Other poems

I have tracked down a bunch more of my old poems that I thought were lost. Here they are...

Imagination

A little boy walks across the sand

Rocks weigh down his trousers

The sun makes him squint and strain

As he digs for hidden treasure

He digs up a wooden chest from a map

A glistening in his boyish eyes

Buried beneath an ex of black

Rich as a king at nine years and ten days

A gumdrop island with pale blue coast

Where not a cloud casts shadow

This little pirate tries his best

To ignore his mother who yells and shouts

I’ve spent Twenty-one years in the sapphire sweet

Twenty one years of adventure at sea

Settles Bridge

I have a place out east; a rusty bridge.

They call it “Settles Bridge”. It spans a part

of Georgia’s Chattahoochee River that

is always cold even in the summer.

You can find it south of the Buford Dam.

In High school my friends and I would climb up

and jump into the crisp blue, and swim to

shore with our teeth chattering and short breaths.

The second we get on shore into the

sunlight, the water melted like Georgia snow.

Back home life was hard for us. Our parents

divorced, homework, girlfriends, the pains of youth.

Everything seemed so important back then.

But not when our toes gripped that orange rust

pushing past fear and into the unknown.

There is always that moment, Suspended

in air. After your feet leave the rusty

metal and your body hits the cold blue.

You can fly. And it doesn't matter that

life is pain because this is more then life.

That moment right before my feet would hit

The water, I would close my eyes and make

a memory and quickly tuck it in

my pocket. I would call it stardust and

save it for a rainy day like today.

Life is pretty hard now with bills piling

up, and I am far away from my home.

Nothing I can do will bring those days back.

But when I’m sad I take my stardust out

and fly away for just a moment’s time.

Mended hearts prepare for the feast

Reconcile to me my lover

in thy dark and dreamless slumber,

lips that long in dark did search

as Christ would kiss His holy church.

Give me not the dismal dark

that overtook thy virgin heart,

or shallow touch and shallow pains

whose death is need to loose our chains.

Oh sweet bride, whome I bethrothed,

and at my hand did suffer woes,

lie down to rest and find thy peace

until we share in heaven's feast.

With empty hands I ask no more

then safe return; my spoils of war.

Surrender them to Christ and lo,

it shall be doubled; blow for blow

Adieu I say as we advance

no devil's arrow nor evil lance

shall steal the love we wrought in sorrow,

adieu adieu, my sweet tomorrow.

"Glamor"

a glamerous thing when first we see
the beauty and shimmer, the joy and glee
oh to endulge for a bit, if just for a while
it gives us such fullness, it proves we have style

for some it is white and fine as snow
and others its love found where love cannot grow
its found sometimes despite the restrictions
when our lust and desire defeats our convictions

so after some time it becomes okay
and after a while we put it away
as something normal and full of life
as a source of joy to illimate strife

then once it is ours and we eat it all up
we go to the well to refill our cup
but this time a change, it is not as before
what lasted at first, sustains us no more

so deeper we dig to draw from this well
and ignorance turns our heaven to hell
and that thing we once hated and spoke out against
robs our virginity and steals our innocense

so subtly it creeps and defines our wrongs
so softly it speaks with miraculous song
and where we once thrive and fill 'till we bloat
will become the rope that barely keeps us afloat

"My life in the computer trade"

tick tock tick tock the clock bellows thickly
click clack click clack my finger rattle onward
pitter pat pitter pat my heart beats faster
thump thump thump my feet ignore the boredom

empty voices echoing, sneaking through the halls
the confident business man as he forfeits his soul
and the women strangly sound very much the same
do they know their forsaken souls have misguided ambition to blame?

They don't notice me sitting in my safty spot
hiding out and counting down the minutes until I leave
because unlike them my time in here is a pause in real life
that resumes between 9 and 5 and continues on its path

oh this wretched trap has taken slaves indeed
if I wait here long enough I fear it may take me
no rhyme nor prose could possibly pose
a threat to this industry

I sit and think as I pass a new day about my former life
of locker doors and those fucking whores that loved to make me squirm
the very scum that later become society's living dead
yet deep inside I miss the pride of knowing where I'm going.

Perhaps I'll change, as we know the wind does, onto a deeper path
where enrichment and knowledge can set some goals other then getting by
or getting richer for that matter, for money and fame is not my desire
I want a life devoid of complacency that knows its destination.

"She was my Rushmore"

If people would remember
That a heart is an organ
And an organ makes you live
They would be more careful
With the hearts that they handle

But instead they threw them around
Like tennis balls on the ground
Over fences to the awaiting jaws
Of vicious, slobbering, evil dogs

My heart has been treated as so
By me and her also
And now I cannot breath
Because the pain is just too severe
And I can't live without my heart

"olmak"



A blue mosque

Bir blue mosque

Bir mavi camii

Just another place

I happen to be



Black sea, black sea

A big blue sea

There are a million other

Places I could be



A rising mist

Miasmal mist

A hippo will not be

On the ancient snow capped shroud

The modern mystery

Wrapped in ancient blasphemy



There are many places

Left to see

This plush rug

Is where I

Happen to

Be

I WAS A SHOOTING STAR:

A meteorite was revealed for a moment

It happened while I was driving across America.

And the banana yellow streak as it happened-

in the sky

was the apple of my eye


I drove across America.

The heavens watched me go.

And the faded greyish blur that was-

my car

was the joy of that solitary star


So it shone bright for one earth second.

And my body moved for all of September.

Yet somehow in the void known as-

endless days

we two traveled together always.


While I sat behind the wheel

I intersected this fiery line.

And I was really just the same as-

a streaking light

as I Luminated the lonely night.


This piece of rock moved away

from its home in outer space.

I burned up banana yellow in the-

east cost mist

and slowly moved my way northwest.

THE COMEDY OF LIFE

Like fire from heaven
this weeping rain
burn softly slowly
this creeping pain,
turned joy to sorrow
glory to rust
gold to green

substance to dust.

To find that hope
should have never been
is better then living
with the knowledge of sin,
of actually taking what isn't
and having it hurt you again,
and again.

But a hopeless man
is helpless too
and as long as he can
he will see things through,
because sometimes hope
can leave a stain
and like a ghost
will haunt this man.
When all that really still remains
is the promise of burning
and weeping rain.

In a town with gray ubiquitous
where enduring mist is all you can trust.
Where every face is a flash of life
and every heart has been slashed with a knife
by heartbreak that came
from noble intentions
whose tragedy has formed
all of life's conventions.
In a place where the sun all winter won't shine,
every body's a stranger
they are all passers-by.

So what remains when love's hope is gone?
What remedy can help the helpless move on?
The secret is here and is easily seen,
you can find it in beer and coffee beans;
in dives and shops
where the locals have learned
that time heals nothing
but love can return.

They mourn their losses
and endure the pain
and know that after
the winter fog clears
life will never be the same again.

So weep like a willow
but don't cry too long
for while hurt still remains
sorrow isn't wrong.
For the hopeless, despair
Is all that sustains
but beware for often
despair will remain
long after the fog clears.
And no new beginning
can dry those tears.

That is why in this wise old town,
where all winter long
sorrows are drowned
in booze and poetry
and cigarette smoke,
that everyone knows
love's little secret,
and it helps them by and by.

They say that nature has a cycle
and seasons never lie.
If in the winter dreams are of falling
in the summer man can fly.
What wonderful colors!
Lo and behold!
A new love is comedy
for the soul is born old.
As it ages the bitter pain
fades like the fog
and the winter rain.
It grows to youth and jubilee.

Two living souls in summer clean

will forever grow young
while bodies grow mean.
After many winters and summers trade
each physical body will surly fade.

So always remember that
love is a game
and the sun always shines after the rain.