kick your heals up
celebrate
young babes speak the truth
dancing freely through the streets
we are drawn light flies to the neon lights
hangover from the love buzz
while we embrace one another
while touching cheek to cheek
our eyes will undress the obstacles
as rain falls from the sun
debating its place in our hearts
the heat source will be our souls
extending their hands to observers
to be loved on
some may drop their wallets and name brand clothes
some will whisper unity
when others just smile
for us all as one
boundaries of the mind
and heart are broken
as we teach the young our new laws
connected by 1 hope
who ever thought it could be this good?
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
6/7/11
This country is not taking care of our future. BY future I mean our kids as in their education.
Here we have two wars winding down and no talks on increasing our education budget.
Here is the thing there is no union for our students. There is no one to say that since the government isn't spending money on their facilities, textbooks, supplies etc. students will walk or strike. They can't do that, because they are not considered "adults" by society.
I was told school was my job when I was young. Maybe it is a job but students aren't given rights or being taken care of. These kids will be taken care of us in the future. They will be making the decsions. So this is what we can do for them. Write to a congressman or all of them for all I care. The website is www.house.gov. You may have to put in your zip code. As far as senators go you can look that up for yourselves.
Okay done venting
Here we have two wars winding down and no talks on increasing our education budget.
Here is the thing there is no union for our students. There is no one to say that since the government isn't spending money on their facilities, textbooks, supplies etc. students will walk or strike. They can't do that, because they are not considered "adults" by society.
I was told school was my job when I was young. Maybe it is a job but students aren't given rights or being taken care of. These kids will be taken care of us in the future. They will be making the decsions. So this is what we can do for them. Write to a congressman or all of them for all I care. The website is www.house.gov. You may have to put in your zip code. As far as senators go you can look that up for yourselves.
Okay done venting
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Hope I don't step on anybody toes 6/4/11
The stories I could tell would make me rich if they would sell. My experences would make the obedient rich man nervous. He thought I was "new money." After that I excuse myself from conversation. He then talked about how he bought a shotgun for the young men who vandalize. He wasn't happy with the response he got from the police.
I use to share the sentiment of the young men. My insecurities told me I would never be able to live in that neighborhood. Maybe it was jealousy. One thing is for sure, I didn't understand the fathers and their sons mentality.
Maybe there were more underlining factors to my troubles that surfaces in the military but I am not a doctor.
Success I question that everyday. I've always have. Is it the big house the nice car or speaking the language. If I had any of that I would probably get lost. Being disabled I find I don't take things for grant it like the once who seem to have everything going for them.
I am now self sustaining. NO kids, no wife but a one bed room apartment that I enjoy coming home to. I drive a car built in '97 that according to a menchanic can't drive the long trips but it gets me around town.
I've quit drinking except for the occassional glass of wine. Alcholism runs in my family and frankly I don't want to be a writing clique.
This is not an essay to tell you how great I am, but just to tell you I am thankful for my life, and the stories I have to tell.
I use to share the sentiment of the young men. My insecurities told me I would never be able to live in that neighborhood. Maybe it was jealousy. One thing is for sure, I didn't understand the fathers and their sons mentality.
Maybe there were more underlining factors to my troubles that surfaces in the military but I am not a doctor.
Success I question that everyday. I've always have. Is it the big house the nice car or speaking the language. If I had any of that I would probably get lost. Being disabled I find I don't take things for grant it like the once who seem to have everything going for them.
I am now self sustaining. NO kids, no wife but a one bed room apartment that I enjoy coming home to. I drive a car built in '97 that according to a menchanic can't drive the long trips but it gets me around town.
I've quit drinking except for the occassional glass of wine. Alcholism runs in my family and frankly I don't want to be a writing clique.
This is not an essay to tell you how great I am, but just to tell you I am thankful for my life, and the stories I have to tell.
A beach scene after hours
Ocean in the eyes like a thousand yard stare
can't see anything else for miles
lose focus to the shore
watch couple enjoying a sun set
kids skipping touching the water barely
with their toes
sea oats blow in the wind
men fish and have spent all day with their fishing rods
the water breaks and it is as white as the jet stream above
lyrics to a change of scenery
can't see anything else for miles
lose focus to the shore
watch couple enjoying a sun set
kids skipping touching the water barely
with their toes
sea oats blow in the wind
men fish and have spent all day with their fishing rods
the water breaks and it is as white as the jet stream above
lyrics to a change of scenery
Thursday, June 2, 2011
This is Low Tide again. I added a line, and I really need to know if I did agood job ornot
Low Tide
The night was beginning its reign
The only light starting to show were the stars
And the fiery red cherries on cigarettes
Providing a cloud of smoke
Which stood above couples sitting on blankets
The stench of love and hate was in the air
For this small southern town still segregated by race
Yet still some mixed things up
It looked like freckles on a southern girl
The show was free
There was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hopes and fears
Spoon feeding the crowd like babies in a high chair
With every new note it was a wound being healed
It was like the music was saying, “yeah I’ve been there.”
I was entranced with every piercing melody
The trumpet reached new heights
Of dissolute paradise
The saxophone bled contentment
And the manic drums, piano, and bass
Brought back the past like a slap in the face
The jazz band kept playing
And I couldn’t catch up
Then suddenly STOP
The members on stage smiled at each other
With a deep breath
There was a sound of a lone cymbal
A wave of horns started to build
As it peaked they roared
Engulfing me with everything that was clear
Finally it broke and carried me away
The night was beginning its reign
The only light starting to show were the stars
And the fiery red cherries on cigarettes
Providing a cloud of smoke
Which stood above couples sitting on blankets
The stench of love and hate was in the air
For this small southern town still segregated by race
Yet still some mixed things up
It looked like freckles on a southern girl
The show was free
There was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hopes and fears
Spoon feeding the crowd like babies in a high chair
With every new note it was a wound being healed
It was like the music was saying, “yeah I’ve been there.”
I was entranced with every piercing melody
The trumpet reached new heights
Of dissolute paradise
The saxophone bled contentment
And the manic drums, piano, and bass
Brought back the past like a slap in the face
The jazz band kept playing
And I couldn’t catch up
Then suddenly STOP
The members on stage smiled at each other
With a deep breath
There was a sound of a lone cymbal
A wave of horns started to build
As it peaked they roared
Engulfing me with everything that was clear
Finally it broke and carried me away
Sunday, May 29, 2011
untitled poem journal entry and a poem named the herd
spent so long in the darkness
that my brain slipped and fell
up side down
flat feet and subtle tattoos
proved I've walked through the fire
to see the light
the void made me question everything even you
tried to fill it with booze one night stands and lust
there is more darkness then there is light
it is easy to stray
your eyes may shut
but light shines through nature and the souls of the righteous
grab hold and we won't fall again
5/29/11
Sometimes there are two pigeons in the tree next to my balcony. Once a pigeon finds a mate, they are with them for the rest of their lives.
I observe them flirting in my tree. I think the male nudges his head on the female. As if he has to touch her and he can't keep still. The female flaps her wings as if she is embarassed by the male's advances. I can't see it but maybe she is blushing.
Maybe they wonder about the guy who is watching them on his balcony.
They eventaully fly away to another tree maybe to their nest or maybe to get privacy.
I haven't seen them for awhile. Maybe the female is pregnant, and the male spends his days finding food and comforting his mate.
The herd
Call for faith
When doubt simmers your brain
Prayer a predator
Distinguishes what is left
The spirit creates solid mentality
Its force gets us moving
Until it feels like a monsoon
Soaking wet
We go back to the herd
The shepherd never sleeps
We flourish with the clear stream
And vegetation
that my brain slipped and fell
up side down
flat feet and subtle tattoos
proved I've walked through the fire
to see the light
the void made me question everything even you
tried to fill it with booze one night stands and lust
there is more darkness then there is light
it is easy to stray
your eyes may shut
but light shines through nature and the souls of the righteous
grab hold and we won't fall again
5/29/11
Sometimes there are two pigeons in the tree next to my balcony. Once a pigeon finds a mate, they are with them for the rest of their lives.
I observe them flirting in my tree. I think the male nudges his head on the female. As if he has to touch her and he can't keep still. The female flaps her wings as if she is embarassed by the male's advances. I can't see it but maybe she is blushing.
Maybe they wonder about the guy who is watching them on his balcony.
They eventaully fly away to another tree maybe to their nest or maybe to get privacy.
I haven't seen them for awhile. Maybe the female is pregnant, and the male spends his days finding food and comforting his mate.
The herd
Call for faith
When doubt simmers your brain
Prayer a predator
Distinguishes what is left
The spirit creates solid mentality
Its force gets us moving
Until it feels like a monsoon
Soaking wet
We go back to the herd
The shepherd never sleeps
We flourish with the clear stream
And vegetation
Saturday, May 28, 2011
I revised Low Tide. It was written in Roanoke during Festival in the Park, I think when I was a freshman in high school
Low Tide
The night was beginning its reign
The only light starting to show were the stars
And the fiery red cherries on cigarettes
Providing a cloud of smoke
Which stood above couples sitting on blankets
The stench of love and hate was in the air
For this small southern town still segregated by race
The show was free
There was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hopes and fears
Spoon feeding the crowd like babies in a high chair
With every new note it was a wound being healed
It was like the music was saying, “yeah I’ve been there.”
I was entranced with every piercing melody
The trumpet reached new heights
Of dissolute paradise
The saxophone bled contentment
And the manic drums, piano, and bass
Brought back the past like a slap in the face
The jazz band kept playing
And I couldn’t catch up
Then suddenly STOP
The members on stage smiled at each other
With a deep breath
There was a sound of a lone cymbal
A wave of horns started to build
As it peaked they roared
Engulfing me with everything that was clear
Finally it broke and carried me away
The night was beginning its reign
The only light starting to show were the stars
And the fiery red cherries on cigarettes
Providing a cloud of smoke
Which stood above couples sitting on blankets
The stench of love and hate was in the air
For this small southern town still segregated by race
The show was free
There was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hopes and fears
Spoon feeding the crowd like babies in a high chair
With every new note it was a wound being healed
It was like the music was saying, “yeah I’ve been there.”
I was entranced with every piercing melody
The trumpet reached new heights
Of dissolute paradise
The saxophone bled contentment
And the manic drums, piano, and bass
Brought back the past like a slap in the face
The jazz band kept playing
And I couldn’t catch up
Then suddenly STOP
The members on stage smiled at each other
With a deep breath
There was a sound of a lone cymbal
A wave of horns started to build
As it peaked they roared
Engulfing me with everything that was clear
Finally it broke and carried me away
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)