Jump Start

I feel the pounding in my heart

The music is the pacemaker that

starts my heart pounding again. . .

A mystical experience in the midst

of a dark, smoky Crowded House?

How ridiculous!

 

I let the music take over my body

As the crows evaporates.

All I could hear was the music.

Feel the beat of the drum

My body sways back

My arms wrap around me.

 

The lights come on and

I am surrounded

by strangers.

Where is my friend,

the cool darkness of night?

Outside the door,

I breathe again,

And the heat speeds away

from my body.

Dissapating into the cold night air.

 

Alone and safe,

The music begins again.

I journey inward while

The music follows like a

faithful companion.

The night sky

streaked with clouds

Delights my senses

As the music stirs

through my existence

and ignites my Soul.

 

15 April 1994

For MES

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Geometry

Just when I was getting accustomed

to the unimaginable ideas

of bizarre triangles

of all shapes,

I soon realized that this is

not the problem.

The problem is,

in fact,

the circles

that never end. . .

They just keep tempo with the

melody that happens to be

playing at the moment.

 

The melody that seduces you into believing

any thing. . .

any lie. . .

any hope. . .

The rhapsody that moves you,

fills your lungs with fire,

sends you pirouetting toward the edge.

The mournful chorus that sends

your heart plunging to the rocks below.

 

But can I,

in good faith,

place the blame on a song?

on a shape?

Can I lay responsibility at

your feet and then walk away?

 

The triangles may have fallen

into place by circumstance.

But we have the onus

to break the cycles

before we,

ourselves,

shatter. . .

15 January 1994

 

First Encounter

I enter into the windy chamber

I sit, dutifully and take my place.

Waiting, watching, discreetly.

You enter my view.

I try not to stare.

To glance your way. . .

          But I do.

I smile and look away hurriedly,

afraid to meet your glance

You parade before me,

my heart begins to panic.

I try not to look interested,

to concentrate on my scrolls.

to seem cool and aloof outside.

But my true feelings burn —

like white heat inside.

 

30 January 1992

For MES

 

Lines written at the Hospital

I am here,

sitting cross-legged

on your bed,

staring out and seeing nothing —

except you lying in your bed

at the hospital.

 

I see your old

faded teddy bear

on your dresser.

I wish you were

that wide-eyed child

in awe of the mysteries

of the world.

 

The crisp white blanket

and the chambray sheets

on your bed

are rough against my skin.

I pull my knees to my chest

and rest my head

against my knees.

 

I do not think I have ever felt

such pain in my Soul.

I used to think it was

empty and dark

inside

but now it aches

from seeing you hurt so

body mangled and distorted.

 

My mind is numbed

by the thought of your pain

and the strength you have

to go on, despite the pain.

 

My heart sinks when

I think of how

you have hated this life

so much that it led you to this.

But what keeps you

chained to this shallow existence?

 

I have been told

time and again

that love heals all things;

however,

my past, future, and present

are ever-affected by

your presence in my life.

How can healing begin when

you will not let my love

seep deep within your being?

 

Spring 1994

Lines written while grieving

To MHS

Independence Day

I have started to feel the effects of “industrialized nations” that have as a main asset, not the person but computers and technology — swift and fold.  We are no longer knows as Jim or Janet but a nine digit number.  The hearts of office workers are as cold and sterile as the offices where they work.

What dis-ease!  Everyone is a cheap imitation of the next pseudo-fashion statement “dreamt” but stolen from “fashion magazines”.

Is it all really necessary?  People push buttons, write down numbers, make phone calls, but it all seems so meaningless.  Life would still go on without insurance, without sports, magazines, and without real estate.  But how?

People need water, food, shelter, and love.  Ahh, the one necessity we (almost all) cannot seem to find — no matter how long we travel, no matter what we learn.

Yes, the rest is nice, but what happens to people when things fall. . . stock markets, bankrupt companies, cities, or corrupt governments?

3 July 1991

completed 23 April 1994

 

 

Untitled #6

I think of you so often

It feels only normal.

But when the sun sets

Behind the horizon

My thoughts are bedeviled by you.

I think of you. . .

Seeing you again

Holding you close

Being with you.

I close my eyes and listen

I hear your voice

I long for that meeting that

Will never happen

Except when I slumber

Why am I haunted by your memory?

Do you really mean anything to me?

Or, more correctly,

What do I mean to you?

I think of you and

Dream of how much you miss me?

Then I worry if you really ever

Cared at all.

You have not proclaimed your feelings.

I begin to panic

Is this feeling only a monologue

In my mind?

I wish I had the answers that

Distress me so.

No clues are revealed

From behind the ancient

Walls that will never crumble.

I am waiting for eternity

Locked in

A circle of darkness.

Summer 1991

 

Lines Written in Exile

CRASH

BANG

THE BOTTOM FELL OUT

CLOUDS

RAIN

THE STORM IS RAGING INSIDE

AND I CANNOT GET AWAY

I WANT OUT

I WANT SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN.

SOMETHING TO TAKE THIS WORLD AWAY

WHEN DOES IT STOP?

WHEN DO THE TEARS DRY UO?

JUST ONCE, I WOULD LIKE OT SEE

THIS RAINBOW THAT THEY SAY EXISTS.

 

IS ANYTHING REAL?

NOTHING LASTS

EXPECT PAIN. . .

IT JUST SUBSIDES FOR A BRIEF

MOMENT AND THEN SWELLS OVER THE BANKS

AND MY EMOTIONS FLOOD OVER.

 

II AM SWEPT AWAY BY THE NIGHTMARE.

SERENITY IS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.

NOT EVEN IN THE RECESSES OF MY MIND.

PEACE IS ONLY SOMETHING THAT

MONKS AND PRIEST PRAY FOR

AND MAN KEEPS US FROM.

ME?

I CANNOT WORRY ABOUT PEACE

I HAVE MY OWN BATTLES TO

FIGHT WITH THE DEMONS

THAT KEEP ME AWARE OF HOW FAR

FROM RESOLUTION I AM.

I SINK BACK DEEPLY

INTO THE QUARANTINE.

PESTILENCE SEEPS UNDER EVERY DOOR

WAITING AROUND EVERY CORNER TO ATTACK

AND DRAG MY WEARY FLESH INTO THIS HELLISH PIT CALLED LIFE.

 

DECEMBER 1992