Not the Messiah. Things I like to think about and look at with original poetry.
Sometimes the Little Things are Enough
Sometimes
I get
a feeling
of excitement
when
I’m about
to head to bed
and I realize
there are
three more
songs
on the record
and one more
glass of red wine
in the bottle.
“Creativity always dies a quick death in rooms that house conference tables.”
—Bruce Herschensohn, New York Times, April 2, 1975
(via poetfire)
Cold is a Good Enough Excuse Not to Leave the House
This Midwest
Winter
Has my
Teeth
Scraping
out
their
Feelings.
Piss the Sink Drunk
There was no loss
of artistic
expression
to your face.
My day was
muted in the
gut
from seven
too many whiskey
shots.
We spoke,
maybe,
of counting
nights
in my tip-toed
twist.
It’s About Time to Make a Name or Book or Point.
in the great big
digital space
it does not
exist
in time and place
Searching shows
no results
It’s no ones fault
you’re not
as real
as you thought
I’ve Left the Lights Out
I bought
a beautifully sad
album tonight.
It’s a cliche
to say my dog
just died.
The dog
that saved
my parents.
When my
father broke
from war.
And my
mother broke
from loneliness.
Tenement
black boy
pierced
his head
out a window
like the scalpel
of a surgeon
entering view
Looking
for a cure
to the heat
of the brick
Streets within
view and
dreams within
Eyes watch
the evening
rush
Rush of each
preoccupied
eye behind
the glass and steel
of modern progress
heading to
the land of ticky tacky.
A Nursery Rhyme
Fee-fight-foe-fun,
I smell the blood of an injured son,
Maybe he’s alive, or maybe he’s dead,
We’ll wave him off till he loses his head.
Take Everything:
to the oversized
leather sofa
that rests
in front
of a television
that bores,
love notes
(you only meant
to write)
to a desk
that knows
you better than
your wife,
the children
to the bars
that defined
a decade
of your life,
and
a realization
the reunion
has past.
(via poetfire)
