Posts Tagged ‘write’

SHIT – Memories lost – A Poem

I am losing my mind.

I realize.

Not a good place, I know,
I might be high.

Slowly, at first,
Trying to remember,
Hold onto pieces,
A typewriter dinging,
Page end,
To become young once again.

That is the beginning of the piece,
The end I cannot see,
Possibly over this next hill.
Down this ravine?

Drift in,
Drift out,
Wandering pleasently through bogs of shi…
Can I say shit?
Should I say shit?

What is today’s date?

Are we leaving a good world?

Will anyone care when we leave this mortal plane?

There on the mountain,
Or was it all a dream?
Was this life a dream?


Maybe it was,
Maybe it is,
All a dream,
Wake up,
You dreaming fuck,
World explodes,
Impossible things,
Is there a Heaven?
Hell is being trapped in this meat case,
Losing your mind,
One memory at a time,
Depressed to the point,
But fade away again,
Into mindless wanderings,
Into darkness.



There before the storm,
Madness rage,
In peaceful pain,
A reminder,
To us,
That we still live.

Fathers tell their children lies,
It ain’t that great,
To grow old inside.

Moving past,
Places we went,
Past lovers,
Now swept into graves.

What time is it?


A clean razor,
There in the sink,
Reminds us,
Should we shave?




Who are you?

Who am I?




I cannot run,
There is no forest,
Through the trees,
Can we go back,
To a time,
To hold your hand,
To kiss,
A park,
In bloom,


Walking through a dream.

A nightmare possibly.

Mindful of that being,
But lost,
Memories will pass,
Not written down,
In fear,
That someone will read,
To discover,
That shame,
Buried in a bog,
Never to be known,
Except by those,
To read,
To love,
To hate,
To give up.


There, peace,
The nurse,
Walking down the hall,
She stops,
Comes in.
Good day,
Are you fine?

I don’t reply.


She sticks me.


Dreamless sleep,
For tonight,
To arise,
To not remember,
Down the hall.
Door slams.
Trapped inside,
This meat bag.
Wanting to cry,
But only laugh.



The silence of the madness,
Brewing inside our minds,
Sitting on a beach,
Looking out to sea,
Is there life out there,
Beyond these pearl shores?

The mind wandering,
Should we be afraid to die,
If only lonely is our best friend?

Grip the madness,
Into Flies,
Dead eyes,
My mind,
Trying to get the shit out.

Reality isn’t real,
Fall to your knees,
To prey,
To be prey,

By Godless whores,
Good bye,
Are you still alive?
In God,
We trust?
Or vilianize?

In mired muck,
Dragging us down,
Should we be afraid to die?
Should we live in pain,
A restless life?
A driving rage,
In that machine of war.

There in the darkness,
We did stand,
Our backs held tight against the wall,
The rifles against our chests,
Heart beats pounding hard,
Against that flesh,
Bombs bursting over head,
The life draining from those fallen victims,
Pieces of flesh thrown into the wind,
To land upon us,
We are silent,
Sweat dripping to the ground,
To mix with the blood,
We did not start the fight,
We wanted to run,
But instead,
Some of us died,
In here,
Our minds.
Our bodies.
Our souls.
Sent to bad places there.
To Hell.
For a Coca-Cola.

The sand,
Stained red,
Never to be the same,
Not for that moment,
Seeing the fallen,
Who shall never see the sun rise again.
There is no victory in that…..

I never know what to write about.

I’ve had teachers tell me to write what I know.

I know nothing so it should be easy to pick a topic.

99.9 percent of the time I settle into my chair, plopped dutifully in front of the TV set, an apple juice or rotten gin sit next to my hand, one finger typing, random stuff, the stuff unpublishable by most mainstream venues.

I try to write about pop subjects which turn into recipes for bean soup; a piece about my childhood memories out on the creek fishing turns into a poem about two women walking down a lonely street at 3 o clock in the morning.


My mind goes zing and zang then zoom, into the cosmos, to freely drift among the insanity.

The women still keep moving down the street drunkly, their purses slinged across their shoulders, tripping forward, laughing as they stumble forward, catching themselves on the backs of invisible angels.

Man at the bar; suicidally overjoyed with his life lessons, cast aside from time, the world laughs in his face as he nurses his gin and tonic.

The bartender, a sister to the world, pours him another without even asking.

“I’ll keep pouring till I see your eyes twinkling!” She smiled.

The world could be seen just by sitting at that bar; brides-to-be fancy dresses, their mothers at the bar, drinking beer, smiling, wondering when their little girls grew up.

So here it is, 2 years later, I’m still wandering through my mind, trying to figure out life, apple juice the choice of drink, the TV blaring softly in the background to keep myself amused.

I’ve tried sitting at a desk, the dead silence of the room unsettling my mind, madness settles in, begins to move into the words.

“Harry the Pigeon was a lovely bird, making his nest in a high rise business complex in New York City!” The dog interjects. “He could go on great adventures!”

She could be right.

I think about sleeping, wandering through its streets at 3 am, looking for an idea.

Memories poke their demon-like heads from the alleyways, the bars, the dirty spoons of dives, the whorehouses, and watch as I walk by, cursing me under their breath as I walk by, growling softly, flipping me off.

Vanessa was some random character in most dreams since I was a kid; she was tall, a beauty in both looks and in soul.

When I was a child, we would play, in fields of gold, a bright blue sky above, the grass tickling our feet, our arms outstretched, our hands clasped around each other as we spun each other around, dizzyly we fell to the ground, giggling.

As I grew up, there in that same field, we made love.

We went to the beach, walked down the sandy beach, hand in hand, it was the beautiful time.

Then she died.

Even in the land of the unicorn fairy tales, death doesnl not take a holiday.

He’s an evil prick.

She would come back but only as a teasing vision; a ghost, there in the field, on the beach, there in our house, the one foreclosed on, and I was happily sad each time I saw her.

Even there in my dreams, I found myself going crazy, bit by bit, rolling down the drain, the whirlpool pulling me down.

We all travel through stormy seas, at some time.

The other times, the seas are calm and peaceful.

But even during the calms, there never seems to be peace.

Here I am, at 12 am, writing about myself, my imaginary self, drifting through dreamland, chasing after a ghost.

dude-wait-what-stoned-kitty-pedro-8122726Today seems like a good day to write about something positive, to skip over such icky subjects like homeless people, Political crap and other misfits trying to rule the world, natural disasters at a seemingly increasing level but we all know that climate change is a myth, and other crap hitting the media door right now.

So today, my friends, I decided to write about happy butterflies but apparently Google thinks happy butterflies equals stoned kitties and why not.

I wish I was stoned right now.

It would help in my writing, like:


I don’t really feel like writing poetry or a serious posts, though, those do get hits from my general followers and Google searchers alike.

Hi Google searchers, how are you?


Awesome!! Me too!!!


Yes I am!! I overdosed my diet Coke with many shots of energy stuff at the soda fountain and am feeling awesome.


Course, I made the mistake of turning over to the news and well, my buzz is still going, thank you very much!!!

So anyways, glad you’re still breathing and I am too!!!

Good night and have a better tomorrow, your friend,



On the Road to Lake Mahaka – 1986 – A semi true story

1986, June, my friends, John “Hawk” and Francis, decided to take a trip, our first road trip on our own, no fathers, no mothers, just us and the open road, heading to Lake Mahaka out in the wilderness.

17 and full of life, men on a journey to find themselves, the call of the wild.

We howled as we packed our clean underwear and such into the back of the truck.

“Do you have enough sandwiches?” my mom asked, as all moms do.

“We don’t need sandwiches! We are going to live off the land!!” I said, thumping my chest and grunting.

“I’ve put some sandwiches in the truck for you!” she said, sighing and then laughing softly.

I sighed.

We took off towards the horizon, our eyes filled with ideas of mountain men tales; fishing for the big trout in the lake, sweet raspberries for dessert.

“Did anyone bring a tent?”Hawk said as we were passing mile marker 75.

No one had.

“We won’t need a tent! We are rugged men!!” I said, grunting, a manly grunt.

Mile marker 85, the horrid sound of a police siren.

I pulled over.

“Boys, do you realize how fast you were going?” the officer said as he stood by the window.

“Uh, no officer…”

He sighed.

“I’m going to give you a warning, this time, but slow it down! You boys going fishing?” he said, looking in the back of the truck.

“We’re on a trip, rugged mountain men!!” we all said, grunting.

The officer smiled.

“Be careful out there boys, don’t die!!” he laughed and headed back to his police car.

We wouldn’t die!! We were men, manly men, hair on our chests, a few hairs on our chins.

We even had beer in the color; five cans!

Mile marker 95.

“I have to pee!! Pull over!” Francis whined.

“No! Hold out!” I growled.

“I can’t!!”

I sighed and pulled over.

And before I stopped, we heard a psst.

“Flat!” Hawk growled.

No spare.

Our luck was going down hill.

15 miles to nearest gas station and a phone.

We flipped a coin to see who would hike back to the station.

Hawk lost.


A few hours later, a truck drove by and stopped.

“Uh…” Hawk hopped out, “My dad has a tire but it going to take him awhile to get here….”

“How long?”

“Not till tomorrow morning!”

We were still 75 miles from our camp site.

“Are we real men yet?” Francis almost cried.


Two of us hunkered down in the front seat of the truck, the sleeping bags gathered about us as we tried to fall asleep in an awkward position.

Francis won the back of the truck, in the bed.

2 am his won turn into a loss.

Thunder storm, 3 hours, he shivered in the shower, soaked to the bone.

“Next time, I’ll sleep under the truck!” he growled in the morning, trying to shaking himself dry, failing miserably.

A few minutes later, Hawk’s dad showed.

“How are the real men doing?” he almost laughed.

We almost cried.

Tired changed.

“What do you wanna do?” I asked the other two.

“GO HOME!!” they shouted in unison.

We were on our way home without debate!!!

I walk through the darkness, eyes wide open, mouth singing songs never meant to sing.This is life, from the bottom up, down inside, over and out, life is about everything.
I awake, breathing, eyes wide open, once again, singing about life.

There is a road, leading up into the sky, to grasp the sky, to breathe the air free.
We are nothing, we are everything, this is it, eyes seeing, mind knowing.
We are everything, we see it all, ran to the end, walked till our feet bleed, we are we.

Were are you sister? Were are you brother?
Were are you my dear wife, gone to heaven forever and ever?

The body is dying, the soul is fleeing, this is the end, my only friend.
Where are you? Gone to battle, to find your meaning in life, to find that which means the most?

Money, sex, drugs, everything, nothing is worth the end of it all.
I shall meet you at the hill, the huge tree snaking its way over us, grasping us, holding us.

Death become us.

Where do we go?




I love you dearest one, till we meet again, I am here, there, everywhere.





I am alive, and well, breathing forever, till the end of time.

We shall become one with the alive.


Walking down the road, eyes to the ground, spirit to the Heavens,I keep moving and the breath still ushers forth, for I am alive,
Alive in this world, alive to see another day, another sunrise, sunset,
Walking forward and onward, feet to the ground, arms in the air,
This is life, perfect, not perfect, a great life in harmony of everything.

Life is moving, kissing, loving, seeing, hearing, back and forth, breath in, out,
Life is here, there, everything, nothing, the gaze of everyone from inside my head,
A kiss, loving in the fields of grass, embrace, night time, day time, every time, against the wind,
Moving forward through space, into blind open sight.

The time is near to contemplate everything, Gods listen as I scream into the dark,
Tears rolling down my eyes,
This is life,
Death and life, embrace into everything.

Everyone dies.
It’s okay…