Musings of a Rhythm Junkie

Finding Flight

This blank page resounds

echoes of past verbal grace

Linger on pale skin

Random assortment

language is electrified

the poem begins

One quiet quatrain

leaping through the vast divide

merging words and flesh

The sonnet alive

pulsating with borrowed light

majestically pure

A culmination

the words they speak no longer

I must be reborn

original: 3.2011
latest: 4.2011

My Ancestral Angels and Demons

You always used to tell me,

and still say so today,

that I am just like her.

Something in my smile,

the way I carry myself,

the deep and piercing blue of my eyes—

seems to you like a reincarnation

of that strong-willed woman

who framed your very existence

called you her baby

sang you lullabies

and raised you to be the woman you are.

In the darker corners of the night

when sleep evades my willing fingers

I often think to myself

wonder silently

and introspectively

what my life would be like

if I had known her—

seen the strength behind her eyes

and the wisdom and grace behind her smile.

I imagine

in anguished twilights

and twisted midnights

the questions I would ask

feel her arms wrap around me,

The warmth of her embrace

and the end of the silent mystery of her existence—

but know it can never be.

I feel the fresh hot tears

and close my eyes.

I imagine her saying she’s proud of me.

That’s not saying I ever felt deprived

without having her here—

you gave me and the boys everything

we ever needed and more.

I am who I am because of you.

Just when I see friends

who knew their grandmothers well,

have thousands upon thousands of memories

stored in the memory banks of their minds,

I think of how she was ripped from my life

before I was even a thought.

I hear the erratic heartbeats

pulsing in my head--

feel the echoes of the disease that took her away.

I think,

sometimes for seconds,

sometimes for hours,

how I just want to know her,

and get the chance to say

how deeply honored I am

every time you tell me that I’m like her.

That I have her eyes,

her hair,

or her laugh.

I keep these treasures close to my heart.

I wonder what she would say.

I hope that she would love me,

accept me as you do.

I’d like to think she would,

I won’t ever really know.

But really,

truly,

I’m scared to death of the age

Of 24—

that year when you lost the woman who held your world together.

I see the expressions on your face

When you speak of her,

the pain and the anguish

behind the memories of her loss

that haven’t faded in thirty years.

I can’t help but wonder

when I’ll lose you.

My world.

My anchor.

So I pray—

whenever I get a chance---

to God,

even though He and I have always walked a rocky path—

that he keeps Edith safe in heaven,

keeps Mary-Ann as close to Him as she is to our hearts,

and keeps you with me as long as possible.

original: 3.2011

latest: 3.2011

This red brick renaissance rocks and pitches
Our selves swell as the tempest of our discontent grows

The throaty bellow of a spider’s steps
Presses shadows into the surfaces of our minds.

Fingers crack the sun-streaked sky,
With swollen knuckles tight – reaching and longing for liberty

Pain stabs like a slaver’s whip
Deep harsh edges burn through its flesh.

Blood-red bodies billow forth
Fragile spines arched in unwilling acquiescence

Dreams die – choking and sputtering
Drowning in torrid tornadoes of foam and anguish

Blue mountaintops blur against this brimming skyline,
Beckoning, calling, causing the human to ache for relief

Silence serves up a frozen melody
Echoing the cries of a far-forgotten world.

original: 1.2011

latest: 2.2011

The Uggliest of Truths

Or…Dear God, what are those monstrosities on your feet?

Pardon me, dear friend,

If you are one of those who honestly believes

That when you sashay past,

The entire world freezes in awe,

Of the sleekness and elegance of your attire,

The poised perfection of your beauty.

Pardon me, I implore you, if I offend,

For I feel the unrelenting need to be utterly and unabashedly honest

For it evokes the deepest sadness in me

To see one such as you,

Trapped in your own little mind.

You are caught in a world of price tags,

Coach purses, the latest trends, and the hottest parties.

One of the Fabulously fake fashionistas

Too immersed in their own conceit to see the reality of the world around them.

Really, it’s sad.

Actually… no. Hold on.

I take that back.

I rescind my previous statement,

For I do not beg pardon from someone like you.

My blood comes to an instant boil

Upon sight of you

And your horridly ugly boots,

Grungy sweatpants haphazardly

Scrunched

Bunched

And crumpled

Within.

Do me and the rest of the world a favor.

For now that the ugly truth has been placed before your eyes,

You have two choices.

One, you can continue to walk by,

Falsely believing that you are the very best the world has to offer,

Or, you can use this moment to embrace your entrance into the height of unfashion,

And have the strength to make a change.

I know,

The truth hurts,

And can sometimes be ugly.

But trust me,

It’s not as ugly as those boots.

original:1.2010

latest: 2.2011

The Drummer's Cadence

I am a rhythm

junkie my heart beating

beating

a syncopated symphony rushing

and spu---ter---ing in constant

motion I’m not alive

until that kick drum

kaleidoscope [b r e a t h e s] life

into my veins adrenaline

igniting each one into harsh

and frenzied fire.

Emotion transforms

into purely percussive passion

each note pou—pou—pounding

and stinging SLAMMING measure

after tortured measure

against my ribcage

cymbals crash!

with spasmodic rage

singular cracks

and explosions

make the air sizzle

snare and tom pop rrrrrrip

and BELLOW

in seductive succession urging

my bones to follow

their flight and I do follow

caught on the waves

of cadence they’ve created

flying in a state

of rhythmic rapture.

And then, suddenly, out of nowhere,

the riff ends.

all movement stops.

I’m left

aching

breath----less

And b

the silence speaking

nothing but {surrender}

original version: 2.2011

latest version: 4.2011

Getting to the Point

Oh hey. I guess I have a blog. Sweet.

So, after a few suggestions (some more serious than others) that I post my poetry, I decided the best idea would be to create a blog. Seems easy enough, and it gives me a venue to post some of my favorite poems. But, this blog is also a challenge. I've always loved writing, especially poetry, but I have a tendency to let my writing fall by the wayside when other things come along. By starting this blog, I'm making a promise not to let that happen. My goal is to have at least one new poem a week posted to this blog, and hopefully I'll be able to make good on that goal. But for now, here's some poetry to get started. As always, comments and suggestions are welcome. I don't really believe in final drafts of poems, and I love getting feedback.

Each poem will have the original date written and the date of the most recent draft.

Happy reading!