Better Than You.

A flimsy justification, I guess.

Better Than You.

Napkins on our laps,
A knife to your neck,
We're the kings, we're the aces,
You're the two's in each deck.
Were you wild, were we jacks,
You'd be wild enough to fight back.
Pair and compare your lives,
With a grain of our salt,
We're better than you,
But it's not our fault.

We're the top of the pyramid,
Holding the burden of god's love,
Are the peak and the base
Just as sacred above?
We don't want to be cruel, don't want to be rude,
But it's uncomfortable to sympathize with our food.
It's our necessity,
It would be your assault,
We're better than you,
But it's not our fault.

What We Stand To Lose.

When too many words are used to describe too many things, things get real cluttered.

What We Stand To Lose

Hunters and gatherers will hunt now to gather,
Come home to rooms too small and decide what to have there.
Wading through bottles, backpacks, blankets and knick-knacks
With tires on their arms and kitchen sinks weighing on their backs.
And they push out two piles just to push in three through the door,
On the walls in red paint battle the words "enough" and "more".
Laden, so heavy, they break through their shoes,
But we're measured by what we stand to lose.

The moon is full, but not like we are,
We want to orbit the sun like a uhaul with the speed of a sportscar,
Bright yellow or dusty gray, there's no vestige of clutter.
No cabinets or dressers that are too filled up to shut there.
We float in space longing for space, and the courage to escape,
But we dare not abandon our accumulations, bulging under strips of tape,
And we long to live with only what we can use,
And to be measure by what we've stood to lose.

Caught between then and now and now and soon,
How will we celebrate beneath and unobstructed moon?
And time will dictate what tools we'll use,
To measure what we stand to lose.

Just As Well.

Let's talk about examples,
That epitomize uncertain times,
That sketch out the feeling
Of similar words that just won't rhyme.
Perhaps something uncommon,
Like when a bolt of lightning strikes,
And the target's gripped in the hands of instant change,
That would go something like:

Forsaking boundaries of great distance,
Lightning flies down to hit the ground,
And the aftermath's uneasy serenity
Is a world strictly stuck in "Now",
Reverbs ricochet through you swiftly,
Uncomfortable ripples of the soul,
And in shocked, stunned-stupid silence,
You've lost any semblance of control.

We don't hear the full story,
It's a painting lacking shade,
It's an effect with no seeming cause,
It's a float with no parade,
When everything passed is erased,
What dictates where to go?
And context bails without a note,
And no solution in tow.

Pounding dirt for direction,
Pounding floors just the same,
Tasting the same sensation,
With two slightly different names,
One connected to the earth,
One connected to the walls,
And creeping deeper digging,
Under which one do you fall?

There's an answer and a reason,
And in past the tips of tongues,
You can't catch it if you chase it,
Can't escape it if you run.

But I guess it's just as well.

The Second Skyline.

Over low-lying hill is a mountain tall,
Where the raindrops sit right before they fall,
And there they'll be,
Waiting to join the sea,
And cloud cover waits for another squall.

Over those hills looms a mountain gray,
It shifts and tumbles across the day,
And a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
Skirts the horizon like a mountain range.

Below peaking clouds swirl fog-dripping lakes,
High above us, their depths will break,
And over hills,
Raindrops will spill,
Back down to the earthen pools they make.

Light gray piles up on a blue background,
And  mellow peaks soften as the sun goes down,
And it's beyond reach, like
Watching ships from the beach,
Misty, distant, unreal, but close somehow.

Like a masterpiece painted right on the sky,
Where birds and landscapes are free to fly,
It's a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
And playing subtle games with my eyes.

Both Kinds.

I saw birth in your eyes,
And your childhood, too,
As you grew out of the girl,
From that town on the hill,
And you set free the beetles,
Pinned to that corkboard,
You watched and you waited,
As they lay perfectly still.
Young eyes lit with a passion,
As your hands clasped together,
Praying they'd all rise,
But you know they never will.

I saw life in your eyes,
Every crack in the road,
As the cracks in the ground,
Caused the city to fall.
And the terror among them,
Sent more smoke through the air,
And hope was unseen,
And unheard was its call.
Your eyes lit with a passion,
As your hands clasped together,
Praying they'd all rise,
And they will, after all.

Three.

One path reaching up,

One lies hidden from the eye

A third a mirage.
-

Waiting on a Reason.

Let’s talk it out,

Try to remove all doubt,

From the lines between us and within.

It’s less than clear,

What’s inching near,

But I can feel an end begin.

There’s fate that we can make on our own

And fate that we cannot.

You’re waiting for a sign to show you home,

But your fate doesn’t want to be on the spot.

(Chorus)

We’re in too deep,

To back out now,

But you’re stuck waiting for a sign.

It’s about what you want,

And what you need,

But you’re afraid to leave that line

While I’m waiting on a warmer season,

You’re waiting on a reason.

(/chorus)

 

There are times,

You’ll be less than fine,

And times you’ll be uncertain

But in the end,

You’ll be happy then,

That you allowed the rising of the curtain.

We’re alive, it’s time to act that way,

By pursuing our mind’s desires

Throw caution to the wind for just one day,

Or throw caution into the fire.

(Chorus)

It’s a risky move but it’s something you’ve

Got to try, even if you get a little bruised

You’re never more alive than when you

Try and reach for something you could lose.

Just look at you,

What you want to do

And give your heart what it wants.

To take a risky stance,

On an uncertain chance

Is anything but nonchalance.

A leading hand and a blindfold

May be less reliable than you know.

A glowing road to take until you’re old

Shouldn’t tell you where to go.

 

(Chorus)

Delusions of Complexity.

This one's a song. I wrote a few lines of it a while back, then slowly pieced it together.

Delusions of Complexity.

Spun out and aching, tired, and strung out on the couch,
Far past over-stimulated, starting to slouch,
You get fixated on facets and shards of what once was,
If you don’t know you nobody does.

Have an identity crisis in discovery’s name,
But there’s no identity discovered because you’re never the same,
You’re made of tectonic plates, over heat and under tide,
Fancy that, you’ll never have to make up your mind.

Maps on the ground
Far reaching but still behind us,
And your hand clenches, down
Mind buzzing, eyes screaming for blindness
Overloaded and over-thought,
And complexities reign.

Let’s play the game of life, let’s play connect the dots,
Let’s spread a thousand pieces in the parking lot.
Let’s play connect the delusions with each mismatching piece
Hunched over in the shadows of simpler beasts.

Maps on the ground
Far reaching but still behind us,
And your hand clenches, down
Mind buzzing, eyes screaming for blindness
Overloaded and over-thought,
And complexities reign.

Let’s try and fit all that we can,
In the over burdened brain of man.

Maps on the ground
Far reaching but still behind us,
And your hand clenches, down
Mind buzzing, eyes screaming for blindness
Overloaded and over-thought,
And complexities reign.

Any Home.

Beyond the lights on the interstate,
Red and white on either side,
Are the windows in buildings, like tv sets,
With their light shining from inside.
Much like home,
Much like stars,
Much like the comfort of bed,
The lives being played within them
Speed at eighty through my head.

Long-drive dreams in a leather seat,
And wishing one window was mine,
Impatience grips the steering wheel,
Impatience shifts between lines.
Hotel windows
Are drive-in movies,
And I imagine the parts being played,
Of families, business men, and rooms that lay empty,
Waiting on an overnight stay.

Louisa in linens and Simon in silks,
In adjecent rooms on the fifth floor,
And Molly and Allen in a condo by the lake,
And Christopher answering his door,
Whether they go,
Whether they stay,
And what circumstance landed them there,
To see where they are, from the window of my car
Makes it seem a bit unfair.

They have a bed, and a light to turn off,
And I'd be pulled over for turning off mine,
A silly thought, I know. Almost stupid, in fact,
I know that I'll be home in time.
But after I leave,
Before I arrive,
Is an uncomfortable limbo, indeed.
Hours pass and it seems I'll be stuck here forever,
Monitoring lanes, my gas tank, my speed.

The distance between where you are and where you're bound,
Can feel too long to bear,
And home seems so far, when you look at the bright windows,
Of people who are already there,
But in time,
And over miles,
You'll find a change of scenery for your feet,
And when you arrive, you'll be glad to claim
A bed instead of a seat.

Parnassus Dwarfed.

This one is about love. Not so much from a person to person perspective, more from a person to "love itself" perspective. It sounds very religious, and not only because of it's reference to Greek mythology, but it's more about the worship of "love itself", not any sort of deity.

Parnassus Dwarfed.

Miles past shape and beyond colors,
A plateau of proportions mighty stands.
Beyond heads in clouds and earthen lovers,
And youthful declarations on brick and in sand.
Love, a glowing light, a living ghost,
An avalanche sweeping down for man,
Tugging hearts to its miraculous post,
And lifting them gently from the land.

For true heaven's boundaries our hearts to breach,
Parnassus dwarfed, and beyond its reach.

Miles past clouds and beyond form,
Love, it's warmth glides down to earth,
Stopped not by hatred, held not by storm.
Calls heard by humanity since it's birth.
The only thing that unifies,
And the only thing that's pure,
A call for all, straight from the skies,
And the only thing that's sure.

For her to call him, for him to call her,
Parnassus dwarfed, and there's no mountain taller.

With care, with might, to satisfy,
The needs we all possess,
To lift a people still petrified,
That still writhe under duress.
Through toil, through war, through appetite,
And on ground where we've been tied.
The highest peak of loving light,
Will live, constant by our side.

No muse's inspiration could compare,
Parnassus dwarfed by a force most fair.

Calling Again II.

My original idea for this poem was very different from the end result, but instead of leaving it be, I tweaked it until it became closer to what I wanted. So now, instead of it being (somewhat ambiguously) about a child dying, it's about someone's spouse dying. Happy stuff, haha.

Calling Again.

Through night's dream catcher I see planets fly,
Through the slivers of huddled trees.
And monlight shines in the corner of my mind,
On whispered silver nights like these.

I see something slender curve and wave,
And something missing speak,
Not the wave of a branch, but the wave of a hand,
Though the vision's very weak.

And in the yard,
Where the trees stand guard,
I'll think I'll see you then,
But as seasons change,
You go out of range,
But I'll hear you call again.

The road I took to work every day,
Was paved over last September.
And the restaurant where we ate a thousand times,
Will be torn down in November.

There are scaffolds high around the church,
And they're redoing the inside.
But everything here is just the same,
A rock worn by time, yes, but not the tide.

And this road of mine,
Now cobweb fine,
As I think of roads that end.
I'll live and pray,
That at the end of my day,
I'll hear you call again.

Forty raindrops on the sill,
For forty years in all,
And forty redwoods on the hill,
Still wait for forty-one, come fall.
And forty one is the number still,
Though forty-five it's been.
And four feels like ten,
Or the number when,
I'll hear you call again.

Dirty River.

In a place where water wends,
Flung out like twisting fingers on a thrust arm.
Past virgin skin and bone extend unlikely nails,
Brittle, filthy, and unsightly.
Embedded in ground oft-traveled by man.
Bent at each side,
Water flows through the fingernails like sewage.
Murky at the bottom, lined with indistinguishable debris.
Five streams without beauty,
Water no lips would allow passage,
Water to scorch the throat.

Bite.

"I am dinner, I am dinner"

My stance or demeanor must have said.

On borrowed ground of rock and root.

I became dinner as I read.

The Accident of Birth.

This one already sounds dated. Hah.

The Accident of Birth.

Where are my seasons?
The ones I was promised,
The summers so warm and winters so cold.
Where are my trees?
The one that stood tall,
And only grew mightier as they grew old.

Where are the condors?
The black bears and the bobcats?
Defiant, majestic, and fearless they'd stand.
And where are their children?
What became of their bloodline?
And where are the ones that robbed all their land?

Where is my river?
So cool and so cleansing.
That comes from the ocean and runs through my town.
And where is my homeland?
With its warmth and it's comfort,
No robbers, rapists, or murderers around.

What am I?
Am I white? Am I black?
Will I die by some rope, or do just fine?
What world will I see?
When I open my eyes?
1491 or 2009?

One With One Of Two Halves.

Only moments after I took my seat,
Chosen well, and quiet too,
That I found myself surrounded.
Not only by insects and birds, the company of my choosing,
But by men. Loud. Industrious.
Working not with tranquility, like the ants,
But against it.
Just as I had chosen the rhythm given to me by the midday,
They had formed a conflicting rhythm,
Conflicting with myself and conflicting with all things.

Call Down Stratosphere.

 A... heavenly love song? Hmmm.

Call Down Stratosphere.

There are roads of dirt and stone

And walls of polished rock,

But starlight shines, whatever time

And adorns the numbers on the clock

Though walls and gates may deviate,

The paths I’ll choose to go,

With the wave of my hand, no wall could withstand

When meteor showers swing down low.

I’ll call, call, call,

And whip the wind around,

Send leaves skyward in the fall,

And bring the heavens to the ground.

And with a single sound,

I’ll call the stratosphere down.

One wish out of two, for you, has come true,

But the other is so far

To touch the sky at night as it shines so bright,

A million miles from where you are.

But when you’re with me, just look, you’ll see,

From the tree tops to the ground,

Those starry fireflies will descend from the skies,

When I call the stratosphere down.

I’ll call, call, call,

And whip the wind around,

Send leaves skyward in the fall,

And bring the heavens to the ground.

And with a single sound,

I’ll call the stratosphere down.

There are layers that divide us,

And handles just out of reach,

But the distance blurs and the lines obscure

As waves take the beach.

We’ll stop time on just one line,

And all creatures will share a single sound,

Ceiling to floor will merge with the core,

As I bring the universe down.

The seas will divide as the moon moves the tide

In ways unknown ‘til now.

When the moon flies right by your room,

And I call the stratosphere down.

I’ll call, call, call,

And whip the wind around,

Send leaves skyward in the fall,

And bring the heavens to the ground.

And with a single sound,

I’ll call the stratosphere down.

Near-Miss.

Slowing on the shoulder,
After a near-miss jump-start.
Blood pumping and eyes wide
Like jumper cables to the heart.

Eight wheels drawn together,
In a moment, and then it's done.
Of the millions of moments packed into life,
A thousand possibilities, crammed into one.

Ghosts on a see saw,
Two spectres on a ride.
Up and down, over and over,
Into the forefront of my mind.

Two stories on a page,
With a very different end.
One ghost to fade away,
A second ghost to rise again.

Every day's spent moving forward,
And tiptoe-ing on the line.
The scene slows and the car stops,
And everybody's fine.

Conductor Blues.

I wasn't originally going to post this one, since it doesn't read well on the page... or at least not as well as I would like it to. I wrote this with a melody in mind, and it only really resonates well when spoken (which I don't really do much). I was planning on being done with a bunch of pieces I've been working on, but they're taking longer than expected, so I'm posting this in the meantime.

Conductor Blues.

You're born at a station,
Then put on a curved track.
And I guess the real test is
If you can find your way back.
Every step is a corner,
And every step back's a corner, too.
So every time you come around,
The same thing seems like something new.

You know it only gets murky,
Trying to find some grand scheme.
But you've got to keep moving,
There isn't time enough to dream.
We all know the same amount of nothing,
Nothing to get down, nothing to tell.
And there's nothing to draw from,
No matter how deep the well.

There's dust in the shower head,
Dust in your trail and dust in your teeth.
You lurch toward the horizon,
Hoping somewhere, somehow, there's some relief.
Your watch is busted,
But the hands still point somewhere..
But they don't tell you how far to go
Or how to stop when you get there.

Had You Known.

I could lead you through my memory
To stumble on the scene.
But it wouldn't help you very much
To show you what I mean.

It wouldn't have to be this way,
You wouldn't have to take me to task.
And we wouldn't have to be alone,
And you wouldn't even have to ask.
And it wouldn't have been the same
Had you known.

The infraction was intangible,
In fact, it never even occurred.
I'm as likely to take another mate,
As you're to take me for my word.

You can seethe and sigh and tap your feet
Like I'm not telling the truth.
And dissect phrasing, body language and tone
Trying to find some damning proof
And you'd have bit your tongue to save some face,
Had you known.

The numbers on the clock set in your mind,
Were dwindling all the same.
And the betrayal that you've conjured up
Just met your fuse like a hotter flame.

It seems to signify when I deny
That each passing word is a bigger lie.
That all fits into one big goodbye...

And I've never seen someone so thrown.
But your countdown would have only been delayed,
Had you known.

Out Of Season.

I wrote this one in December, so it doesn't quite reflect the current season. I have four other pieces that I've been wanting to post (some pretty different things), but none of them are ready yet, so here goes...

Walking Into Winter.

Walking into winter,
Holding the last breath of warmth,
For the flowers to bloom
In an artificial June.

It's Frosty the Snowman,
I'm a spraycan springtime.
The strongest of sprays
For the shortest of days.

Walking out of Autumn
With a coat that's too light,
But I'll be warm
Through those cold cottonstorms.