Punching Keys and a Man Named Jameson

Do not go quietly my son,

The night has pity on only one.

The misty rain as it fell,

Burst with fire upon the well

Seeking prodigal son.

Out of ash and pure mistaken hope,

The junkie slings the endless rope.

Come with me now and save the sun,

Jesus can’t sell t-shirts without his whiskey and rum.

The venom of the politician’s spear

Lifts the death right from behind the curtain, and clear

Across a grey dusty haven.

Be till oh silent night,

Allah has no place in my bed tonight.  

Observation

Against the cold and damp night,

Ghosts of past illuminations appear.

Crashing against the quiet and desolate streets,

Men run for cover under the comfort of temporary solitude,

Humming like the song bird of sunnier days.

Mother nature goes to war with furious rage

And blackens the putrid sky.

The great white hope surrenders to moral ineptitude,

While Troy burns like the starry dynamo.

The children of a promised generation fall asleep

To the chorus of sweet lullabies, while the monster of the night

Plot their demise.

Hope has shifted its fleeting disguise to the realm of unattainable

Fortitude.

The streets are ravaged with headless horsemen

Trying desperately to have their whispers acknowledged.

Divided and already conquered,

The voice of reason has no place to stand in the market place.

Delusions of a fabled legacy haunt the very nature of our existence

And the power of the corrupt few instills the façade of security.

The purity of this long journey is no longer attainable

And the poison, which brings us temporary pleasure, is the favored

Escape.

Peace lies within the deepest depths of our blackened selves,

And solitude is the key, which unlocks this dreaded fear.

In the relative unknown the brutes tremble and cast their stone,

While the outcast takes his pain with silence.

The brightest youths throw away what they have to offer

For the cheap thrills of a poor soul.

Laughter is their only anecdote for the suffering behind each and every

Mask they wear.

I pity them, for a man with a thousand faces can only offer

The drug of a junkied generation.

Lighter shades of dark illuminate the secrets behind the misty veil,

While the suns blaze covers the blemishes of tomorrow.

Sleep is a luxury these days

And only the dead get to enjoy its warm embrace.

On Cobbled Streets

the smudge of yellow and green glisten in the fading rays of eternal light,

while fall whips upon the uneasy footsteps of the unsuspecting youth.

against the brick and stone, cast in an earthy haven,

the young bard plucks his strings making notes fit for the coming spring.

here, in this place, I am lost in Eden,

while the dead ramble on in their circus act.

behind the rusted iron gates I am king,

and the world seems much more serene.

but alas such peace is short lived,

the metropolis does not let such a place go unscathed.

maybe the sun is only suppose to shine one ray at a time,

and only last long enough for the alcoves to see.

Four Letter Word

Four letters separate you and me,

Freedom comes and goes

But life is seldom better wrapped together

In the white sheets of a misty haven.

We are all chained to the sky,

But you seem to transcend such boundaries

That even the birds falter against.

I was there and now I’m here,

Tomorrow I’ll be gone,

So take me now

Or never again.

The future has no place for me,

Nature is my enemy,

So keep an eye out for the wind,

It carries the whispers of places I’ve been.

Dancing in the pale blue night,

Men grow old, but the way home to you

Is always within sight.

Lost Soul

I call myself a lost soul, but what does that really mean?  Through the course of recent events I believe that I have a better understand of what the means.  You see, I don’t really feel like I fit in, that is to say I don’t feel like I have a crowd.  I feel a need to fit in sometimes, like most people I believe, but ultimately I feel unsatisfied.  Why is that, why can’t I just be “normal”?  The problem is that normal doesn’t exist and those that fall under such a category are living a lie.  People who conform and fall under such normality are losing themselves, losing what is uniquely theirs.  Being an individual is tough and having to deal with going against the grain of what is considered mainstream can be down right depressing.  An individual may makes decisions that seem conforming to the sold out, but in reality they are conscious decisions based on thought rather than being cool or trying to fit in.  I now realize that being lost means that I am a deep thinker and am closer to knowing myself rather than conformist.  In times like these I am grateful for my friends who uphold this ideal because an individual needs like-minded people around him or her.  Forming such a bond transcends what society wants us to believe today.  The world isn’t perfect and we, in democratic society, are not truly free, but I at least know that as well as my brothers and sisters.  So I may cause many people to be angry or upset, but I am just being me and you should just be you.   

Hello Boston

Usually I just write my fucking weak poetry but tonight I’m not going to do that.  You see I’m tired, I’m tired of the way things are.  Call me crazy, but life isn’t that great.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sad, I’m not depressed, life just isn’t all that grand.  What I mean is that the normal life we are all suppose to live and follow is complete and utter bullshit.  I wake up each morning and go to class thinking why, why am I doing this, what is it all for?  Now besides the obvious career and financial reasons, but beyond that why, nobody seems to ask that question.  I think a lot and say very little, but quite frankly the way things are going is quite puzzling for me.  You see, through this journey in life we are suppose to or at least try to be happy and be surrounded by happiness, but in this current society all I see is pain, suffering, and nothing more than misery.  When are we supposed to be happy?  When are we supposed to start doing things we love?  It always seems like the answer is in the future, but what about right now?  Who said people are suppose to suppress their dreams because of some little fucking piece of paper that means we are smart enough to do what we love?  We live in a sick world full of lies and deception and we all need to wake the fuck up.  Technology is destroying us socially and its pressures are making everyone go insane.  Look inside yourselves and see that there is much more inside of you than all this bullshit.  I once thought that grades and being a socially conforming person was the way to a happy and successful life, but for a long time now I see otherwise.  I don’t really care how people see me anymore, I don’t care if you like me, hate me, or couldn’t give a shit about me.  I don’t care who I have sex with, if I smoke, if I drink, or if I swear too much.  We keep hiding behind these social rules that have no bearing on who we are or what we are going to do, yet we blindly follow them because someone said we needed to.  Who cares what you do or think, just fucking do what makes you happy and what feels good in the moment.  I have seen too much in last year and I’m never going back to that life.  The moment is where I will be, so if you want come follow me.  

For A.G.

Howling in the night, the collective mind has gone mad.

The naked insanity crying out for a glimmer of hope,

My generation is lost and dead already.

Wired and glued to illuminations,

The pale-faced imagination has gone to the black oblivion.

 Hiding on roof tops and around dark corners

The principles of virtuous thought lay waiting.

Alone behind a flamethrower of hopelessness,

We comfort each other in the cold dark night.

Despair and its lingering scent,

Following the partially clothed rawness as it sits silently.

Expression, feeling, all numbed by innovation.

Tears fill empty bottles of poison and we are consumed,

Drowning in our own delight.

Death is all we know and it is all we have.

The sun fails to rise on darkened streets,

And the insanity, the madness, has won.   

Last Day

barreling down the path of lighted nothingness 

the natural mystic lingers in the midnight air.

hopes and dreams scatter like sticks in the wind,

hanging just within reach.

the pitch black horizon whispers of the future and the chilled breeze reminds the soul of the here and now.

the end is near, but the feeling is not mutual.

time has rendered a new beginning but the clouds of the past linger.

misty vapor fills the lungs with each nervous breathe,

time is nothing yet time is everything.

times spent and times lost are all the same and have a similar cost.

the dawn is near,

my fate is here.

Reflection

Youth in hysterical madness rolling around on dirty floors,

Knowing not and understanding very little.

Demonized and walking the streets in search of Babylon,

Smoking some translucent sensations to illuminate such direction.

On street corners, the eyeless wonders squawk and hiss

At materialized rebellion as it lingers.

The sorrows of childish bliss drip upon the tight hold of fire and ice.

Capital and all its glory hiding beneath facades of illusionary hope.

The winged beast’s warm embrace lulls the mind to pure nakedness.

Jesters rule the court and watch as the ants scatter in disarray.

In a glass case for a few to see, the animals live like they are free

Not knowing that they are captive and somebody else’s entertainment to see.  

America

America, where have you gone?

You prostituted yourself to the east and west and now you have nothing left.

Rotting like a dead carcass,

The capitalist vultures devour your lifeless body.

Oh America, what happened with you?

Just the other day we stood for something like virtue.

America, we once fought what we now have become.

I'm much too tired America but I dare not rest with you.

America, you are not America anymore,

America, go fuck yourself you cheap whore.

I'd rather die on a foreign shore, 

Than associate with what you stand for. 

Reborn

I fear, but what exactly I don't know.
I think, but nothing to clearly.
I see, but something is missing.
The world passes by, but everything seems to be awry.
I wonder if only in my eyes
Does this trouble seem to exist,
Or is this fate's cruel twist?
On a Thursday I died and on a Monday I was reborn,
I hope this life last longer than the first and is filled with more happiness than the last.
I once prayed to an almighty
Each and every night,
But now I work for love rather than ask for it by the father's light.
Vice and virtue are all the same to me now,
It's just a matter of living, not how.

Acting

Standing in a forest I found myself in eden,

Wearing rags and carrying no possessions.

The more I thought the less I sought,

And found it rather freeing.

A mask I now wear,

For I have lost to conformity.

These fiends smile and toast to their victory,

But I shall have my day.

As crazy as the path may seem,

It is mine to bear.

Life was never to be understood

So why try to understand it?

These eyes have seen what conformity can do,

And I am not about to roll over for you.

The stage is set,

And the curtains have been drawn.

My role awaits me,

So grab a seat and watch what wonders I shall meet.  

The Future

In the deepest depths of my perception,

I find myself lost in the alcoves of misguided intensions. 

Buried beneath the cobbled streets

The war of decimals and percentiles rages

While the jester smiles with a faint grin.

The chill of the damp venom burns the nostrils

Like the ashy room in the back of an old saloon. 

Railroad tracks that have no end.

In the black abyss

With its ivory keys stretching across the imagination. 

Winter’s chill splashing against the nakedness,

Lost but found. 

Rattling and the hum of a bruised engine,

Caressing the lips of the fallen soldier,

Crashing upon the precipice of some untold virtue.

At peace, at the final rest,

Fire encompasses the soul and becomes one. 

Remembering

I haven’t traveled all that much, but I’ve been just about everywhere.

I’ve been down the back roads and in the dark alleyways with their smoke filled lamps and their musty stoops and porches,

filled their jesters and clowns and hipsters and smokers, plotting and philosophizing the end.

I’ve seen a lot of things, but I don’t really remember all that much.

Contemplating civil disobedience with the alter boys and the jocks and the stoners in the back stairwells with the fresh sea breeze tickling the nostrils.

I haven’t said a lot of things, but I have had a lot to say.

With the cutters and the goths and the depressed behind closed doors with a tear, talking about nothing at all, nothing really good anyway.

I went to prison once or at least that’s what it seamed like.

I went to prison once behind lock and key,

Dull uniforms and set schedules, and guards,

Visitors, and crooks and thieves,

Fighters and tweekers,

Bikers, the insane, the crazy, the sad, the lonely, and the silence.

I went to prison once and I saw death’s eyes.

I went to prison once and I left a new man.

I never noticed the world until I was on the inside looking out.

I never saw beauty until I couldn’t see it at all.

I didn’t notice nature until all that was left of it was hanging on a wall.

I didn’t notice life until I left it.

I didn’t really notice anything, until I wanted it all.

Truth

The black marauding figures in their much maligned coats walk around pave less streets in the moonlit emptiness.   

Rising smoke rings of question marks dance upon the faint tree tops and the windowless shacks stacked together forming a capitalist percentile.

Transfixed on the eyes of ageless wonder, but upon the birthing breast is where the animal hunger lays deeply rooted.

Wrapped in nakedness and swine, ink splotched rags cover more than the shroud of a warm blanket.

Literate nothingness and sensible gibberish mask the foul stench of sweet irony. 

Chaos cracks the concrete in the depths of the facade, leaking through like Pandora’s box.

Fire torches the swift feather as the absence of light turns to the burnt embers of love’s tender place.

The mystical fantasy sucks in the black hole of daze past, swirling faster into the cold spring brook. 

The door shakes upon its rusty hinges crying out at me, yelling and tears flowing, crashing against the tyranny and misguided virtue. 

Shaking like the chill of morning, a dove sweeps to the crossroads of abandoned tracks, left behind for the blind wishers to use.

The quiet hum of incessant conformity gives birth to ageless brutality with a cheerful grin.

The mountaintops dethroned with fear in their hearts, cursing quietly with the dead.

Buried bones sit in majestic palaces upon our feet, listening to the beat of rather tragic tunes while the candle lit is but a faint memory placed in their tombs.   

Old Man

Loose change, a young pup on a chain,

Empty doorways with no name.

Nonconformity with a broken frame,

Youthful ingenuity looking all the same.

Those at a higher table sit and stare,

Scowling with every seething glare.

An epitaph placed and marked,

Doomsday blamed for some generational spark.

The fault is not ours for such a decay,

Look only at yourselves and your display.

To say I stand for nothing is a lie,

You just don’t want to hear the truth that will dethrone you from your perch in the sky.

Call me anything but a fraud,

Originality is my virtue, of which you should applaud.

Maybe thirty years from now I will share your view,

But, to be honest, I hate everything about you. 

The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

Flick of the wrist

On the rocks with a twist,

The smoky atmosphere of an earlier age.

Crescent moon with a pink balloon

Jesters mingle with the high-class scholars.

Two as one

Just a little more fun.

Lose control

Regain the body and the soul.

Letting go of fear

Living in the clear, realm of possibility

Obtaining peace and tranquility.

Step out of the misty haze

And see the concrete maze, jungle

Of which you blindly follow.

The end is just another beginning

And the beginning is the end.

Choose wisely they say

But their path marks your future that very day.

With a grin and a tall bottle of gin

I light my smoke and say goodnight,

Dying never felt so right.

Reality

Drops of red upon the canvas

Dancing in playful glee

The moon above the crown

Growing in uncertainty.

Pale in the cheeks

Fires burn the orbs

Burning wax above the hearth

Dying in the mystery.

All the ducks in a row

Pawns in the game

Living as some other name.

Swill crooks

Puzzled looks.

Dime in the jar

Dark alley behind the bar

A chain-linked fence from afar.

A house dressed in white up in flames

Parties placing their blames.

Weary heads upon pillows

Praying for some consolation from the willows. 

Oak

Eyes wide shut,

A head three feet thick.

Body immovable,

Mind inscrutable.

From limb to limb,

Sickness reeks within.

Memories of nights before

Are nothing anymore.

Clothes on the floor,

Such nakedness is hard to ignore.

World, spin no more,

Of this I do implore.

Fires burn my eyes

Yet with such subtle tenderness.

My pain disappears into the air

Like a sweet puff of smoke.

With an utterance I am gone

Regretting each step to the door.

Time is both friend and foe

And this time the coin has come up heads, rather than tails.

Like a leaf in the wind

I am constantly blown about

With nowhere permanent to go.

Maybe some day that will change

And I can just lay there

With nothing more important

Than being there, with you. 

Black and Yellow

blue misty mountains 

golden white fields

black serpentine seas

the hand strikes twice

with only one go around

ear to ear with tainted white all aglow 

my gift is that which is given and not asked for.

puff and sip 

the universe circles above my head.

chaos in motion

what's all the commotion?

a pillow to lay my head

floor to floor I search for a new bed

stripped for good measure

what else could bring such pleasure?

hands of god

such wonders of gentle stokes

tender flesh intertwined 

what perfection is so inclined?

black holes to search through

nothing more than a cloud of horrendous virtue.

through the looking glass they come

trying to obtain anything from

I'm above the influence

because I am the influence.

the tightrope walk

with a crooked disposition 

life is one big inquisition 

so fuck generational tradition.

Crazy or Not

call me what you will

just let me know when you've had your fill.

happiness in a pill

ain't no thrill.

all I want to do is chill

and live according to my own will.

call me crazy if you please

for it doesn't really matter to me.

you see,

it's the only way for you to explain

such uncertainty.

I do what I feel

rather than waste away

not knowing if what was inside of me was real.

sit there and condemn what I do

but I, not you, am the one offering something very true.

continue to lock away everything you feel

and soon numbness will be the only thing that's real.

some day you'll see

that the crazy you thought me to be,

was really the truth right in front of thee.

The Real You

Such bittersweet sorrows

At the alter of fate.

Mere mortals we stand

With nothing but flesh and bone as protection.

Nowhere to hide

Nowhere to run.

Did you have your fun?

Did you sell too much of your soul?

Where have you gone sweet child,

Where did you go?

Did you have your fill,

Are you finally content?

Such games should not be played

For the fire will eventually burn the hand of its creator.

Come home again

And be rid of this persona.

Love again

And live as you

From this point to the end. 

Revolution

Darkness has swept over the land

And the hour to stand

Has come with greater urgency.

The pillars we stand upon

Are filled with an air of injustice

Rather than the stones of equality.

Put down your books

And stop being controlled

By those swill crooks.

Be released from the bonds of history

And embark on ideals lost to capitalist hypocrisy.

Gather in the streets

And wander into the bliss

That is the great unknown.

Change must strike down idleness

With the mighty fist of hope.

The gutter shall be cleaned

And its dwellers raised up

Like the sun on a new day.

 Such diseases have festered too long

And no longer can they live.

The days of oppression are numbered

And the winds of fate will take their course.

So rise soldier

And bears arms

For such a war.

Words be our bullets

And nonviolence our bombs,

None shall stop such a force

And peace shall finally overcome.

Moving On

Lying in a pool of blood

Wishing I had not loved.

Time lost and pieces cost

What does a man have to do

When being naked is not enough?

What does a man do

When sacrificing ain’t enough?

The twinkle in my eye

Shattered into little pieces

Of broken glass

Replaced by a stain glass

Of painful memories

And distant times

Why did you leave

Me alive?

Why did you

Let me endure this pain?

Blind to the sun

And everything I had done

What use is trying to live on?

Six feet deep

Is where I shall reap

My just reward.

This wind swept land

Can’t hold down this one man band.

Everyone else may be content

With taking a number

But no line is worth waiting in

When it leads to old age policies.

Dressed in black

I’m leaving and not coming back.