Sounds of Silent Symbols

Sleeping On My Back

2011-11-27T23:22:00.003-05:00

I'm disconnected.
A ghost's reflection
You're something real
But I can't feel it.
I won't let me.

Not a lot makes sense
Except maybe disappearing
Screaming blindly
Words not worth hearing.

Always alone in a crowd
Of even people
The fringe of happiness.

Yet I won't settle
For the easy, simple

I prefer the pains of complicated.

2011-07-11T00:07:00.001-04:00

In love with silent walks
On streetlit roads
Alone with thoughts
And cloud covered stars

2011-06-05T23:16:00.003-04:00

Dream words your smile speaks
cast in my direction
depth in your eyes glance
Tatters my reflection.

Whispers of what cannot be
Screams my soul ignores

Password Cracked

2011-04-25T01:49:00.004-04:00

My soul shattered
specs of sand
Scattered in an hourglass
Solid sideways past

Now flowing free
again uprighted
Hours passed, desires
I can never have.

This evening air
perfumed perfection
Gentle brush of hair
In hand, electric.

Shirtless

2010-11-13T10:02:00.002-05:00

The chill whispers change
as it surrounds me.
Embraces the hair on my skin
tickling the nerves
renewing my senses
a shower of steam
drifts off my body
The autumn air choked
with burning leaves
grass frozen in anticipation
A perfect moon, distant,
perched low above the trees
deafened by the still silence
of my heartbeat.

Vintage Baseball Jersey

2010-11-13T09:49:00.002-05:00

I wish i could stop the cursor from blinking
sitting there mocking me
taunting me to go on
judging each word I type
with arrogance and disdain.
"Really?" it asks, incessantly
like your 5 year old asks "why?"
until you lose your mind.
Is that all you got?
Maybe I am crazy...
having conversations
with blank screens.
I'm hard on myself.
what if it's not great?
It doesn't have to be.
No matter what I write
the cursor will always blink.

Alcohol and Introspection

2010-01-31T00:13:00.004-05:00

It's nights like these
that make me realize
I am a child.
An old friend turned stranger
whispers words you've told yourself
but hearing him say it
makes the point
enough to cry
on the way home.
He asks if she is with you.
The look in his eyes
similar to the mexican
licking his lips in the corner.
You lie.
For one, to protect her.
Two, because that lie
is the closest to the truth
you'll ever get.
Barely a year
and you almost asked her
to make the biggest mistake of her life
but you cared too much
and she saved herself from you.

She still has a way
of opening you up,
revealing buried flaws
and you see a light bulb go on
in that look of hers.
Now she knows.
His unsaid words haunt your heart...
what is she doing with him?
He wasn't the only one asking

Ginger Ale and Amaretto

2010-01-18T23:43:00.003-05:00

I went bowling at an Elk’s Lodge

with Johnny Depp.

It was dark but he was upset

they weren’t bowling well.

Then I threw one into the wall.

A girl I went to high school with

brought out drinks.

I never liked her but

she had a great body.

Leaning over a balcony,

she might fall

but I couldn’t stop staring…

She said she knew the door code

and her father was angry.

We were in a McDonald’s drive thru.

She gave me two singles

for a cheeseburger and jalapeno bites.

The screen said I ordered pancakes.

His voice told me to pull forward

and keep my foot on the pussy.

a couple poems I submitted for the Analecta

2010-01-18T23:37:00.005-05:00

Untitled

poetry is a lie.
Construction of words, phrases.
Images deconstructing ideas.
Stealing symbolism from Salvador Dali.
Syllables painting pictures.
Periods. Commas, pausing for effect
Sentences f
o
r
ming shapes,
teasing the mind for meaning.
Capitalization unimportance
with a French accent.
A guess at the intention.
Merely an accident…
Merely the truth.

2009-09-01T21:46:00.002-04:00

Coffee Lips

dark at 6:45
cold, August
outside my blanket
She owed me
but I took the twenty
still in my pocket
almost spent it
on pop and french fries

2009-08-16T15:17:00.002-04:00

Eye locked
in a crowded bar
noisy alone
together
I got home drunk
looked at the stars
the other day
saw a shooting
wished... woke up
my lips weren't chapped
but wrapped around you
I'd strangled the pillow
and drowned it in drool
before it suffocated me
but like a jealous lover
left a suicide note.

I've Never Cared Much For Ohio

2009-08-16T14:56:00.003-04:00

You are quite the chameleon
or yet, still... a snake.

Perhaps a Trojan horse
but you are no gift

Not even to yourself.
A shell with a smile

in a poisoned mouth
who's teeth need knocked out.

You boil my blood and choke my veins
though I've never met you.

Saint Michael will hear me
if ever I do.

She has blonde hair

2009-04-14T19:18:00.002-04:00

now. A little boy
with a stick too big
in a field. Alone.
Walks. Walking
toward something
for nothing.
Dreams. Doesn't listen
runs anyway
and falls. Hard.
Cuts his knee.
Cries. Little fist
still clenched
around that stick.
It's why he fell.
It helps him up.
For now. Until
he throws it away.
With both hands.
Farther in his head
then where it lands.
He cries. Again.
It was his favorite stick.

2009-04-07T13:20:00.003-04:00

No poem yet, but I found out something rather hilarious today. The high school that I graduated from is allowing dancing at their prom/spring fling for the first time in school history. That's pretty progressive of them. Still, it's hilarious. Never thought I'd live to see the day.

Sometimes this is the only vent I have

2009-04-02T00:39:00.002-04:00

This isn't a poem, sadly. This time of year always creeps up on me. There's a little clock that subconsciously ticks away the days until April 3. It's been this way for four years now. Four years from tomorrow. Four years since my father passed away. I'm not writing this for any ones sympathy. I'm not really sure why i'm writing this at all. Most likely because I tried to go to sleep over an hour ago and instead of sleeping i found myself sobbing like a child. Snot coming out and everything. Only, no one around around to wipe my face. Good thing I'm old enough to do it myself. But I don't think I'll ever be "old" enough not to break down in tears over this. Probably normal, they'd say. There are way more people out there who have had to deal with tragic events in their life. Far more tragic than the loss of a parent. I don't envy them, and my grief doesn't even scratch their surface. Fortunately, I'm not writing this for them. I'm writing this for me, because expressing emotion and communicating with someone, though likely only myself at this point, helps. Sure, i could call someone and ball my eyes out on the phone, but there's only one person who's seen me cry over the loss of my father, aside from the folks actually at the funeral, and I'd like to keep it that way. Call it maintaining some semblance of a macho male ego or call it silly, I don't care. Friends are great, and their sympathy and concern mean the world, there's just no point in "burdening" them with my emotional baggage, if you will, in this situation. Even after writing this little bit I'm tempted to just delete it all because I feel marginally better. But i won't. I'll leave it up here for the "world" to see. They won't judge me, and their opinion of me won't change. The world's that is. Mostly because this "world" is pretty limited since this blog isn't on any mainstream watch list.

I'm reminded of my father a lot. Not every day. Sometimes not every week. I find myself crying at a lot of movies or tv shows. Even ones that don't specifically employ the loss of a father. Any sort of strong dramatic emotional climax has an opportunity to bring a tear to my eyes. Guess the writers are doing a good job. Most likely it's because everyone in the world can empathize with strong emotional situations. I'm not hopped up on anti-depressants, enclosed in a dark cave, or suicidal. Though my mother may argue that i don't open the blinds in my half of the house ever and calls me a reptile. I prefer it cold and dark. Not likely a warning sign of severe psychological issues, but i'm sure I could persuade a therapist enough to write me some prescription. That's the seldom seen cocky and arrogance in me that presumes to be smart enough to mess with the mind of a psychologist. Though medicating society seems to be a popular thing. I'm not a big fan of medicine. I sidetracked myself a bit there. I'd have to say that perhaps the most recurring issue I have with having lost my father is the missed opportunities. Not remembering having told him I loved him. Feeling guilty for the times of my teenage angst where I hated him and thought him a horrible person. He wasn't a saint by any religious standard, but it's more than fair to say he was a great man. That's what saddens me is that I never really paid any attention to that fact until after he was gone. I took him for granted. The past is the past, do not dwell on it. Yes, I know this. I'm a smart guy but I'm also very passionate about the people in my life. My father was the same way. He always helped. He did whatever he could for whoever he could. Gave anything he could to anyone who needed it. I inherited that from him, along with the lack of a chin, bad knees, and strange powers for growing facial hair. I inherited some other things, but those are the "important" ones. ha. I regret the moments I fell short. I suppose I've learned to appreciate people in my life more but not always. I don't do a great job of telling people how much I appreciate them, but I try.

I just needed to get that off my chest. I'm going to go see him tomorrow and I'll cry then. I went to see him last week too and cried and thought about people in my life that never got to meet my father. He would like you.

Hungry

2009-03-17T02:27:00.002-04:00

2 am with Roads and Radio
one reminding me of you more
than the other
Nick's patio
24 hour diner
Jerry Springer
appetizer combo
and corned beef sandwich
they must have stole
that mixed tape
i made you
raspberry ice tea
Just one song away from Ironic

in progress

2009-03-13T21:42:00.000-04:00

a single drop, almost a tear,
racing down her face
from matted strands of hair,
catches me falling

for her, stepping in
from the shower.
Perfect while dripping,
despite her protests.

Her words became mine
Infecting without cure
Without desiring one
Subconciously stolen

A gift. A whisper. A smile.

2009-01-22T17:04:00.000-05:00

Now that school is back in session, I may have more time and/or motivation to write. We shall see.

The Left and Couch

2008-12-04T19:47:00.002-05:00

Hello cold black snap.
As I close my eyes
and decide which
has better dreams...
Tucked warmth
beneath frustration.
Strangling down
choke hold
rolling over
empty breaths,
jackhammering puddles
of potential, wasted.

2008-09-22T01:22:00.002-04:00

Lake M

Sad fountain no longer working
from an empty bench
even with me sitting on it
Full of thoughts and algae

No ducks to feed with words
barely a ripple or bubble
to catch my gaze
and break the stillness.

Were there always flowers
I never sat on that side.
Still, a smile, always there,
never quite alone.

2008-05-11T11:24:00.002-04:00

Slightly frightened by giants
leaning down to my level
near sighted bastards
apparently I couldn't see beyond
the rails of my crib
or understand english.
What the hell were you saying
high pitched coochi coos
Just give me a colorful toy
and some lousy food
or pick my chunky butt up
I'll spit on you for taking so long
sleep for half an hour
I don't want that sock on
even if it is cold.
That's why i threw it at you
I look ridiculous in layers
my sandal doubles as a telephone
No it's not cute,
damnit.

2008-04-28T11:04:00.003-04:00

My hopes sway lifelessly
from the gallows.
too strong to break the neck
but the woven doubts
have started their slow choke.

2008-04-27T13:35:00.002-04:00

There's an ache inside
almost a sadness.
I feel broken
and longing.
and guilty.
consumed.
distracted.
alone.
lost.

2008-04-26T21:41:00.002-04:00

Curled up next to an empty bowl
with a book and a blanket.
Window cracked open...

Is the first time I was jealous
of Chef Boyardee.
It had nothing to do with cooking.
She was wearing a t-shirt
almost too small
faded yellow from coin laundry
and discount detergent.
Boy shorts.
Warm ravioli with meat sauce
in her mouth.
I used to make her smile like that.

2008-04-23T16:44:00.003-04:00

Have you ever thought of girls
as being chameleons?
Absorbing the beauty around them
or enhancing it?

I've exhausted myself figuring
them out, understanding,
listening, watching, and failing
to capture anything.

It's like catching a shooting star
in the lens of your camera.
If you're lucky it looks like
a smudge of light.

The struggle to know more
will always motivate me
but like wild creatures
the danger increases.

The closer you get,
distacted by them,
the greater the chance
you will disappear.

2008-04-22T21:54:00.002-04:00

He pulled his groin
from another long day

another bad day
a typical day, really.

Couldn't feel anyone
smiling on him

caring how his day went
caring how he was.

But unsure if that is why
the day was bad

or if it just added to it.
A constant dulling

of the senses.
he brought it on himself

and he deserved it
everything else was just a reminder.

Letting In

2008-04-21T13:40:00.007-04:00

Expensive vases get broken
when you let people inside.
Not that they are careless.
You did, after all, invite them.
They do not tend after,
the same way you do.
They will dust differently,
the deeper they walk in.
Admiring your art,
disapproving of your messes,
indifferent or abhorant of your
brown suede sofas.
It is a necessary rape.
A violation of your comfort.
Though not from a stranger.
Only true masochists would
allow for that.
There is no preparation
as you accompany them
on their way out the door,
your blanket in their arms.
Hoping it will keep them warm.

2008-04-20T22:57:00.002-04:00

a quiet lake bench
carrying on conversations
with albino mallards
and a beautiful girl
warm hand on her knee
through cut up jeans
fingers playing with the frays
too cold for sandals...

dodging damp willow branches
there could be alligators
in the Midwest
some unwanted pet
returned to nature
for a better chance

grabbing a cherry blossom
and taking it in
on the walk back
how many loves
has that lattace
been witness to
i wonder

Breakfast

2008-04-19T21:13:00.004-04:00

brilliant fingers of color
stretched across a cloudless sunrise.

a morning dove races shadows
over orange tinted grass.

walking on gravel
to grab the paper.

exhaling a smile of fresh air,
she is on your mind.

remembering her lips
taste like cookies.

chocolate chip or peanut butter.
either. with creme and sugar
coffee.

pure, a vibrant center,
yellow, a daisy.

pink ribbons,
curled around wet stems.

an old wooden tray.
apple juice and cinnamon toast.

kisses on the cheek.
one on the lips.

2008-04-17T21:45:00.002-04:00

Too tired to write
is a weak excuse

Lack of inspiration
is too cliche

Does it matter
who will read this

I've already failed
a few days

Maybe nothing at all
is better than poor attempts

I should focus
instead of Ninja Warrior

One more
make that two

another dollar in the drawer
music to my ears

2008-04-16T16:14:00.002-04:00

Swallowing is a big deal
but what girl says that out loud
in a computer lab.
Or claims that she gives
the best blow jobs.
How is that measured
Is the quantity of partners
enough grounds
to make that claim
or is the quality determined
by other methods.
If it were true
is it a wonder her boyfriend
won't return the favor.

She has been fooled
to believe in reciprocation.
He has found the winning
lottery ticket.

I Know You're Good...

2008-04-16T16:02:00.004-04:00

but what do you want to drink?
Jonathan the Bartender slurred,
in a humorous tone
backed with lustful wishes
as his eyes finally made
their way up to her face.
I don't blame him.
I don't know his name
but he looks like a Jonathan.
At least, like one i know
though the similarities exit there
behind the curtained bar
door window.
Curiously he ends up
walking past her,
as she bends over
to make the shot,
or miss. Either way
she doesn't notice him
staring at her ass.
I don't blame him
for that either.

2008-04-14T16:22:00.002-04:00

Frustration is writing.
I could not persuade
three little pigs
with a pen full of mud
or a roasted wolf dinner
at this point.
Poetry is a forced innovation
of expressing old lies.
Being an author, allegedly,
is a right to lie.
I plead truth is easier,
if I could entice
anyone enough to care.
Most would accuse
it a lie anyway:
me claiming to write
about the truth.
Instead I'll elaborate
as these fallacies
feign intelligence
with auto-biographical
fiction. Illustrator
unknown.
.

random stuff

2008-04-12T22:32:00.002-04:00

Thirty two ounces
of Monster
before a nap.
Then the coma hit.

Arbor mist at two
in the afternoon.
No, I'm not an alcoholic
just bored sober.

I'd rather watch Star Wars
than go to a party. God,
I'm a nerd aren't I?
Don't answer that.

The last thing you need is an ass
for me to stare at.
I get that in the mirror
every morning.

Quite a refreshing slap
in the nuts with a toothbrush.
I should have hit snooze
at least one more time.

2008-04-10T21:24:00.002-04:00

Drenched from the laces
down, head tilted away
embarassed from the annoyance
of liquid needles,
nature's anesthetic.

The throbbing rain
reminds me of walking
in the dark to see your
fear of thunderstorms.
Teasing you for it,
masking my own thoughts
of perilous tragedy.
Lighting clarifies that fear
as thunder squeezes
my hand even tighter.

Insecurity

2008-04-09T15:37:00.005-04:00

The flip on my phone is worn
from looking for you.
I am obsessed with knowing
your thoughts, feeling
your heart, and breathing
your spirit,
constantly.

Torn from restraint
I have to wonder
if I am on your mind.
Encased in desperation,
I wonder and I doubt
reality.

Like an infant
I am weak and curious.
My patience is barren,
waiting for you
to forgive, to satisfy,
my irritating nature.

a response poem, of sorts

2008-04-08T16:28:00.003-04:00

In an uncomfortable chair
scanning piles of poems,
across from perfection...

I am reading her, again
and I can't put her away.
She is undefineable.

Stealing a glance
from my reading
I catch her smiling.

Their words are worthless now.
maybe masterpieces, erased
from staring through her.

Beautiful is cliche.
Her eyes sparkle...
Does she notice, I wonder?

I care
and she is happy.

Another poem for class

2008-04-07T16:41:00.000-04:00

Fowl Foal
after Danse Macabre by Norman Dubie

A worn saddle was perched on a rotten fencepost
on the edge of a field of spinach.
Pop-eyes, the old men called them, flowery
heads that only scarecrows would
mind…

No one at Cliff’s garage
could ever recall a car
crashing into a horse’s skull. Sure enough,
the tire had blown, skidded
through the fence
and plowed through the barn.

Had it been April, someone
could have helped put out the fire.
As the car exploded like a gunshot,
violent black smoke choked the air.
Blowing the stench from its nostrils
a lone foal whinnied,
then smiled and pranced
with the methodical movements
of a marionette –

Its cruel smile for the true irony.

2008-04-04T14:24:00.002-04:00

Expressions can kill
the one person
you would die for

Leaving yourself vulnerable
a slap in the face
from your own hand

It is best to leave
some words unpaged
than to break a heart

you value above your own.
Don't pass the pain along
because you are weak.

Deal with it yourself.
Write something worth more
than the time you spent on it

2008-04-03T08:05:00.003-04:00

Three years....
I can barely remember
what you look like
without going through old shoeboxes
Greyish green sideburns
you said were from glasses worn
for forever, too long.
Trying to listen to you is harder
That answering machine
is a dusty box neighbor to a VCR.
I almost erased it
and gave it to a girl.
You would have liked her.

2008-04-02T16:52:00.003-04:00

I'm gonna try to do a poem a day since it's poetry month and all. I doubt any masterpieces will be produced, but maybe a good idea or two and a couple nice lines.

My attempt at something disturbing...

2008-03-31T21:55:00.001-04:00

Her moments counted
by drops of blood
as they collided
with my outstretched palm.

Each ripple shattering
flourescent light above,
her reflection closer to beautiful
than she had ever been.

Blushing my fingertips
and painting my tongue
with her tasteless life,
in one single stroke.

A faint red line
traced on the back of my hand
from wiping my lips...
What was her favorite color?

2008-03-26T16:03:00.003-04:00

untitled

You are what i breathe
in those moments
before sleep blinds my eyes,
closed for the night.

Dreams doing justice
to you, staring
through to my soul
and wrapped around me.

It feels good to be held
in your eyes that way.
Like tulips filled with morning dew
waiting to grow.

Twists and turns to face you.
The beautiful ringing in my nostrils
from the smell of your hair in my face.
Lost in clouds of disbelief

A shame to wake up
without your gentle whisper
drowning out my snores.
Another dream for later.

Rough Working

2008-03-24T16:34:00.001-04:00

Humanitarian Masquerade

Over dressed aesthetics,
drizzled puree of tuxedo ties and tails
on a plate of inherited rights for hob knobbing.

Philanthropy party pretences,
allowed as socially acceptable
Black, Straight, jackets.

Prestige takes precedence.
Excused with hollow words
spoken to earnest ears.

Enough to feed egos
Of sons of fathers with less
Than good intentions.

Green Dream Theory RVSD

2008-03-24T16:33:00.000-04:00

Green Dream Theory

Solar panel
powered sex
dream catcher.
Black light bulbs
and Bud light bowling
tripped over the hydroelectric light
switch on my hydroponic
vegetable garden fish tank.
I fucked a black boxer
pit bull mix
tape.
It was organic
and PETA cleaned it up
with 100% recycled tissue
box covers, crocheted
with aborted newborn
yak’s hair yarn.
Bio-diesel brain damage
on the soy bean bus
route because my bike broke
up in the carpool lane
change on the way
to protest Greenpeace
protesters.

Going Home Revised

2008-03-05T15:26:00.003-05:00

Going Home

Anarchy symbol
on a frozen glass
right of passage.
Poorly drawn
with a now cold, dirty finger.
This is college?
It was cold,
but not only because he said so.
Empty...
Seems like home
with concrete décor.
A welcomed change of pace
without looking down.
Walking out,
walking in bitter rhythm
with the snow
and the familiar howl,
unlocked.

In The Works

2008-03-03T19:07:00.005-05:00

Green Dream Theory

Solar panneled sex dream

inspired by black light bowling

and Bud Light.

I fucked a black boxer

pit bull mix.

It was organic

and cleaned up nicely

with 100% recycled tissue.

Bio-diesel brain damage

on the bus route.

Masticate into your own

methane maddness.

Huffing shit

sounds spectacular

if you have that kind of time

and dedication.

what i'm currently working on...

2008-02-29T23:39:00.001-05:00

Headstone

He was middle class
An army earned GED
and SAT is what he did
in the recliner with a cold one in his hand
He could fix almost anything
Especially after God
damned it twice,
it fucked a few mothers
and was almost always a son
of a bitch
When it was a cock sucker
you knew things were going well.
I always wanted to help
and quickly learned
that "piece of shit" meant
we were going to the hardware store.
again.

Finished product from Random Inspiration

2008-02-27T15:51:00.003-05:00

It's a Date

I cut myself,
on the Ides of March,
shaving.
Et tu,
Brutal backstabber,
wrenching your 3 inch heel
from my back.
Too bad a
2-ply, extra strong,
super soft,
with aloe,
jagged-edge bandage
couldn't stop that wound
from bleeding.
Black shirt,
blue jeans
and body spray.
Kiss a Crucifix
for luck.
Fuck it.
Go get laid.
Confession is Saturday.

Going Home

2008-02-27T15:31:00.001-05:00

Anarchy symbols on a steamed glass hallway
I thought this was college

He said it was cold
because of the emptiness

or was it the temperature
or both

Seems like home to me
only with less décor

A welcomed change of pace
without looking over my shoulder

Keeping bitter rhythm with the snow
and the howl is not imagined this time

It was worth the trip
In spite of the absent

Worth it because of that really
Because just being isn’t enough

Neither is just being here
It took some doing too

Underground Avenue

2008-02-27T15:29:00.000-05:00

These muck lined tunnels
teach a history lesson
that stains my hands.
Spirit dampened

worse than my socks.
Endless incremental sloshes
in slimy darkness.
Blindness is my companion.

If only my nose were blind.
Catching a fish-market fragrance
or fresh worm feces.
Both equally unpleasant.

Enraptured at the cliché up ahead,
my eyes adjust.
Only to be welcomed
by tripping

on acid rain.

Delusional

2008-02-27T15:25:00.001-05:00

A back forty blank slate
for imagination
But don’t go past the fence!
Too late…
Ghosts in the graveyard
You can still hear them
Everyone’s army
but no one really died
Hide and seek
The older kids must have cheated
Tree fort raids and
Swinging vines
Explorations
and archaeological digs
Nothing but Indian beads
and arrow heads
How could that be?
We were always cowboys

rough draft from random inspiration

2008-02-27T00:47:00.000-05:00

untitled

I cut myself
on the Ides of March
Shaving
Et tu
Brutally us
Too bad a
2-ply, extra strong,
super soft,
with aloe
jagged-edge bandage
couldn't stop my heart
from bleeding.
Black shirt,
blue jeans.
Kiss the Crucifix.
For luck.
Fuck it.
Get laid.
Confession is Saturday.