighty Icarus?

Who will catch you when those dreams, they turn to dust?

Thought that I could do

All I put my mind to.

Pinned onto my back,

Hopes of feathers and wax!

But beneath the heat of day,

They began to melt away….

All opportunity SUNK, like ships at sea,

On those rigid  rocks of reality!

My dreams, drifting away…..

LIke feathers… on seas-spray.

They told me "Just try",

And my wax wings would fly.

They thought they gave me hope….

But it takes more to COPE,

Then feathers wax and ROPE!

And now I just want to go home,

Just give me wings to fly home,

On wax wings I would roam,

Oh wax wings, carry me home.

Don't let them tell you you can do anything you put your mind to,

Because I know that's a LIE !

Can't take the world alone…

It takes more than strength of stone.

Now I'm not saying don't try,

Because you can still jump high;

Maybe even touch the sky.

But I beg you take HEED!

More than wax wings you need,

If you are to succeed.

Because though you can pretend

You will soar with out end,

Beware wax wings BEND!

And when your dreams don't hold true,

And you can't do what you want to…..

Must do what you can do.

Who will build  your wings oh mighty Icarus?

Who will catch you, when those dreams, they turn to dust?…..

When your wings melt away…..

Like feathers,

On sea-spray…….

Salue ye brilliant bardic bastards!

Salue ye brilliant bardic bastards!

Language is the calculus by which I estimate and plot the parameters / bounds of my reality/ my existence.

Style is the file by which I preen those foundling feathers with which I would soar the winds of whimsy.

I imbibe the stylized stanzas of others muses, sapping that sagacious strength for the catharsis of mine own character.

I try on the new nuances and nouns like a pair of pants; testing the trow of their threads, the flex and feel of their introspective inferences and insights.       Breeding variation with this one’s prose, that one’s posture, conjuring and conjugating chimeric monstrosities of cognition to cosmopolitanize mine own perspicacity.

I moor their mellifluous muses tight to the tangled dendroids of mine own insane synapses, knowing not where those powerful palpitations of this ocean may ply me, caring only for the sweet satiation of their wicked winds flowing fierce and fervent through mine veins, crackling electric in mine fingers.   Mine voice is vulcanized with the volume / and vibrancy of their verberations, fore all that its own volley is eternally dammed to fall mute upon the deaf firmament.

Nay, no phallic obelisk shall I erect in egocentric homage, but rather lay mine ego down in quiet repose neath the auburn branches of autumn.  

Mine emulation is born not of enmity or envy but the enamored amateur, the plight of philosophical pilgrimage.;   To lilt a lacquer against the worried world.

I edify an elegy shorn of their own transcendent trusses.           A most malleable and malic magic it is.     Pallor power, profuse and profane…..and all mine.   I drink deep of that loquacious liquor, swaggering about like a haughty hero clad in mine shiny new surcoat of serendipity.   Oh the ecstasy of imagination’s inebriation!  Mad poignancy made all the more potent fore the cocktail of conjugation!

El Lobo, El Coyote, El Diablo ye El Gato, The Wolf, The Coyote, The Devil and the Cat

(my apologies to anyone fluent in Spanish, I wanted to try a different language, but all I started out with was knowing the words for "Wolf", "devil", "cat" and "Coyote".   So I thought," what would they be doing together?"   And it turned into a parable.   Also, it's meant to be a performance pice, so it sounds better when I read it aloud.)



El Lobo, El Coyote, El Diablo ye El Gato

El lobo, el coyote,

El diablo y el gato

The wolf,  the coyote,

The devil and the cat,

Were gathered round the table,

Gambling all their cards.

To see who was most able.

Estaban reunido alrededor     de la mesa

Jugando       todas sus cartas,

Para ver quien      es el mas

Said the wolf unto coyote,

Dijo el lobo     al coyote,

I'll give you the cat's whiskers

If you help me."

Ledar'e esta     los bigotes del gato,

Si me   ayuda;

If you'll help me......

Said coyote to the devil,

Dijo coyote     al Diablo,

I'll give you the wolf's tail,

When I prevail.

Ledar'e esta      la cola de lobo,

Cuando la victoria  es mio;

When the victory is mine....

Dijo el Diablo  con al gato,

Said the devil to the cat,

Ledar'e esta        la lingua de coyote,

I'll give you coyote's tongue,

When we've won

Cundo ganemos;

When we've won.

Dijo    el Gato   con al lobo

Said the cat unto the wolf,

Ledar'e esta        los cuernos de Diablo

I'll give you the devil's horns,

When we're done.

Cuanto      terminemos;

When we're done.

And so I saw the stars, all wink out black as pain,

Fore playing with such fire,

Bore but a fickle fleeting gain.

De este modo   vi las estrellas,

todas Guino un ojos

Apagaron, negro como sombres    de dolor.

Porque jugar con tan fuego,

Solo trajo        Una efímera   voluble ventajas