Screw This Nonsense

The oranges are tumbling
and hysterically ahead.
The hands have started moving
once again, once again.

Cackling laughter erupting
in gargles and drool
from the backseat.
But I no longer care.

As I whispered to no one,
"Those sidewalks keep coming"
So I shall go mark them,
with these tattered soles.

From that backseat?
I am not sure at this time,
for I have left the car.
The door slammed behind me.

Analysis

It was morning that day.
Showers and showers,
yet I was not in them.
Every drop licked my window
like the metronome John Feitor used
during every recording.
Squawking brass,
hooting woodwinds;
Aren't we all just a bunch of birds?
As Koch once said,
"My head is a bird, my stomach a pig"
Four compartments of myself.
One for love, which is kept tidy
for my latino cafe.
One is for anger, built into me
as a young shrimp.
Another for talent, that I use,
that I expand.
And the last for isolation,
for the closer I get,
the farther back everyone falls,
like raindrops on my window
that morning, that day.

Emotional Dice

Hello say the whispering wells!
Yet it was I that echoed into them.

My feet are tapping down the lane,
leaving muddy footprints to dry and crack.

The skies are blue today I see,
although it is the star's gaze to me.

Playing games; trickery is about.
For I know not what is next.

I see the morrow, I live the day
painfully, joyfully, artistically.

Haiku Two

Ignite the downfall.
Swimming through a rusty pipe,
With no ending light.

Worsened Sickness

Heavy drapes that want to be drawn.
Yet I ignore them.
The darkness feeds from it in colors.
Colors of red and orange.

Standing wasn't a clever idea of mine.
It drives the nails deeper and deeper,
into knots of my wooden head.
And the sight is not a sight.

What I see is not what I find in thought.
Colors that mesh into soup.
Chicken soup?
What is this fascination
with such a flightless bird?

A hand woven rope, rough and ragged.
It tugs at each end, of each branch.
The tree will fall soon, despite the battle;
and no one will be around to hear it.

Cluck

The shell cracks and rolls.
But the glue holds it still.
The straw pokes at my cheek,
and it itches my skin.

Let the bird fly, soar high.
I am not a chicken, you ditz.
I can too flap, yes true.
But the chains are still here.

I am not here joined.
Other half's never here.
I cry and plead
for such a half never there.

I cannot take a step forward,
yet I know where I stand.
I know not who I am, true;
but I know who I want to be.

Why don't you let me?
Why do you stop me?
I can see it ahead, unreachable;
for you cut off my wings.

My Right Ear

That sound.
Like an almost dry glass,
being rubbed with your thumb
back and forth.

Like a dog's whimper,
when you taunt him
with that bone shaped cookie
he cannot reach.

Like wiping the droplets
of fresh fallen water
off the green leaves
that got out of the shower.

What sound is that?
Why is it here?
Oh I know.
I'm deaf in my ear.

Laugh in the Face of Misery

I scoff at the turbulent clouds!
I told thee! Now kneel in thought.

Coins and coins, collectible shiny objects.
It wanes and wanes.

Where am I to go now?
After such coin collecting mayhem
and such provable terms revealed!

Off and up the mountain.
With my dog Spike, haha.
No yellow brick roads here.
Just the open ended sea.

I stand on the edge
with the wind's fiddling fingers.
And I smile.
What else can I do?

Clueless Thoughts

This box is hollow.
Shattering echoes
piercing through thick
maple cardboard.

Which end opens?
None, taped shut.
It shall leave soon
on that UPS truck.

What words these are.
Senseless yet heavy.
Pointless yet agonizing.
Like a history teacher.

Waltzing with Death

Cold empty bed.
Open cloudless skies.
There is no dinner.
There are fire pits in
a scorched esophagus.

Maple leaves floating
in the watery tears
of our soft spoken sky.
Cry baby cry,
for it's gone, gone.

Tears of placid sorrow
peal away the fear.
Emerging sadness now.
It spills lazily
ever searching, lost.

What deadline exists
besides the line
that hums the high octave;
it's permanent cry
of still quiet death.

Feel Better

Don't mix
the Betadine
with milk dear.

Even if it looks
like nice coffee.

Neosporin is not
to be in
a peanut butter
sandwhich dear.

It will not make
you feel any better.

Rubbing alcohol
will not mix with
orange juice dear.

That might kill you,
be careful.

A Haiku

I am wearing pants.
Where the fuck is my boyfriend?
My bed is chilly.

Blank Page

No specifics.
I have turned to lifeless,
achromatic color.
Dents and scratches they say.

Tis morning yes yes.
I still stand in the field.
Looking for my cow.
Stupid cow.

They request so persistently,
that I wash my hands.
I shall not wash
any dirt not mine.

No motive, no reason.
Just wake up to nothing.
You know? Possibly?
There is nothing else.

Hello hello again.
La Gazza Ladra whispers
into my ears this day.
This day of night.

I woke up to a blank page.
With nothing to fill it.
Quick! Unblock the block!
But I cannot see.

Final Lullaby

Morrow is here.
Yet I am not.
The sun rises,
and I am setting.

Last one I shall see.
Last everything today.
Final steps
Final bows.

Judgement hour
stepping closer
in it's dark heavy boots.
Rattling buckles.

I know what's coming.
It's my happiness going.
Take this, take life.
Hello Jen, hello Mel.

I bid thee goodnight.
There is hope in the hopeless.
You cannot take away
what I have already left behind.

Let Me Off

No use.
Don't bother waking up.
Each day ever blue,
droning on,
dragging me behind
by my right leg.

Who directs this play?
Such a script of havoc.
I turn from the text,
and look to the blinding lights
of the now empty stage.

Stop rowing the boat.
I'm getting quite nauseous.
Let me off
this untamed black horse
So I can find the supposedly
green blades of grass.

Waiting

Twelve ticks into the night.
Tis day, Tis day.
Yet the black skies
still mock me.

What I think; thoughts.
Not really sure.
Not behind the wheel
on this drunken highway drive.

A cat's numbered lives.
Each one gone until
judgment day comes.
Ticking lifeline, tocking night.

Waiting on truth, if there.
Pray to whom for such nonsense.
The heavens close at five o'clock.
Loons aren't allowed inside.

Sucked Dry

A suffering procedure.
Steady hands
Shaky words.

Flowers suffering.
Suspended in a hollow
dried out vase.

Just add water.
It will pass,
say the fortune cookies.

Do not take it away.
Keep me alive.
Don't keep my life.

Canvas for Two

Equivalent dreams.
They paint each other
on a canvas, pearl white.
Yet each one
Holds imaginations of another.

Yet each one,
fights for space
on such white sand.
Two dreams don't fit.
Two dreams clash.

Which dream
has colors of truth?
Which canvas,
screams realism.
Which boldly states
It's posture abstract.

I need an answer.
Turn off that light.
If it doesn't rattle hope,
I shall close the torn pages,
of the tattered novel.

It Really Happened? Right?

I thought I knew me.
Now I don't know.

I agree to this all.
Every waking moment,.
Every waking day,
and opening to new
and unconscious pain.

Is my mind ever feeble?
To concoct plots against
my sanity divine?
My mind lies to my heart.

The fences were broken.
The planes did crash.
The havoc inside,
did live, did fight.

Why did it?
What happened?
A dream? Was it?
Dream the scenario
then live the consequences.
What a nightmare.

Losing Sanity.

I fell in this hole.
I'm trapped.
Saved me a trip.

I thought that was a joke.
You are a remarkable twit.

I interrupt this poem
for a special announcement.

That doll Barbie...
What is the name
of the little sister.

Now! Knock that off!
Hey, I'm sorry.
Lucky me.

Stay tuned:
for the musical interlude.

Silly Ass

Thirty past the midnight hour
You slipped and fell in a cold shower.
Giggle much and laugh some more,
until your ass is big and sore.
Your pants don't fit,
It hurts to shit.
But hey,
you got to laugh a bit.

From Me

Enclosed in an envelope
was a smile from me.
I sent it to thee,
I hope you can see.
Written and drawn
with the tickled
notes of my fingers.
Lay awake to smell
the shimmered scent
you long to see.
The smile was from me,
You see, you see

Burden

Allow my chest to breathe.
Expand.
Contract.
Run. Not too far or they'll catch you.
Burden of an undecided flaw.
Escape only lies
within my mind ever flowing;
never calm.
Why do you want to kill me?
A chicken dinner.
A turkey thanksgiving.
Chew off the legs,
feast upon my open wounds.
Kill me quickly.
Each second everlasting.
I hate you all.

Where Am I?

Where is the yellow
bus going?
Down that curved
rickety monkey bridge.
Life has halted
at the clock's
nine past ten.
Stop raining for the
sun to shine.
Start walking with
these feet of mine.

Departing From Bliss

I saw Happiness today.
Glinting off the
new autumn leaves this midday.
Catching some wind
down a long long highway.

Haunting Purple, daunting blue;
dooming in the sky ahead.
Sucking, sucking me in.

I saw the sunset
in my rearview mirror.
The final drop
of true illumination
burned out of my haggard candle.

Home has crept up on me.
Its air thick and dry,
It itches and and scratches.

Chondrosarcoma

Little farmers raking it red.
Working my energy.
They starve the gray bones
to a soft whimper.

Autumn’s orange eyes
Watch the leaves shrivel;
And sad winds suck the soil dry.

In a glass jar.
Almost empty,
To a hollow foggy blue.
Before it’s echoed shatter.

Cancer

Wisps of darkness
clinging to my legs.
The suffering drag everlasting,
Everlasting.

The sickness laying about;
rummaging through
the fluffy pillows
of such fragile organs.

"Looking for something?"
No. no.
Just the usual.
Right on schedule.

You cannot be aboard.
I say, I say.
No green card, no papers.
Terror.

I cannot die.
Yet the air seems thin.
I shall breathe till next dawn.
Despite chances so slim.

Epiphany

Unforgotten cries
vent their scars.
Hear them glistening
at the wake
of our mustard yellow
eye.

Dawn's soft sneeze
leaves its raw sawdust
to tickle the sensitive
scrapes upon my
everlasting lungs.

A new world has woken.
Pain has turned to fluff.
I hear a new hum;
humming tangos,
salsa, and waltz.
Dance from the shadows.

Thoughts Untold

Words upon words.
Run into a black, black
abyss.
Thoughts escape
through the treeless woods.
Wandering,wandering.
What is next?

Red walls
of enclosed eyelids.
Mine, mine.
Air forever young
forever wising
my breathes, my mind.

Sacred whispers
from a small wooden box.
Open it.
Delightful sorrows
enclosing the blue.
What is next?

Feared Confusion

Underestimated surprises.
Arise fair one.
No longer wishing
for the soft red cherries.

No Soliciting.
Close the door
on the way out.

For the sky is held up
by the blue hands
of ultimate wisdom.

They say:

Run from
the invisible.
No witnesses.
Just rain.

Punctuation of Mine

Finally landing
such a turbulent flight.
I see his eyes
peeking through
whipped cream skies

"It's okay"
he speaks, he states.
His strong thumb
pressing the hot air balloon
down, down, down
to such sandpaper ground.

"It hurts"
I vent, I say, I think.
No pain, just fear;
close my eyes.
The air is thinner;
the air is light.

Written story,
folded up nice.
The envelope's closing,
He is licking it shut.
No period, no question,
not even an exclamation.

Zoid of Freaks

Unload these creeps kid.
A smooch longer,
but needed for happy flying.

Orange juice ain't no chicken,
and the peanuts are stale
says Professor Jones.

Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,
big thankeroonie
from the scenic landmarks.

I just remembered.
I don't know how to fly.
It seems someone stumbled.

-Can't see anything,
-sun in eyes;
-must talk like this.

Lost

Patterned tears from the darkened sky
clutch longingly against the cold pane.
My reflection lost within it's depths;
blurred by the careless rain.

Wind

The wind is not a disappointed sigh
of the distant creator from above.
The wind is not a whispered prayer,
searching for an undiscovered response.
The wind does not grasp any hair
with it’s greedy grey wandering fingers.
The wind is not a whistled tune
of an angel’s feather lips.
The wind does not howl in despair
across the blanket of the wise aging sky.
The wind does not frolic and gossip
Amongst the restless curious leaves.
The wind is not a warm embrace
Of your deceased love.
The wind is not this poem
filling up the wise pink mind.

The wind is air, in a constant hurry.

Mine.

A Heavy Rung

Self conscious gnomes 

pull down my heavy shades.

Close them loosely,

as the light blanket

of a child's dreams.

Lay back against the pain.

Surreal thumps 

that drastically grasp

the inner gears

of my working being.

Lay patiently.

It will pass.

The heavy footstep

I implant on the nineteenth

rung of the wooden ladder,

causes the step 

to sing with strain.

Such a ladder 

that lays strewn 

across the green dancing grass

that is my other side.

Patience, It shall pass.

Tear Written Notes

I say I love you mother.

No matter what was said.

My friend, my guardian.

Suffering day and night

legs of stiff crutches, pain.

You held me close,

warm bosom carrying my pain.

Love grows deep

like such varicose veins,

implanted in your work worn legs.

I say I love you father.

My laughs, my past.

You gave me the humor,

to dance with lines of art

in unique music.

Kicking around a beat up ball

despite the age bearing on your spine.

You taught me work.

I witnessed the true value

of such life

within the scars 

and hard worn skin

upon your loving hands.

Certain Unwanted Attitudes

Another lie

another fib.

Hold your tongue, maestro

for the authority to present

such a mind has grown weary.

Lacking wisdom is not a 

case of the present.

Hold your tongue, maestro

for the maestro

with no baton has left

his life with an empty hole.

No crutch of the world 

will catch a falling 

at such speed.

Hold your tongue, maestro

for your tongue is much untamed.

Maestros should not speak 

Just listen to the music and reply.

Soon the direct will direct.

Vida

A prison.

A cell.

A bunk.

A straitjacket.

A house.

A bedroom.

A girl.

A life.

Freedom in Jail

What shall you do,

but instill me within a world.

Judgement passes.

It declares no rights

but the right

for my loss of rights,

because in my rights,

I am never right.

Love Guide Me

Hold your breath, seize your words.

I saw the dawn at half past three.

Halt your strut and glance once more,

I found what I've been looking for.

Stand in the distant abyss;

a peeking sight in the moonlight's shine;

have heart, have soul.

The endless howl in the night.

Today you hold the eyes

of your sight within your heart.

Own the love of your heart

within your soul.

What soul you ask?

Listen, it screams.

Reaching for Me

open box

shudder to the non existent wind.

why is it upon me?

grasp my soul away.

reach out from sunlight's

unknown dust glittering 

in the open day.

Day shall I see once more?

As an old poet insanely cried,

nevermore, nevermore.

Hope's Escape

Inconspicuously,

light peeks through

the small shreds,

small peeps

of the weighted dark drapes.

Calm winds whisper

the illusion of hope

while sun's beating rays

paint the day as day.

Leaves sway 

their shy dance

amongst the towers

of such truths,

such rugged wise trees.

Look to the sky

to find hope's wandering lights

peep through the night's

dark and sad blue blanket.

Such twittering lights.

Sleep

Close your eyes,

say the lights above.

Such fireflies, such winks of

never ending notes

upon the delicate whispers

of the feather like page.

Close them; sleep.

Sleep don't awaken.

They state within my thoughts.

Ignore such throbs within thy heart.

Run away.

Close them, forever.

Do not awaken they say, they sing.

Help pleads from afar.

Help pleads from a voice.

My voice, my help.

The Barrel of a Gun

New thunder 

erupting from the ground.

Can I sense the pain? 

Or is it a gift?

Melon's tumbling up the hill.

Trot free, trot before time

grasps the hidden treasure.

Before gravity tugs

at the pouch of growing life.

The hot air balloon 

expanded to great fear;

has flown to no return.

Sonnet: Waves Ahead

Suspended through thy whispers ever sighed

lays the question that hath no response.

Seven soaring symphonies of work,

yet blocked away from every standing man.

Sounds of search have risen on this earth

to answer questions posed at birth of sun.

I stand alone and seek my star's soft ray;

upon such sand of soft and warming skin.

The waves are gentle, calling out my name.

I hold such harsh belief to hear thy call.

Mount the boat and hold the oars so close.

Hold thy future bared by I alone.

Row the boat through waves of blue and gold;

Let the sky you seek ahead unfold.

Realista

Eu falava com as ondas do mar e tudo

as pessoas passavam por mim 

viam me a falar e pensavam.

E tola

Eu nao matei ninguem, 

falo com as ondas 

com a brisa do mar 

a areia ve os meus pensamentos.

segredos cada pessoa os tem

tenho duas caixas 

mar e coracao

"es muita poetica”

nao lol sou realista.

cada um tem o seu destino 

o seu livro da vida

o meu e este

as minhas forcas.

 as minhas ''caixas''

Poem by Debora, a friend who was very unaware of her poetry.

Not Poetic, Realistic

Reflections upon reflections.

I hear you,

yet I have yet to understand.

Why must it be,

lost at the sea, your sea.

Speak to the quivers

of the shore's rising belly.

Fingers quivering through sand

Such soft sand warming your thoughts.

Speaking through touch.

Silver tears? Why?

Hear my song of sorrow.

Speak with the sea.

Hear my imagination

of realism.

Just a human, just a shadow.

Longing for the warmth of another

within my beating drum.

No poems, no art.

Just me.

Just real.

Canta Querida

Canta querida, canta.

As veias do mar dancão

para as cantigas da tua voz.

Canta para o mar ouvir.

Que sol nosso, tao vivo,

com cabelo louro a bailar

as cantigas da querida.

Canta na luz do sol.

Deixa a saia rodar

o ritmo da voz antiga.

Roda saia, canta querida.

deixa a saia ouvir.

Vento do norte

abraca-te a tarde.

Quer ouvir a querida

para asobiar.

Vem a lua bem cheia,

com o olho bem cinzento.

Olha para querida,

que ela canta-te cantigas.

Este mundo toca musica

tão linda para ti.

Agora canta querida, canta.

Canta la para mim.

I Say

Daylight swims

among the irises

of such truth.

Reveal yourself I say.

Have many thoughts

suspended by threads

of love, of belief.

See to  it that it lays.

Rest I say, rest.

Sneakers unworn

despite the rhythms 

of the heat beaten sidewalks.

Sing to yourself, I say.

Awaken

before noon's sigh

to smell such simmers

of our provider's morning dine.

Nothing is not what I say.

Walk of Life and Love

Life struts slowly, so slowly.

Love is patient, no need to rush.

His steps are slowed,

his legs are tense.

Our thoughts are much;

piercing as thorns.

Life bears weight.

Love holds much.

Such heavy wood,

dormant on his shoulders;

nailed to his palms.

Life falls, yet life rises.

As love shall be, normally.

He fell and slipped,

yet strode along.

Dirt of wisdom

scarring his skin, our life.

What is life?

What is love?

He answers in a simple strut;

a final struggle, a final step.

Who am I?

Walk American steps 

Upon the cobblestone

of a Portuguese village.

Strut those Portuguese struts

across the paved road

of American land.

Which am I 

Which do I walk?

Hold the duties

of family, of name,

in a land of future

land of opportunity.

Achieve a goal

of success and career,

in a house of love,

house of culture.

What am I holding?

Who am I?