Consciously Living In A Dream World

Beaming Past

2009-04-15T12:06:00.001-05:00

A moonbeam kissed my window sill;
then shimmers crossed my eyes,
taunting my sleepless fairytale,
promising tempting lies.

The gust of wind that followed it;
swam through ice cold sheets;
through my feet it chilled my heart,
And carried blues to me.

Against the glass I pressed my nose,
The sky then cried for me;
I never even saw the tears,
that barreled cross the street,
cause it really never quite occurred to me.

Sharp tongued saint and callous angels;
take no pity as they grift;
they stole my moment,
or I gave it away,
whether or not it would last;
Too slow; or was I too fast.

So then I sat and shed my eyes...
but knew that it would pass.

A Bit More Than This

2009-03-12T15:47:00.001-05:00

Last when I polished boots of travel
Old memories then came unraveled
Of tread and treks and roads I’ve hobbled
To only wince and gaze past my shoulder
And stare directly into abyss
So I ask myself, where is forever, is it only this.

Last when I loved a dove
Of eyes and breasts I craved her love
An effervesces of magnificence
Sent me floating clouds above
In my ears she whispered,
In the bed she warmed,
And I closed my eyes and wished forever
Dreamed a dream which seemed so cleaver
But in the end I asked myself, is it only this.

Last when I dared another path
I saw my future where others laughed
with thoughts that pondered speciously
I drifted back toward memories
To watch my world pass amicably
As though it were enough
Now in my future I see death,
And blow her my sweet kiss
So now I’ve come to ask myself, it is only this.

Last when I felt her raw full passion
I knew I was obsessed
She reached across an ocean
She fluttered through the sky
With her I could forget myself
All time was just our pet
So when I knew she flew from me
My heart bid that world adieu
Though my eyes still seem to look
I now seemed to lose my wish
And now I see forever, so is it only this.

Last when I opened my deepest place
I worried it was hallow
I filled it full of kisses
And partially with love
But when I opened it again
I found that it was shallow;

So in the end I ask myself
How I’ve lived, how I’ve felt
Now in my last forever,
Past my only wish
Where did I lose my way back home?
Is it only this.

Funny Little Snowflake

2008-03-11T12:50:00.000-05:00

A snowflake blew from Russia,
Across the sea and stopped
It melted in the Springtime sun
And fell an acid raindrop

The wind it rode that pushed its sails
Chilled the heart behind the veil
It drench a surface beneath the skin
But somehow still was hollow
It accompanied no Earth, no Wind, No Fire
So others may not follow

I watched it glide on top of eyes,
that peer and see in funny shades
Then cross a poor man’s thirsty lips
and dance its way down undulating hips

Funny little raindrop
As different as they make
Then in the winter breeze again
It turns into a snowflake.

Adrift on Planet Earth

2008-03-06T13:14:00.001-06:00

Happy 2008!! Wow, it's been such a long time since I've written on my blog. It might just be that I'm entering the poetry mood again. Or maybe it's boredom. Or maybe only a flicker of a former consciousness. Who knows. But if feels good to write again.

Adrift I seem so far from Earth, while reaching for the sky
I seethe with private anguish
I burst with jealous pride

And in a certain frame of mind,
I wonder where I go
I grasp at aimless motions
Transfixed by what I loathe

Disarm my smile, and glimpse a frown
My heart is rarely shown
I use a claming manner
Protrudes of charm alone

A weary face behind the mask
Stares but cannot see
The light behind my eyes are grey
And brighter to you than me.

So I walk beneath false light by day
My house of God is empty
The faith is often shook
I’ve walked in other ways
But on my knees I find myself
And in it I still pray.

On My Mind...

2007-08-28T16:06:00.000-05:00

This poem was originally posted on October 21, 2005, but it was swirling around my head ever since hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. But recently, the sentiment in the poem has resurfaced in my head and in my heart.

New Orleans was my favorite city in the U.S. What I remember most was a vibrant culture, the best quality of food (for what they cooked), and music in the streets. It hardly felt like an American city, but then again, it was uniquely American. I loved that about New Orleans.

What troubles me most about these past two years is that I see very little has been learned from Hurricane Katrina. I mean, it’s hard to see if anything has been learned. From my perspective, the most pressing lessons seem to be ignored. I’m troubled by the lack of fresh thinking.

You know what I wonder?? I wonder why there is a lack of action about predatory lending. I wonder why we haven’t come to the realization that we need to help teach people to avoid detrimental financial products that harm their independence. The discussion is over, and has been for quite some time. Anyone wondering about it just needs to look at the foreclosure rates for subprime loans on houses.

You know what I also wonder?? I wonder why rebuilding a modern educational system based on math, financial planning, reading, logic and computer technology is not being installed into a school system in New Orleans that was already failing. This is the chance to rebuild education in New Orleans as a model city. And truthfully, there is no reason under the sun it CAN’T be done. Where is the courage to do so? Why must the people in New Orleans continuously be dependent on outside expertise??? Answer: The people who are supposed to be in the driver’s seat haven’t cultivated appropriate alternatives.

So I’m left to wonder. Now that all the glamour has gone out of helping out New Orleans, where are all the talking heads? Why aren’t they even contemplating the substantive problems faced by that city? Don’t believe me?? Check out their websites. Call and ask their offices what kinds of programs they have developed from scratch. Find out EXACTLY what they have spearheaded, or if they’re just in the business of damning the ineptitude of the federal, state and local government. Don’t take my word for it, call and see for yourself.

So now, while my thoughts are aimlessly moving about, I wonder…

Did we really learn anything about New Orleans?

I’m going to explore this subject again.

Peace and Love,

Nos

AMERICAN GUMBO

Why do peace officers place aged men under brutal cardiac arrest?
My favorite roux is made without blood;
Legal minds flippantly tell a spiced truth to the lenses of lying eyes;
Nero’s fiddle can be heard playing a sad song in the American South.

Uncultivated cerebellums litter the streets of old Antebellum;
Quagmires of the contemporary politic deposit useless rhetoric in an intellectual delta.
Rains of colour whitewash social etiquette;
Acts of God lift sheer veils,
through winds of merciless change.

Excuses are espoused by shameful eyes,
Tears are found in mine.
We all know how the institutions of destitution was built,
and why.

Antiquity is older than my grandparents;
And Momma and Daddy ain’t that old,
So don't jive me about days gone past.

Compassionate hypocrisy tickles a cynical mind,
The indigent are convenient play-things for political over-lords;
Still, only fools turn down opportunities to improve.

Synonymous motivations may produce opposing results,
Devious friends are sometimes lured to warm our beds,
A high-horse is no one’s bedfellow, no matter how strange it gallops;
Be cautious…
most have no idea where their heroes sleep at night;
You and your idol are fools.

Cronies competent only in their incompetence, spin fairy-tales for all to see,
Insatiable ignorance is the lust of weak minds,
Waves ripple right through the air and spew confused half-truths;
Brilliantly, they intentionally paint themselves weak;
Little do they know,
it’s long-since too late once the velvet glove falls to the floor;
To the fools of popular frenzy: your group is always one from next in line.

Dry wells quench no thrust,
whether or not our water bills are manipulated,
Starving minds soon expire,
Divided houses show decrepit dysfunction;
The roof-top may soon cave.

The ensuing catastrophe will emit an undeniable effervescence
Come closer to the table of brotherhood,
pull up a seat…

The stew is close to done

What You Know

2007-08-10T14:08:00.000-05:00

She was…
the last echo of a pale intimation,
tactfully challenged and superficially free,
tightly pursed emotions speaking in thinly veiled animations,
windows to her soul coloured in a yellowish hue.

I thought…
time moves like a tacit ally; not an enemy.
That reconciling our private war could be done like before;
compassion growing omnipresent with intimacy;
sublimations of anger could be contorted into love;
looking through the keyhole of a closed door,
don’t yield secrets worth knowing.

We wished…
foreseeable obstacles lost their transparency in the blinding light of truth;
gliding through tears, leaving scathing scars, somehow healed pain;
mourning the living dead;
zombies are a painful phenomenon.

I now know…

nothing I didn’t see coming.

Foggy Whisper

2007-01-16T11:25:00.000-06:00

There’s a kernel of truth in a whisper that hides between pursed lips
Its mist fogs icy stares that sink as its air rises to new depths
On that dew which blew from wet lips
Tender words trek though a wilderness of the faintly familiar to find their way home
Lost and in need of shelter they hide in ugly corners
Beneath superlatives and expletives far from Grandma’s house
Pitched and tented on hostile grounds
Complements sleep with one eye open
As the framework for peaceful resolution becomes ever-elusive
In the meantime, soft sounds grease grinding ears
Waiting for a smoother and more comforting process
But words that aren’t heard
make no noise when they fall in the forest

The Colour of Chance

2007-01-03T20:13:00.000-06:00

A coloured chancer danced on blazing pin tips
Pretty face behind the needles
Unnecessary quips
Revelers in rhetorical jargon
Speak pretty lies squeezed from accurate misunderstandings

Kisses blow through winds from the thin breeze
Droplet bleed cuts of blue
Imagine an Amber princess, draped and golden
Her romanticism burrows through callous flesh
A thin vein pumps fire through hearts
An icy tear drop scorches fire
Thy tiara has begun to tarnish

Blessed paupers who wash their own feet
Their private wars shed our dignity
Sour grapes make sweet wine

From the windowsill soft eyes stare coldly
The cold world whispers back warmly
And the chancer wonders,
But never does

Mystic Pools

2006-12-06T18:02:00.000-06:00

Weepy smile, dine your wine

Fly your wings and kiss the sky

Blue oceans, in pools of two

See ages and continents and still further through

Angel and empathic

Bedeviled and beguiled

In silence, to anticipate

An uncomfortable distance

Life

Love

Art

And Persistence

Returning To The Mood

2006-12-06T17:59:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, the poetry mood comes and goes for me. Sometimes it stay around like a good ol' friend, and other times, it's like a long lost lover.

I think it's time to get my groove on again.

Peace and Love

Downtown Chicago In Pictures

2006-10-20T19:57:00.000-05:00

Updated: November 1, 2006

Sun God in the Moonlight

2006-10-13T09:15:00.000-05:00

Maniacal moon rays melting marvelous moments
Their sparks flicker off warmed flint stones
Dancing women glide on the surface of street puddles
The midnight train howls under flickering lights
Whisked away on streets paved in uncertainty
A man settles in his cab

Candlelight by the bedside incandescently mesmerizing
Lonely window blows its draft
A Pounding heart drumming deaf ears
Bringing a cold mystery to a faithful fool
The emotion drains and castigates a silent birth
As the heat swells to the point of combustion
The white light then burns blue

Theatre patrons exit beneath bright lights
En route to the winery, they hold hands and laugh
An evening of distraction cleanses busy city souls
Dionysus will bless the evening
Taverns unravel passivity, and swell passions
Of the friendly smiles, several mean no good
But intentions are irrelevant
When all work to the same goal

To The Little Yellow Acorn

2006-09-13T21:19:00.000-05:00

Wilted seeds that fall from tress,
Often wrestle with insatiable weeds.
Like moonlight rays, and a midnight play,
Lustful sin blooms at night.
But when you lie, a phoney cry
My senses lose all bliss
I hate your kiss,
Or any such twist
Cause I’ve heard it all before.

Are the tears of what you see
Real, or just more jive;
The lion that used to till your den,
Knows another bee has been in your hive.

Forgive your trespass??
A Rabbi, I am not,
Should’ve thought of that long before,
You went and got all hott.

On the sidewalk, you feed nasty turtle doves,
And you ask me why I don’t love,
It’s a cool breeze you’ll catch in hell,
You and your demons can dwell.

My old trolls don’t dare come to stroll,
While you invite yours to a bedside poll.
Mockery and treachery, down in young Sao Paulo,
With a prostitute, you laughed,
But tell me, did you swallow?

So, my little acorn, I’ve previewed your new life,
So will you still eat from that farmer’s garden,
On more moonlit nights?

You freely gave your dignity, for laughs, and nothing more,
Regardless of your soil’s health;
But if so proud, when you boast for the crowd,
Why’d you do it in such stealth?

See, I dream and hope, and think mankind,
You think of only self.
Oh damn, I thought I knew you,
I thought I knew you Wish,
But you taught me bout a cold served platter,
such a bitter dish.

Now I praise this new wealth,
So I got to thank my small sad seed,
Which blow whatever way the wind go;
Nevermind, you think I don’t know,
Even if I never seen a pale rainbow.

My heart’s already been cinched,
I don’t need your stinkin' sent,
A rose is just as sweet.
I’m long past why,
Last lifetime I did cry,
So my eyes no longer bleed.

I’m not so mellow,
For an off-colour yellow,
Of that there’s no need to speak.
You sold my grasp, for a lustful clasp,
And now it’s time to pay the meek.

My Dear

2006-07-31T22:50:00.000-05:00

Madam,
Your sexuality, and versatility,
Is party to our philosophy;
The contours meander through feminine reality,
Giving a sensuality,
To an overly verbose poetry,
That exudes a coloured past.
Littered with checkered paths and subtlety,
I see an imminent eventuality,
That takes a backseat to love.
Perpendicular to an out-moded mould;
Perception slithers through;
Fantasy that hold false truths,
Elevating bygone sorrows,
That envelope the soul,
And smother every pore of the body politik;
Lady, it’s tough.

Red Eyes, Yellow Tears

2006-07-07T15:21:00.000-05:00

Marching virgins in unbroken ranks
Unmatched in purity
Onward move their garrisons
Flagstaff at full and proud
Piousness waves high
Boots of chastity trample grains of sand
Soft eyes with adamant innocence
Armed with halos and wings

Huddled devils
Cramped gothic corners
Shadowed by sinister good-intentions
Lonely and jealous is their misery
Accompanied by perverse proclivities
Inwardly twisted and outwardly projected
Armed with lies

Common-man, subtle and confused
Contemporary prehistoric modernity
Disquieted human raging
Talking with dueling faces
He naps through his days’ steps
The everyman, I am
The prophet is the common-man
No common-man, is the everyman
Unwise wisdom claims genius
Armed with narcissism, he speaks

The fiery and her angel
In judgment sits her lover
Her rooster crows at night
Blasted inward, digested, projected
At attention, erected anger
Timid giant, ashamed and now so small

Yellow-tailed angel
Golden savior
Her love weeps an ocean of blue
Its ears have been synched
Even perfect gifts from heaven
Make mistakes
Forgiveness is divine
Apologies are sometimes sincere

Peering On A Whim

2006-06-22T13:12:00.000-05:00

I’ve engulfed moments on a whim
Vain tragic-comedies dance slow
Breathless sighs of smoke
Facetious living and implicit connotations
Anxiously, breathlessness takes depth
Crashing and burning
Blue renegades and red mercenaries

I consecrate hallowed doubt
Sheepish bravado
Yellow hearts sobbing black tears
The consummate romantic
Eternal indebtedness to cruelty
Foreboding stimulants falling like apples
Blinding optical flames

I admire deplorable malignancies
The delectable aroma of sin
Chained to the moral turpitude of ideologues
Touché, yes, it is hypocrisy
So what
Glass-minded serfs
Riotous mayhem
Elevated convolution
Schemes debased by incorrigible mitigation
BIG BROTHER is asleep with one eye open

I peer quietly from train to street
Steam bellowing from the electric line
Smudged windows
Sweet yellow-tailed bird perching solemnly
Silver skies with blue lining
An intriguing entourage of contradictory allusions
Restricted by utilitarian absurdities
The principal recipients suffer ceaselessly
Little smiles from rusted carriages make me hopeful

Midnight Howl

2006-06-13T12:51:00.000-05:00

Old antagonisms made zealously intransigent
A breeze through murky realities
Dawn of an ingenuity rife with possibility
Commonalities of the type that beget peculiar disjuncts
Read sincerely into heroic acrobatics shameful posturing
Gathering in splendid and livid colour
Sensationalism is kept abreast

The moon howls at wild concrete in human jungles
Beneath starry eyes, black hearts bleed merciless ignorance
Sirens, screams, warnings,
Mocking my deaf ears

Gifts of age
Sit unopened under mountains of forgotten lore
The eyes of sad seeds bleed for lost posterity
Soap, and their boxes, in no shortage
Bread, and its boxes, harder to find
Weeds barrel through spoiled apples to poison fragile roses

Political ergonomics tailored to fit
Cried, tried and true,
Throngs of the opiate-addicted chant in unison
Though poverty muffles certain vocal cords

Be it our savior?
The new days’ cusp
Socialized by nature
long before regimented coercion confuses us
Natural and novel
Ideals oxidized into corrosive perversion

Supreme arbiter
Quarrels of fantastic proportions
Unsettled beneath seething congestions of anger
Malignant fermentations past dusk
Brewing a midnight toil

Relative concessions and blatant masochism
Tread waters familiar through time
The stale and tiresome jargon regurgitated
Insanity force-feed upon gluttons for punishment
We vomit war

Winds Blow, It's Cold

2006-05-31T23:32:00.000-05:00

Resonate, in laborious splendor
An incredulous reverberation
The sweat of Salacious aimlessness
Vapid breaths of stale air
Tender toes beneath sad souls
Walking silently with blistering feats
Frigid crowds stare lukewarm apathy
Fresh breaths sighing arid uncertainty
Winds blow, it’s cold

Crumpled ink on fragrant papers
Uncried tears flood clichés
Venomous emeralds see painful memories
Familiar and notably expressive
The decay of permanence
Fables and memories
Winds blow, it’s cold

Fraudulence

2006-05-16T13:26:00.000-05:00

Stereotypical archetypes manufacture,
absurdities over tiresome melodies.
Superfluous drumbeats,
Constantly off-key;
The dried skin on the bongo is stretched too thin.

The dishwasher’s opera;
Featured on a socialist stage;
Sponsored by the youngest marketeer in company history;
Old stage hands are outsourced,
They are too aged for the use of hipsters.

Censored and muted,
Clerical prudes sexualize trite normality.
Paradoxically,
they ignore that non-authoritative rebellion itself,
arouses childish spirits;

In their mission to shame,
righteousness effectively bands together outcasts,
In shame they find their brotherhood.
Perhaps ulterior methods,
Necessities for hypnotizing the seated masses,
Are in order.

Tongues wag through polluted air,
Splitting body and lust,
Atomizing restraint,
Propagating animalistic regression,
Touching irrationality,
Emboldening the slumbering spirit;
Though time and choice are appreciable concepts,
But rarely appreciated.

Unsatisfactorily bathed in contentment,
The boogyman looms undeterred;
The town crier sings the praise of this Minotaur.
Fictitious, but not quite,
reasoned by metaphysics conceived in quackery.
Fables and their nightmarish parables,
Underworlds strangely resurrect themselves.

The Seductive temptation to empathize,
To make poverty rule wealth,
which form...?
That is a matter of continuous debate;
The lack of initiative, however, is conspicuously apparent;
Classical rebellion for its own sake,
Predictable, like a sunrise or adolescent impudence.

Why ask questions we wish to ignore?

In The World

2006-05-11T09:56:00.000-05:00

An ethereal idea finds celestial peace;
Prophets weep tears of blood,
as perverts mangle their gospels.
His terrestrial gift is squandered;
Overzealousness is no virtue,
as radical freedom may be the road to slavery,
If temperance is unheeded.

Safid quietly meanders his body,
below the watchful eye of his mother Talish.
The family sits as Kura pours our tea.
Grandma prepares the chicken;
I miss fresh meals.

Mama stirs gravy for the biscuit in the window.
Para el hombre Viejo… su vida está replete.
The red clay beneath the feet of the babies,
Smiling innocently,
They see only the window to each other’s souls.

Avenues and boulevards;
Broken glass and shattered spirits;
Apathy is the morning’s reveille;
Corners are wastelands;
As the Wind blows in its City.

Lovers graze on pure grass with dirty minds;
Don’t be so prudish;
Filth may be a matter of perspective.
Fidelity is innocent until broken,
So is a kiss.

Nutritional Emasculation

2006-05-03T15:42:00.000-05:00

A Lion’s mane must be groomed for the entire Pride.
From the great distance, it is never mistaken;
Substitutions hidden in lush vegetation,
Provide inadequate sustenance.

Inquisitive and skeptical, heirs to queendoms prod traditional wisdom.
Barbarism, by way of carnivorous obsession, is quite civilized;
Much more civilized than the halfway fast;
The omnivorous beast recognizes life in naked natural terms.

Is it ignorance or preference that masculinity is self-centered?
The question seems loaded with a haughty feminism.
Complementing various needs is a principle of opposites;
The natural way of things;
A hormonal hypnotization,
birthed from beyond our doing.

Curled and cuddled to retire each evening,
Strength, his necessity for the rising morrow.
Deprivation,
a crime.
Woe be it unto she who is charged to nurture.
Beware, necessity cannot be ignored.

A Beautiful New Mood

2006-05-03T15:38:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me will undoubtedly know that poetry is fascinating to me. Although, I'm not sure it's poetry that fascinates me, but expression; more accurately, the expression of humanity through words.

Man, I feel fantastic today. Life seems to be looking rather good. Not because I have figured out the greatest truths I need to function, but because I'm seeking them in a manner I enjoy.

Peace and Love,

nosthegametoo

In Light of Avarice

2006-03-16T15:22:00.000-06:00

I drowned, subtle inflections in an amber sea.
Sultry temptation slithered naked avarice toward me.
My redemption, quantitatively incalculable;
Posthumously, I morn, the passing of a fiction.
Quiet chairs rattle the foundation of inhibition;
Ineptitude pesters, and persists,
like a dear friend’s betrayal.

Triumphantly,
bravado slays the auras of even weaker surroundings;
The shame is the failure of weaker minds;
The illusion is not quite as mystical as it appears.

When hypocrisy bathes in its contradictions,
You see the appearance of bold yet well-intentioned malevolence;
Reluctantly and eagerly, foolishness embraces its humanity,
and accepts its socialization.

The old vulgarities and offenses I indulge in silence;
They lay with me in a former antiquated life;
The imprecision is enlightening;
It is delightfully liberating.

I speak in cordial affirmations.
They are decidedly bitter upon further examination.
Is perpetual arrogance defensive?
There are times where humility is detrimental;
Though not often.
My parents taught their progeny better manners;
My posterity deserves better as well.

Seething and fermenting in frustration,
Ascension to self-aggrandizement agitates egotism.

Coloured Spectrum

2006-02-22T13:44:00.000-06:00

I see, colours off spectrum,
Pristine and regimented for a steady diet.

White waves, its flag surrenders with grace,
With nakedness, shame drools, la ojos negro;
Blushing cheeks, in the blistering snow,
Fluttering, from cocoon to intricately delicate.

Eclipse the plight of consciousness,
Distract eyes, detract idolatry, suffer no foolishness.
The single mind’s eye.

Personality coloured in the most favored light,
My moth’s flame flickers slightly;
Restoration of a renaissance man,
In allusions of egotism, arrogance.
An oasis in the basin is below valleys and pastures,
Far beyond the hills.

Definitively, romance dipped in rancid sultriness.
Oppressively, imagination is the great liberator.
Recklessly, mediums of art paint horrifying terror with pleasure.
Blessed is the confusion.

The mason with the red stones,
paves the brick road with good intentions.

Stormy: Oblivious Thought

2006-02-15T10:09:00.000-06:00

Past the Weeping storm-front,
Meandering through apathy,
Elated accomplishments play hide and never find.

Vanity admires its ugly reflection;
So gorgeous, the image is hypnotizing.
Squinting for a closer glimpse,
The stranger’s love nurtures with maternalistic protectionism.

Besieged by deafening silence,
Quiet walks bellow uncomfortable truths to the obviously sightless.

In the twilight of adolescence,
Sneering horizons fulfill promises;
Debts must come to light;
Substance in this new birth leave matters yet to be desired.

Common generalities procure the thoughtless narcissist,
Selfish and unaware,
In the shadows of this ignorance,
Spiritual dormancy is indistinguishable from death.

Blinded by absurdities;
Bound in slavery by odd idiosyncrasies;
Dreaming false truths from fallacies;
Romancing our favorite idolatry.

The storm’s last tear undulates a proposal;
Without taste, its flavor is apparent.
Cynicism becomes a troubling religion;
Attraction postulates a blistering new affair,
The scandal tantalized eyes seeking salaciousness.

In life, men seek posthumous praise from numerous mistresses;
When works of heart live on, she has been faithful.

The wise old man is forgiven his youthful trespasses,
Though his wife’s heart has a long memory.
Long past memories are loving.
Love itself must live of both flesh and beyond.
Hearts often lie in beautiful melodies.

Return to Poet's Corner

2006-02-14T16:31:00.000-06:00

Poetry usually strikes me in moods. Recently, I've found myself outside of the poetry mood that strikes me and inspires most of the pieces I write.

However, today I found myself in a poetry mood. Perhaps, part of it has to do with Valentine's Day, but most of it does not. I'm not really sure either way.

So, once again, I will back a bit more regularly.

Dawning Day

2006-01-16T09:31:00.000-06:00

New days dawn on the cusp of somber sunsets
Rain Baptizes Earth
Purity is juxtaposed against its lackluster pedestal
Unspoiled in a fabled fantasy
Life is not shattered, but altered irrevocably
The new birth is immaculate

Winds of change force stubbornness into willful submission
Intransigence is humbled
Gentle kisses of reason command subtle adherence
Thick skins soften with a slight glare that grazes the body

The curtain rises on a play that never ends,
All the world becomes a stage
New life is breathed into fresh eyes in multiple Acts
The logistics are the devil’s detail

Yellow Bisque

2005-12-28T15:00:00.000-06:00

Canaries swim beneath the depths of an ocean of futility.
Yellow tears dance their cheeky tango gracefully down green eyes,
On broad cheeks kissed by a lover’s blessing body;
The outside world is immediately incinerated.
The ashes douse the senses, manufacturing an intoxicating stupor;
Unusual emotional contortions twist heated auras.

Graciousness becomes indigent despite bathing in generosity.
The sun rises with a festive pomposity.
An uncertain madness is juxtaposed against a certain eros;
Its’ confusion reaches back to antiquity.
Traditions and social constructs shackle passionate immorality,
Dubious yet sanctioned,
Sacrificial lambs are roasted and basted on a hamster-wheel.

Stripped of light-hearted innocence;
Raw, yet stewing in bloody reality.
Pretentiousness cowers behind its transparent guise;
As humanity’s sun orbits your Earth;
The epicenter is hard to pinpoint.

A yellow Rose rests its aching stem;
Surrounded in the shadow of the valley of life,
It radiates gorgeous imminence.
A rival Daisy from its past,
Looks for shade under a sunflower.

Virgin reefs house aquatic yellow-tails;
Uncorrupted by pollution,
Yet woefully inadequate to withstand natural selection.
Those blue waters mix with maze to nourish a green-eyed monster.
Raging peace incompetently ushers in depression.

In its cage, the Canary no longer sings;
Its feathers, an imperial yellow,
Have fallen from grace.
Even so, its beauty cannot be denied.

Soothing Fundamentalist

2005-12-05T08:53:00.000-06:00

Interwoven in primordial passions,
scathing hypocrisy douses an olive branch with gasoline;
An inferno will adjudicate this dilemma.

Earth moans in ecstasy cultivated from its warm soft core.
Nucleic acidity rivals popular neurosis.
Phallic astonishment laments a guilty pleasure;
pulsating gyrations erode a thinly projected exterior,
illusions are thrust deep into the world at-large.
An original sin raises much like a phoenix from the ice-age.

Progressive demolition;
Ecclesiastic rebellion.
Convenient isms taunt the natural way of things.
Social re-conditioning will luckily free us into slavery.
Isn’t this what we ask for?

Salivating sensations emitted from a feminine neckline;
A tawdry imagination liberated from human guilt,
anticipating a loving indecency ripe with contradictions.
That sensual arch is worth killing for.
A lifetime of promise is worth dying for.

A thermal mentality is often smothered in regret.
Passive frigidity is difficult to warm.
On a shared plane, springs cushion the essence of peace,
Reconciliation is propped with feathered comfort;
A gentle touch demands a penance it gladly receives without compunction.
All the while, an individualistic blanket keeps us in loving comfort.

Golden Pox

2005-11-30T10:49:00.000-06:00

Opiate addicted masses revel in backward and useless expertise of a haughty nature.
Aficionados and fine connoisseurs of the greatest pleasures in life,
They levy superficial indulgences before a swathe of cluelessness.
Their posterity bathes in pettiness,
sneering a most pointedly arrogant snarl;
Begging to be abused;
your wish will soon be granted.

I wish an unforgiving pox on thee… or something like that.
Old English ain’t my drink.

Stagnation is seen as a defiant protest to any brand of formalism,
I marvel at the ignoramus who finds an identity as such;
It’s celebrated enthusiastically.
An expression of post modern morals, or lack thereof;
Judgment becomes obsolete,
as nihilism become the religion of the masses;
There is nothing,
so nothing rests upon a sacred pedestal;
Believe that, and you’re on your way to becoming evil.

Idol worshipers are afflicted with madness,
while the buckles on my straight-jacket seem to loosen.
Though nothing is as it seems;
I've been fooled before.

My… those are lovely shoes you have;
That shine reflects more in your soul than it does of their style.

Did you know that Mrs. Jones has a beautiful Golden Calf in her living room?
Know how much it costs?
Wish you had one?
Do you?

Silent Shadows

2005-11-20T12:54:00.000-06:00

In silent darkness, a gentle embrace frees the world from doubt;
Broad daylight showcases a freakish nature that reminds the world of abnormality.
Birds of prey, and delicious fowl, chastise each other with progressive modernism.
Carnivorous beasts devour the meat of a confusing set of circumstances.
With all the answers echoed by parrots of blind-eyed pirates,
Certain adamance in the face of bloody reality, blatantly contradicts reason.

In one corner of existence, a grandmother prunes her prize lilies;
Still another grandmother crushes the sweetest dates one has ever tasted;
Astonished by where and why their souls have crossed,
yet another grandmother smiles as she kneads her delicious bread once again.
These lovely ladies, who will never see or meet each other,
Greet each other with impeccable manners.
One would be a fool to expect any less.
Lifetimes apart, they meet in the spirit-world,
they share with one another how softly they touched their beloved grandchildren. My God… the pride that beams is blinding.

Contemporary wisdom demands that we renounce the archaic shackles of the dead.
Young eyes miss the cracks in a mirror that was broken 10,000 years ago.
We all have masters, my dear…
Whom do you serve?
To seek righteousness is not to claim it as your own.
Erroneous behavior may have dubious effects on credibility;
contrary to relativist philosophy, not all creeds are wrong.
Truth is not always a matter of interpretive performance;
Though, over-zealous proselytizing seems to bring out the worst in humanity.

Today’s Amphitheatres throw more than men to ravenous lions;
The unwitting throng of spectators is taunted by the greatest illusion ever preformed:
The rise of a middle class.
In the fantasy of their allusions, they imagine a fabled equality;
They fool themselves into an unconscious servitude to make life bearable.
Woefully, the helpless shake their heads at elitist prestidigitation.

The eyes of a wild and lonely quail cry long-lost tears on its yellow tail.
This lovely game bird has no concept of value for itself.
As the hunter corners this simple animal, it becomes self-aware;
Too late to contravene common-sense, the bird is caged.
It’s a shame that such a majestic creature is loved only for its yellow tail;
The quality of its soul is never debated,
But its uses are quite handy.
So why did that bird continue to forage in dangerous lands?

Explicit and subtle,
kisses of lovers enflame extraordinary jealousy;
When touches of love turn to poison,
Hate seduces much like romance,
And all to no end,
and to no avail.

The world is indeed a strange place.

Fraternity Humanity

2005-11-16T00:21:00.000-06:00

Fratricide,
cousin to genocide,
Traverses a well-known desert in this world.
Only God forgives his most egregious trespasses;
In his attempt to mimick God's love,
he attempts to reconcile with divine forgiveness;
We often fail.

Military whores beg for more, despite a change in tactical defeat;
While the eyes of sad seeds bleed the last of their youthful virginity,
A vagabond scrounges through the remnants of Babylon;
Callous feet cross deserts soaked in the sweat of fanatical reverence.

Good Christians say the Lord’s Prayer on Sunday morning five-times,
on their families' most prized hand-woven prayer rugs:
The call: “There is no God but God…”
Listen carefully;
You’ll also hear and see the same,
after a meatless feast at Shabbat dinner.

Madmen in caves are venerated by their enemies,
as they are martyred in their lifetime.
The Base, from which they operate,
now launches ships which have gusts from the Westerlies in their sails;
The Easterlies are no longer a primary mode of transportation, or concern.
The Students, they have their movement; it grows beyond mud huts and tents.
O’ Solomon, The Wise, your people need you.

From the holiest of lands,
screams of blasphemy prophesize the end of days;
Fools refuse to confront the heretics in their mist,
for fear of being left in the cold... or worse.
In the streets of Amman, a marriage was performed,
not a union of man and wife, but of lunacy and insanity;
I offer my prayers and condolences to the family of the cinemas’ great messenger.

The wandering peoples, who none will take in, are used to prove a point;
The legitimacy of a particular movement rests upon their grief.
Only God knows the consequences of such abuse;
Hate turns in unintended directions.
Like patient children, we wait for the sound of a trumpet;
Ever read Revelations?

Lighthouse On The Shoreline

2005-11-10T00:05:00.000-06:00

There’s a shore where a man sits in isolated solitude.
In sheer wonderment,
an optical illusion taunts his eyes with more water than the sea;
It reminds him of waterfalls.

He is provoked by a vessel, fine as she could be;
She sails into his private sunrise,
under a steaming sun, on a lonely afternoon,
and threatens to leave him one cold and devastating night.

Silence;
An expressionless face stares aimlessly.

A secular phenomenon of biblical proportions,
thrusts childishness into maturity.

Rays illuminating other worlds,
now produce only the shadow of a glare;
Humbled by a simple ray of light, anger wells in his heart.
Furious rage soon begets an embarrassing confusion;
He comes to terms with impotence, and sighs in disbelief.

The main mast of his fading ship can catch his eye from a thousand miles.
His hands attempt to motion a limp-wristed wave;
Regret shimmies off moonlit waters in broad daylight.
Crashing emotions make waves against the rocky Pride below,
To navigate through one of Seven Deadly Seas is painful:

This is a showcase of what occurs when lighthouses refuse to communicate;
They cannot rescue lost ships.

2005-11-09T00:08:00.000-06:00

Thank you everyone for stopping by my blog. It's been a tough couple of weeks in a row, and sometimes writing is like medicine to me. Since all of your comments and e-mails have been so wonderful, I want to share a bit of myself with all of you. I figured I'd start off with one of the best parts of my life: my mother.

I have an extremely close family. When anything is on my mind, there's nothing like hearing the voices of my parents or my brother (or my two spiritual brothers). Since I've been a bit down recently, I sent my mother a piece I wrote with her in mind. Wanna know why I'm so close with my mother? Here's why:

"nosthegametoo,"

What a beautiful piece. I see your work in progress even now, "nosthegamtoo." I wish you could feel what I feel, the peace and the love from you -- but you never can because only a Mom has that soft, loving, peaceful place. I thank my Lord above for that wonderful, beautiful mind of yours and I'm so grateful that he never let me down. I love you as much as I am proud of you and that's infinite.

Love you,

Mom.

Coal Coloured Clouds

2005-11-06T00:21:00.000-06:00

A graying cloud moves inland and settles above a pasture;
Livestock stomp their hooves and raise the roof of a rickety barn in joyous celebration.
Later that night, a woman lays in bed unsatisfied;
Her slaughter will be postponed, much to her dismay;
This is why the low-pressure front and the clitoris no longer speak.

Vagrants disintegrate into concrete wastelands,
As armchair revolutions are waged with theoretical ambivalence;
Fortunately, full-bellies will be filled again tonight;
There’s no need to worry, they'll be just fine.

Cruel humans sculpt desperate groveling into their personal masterpieces;
Madmen toss journals shaped like canaries into an already raging inferno,
All the while, Nero’s fiddle plays its same sad song in old Paris.
Do his stings ever tire?

To fear apathy is wise when vultures stalk fresh corpses.
The flowers beneath the treads of tanks may seed stubborn posterity:
They are called weeds;
And they are not easily pruned.

Did you know that men suckle both breasts and blood?
The aroma of both incenses the super-ego and fuels a lust for immortality;
The arousal is apparent.

Unscrupulous do-gooders squeeze dignity from the victims of their loving charity.
In the iconic fantasies they have manufactured,
they see the souls they’ve been trying to save: their own.
For them, that is more pleasing than the monster in their mirrors.
So they surround themselves,
with poverty of speech, value and intimacy to avoid a familiar nightmare.

The absurdity of privileged depression;
It makes sense if your gazpacho was served on silver,
even if your nanny spilled a bit of it on the floor.
Human suffering occurs in ghettos found in the confines of rich men’s homes.

The jewels in a crown
shine brightest in the eyes of those with their noses pressed against the throne.
Find out your mountain is a molehill; and you’ve wasted your life.
Think hard… this could be you.
But remember, people often get what they ask for.

The Morning's Rising Notions

2005-11-02T08:58:00.000-06:00

On the surface of the last raindrop to ever fall on Earth,
lovers dance a salsa that castigates a rabid throng,
as the most ardent of dreamers is struck with an epiphany that envelops the soul.

An unmistakable vehemence comes barreling through darkness;
Innocence winks at the morning dew that glides on beams of sunlight;
The center of the solar-system resurrects the sleeping forest each day.

Beasts prey upon each other, fulfilling natural obligations absent of morality.
Quick-witted feathers flap determined movements into a cool breeze.
Feeding frenzies mask insipid compulsions to biological urges;
Instinct is unapologetic.

There is an arduous journey that’s birthed at infancy,
it begs for a morsel of compassion.
The thinning autumn air relieves a sweltering confusion;
Devoid of nourishment, subsistence loses its essence.

Beneath feet that rest upon Eden’s majesty,
Damp terrain, the pride of the heavens, moisten thick skin;
The texture of soft whispers brush gently across a smiling face;
All the while, prayers recited eons ago are finally answered.

Sleeping spirits never slumber;
Their work is never done.

Unbeknownst to human eyes, cold stars blanket existence in God’s warmth.
Celestial quasars dip milk from the bosom of life;
Floating elemental particles were born to levitate through uncertainty.

The balance that is found in life’s harmony teaches wisdom;
Perfection is nurtured when reality is reconciled with purpose.
Conspicuous perils impossible to see are not invisible;
An open heart can see a thousand miles, and a million years.

The World In Awe Minor

2005-10-25T22:58:00.000-05:00

After dusk,
In the middle of the night,
men catch lovely Persian butterflies in ancient Persia;
They perch quietly in the palms of unfamiliar hands;
Their majestic colour is hypnotizing,
Though I wish I could smash the jars that keep them.

The soul of Moses still walks just behind God,
Though he murdered a living-man.

A lovely Grandmother’s lilies seeded few fools;
The roses in her garden were her pride;
Though with all her heart, she pruned painful thorns to no avail;
Those that wilted still got care.

As you slumber, can you feel the wrinkles of that soft warm hand?
The eyes of angels peer upon the world;
And on their wings rests a long-awaited kiss.
We’ll meet again.

Visionaries that lift veils are the wisest of sages.
Life without judgment is a fleeting wish;
Reputations ripple through time.

Bedrock principles built on a shaky tectonic morality,
Cast gray shadows on immoral actions.

There’s a mote in my eye,
And wool over yours,
But that don’t mean there’s no truth.

In blue, a period of sorrow mourns for red;
A river blesses terrestrial lands with green hopes;
Just as new wedding dresses are sewed in light cream fabric;
Do you ever miss a white Christmas?

Grief is not inconsolable;
Familiarity is a comforting friend with suspicious motives,
Weathered rocks may still have jagged edges that slice the soul.
Solace in repetition can be dangerous;
We live our lives on themes.

Justice antagonizes the messy business of its pursuit;
The East reflected light to dark ages,
Gusts from the Westerlies now blow progress in all spheres.
Peasants watch anxiously to see where the floating leaf will fall.

At birth, a baby is everyone’s child;
Wide eyes have faith in hopeful optimisms
The aged marvel at innocence in a teary longing for their own;
In children we’re all still in awe.

American Gumbo

2005-10-21T18:25:00.000-05:00

Why do peace officers place aged men under brutal cardiac arrest?
My favorite roux is made without blood
Legal minds flippantly tell a spiced truth to the lenses of lying eyes
Nero’s fiddle can be heard playing a sad song in the American South

Uncultivated cerebellums litter the streets of old Antebellum,
Quagmires of the contemporary politic deposit useless rhetoric in an intellectual delta
Rains of colour whitewash social etiquette;
Acts of God lift sheer veils,
through winds of merciless change

Excuses are espoused by shameful eyes
Tears are found in mine
We all know how the institution of destitution was built, and why

Antiquity is older than my grandparents;
And Momma and Daddy ain’t that old

Compassionate hypocrisy tickles a cynical mind
The indigent are convenient play-things for political over-lords;
Still, only fools turn down opportunities to improve

Synonymous motivations may produce opposing results,
Devious friends are sometimes lured to warm our beds
A high-horse is no one’s bedfellow, no matter how strange it gallops
Be cautious… most have no idea where their heroes sleep at night;
You and your idol are fools

Cronies competent only in their incompetence, spin fairy-tales for all to see
Insatiable ignorance is the lust of weak minds
Waves ripple right through the air and spew confused half-truths;
Brilliantly, they intentionally paint themselves weak;
Little do they know,
it’s long-since too late once the velvet glove falls to the floor
To the fools of popular frenzy: your group is always one from next in line

Dry wells quench no thrust,
whether or not our water bills are manipulated
Starving minds soon expire
Divided houses show decrepit dysfunction;
The roof-top may soon cave

The ensuing catastrophe will emit an undeniable effervescence
Come closer to the table of brotherhood, pull up a seat…
The stew is close to done

On The Feminine Periphery

2005-10-19T09:09:00.000-05:00

Effusive femininity emboldened to emasculate
Masculine proprietary arrogance
An obvious chasm engulfs them both,
conflict is their prize

Simple… little… words… that… hurt
Considerate breaths inhale life

Formulaic illusions are so boring… why chase?
A fool’s paradise looks immaculate with closed eyes
Nature reciprocates defiance on a chilling dish
Immerse yourself too far in an unfamiliar world,
you’ll return bitter and corrupted

Vociferous calm stirs a calamity in the eyes of blind owls
Newly matured lion’s manes makes the pride eternally envious
Burning female dogs and women of spite, growl inaudible sounds
Yet, cold puppies love their momma so

Opposites are never resolved, they compliment their differences
Social envy with biological roots
Ecclesiastic answers instill an important guide
Rhetorical constructs confuse impressionable minds

Cantankerous emotional outbursts are obtuse
Benevolence and humility assure an honest victory
Narcissistic deference erodes compassion;
it takes time to see

Mistaken assumptions from infallible human minds
Turn your back, and reality is still there
The choice is clear
Rights are chosen
What’s there is not always correct

Yellow-Tailed Romantic

2005-10-17T18:14:00.000-05:00

A hare-less rabbit with no luck
Opulent senses devoid of smell
Impudent passions selfish in nature
A yellow tail blows to the east

The wonderful behind of your neighbor’s wife
Greener grass than yours
The gold you can’t find in the bowels of a silver mine
More candy than one can eat

Rhythmic passions
Poetic prose
Overly demanding sensual charades

A look of lightning
Tears from stars
Heavenly bodies pressed against beads of sweat

Hidden lovers
Open endings
Foolishness played upon yourself

Blush and bow
Squint and moan
Don’t move… but carry on

Inquisitive jealousy provoked by truth
Blind eyes still see clear
Can you see the length of a lifetime?
It’s short, but sounds too far

To tussle while light dances overhead
A heated waltz till moon beams turn to rays of sun

Radiance is often emitted from a smile
Fluid motions cleanse the soul
Give freely…
Ego can be lonely and cold

Spinal contortions that belong at home
New ones not yet seen
Ask me what I feel right now…
Contentment, begging to be free

A Cerebral Melody

2005-10-15T19:11:00.000-05:00

A blushing frown
Thy kingdom; thy crown
A whimsical gesture to boot

To dance; to prance
A smile
Beguiled!
The fragile aura of mood

Why sing?
Why talk?
Only chatter do they squawk
But sweet sounds echo so poignantly

What’s here that’s heard?
No need for words
Just a pause…
What a melody!

Shards Of A Looking-Glass

2005-10-11T22:53:00.000-05:00

On my floor, lay the shards of a looking-glass
Its shattered pieces still reflect confusion laden eyes
In those shards, I steal a peak, an image I wish to see

Starring back from broken glass I see a crippled mind
Don’t look too close, what you might see, is broken, dumb and blind

The serrated images stir this world of wonder and hope and pride
Its grasp mesmerizes… should that be a surprise?

These jagged diamonds dazzle me
I’m captured in a daze

I squint and smile at my new collage
But I dare not touch those broken shards, or let them leave my sight

An Enigma And A Whisper

2005-10-08T19:45:00.000-05:00

There’s a whisper found on both our lips
It’s faint… a shadow of unspoken words
As twilight hours fade from time
Lips speak utterances of quivering silence

Though the ears so lust for truth
Hearts betray the mind
Or does the mind betray the heart?
Its relevance is forgotten or lost

Wilting passions hide these fears
An inaudible whisper conceals and runs from tears
Excuses and cowardice are best of friends
Broken promises reverberate with no end
Unspoken actions deafen ears
Ambiguity is the guide of fear

Insolent pride that looks so mellow
Open secrets scream so loud
No more bravado, or cruel/malicious pleasure
An endless oasis is found beyond truth

I’ve never known a paradise
Take head… it has its price

Hearts and doves need no cages to call home
Tender beckoning makes them loyal
But be warned to nuture carefully... both need care

An enigma quietly sits, for now
Silence that remains unbroken

Someday our lips will begin to move
And on that day…
lies are broken by painful truths

Blood of the Heart

2005-10-06T13:10:00.000-05:00

Though in my heart I bleed this pain I’ve tried to never know,
In my ears, I try to hear, a cry that won’t let me go

I see a ray that shines a light, and God I beg for more,
But in my daze, my hopeful praise, is no different than before,
Quietly, I sit and bleed, too weak to moan for help
But in my mind, I rage these thoughts, I cannot seem to quell

Privately, I slowly wilt,
My tears are cried in vain,
It’s pride that is my deadly sin;
It is my private shame

Tell me I’ve been foolish,
or sulked my tears in vain,
But when I close my eyes I see a never ending game

Though in my heart, besieged by grief, I wilt these soulful tears
With fear I clinch, from shame that went, a heart that bares the cinch

So now I’ve taken wonder;
Now I’ve prayed for help;
And in my heart that pain still bleeds...
and on it I still dwell

PATTERNS AND CYCLES

2005-10-02T12:42:00.000-05:00

Believe it or not, most people live their life on themes. We figure things out the best way we know how. We all have our problem-solving techniques. But what happens when your problem-solving technique is broken, or doesn’t work? It’s not a coincidence that people date the same kind people over and over (most will deny it, but it’s true. You just might not realize the common link), or keep going back to things that aren’t good for them.

The most serious problem-solving patterns are those that we CONSCIOUSLY know cause us pain, but yet still CHOOSE to continue to do. They’re usually followed by excuses such as: “I’m just stupid.” The perfect excuse as to why we continue to act like a fool.

Yesterday I had a conversation with a friend who was upset with me. She was upset because she pointed out a behavioral pattern of mine that produces emotional trouble. She was upset not because I have recently taken such an action, but because she was reminded about the type of action I used to take.

I listened and I honestly do appreciate her observation. I appreciate it because everyone doesn’t have that kind of license to speak as freely to me. I’m thankful I have her around. It’s not often that people are close enough to speak so openly and honestly with each other. Usually people are on some “Brutal-Honesty” crap; a chance to say hurtful things that are factually based because you’re upset.

I’ve been blessed to have two, and now three, close friends in my life. These are the only people close to my age that can really pull my card… and I love them for it. So here’s to my truest friends:

1) To my best friend: Up and down, you’ve been there since the sandbox. I can’t wait to see you at the top. God willing, life will be sweet to us all. It already has already been extremely kind to us.

1a) To the woman in his life: I wish you a lifetime of happiness. You’ve definitely struck gold. I’ll try and make sure we have dinner next week. You’re a good woman Love.

2) To my best friend: No one knows how stupid we really were. I can’t believe we’re actually becoming adults. You’ve grown up, my friend, and who would have guessed… I did too.

2a) To the woman in your life: I hope she’s not a fool. And I hope you’re not a fool either. Don’t let her just walk into the sunset, my friend.

3) To my special girl: Special bonds have to be cultivated. They don’t just happen. I’m not going to let you walk into the sunset. We can CHOOSE to do things how we WANT. Whatever the cards, we always have a choice. And my choice is this: to not let go of someone so special and so rare. People like you aren’t just walking the streets everyday.

The Sweetest Daze

2005-09-30T17:56:00.000-05:00

The sweetest daze,
in soulful ways,
push tearful days,
away from me

Still blue and grays,
nocturnal prayers,
and faithful praise,
give solace that can soon amaze

Nightlong stares,
long lost pairs,
no longer theirs,
but still privately

Embers flare,
a defiant dare,
to challenge a conscious plea

With the faintest touch,
and a bit of luck,
maybe, finally

Whether ignoble or fair;
an imperfect glare;
dreams that permeate through light

A heart that flutters,
a smile of gold,
all too much… too bold

My Contemporary Groove

2005-09-27T09:04:00.000-05:00

No more clichés that dismay a cynical soul
Funk grooves, so smooth, like water they flow
I’m told what’s cool is real,
But what’s hot so quickly goes cold

I’m hip, but watch out for my hop
I dance, but can’t step
Daddy-o, holla back at me yo
That’s modern… you know?

I’ll give you five,
But only on the black-hand side
I’m ice, with no diamonds made from blood

I walked a stage to earn MY bling,
and momma and daddy popped shots

Outside I sit, in a still White abyss
inside it’s Black as night

So listen to me, without your ears,
Your fears I don't aim to quell
Get jealous, get mad… too sad… too bad
I’ve heard all that noise, now and past

That Fantastical Night

2005-09-26T12:00:00.000-05:00

At night I dream a fantasy, a dream that suffers free;
A dream that rescues long lost souls, and helps them rescue me
And in that dream I sail along and never have to wake,
And in that dream the peace I feel won't ever seem to break

So in that sea of boundless dreams I bask in words not minced
I feel as if I'm still a child; I slumber like a prince
And in that dream, I stop and gaze, on endless plains of clouds,
While Angels play, and sing, and dance, they wave to me and bow
And on those plains where spirits dance, an eternity from grief,
That instant I renew my faith and test my own belief
All the doubt, and fears that mount, leave my troubled soul
The void that's filled, with joy it spills, no longer leaves a hole
And when I seem to ride those clouds that angels must have blessed,
There's nothing more I'd rather find, on my fabled quest

So on those clouds I close my eyes and know that I've found peace
I feel that I'm in heaven, and forever I could sleep
But in this dream the fantasy is not how well I sleep,
I know I lay there slumbering, though it seems so real to me
So in that dream, I dream of peace imagined blissfully
And when I wake I reminisce; sentimentally

An Appropriate Introduction

2005-08-14T12:38:00.000-05:00

Since I spend so much of my life dealing with the serious, I am going to take a stab at: poetry, the ridiculous, a bit of the serious, the beautiful, the ugly, the things that make no sense, the politically outrageous, or any of the patently unimportant observations that strike a cord with me.

My question to myself: Can I reconcile any possible contradictions in my views?

Who knows, but I’m going to try and find out.