Tag: poetry

Reality (Bleeding Ink)

They say you’ve got the future in a bowl…

A wicked glass

The potion is thick

The hangover will never last

They put you down

I Still don’t know

What am I-We?

Waiting for…(looking for)

A body

A heart like our own

Sky full of diamonds

Are we fading?

As we go through this life

How did you measure up,

To yourself?

My child,

Your days fly by

A thousand at a time

But these are your days (change in the pocket of time)

And you can change

We can change our minds

Throw it all in the waste basket

Throw it to the sky

You can be the rebel you wanted to be

You’re in the land of the living

Wake up
you can make it (if you can take it)

You can go it on your own

We all get the same hand of cards

We only get a life

How did you play it?

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Shattered Glass

.

And all of the kings horses and all of the kings men

Couldn’t put this heart on the mend

All of the music played

And all of the women danced

Around this room

Around this room

And this heart

Only see’s you

It remembers you

In that dress

In that moment

How do we let go ?

Of all of the things

Caught in the back of our throat ?

A father dies

You see your life before your eyes

The rain falls down

With the leaves

We all end up on the streets

Come winter

These days

This room is common

It’s windows open

Cold …

She never comes around

And all of my blues came from the north

They walk this house like shadows

Her lips were fire

Her eyes were wine

Let me go

Let me go

Let me go.

Rooms

The strangeness of letting go,

We always say it’s difficult

It seems the older I get

The less arranged it is

People are ripped from us in the night

We don’t get to say good bye

We don’t get to make sure they are ok…

The strangeness of letting go

we fight so hard every day just to stay …

While nothing in this room is permanent …

The moon Queen

They say, she left her heart open, in the rain…

Every Tuesday

She would pick her flowers

And write her songs

No one knows much about her

What she really thought

How she felt about things

They only remember her sadness and her tragedy

I like to think

I know what she felt,

Some nights

At 3am

I can hear her playing the piano

Its music fills the halls upstairs

Some nights

When the moon is full

And melancholy

You can see her window open

Her wide, deep, dark eyes

And her blue dress

Sometimes it’s white

But she’s only there for a minute

And then she’s gone

You might see her at the top of the stairs

Or entering someone’s room

Trying to find something she’s left behind

I’ve seen some of her paintings

Some of her sketches

And heard her songs

I think I know what it must have felt like

To be filled so full

And not know

How to express it

To feel so alone

Like an outsider

Maybe she’s still trying to work it out….

They say

You feel the fear

And the terror

If you see her face though

The pain of dying

The air turns cold

I don’t believe it

I think you see the emptiness inside of yourself

No one knows what really happened to her

Her letters

Still show up under my door

That’s when I find her paintings

Inside empty rooms

Sometimes they’re in the park

I’ve seen her walking

When the moon is full

And the fog is down,

I don’t know why she talks to me

Maybe it’s because we are both alone

Filled with things to say

And unsure of how to say them

Maybe it never goes away

Maybe it doesn’t ever let go,

Maybe we just keep on trying

Even after we’re gone….

I don’t know her name

I only call her the moon queen….

Cooking and marriage

I don’t know if I should be disappointed or not in what I’m about to say,

But here goes one for the family …

if I knew I was going to die tomorrow ,

I don’t know that anything would change that drastically in my schedule…

That’s the big rewrite for us writers isn’t?

The white whale

How would we write about dying?

Maybe it’s because I used to spend so much time writing about it when I was younger

Maybe it was the depression

Maybe it was my youth

Or maybe it’s the fact that I have Crohn’s disease

And I’ve been hospitalized several times because of it…

But I like to think that now

I’m living in such a way

At such a place

That every day

I’m just happy to be here

I just want to throw a dinner party that Nora Ephron would be proud of…

I always return to her essays and books every other year.

I’m not for it, but I think it’s pretty safe to put people on pedestals once they’re dead.

She’s easily one of my very favorite people on earth and I never even met her.

I like coffee

I love my wife and my dogs

I like cooking

I like butter,

You can never have too much butter

Or olive oil

I like coffee in the morning

Hardwood floors

Cooking, did I already say that? Well, cooking is like really great sex.

I’ll cook for you before and after.

Reading a really great book

Broadway

Everyone should see broadway

It changes you

Or it should

Art is so important

It’s important that we do not sound like everyone else

That we don’t fall into an echo

I like a really great drink.

An old fashioned,

A brown derby

A Manhattan

I like Sunday’s

Sleeping in…

I know you’re not supposed to rely on movies for expectations of love

But I think I like this bar I go to, it helps me write,

But it’s also, because there’s this table that I sat at…

It was the first “date” if you will,

Me and my wife went on…

I always think about seeing her walk in

And I knew I wanted to watch her enter rooms for the rest of my life…

I know I can be hard edged

Sarcastic and a little bit cruel

But she’s like dark energy

She’s seductive without even trying

And she is sexy as hell in heels

she’s also every Sunday morning

Every breakfast in bed

The perfect hot coffee

And a walk in the park

She’s the Italian restaurant on the corner

She’s midnight in the rain

She’s sitting there beside me

When they have to put a tube down my throat

Because of a flare up

She’s there on the front

Smiling

When I get published

She’s got all the love

I can ever hold in these hands

I’ve seen people come and go

And she wants me

And I want her

Year after year

I know what I like

I know what I want

And I

Like her

I love her

I want her.

Tones

I can feel myself

In the background

Of this empty room

I guess

I am not myself

You can try to fight

With everything you have

The truth is

Everything you overcame

Can come right back

I am trying

I keep telling myself

The words you thought you kept to yourself…

All of these miles and miles

You put behind you

I keep talking in my sleep

Didn’t they tell you?

It won’t let go…

Did you ever wonder…

The colors in the wasteland

The truth is something I keep looking for every day

Why the world is on fire…

It won’t let go

It won’t let go

All the voices from the past

They keep calling me home

I guess I always thought

We would have more time

All of the photographs of you

I keep seeing you in every color of fall

The truth is

I am not myself these days

I hide it in the well

But in the nights

Alone in my sleep

I keep the words

You hid for yourself

And I

I see you in everything

I know

We all have one chance

And that’s why I know

It won’t let go

And I won’t let go

Call me

Anytime you feel the miles

You know

It won’t let go

And I won’t let you go…

The truth is

Everything reminds me of you

And I wake up

Reading

Memories of you tucked between the pages

Of everything I write

And

The nights are long

The miles are wide

but I’m all in the right

You and me

We won’t let go