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

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

Miles Davis turned 85

The jazz man's needle
hits the grooves
with a blow to the horn
undressing ladies with his melodies
making the men enviest
of his brass
with one mesmerizing solo
he makes the crowd feel lost
the only thing they know
is the glass containing
an adult beverage is their's
the walls the lights the ambients
belongs to the jazz man
who is now taking encores
the crowd yield miles


LOW TIDE
last day of summer
the sun was setting
which was the source of the colors
purple yellow and orange
like in a vincent van goh painting

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

there was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hope 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 dissoluted 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 (Tt Tt TtTtTtTtTt Tt)
a wave of horns started to build
as it peaked they roared
engulfing me with everything that was clear
then it broke and carried me away

Motivation

Motivation

A set of earphones
Walks with a guitar strapped to his back,
Singing out to the morning streets.
Maybe inspired to write a song
That others would devour and then exhale on the world around them.

It’s like that one book at the beach that calls your name,
To be read;
Or that painting that forces you to pick up
a paint brush.
Will your creation be as
good as the motivation
that sat you down to create it?

Sharky's

safe haven for the rogue in us
dive bar with juke boxes selling cheap booze
dim lighting a smoke filled room
the rogue in us
knows the words
to the cover band playing
non smokers have a minascue room
away from the action
but atleast they don't have to breathe the
toxic smoke that will kill us all

some people are sitting at the bar
watching bulky heavy tv's
showing sport highlights
while a few play pool
most are standing dancing and shaking
music so loud you have to scream
in someone's ear
and if you stand next to the speaker
you become deaf
atleast you have plenty of cigarettes

the rogue in us
is glad he showered and shaved
but not everyone did
the rogue in us tries
but his failed attempts at
picking up the ladies
brings him back to the bar

the screen on the tv
starts to blur
Is that the beer
or tv the rogue in us wonders

high def is down the block
more expensive beer
and younger ladies
who haven't been forced into this

Alone buys the rogue in us
another beer
as he comes to the conclusion
he has been set free
from rejection
sometimes alone is a good friend
however his eyes still wander

a fight breaks out
no one not even the bouncers no the cause
the men have to leave their pool game
while others go back to the blurred tv

the clouds of smoke overhead stay there
like the last remaining filters on cigarettes
to fill up the landfills

the rogue in us
stands alone needing a taxi
to drive him home

Youth revolt in summer

Light the fuse
reach your arm back as far as it can go
throw then run
to catch the sky on fire
let ashes rain upon us
we will remember the simple things
as we rebuild from the top down

if we don't run inside to breathe
the artifical air from the air conditioner
we would burn outside
hell on earth
even the believers get a piece
still corrupt and unpure
man may try to extinguish the flames
but youth set themselves on hot
they run through the streets
with their clothes burning off
and hair on fire
waiting for the taste of cool refreshing liquid
that has turned into steam
we go inside but the youth revolt
heading for the shade
whatever is still left
the oceans, rivers, and streams
start to boil
they bubble like a jacuzzi
no one is safe
skyscrapers, to the top of trees, to the grass and soil below
feels like lava on bare feet

some speak of winter
some speak of spring
some remember of the river
as we all burn in the westend

The radical

the eye of the wild
maybe asking where would
life take them
radicals die alone
questioning authority
doesn't pay the bills
but you understand more then the business man

hear the wheels
on your one man transportation
the rubber hums with the on coming traffic
Academia can't see the city through your eyes

paint to canvas
uprising

and your dread locks will turn grey
but your way will stay in dreamers
speeches on their
soapbox
surrounded by their friends
holding cheap beer
and cigarettes