#werealllight
Text
My First
she was my first reader
all those many years ago
starting out on
notes we would hand each other
in between classes
and then
little stories
I would write
exclusively for her
about
drunk proctologists
and men who were in need
of
pubic wigs
my main goal was
to make her laugh
and I succeeded
99% of the time
she’d tell me
at lunchtime
that my latest letter
had her laughing so hard
she got in trouble
in history class
this was a long time ago
and today
she told me
she was going to order
a copy of my first book of poetry
and how cool is that eh?
my first reader
my very first fan
plunking down some
cash
to read what she used to get
for free
for love
just so I could see her smiling
and her calling me
a funny fella
I really should have dedicated
my book
to her
for she put into me the
drive
to get the word
down
to get a reaction
to get a smile
a giggle
and most of all
to let her know
that her boyfriend might not
be athletic
or musically inclined
but man, how he could
use words
to get her going
so
tonight I am
thinking of her
and will make my way into the attic
to read all the letters that
she
wrote me
so many
“man that last letter was
hysterical” praise
and I could really live on that
for quite some time
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Offering My Palm
place into my palm
one
last adventure
push me off
(possibly screaming and crying)
((possibly singing and dancing))
to explore
things that have
never
surrounded me
things my old man peepers
have never focused on
ah…
and throw in
one final romance
my deflated chest
..empty for so long..
could use a
loving hand
pump!
help me begin
pumping again
but now
…boxed in by
books and record albums
I am a
living, breathing sigh
what could have been
has long been ignored
so, let me see what
I can do
this time around
if it would only
present itself to me
I am too lazy
to fetch it
to open the window
...just a crack
and have joy
come in
on a lilac breeze
with trails of
so soft
musical notes
following behind
as a whisper
place upon my lips
one more
first kiss
open my hand
press yourself
...with fondness, please
deep within my palm
my fingers closing slowly
around the only grasp
I long for
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#creative writing poetry#beat poetry#werealllight
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Around and Around
behind the bar
in the
dining room
my father
kept the
record player
I would spend
hours there
listening
to his old
45s
and his 12 inch
LPS
his Johnny
Cash
albums
were the envy
of everyone
in the
neighborhood
but
it was his
45s
that
drew my
imagination
the most
strange titles
beautiful labels
the grooves
I'd pick out
one
out of
hundreds
cross my fingers
and
put the
needle
down
and out would
come
some of the
strangest
sounds
I’ve ever heard
there was no
light
behind
the bar
but
so help me
my smile
would light up
the place
I remember one
by Bobby Darrin
on Atco records
(yellow label with black writing)
Splish Splash
B-side
Judy, Don’t Be Moody
I’d play them
over and over
tapping my toes
and chewing
my Bubble Yum
(grape flavored)
my father
died when I
was
just
12
so I lost out
on
a lot
but
in his short
time
here
he gave me
the gift
I treasure
the most
the love of music
and just
this morning
I go into
the bathroom
to find my
own
son
taking a whiz
and singing
"even if you don’t"
a Ween song
and
all I could do
was just stand there
under the doorway
watching him
and knowing
that
wherever
my father is
he
is
smiling
and
perhaps
singing along
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A Splendid Evening (revisited)
too broke to go out
and purchase some wine
but
I am fully stocked on cigarettes
coffee
and
tea
got Bob Dylan playing now
and I am a warm mug of cider
with his mellow nasal drawl
entering my threadbare soul
leaving me
in a state of healing
but wine would go nice
with his harmonica
and sublime acoustics
that has never failed
to amaze and fulfill me
so I light up a smoke
and walk around my record albums
to find the next
little jewel
that will be sure to please
my wallet feeling the pinch
of unemployment
I try to smoke my butts
slowly
to make them last a bit longer
but
in a day
I’ll have to figure out
how to
pay for another pack
ah, why worry about it now?
I have
Highway 61 Revisited
playing on sweet monaural wax
and isn’t that all a man can ask for?
smokes…coffee…tea
Bob Dylan
and a roof over my head
I would choose music over sex
each and every time
I bend down
and pull out
another Dylan album
and decide to get mellow
with his
New Morning record
and I realize that I am
quite happy
to be alone tonight
solitude can be a bitch
but there are nights
like tonight
when all you really need
is
a nice sampling of what makes you joyful
I light a candle
and curl up on the couch
as the music spins
and sip at my coffee
content and peaceful
on a Thursday night
to remember
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at the record store
fingers deep in the pile
flipping through…
going faster than
33 and a third
Zeppelin posters
litter the walls…
Jimmy Page
towering above me
with that ridiculous double neck guitar
and I’m not searching for
Stairway anyhow
no
give me some tasty finds
place a record from
The Smiths or XTC
in there for me
let me come home
satisfied
with a stack of vinyl
and a working coffee maker
the grounds will make a
dandy mug of java
and the needle will
let me know
(annoyingly)
if there are any skips
tucked deep into the wax
but now
I stand in front of the used vinyl
…the crummy bands are in abundance
which makes this lovely
Otis Redding album
all the more special
I pull it out and inspect it quickly
$20.00
I place it under my arm
smiling because
Otis and coffee
go together so very nicely
I pay
and hightail it to my auto
where I will break a few laws
of the highway
to make it home
with the Big O
leaping up the stairs
pressing the power button
on the receiver
the speakers hum
the needle ready
the first tune ready to impress
I place the arm down to the record
and
Ole Man Trouble
begins
and I swear that
the clouds parted
as I took that first sip of coffee
and the guitar work of
Steve Cropper
blew the books off the shelf
while the sun places a white flag above her
calling it a day
but I’ll be up
up all night
….alone….
playing my beloved Memphis soul
with a cigarette burning safely
in-between my fingers
and I swear that I saw
my other albums
bow a bit in the direction of
the turntable
while Otis does his thing
I’ll be here until 3AM
shining in the smooth glow of music
and I’ll go to bed
satisfied and spent
with my dumb head on the pillow
I’ll dream of more record stores
…more finds
on another day
I pull up the winter blankets
to my beatnik chin
and banana slip into a deep sleep
while blue ballads play all around my
resting body
leaving me in a good light
as I lay
spread out on the flannel sheets
while the November wind outside
huffs and puffs
at my window
nothing can touch me now
nothing can spoil this night
not one thing
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#Love Poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#beat poetry#creative writing poetry#vinyl#werealllight
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The Dad Is Dead
my father was sick
consumed by cancer at the age of 43
he stayed home with us at home
as long as he could
but
eventually, he had to go to the hospital
I was 12 and uncomfortable seeing him
so ill
I didn't go to visit every time my
mother and brother would go
I stayed home and thought about
bikes and records
the last time I saw him
my brother and I were
walking out the door
of his room
he was propped up
on his electric bed
my brother told him a joke:
"What's the last thing that goes through a bugs head when he hits a windshield?
"His ass."
my father gave us a smile and waved to us goodbye
I woke up one August morning
and was able to hear my family
talking about how they were going to tell me
that my dad died last night
I didn't want to get up
I wanted to hide in bed all day
but
my bladder was popping
and I had to go to the bathroom
they called to me
as I exited
the three of us
all went back into my room
and sat on the bed
and they told me
and just like that
I was fatherless
before I hit 13
I don't remember the specifics
of our conversation
but I left feeling loved
yet
left behind
after it all settled
it was just my mom and I
(my brother went back to college
four hours away)
I became trouble
and she put up with a lot
but
she always loved me
the memories of my dad are all
foggy now
but
there is a photo of him and I
laying on the carpet
in front of the stereo
listening to his records
my arm across his back
that's mostly how I remember him now
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#beat poetry#creative writing poetry#twcpoetry#werealllight
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Our Universe or Yours?
where were our lips
supposed to kiss?
what alternate universe
do we
both need to live in
where
our hands would
fit
perfectly
into each other's?
our lips
wild, wet
and seeking
acceptance
our eyes
deeper than peace…
sharper than nails
connect easily
and your delicious face
is all I would need
to make it through another
48 hour night
and hell yes,
it's been weeks
since my troubled mind
relaxed as
illness
overtook it
and soon
I was breathing
in and out
the truth of the matter
which is:
you are there
&
I am here
and no NASA event will
tag you with my
kerchief
the miles
(the stubborn bitch)
will not
play along,
not knowing what
love
really feels like
nope
no rainbow
(Or nostalgia rags)
to pull you in
no massive moon play
to usher you into
my bedroom with a
velvet rope
shaped like a
Bo Peep cane
all I do know is
I've seen you
(and you have seen me)
and
late last night
it rolled into my head
that
we were meant to be
(no we weren't)
together
(apart)
and it’s so simple
(Chinese algebra)
now
(Never)
that all you have to do
(which you won't…chicken)
is call my name
(The one that starts with K)
and no matter what
( no matter what)
I will come to you
(Scouts honor)
so lay there
among your yellow walls
and
see if
you (and you only)
can wait it out
and sit on your hands
while I make my
journey
the only thing to stop
me would be
Y
O
U
and
you
know it
darlin'
so
stay seated for the
remainder of the night
keep your eyes open
I may just try to
surprise you
tonight
the corners of your eyes
will see me first
and
before I come into
complete focus
do
not
make up your mind
just yet
I bring gifts
that you will have to take into
account now
a seven inch heart…
one finely pumping peach scented heart
an eyeball on the ceiling of love
hands that will swallow you whole with rough desires
the comfort of a thousand flower petals
and
the strong power of touch from my tongue
starting at the hips
and following your
fingernails until we get to
your powerhouse
nothing makes sense
when love is smack dab in the middle
of our lives
and this poem
has failed us
on many levels
but I let go of its damaged and stupid wings
to see where the carrier pigeons
will find your fat ass
tattooed with every poem I ever
had the honor to
write about you
starting with
Tom Lehrer
and ending with this poem
you are attempting to finish
reading now
I wonder what you will
think about it
and worry that your silence
will be maintained
despite my best efforts to
draw
you
out
now
and so I ask you
once again
where should
our lips meet?
my universe or yours?
it's your call
and it always
has been
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#Love Poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#creative writing poetry#beat poetry#werealllight
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Dreaming of Linda
I had a dream about Linda
My friend Robert and I
were in school
next to a long table
…the kind that they have in the cafeteria
we were standing there
when out of the
corner of my eye
and coming from behind Rob
she walked up to the table
and began going through a bunch of papers
that were piled up in front of her
it was Linda
Robert and I
looked at each other
with amazed looks on our faces
and I shrugged my shoulders
as if to say
‘I have no idea how or why she is here’
She’s been dead since December
She died bald and ravaged by cancer
but in my dream
she had a full head of hair
and she looked amazing
she was 16 again
pure and clear
she then came to our side of the table
and began talking to me
I can’t remember what she said
but I lifted my hand
and ran my fingers through her hair
asking her if it was a wig
and she just looked at me
as if to say
‘why on Earth would I be wearing a wig’
she had no idea that cancer was gunning for her
and that she’d be dead at 42.
for a brief moment
in my head
she was alive and vibrant
beautiful
just the way I try to remember her
back when dating and making out
on the cot in the attic
was the center of our teenage lives
I woke up thrilled to have her
if only for a short time
and I hope she comes to visit me
again
I have so much to ask her
but most of all
I just want to look at her
the whole dream could have
been just her sweet face looking at me
that she moved and spoke was a bonus
Linda Linda
you were a beautiful girl
a beautiful woman
and in my dreams
you were simply gorgeous
again
and to say that I miss you
would be the
understatement of the year
come to me again
as I fall asleep
with my head on the pillow
I will pray you enter my dreams again
I had a splendid time
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#creative writing poetry#werealllight#spilled ink poetry
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..with crossed fingers
Tonight will be
It
I will peel open
My chest and
Let her have her
Way with me
She will
Squeeze my heart
With her so soft hand
And it will
Feel good
Feel good
For the first time in ages
She will pull it out
And give it
Gentle kisses
And with her
Hot breath on it
She will
Whisper little
Lover girl
Secrets
To it
And it will
Be alright
It will keep its
Beat going
Softly throbbing in her
Palm
She will place
It back
In and
Close me up
With her delicate
Sewing skills
And I’ll be
As good as
New
Tonight
Will be the night
That I let her
Have her
Way
With me
My heart
Hers for the
Asking
And I
Cannot
Wait
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Addiction
sick and blurry eyed
like looking down a
collideascope backwards
where the colors run
and then smear
into a black and white world
my veins are screaming for relief
from this odd sickness
and
my chest collapses into itself
leaving my heart tattered and dying
every branch in my body is broken
I want moonlight
I crave the stars
I covet the pitch black sky
taking my pills
and kicking off the celebration
I drown my depression in a glass of vodka
and feel no guilt in doing so
the sun is a fucker
and summer socks cock
in a tight and rancid skirt
I turn away and live by the ticking of my watch
gravity is growing tired
so am I
and as the music plays softly from my radio
I begin to lift and float past trees and skyscrapers
bored and ill
the alcohol has safely made it
into my body
and the moon comes out
as owls hoot and holler
from nearby branches
and all of the stars spell out my predicament
addicted and not wanting to be
at all
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#beat poetry#creative writing poetry#werealllight
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Our Universe
where were our lips
supposed to kiss?
what alternate universe
do we
both need to live in
where
our hands would
fit
perfectly
into each other's?
our lips
wild, wet
and seeking
acceptance
our eyes
deeper than peace…
sharper than nails
connect easily
and your delicious face
is all I would need
to make it through another
48 hour night
and hell yes,
it's been weeks
since my troubled mind
relaxed as
illness
overtook it
and soon
I was breathing
in and out
the truth of the matter
which is:
you are there
&
I am here
and no NASA event will
tag you with my
kerchief
the miles
(the stubborn bitch)
will not
play along,
not knowing what
love
really feels like
nope
no rainbow
(Or nostalgia rags)
to pull you in
no massive moon play
to usher you into
my bedroom with a
velvet rope
shaped like a
Bo Peep cane
all I do know is
I've seen you
(and you have seen me)
and
late last night
it rolled into my head
that
we were meant to be
(no we weren't)
together
(apart)
and it’s so simple
(Chinese algebra)
now
(Never)
that all you have to do
(which you won't…chicken)
is call my name
(The one that starts with K)
and no matter what
( no matter what)
I will come to you
(Scouts honor)
so lay there
among your yellow walls
and
see if
you (and you only)
can wait it out
and sit on your hands
while I make my
journey
the only thing to stop
me would be
Y
O
U
and
you
know it
darlin'
so
stay seated for the
remainder of the night
keep your eyes open
I may just try to
surprise you
tonight
the corners of your eyes
will see me first
and
before I come into
complete focus
do
not
make up your mind
just yet
I bring gifts
that you will have to take into
account now
a seven inch heart…
one finely pumping peach scented heart
an eyeball on the ceiling of love
hands that will swallow you whole with rough desires
the comfort of a thousand flower pedals
and
the strong power of touch from my tongue
starting at the hips
and following your
fingernails until we get to
your powerhouse
nothing makes sense
when love is smack dab in the middle
of our lives
and this poem
has failed us
on many levels
but I let go of its damaged and stupid wings
to see where the carrier pigeons
will find your fat ass
tattooed with every poem I ever
had the honor to
write about you
starting with
'Tom Lehrer'
and ending with this poem
that you are attempting to finish
reading
I wonder what you will
think about it
and worry that your silence
will be maintained
despite my best efforts to
draw
you
out
now
and so I ask you
once again
where should
our lips meet?
my universe or yours?
it's your call
and it always
has been
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#Poems#drunk poetry#lit#alt lit#beat poetry#Love poem#creative writing poetry#werealllight
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A Creeper Weed Tale
"I got tanked out on that
creeper weed, yo..."
he was speaking to me
as I washed dishes over a
under-used kitchen sink
"I was six… maybe seven tokes in
when I felt
…satisfied…
and put the pipe away
fifteen minutes into it
I got up
to grab a blueberry seltzer
from the kitchen
but upon rising
I was
lassoed back into the sofa
cotton candy and heavy clouds
were violently fighting over
who would dominate my cranium..."
I washed the silverware...
placing the knives and forks
facing down in the drainer
for the safety of the curious cats
he continued:
"Never one to fight things
I sat back and
began to enjoy the music
but my cotton-mouth
was all
badass and bodacious
un
re
lenting
but I couldn’t get up
I felt as if I smoked something
maybe…other-worldly
and
wouldn’t you know it…
the vinyl record that is spinning
is one tune away
from completion
which, at that point
movement would be crucial..."
I dry up the sink
with a paper towel
and turn to wipe down
the stove
“What did you do?” I asked
"I laid there in near perfect quiet
just the simple warm
buuuuuuumskitchleschitcelbuuuu
moaned from the record still revolving
the needle had a kamikaze chance
of finding another song
on that platter
so, I relaxed
and in an hour or so
I was able to become…
once again…
mobile"
“You’re an Inspiration, man.”
"But, I’ve learned…
two hits and wait
that’s
all
I
need
to
remember
Sometimes you have to learn lessons
from your pleasant mistakes, too
and the one I’m talking about here
was the most pleasurable"
“Do you have some on you?”
"Yeah. Wanna bake?"
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#poem#poets#lit#alt lit#weed poetry#creative writing poetry#beat poetry#werealllight
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The Lone Follies
2 a.m.
looking at vintage
photo's of
women from
the Ziegfeld Follies
back in the
black and white twenties
playing The Clash
no, they don't mix
but
that's ok
every friendly animal here
has succumbed to sleep
but I'm drinking coffee
and kind of wishing I had
someone to talk to
someone to share this moment with
but
I have no friends
(and that’s the truth)
clicking to the next
picture with excitement,
I notice the flame of the candle
(to my left)
has gone out
and some slight smoke
rises to the
ceiling fan
the smell of dead wick
builds around me
I close out
of the computer
and think about
The Charleston
The Fox Trot
The Black Bottom
(Julie's working for
the drug squad
and I light a cigarette)
I lean back in my chair
and just watch the echoing movements
of silver dancers behind my eyelids
a smile begins to curl
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The Queen Is Dead
I pulled out an old Smiths record tonight
That was a huge favorite
Back when I was younger
My girl and I would play it
…over and over…
It was kind of like
Our Album
10 songs that
Our souls both agreed
Were something else
I noticed tonight…
Under a new light bulb…
Fingerprints on both the
A and B sides
I got a happy shivering
Through my spine
Thinking that they may be hers
Proof that she did exists
…living again, through oily prints
Proof that she was once on this planet
…living again, spinning at 33 speed
I sat on my sofa
Alone
And listened to the marvelous music
Taking it all in
#TUMBLR POETRY#tumblr poets#poetry#poem#poet#lit#alt lit#the smiths#creative writing poetry#beat poetry#werealllight#spilled ink
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Anxiety Trip
Xanax and
beer
wiggles...
slurs
with slow fingers
underwater music
bubbles up
heat and cosmic coma
deep spine
melting peanut butter
into chair
I
sit
slouch
touching keys
that will have me
writing
under haze
under Gods holy mitts
pressing
down
heavy wet sponge
chemical brain drenched
squeeze
with each eyelid flutter
soon I will
balloon
up
and rise
to the ceiling
with my naked feet
still
weighted down
on the carpet
but my head
this head
with greasy hair
will float with a
antidepressant
cloud
and
slip and slide
through cobwebs
and nicotine shadows
and
as always
I'll come back down
to find
myself hungry
and in no
mood to eat
every trip
to my moon
costs me
ten pounds
there's got to be
a better way
to treat
anxiety
yoga perhaps
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Dead Dad, Tennessee and Why
My father died from cancer at age 43. I was only 12 when he passed on. This left just me and my mother. My older brother was at college 7 hours away.
I didn't cry until a year or so later. But when I did, it was overwhelming. My face, red as a beet and the salty tears covered my face like a porn star taking the money shot.
In the backyard...being teased. I let loose a scream and shook violently. Then the tears. Enough to make a puddle to jump into. I didn't jump in though.
I was verbally abused by my father. But I never let that get into the way of our father/son relationship. I was too young to know better.
I grew up without a dad. My mother overcompensated everything and I got away with murder. I stole her car and drove to Tennessee. 24 hours straight.
My fathers ashes are still in the cardboard box. I never freed him from those confines. I talk to the box from time to time. I didn't talk to it today though.
I used to think that he'd be there to greet me when I die. I no longer believe that.
I'm amazed to still be alive. I thought for sure I would never make it to forty. Let alone fifty. I would die young, like my dad.
Why do I exist? What the hell am I doing anyway? Why me at 51? I offer nothing but cheap wine poetry and napping skills.
How do I end this when I don't know why I started it?
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