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.

Addict.

Today's piece isn't exactly the most subtle of pieces. It comes off a bit stronger than I actually feel, but oh well, it is what it is. Hah.

Addict.

You sinner, you addict, what becomes of your prayers?
Is there someone who listens? Or do they die in the air?
The angels in heaven, please tell me my worth!
Will I be rewarded when I depart from this Earth?

You addict, you blacken when you poison your veins.
You're the son of sin, a modern day cain.
Oh blessed are we, when we drink the blood
And shower in the love of our saviour, wash off the devil's mud.

You pray on an altar of porcelein and tile,
All to escape the world for a while.
We pray at an altar of wood and flowers
To be saved from the world's most lecherous powers.

You addict, the devil's got a hold of your ear
When you run from the world in your cowardly fear.
Oh blessed are we, the lord fills us with cheer.
When we run from the world in our cowardly fear.

You poor one, you're bound in a self made cage,
That only grows smaller as you grow weary with age.
Oh lord, we're bound in a self made cage
That only grows smaller as we grow weary with age.

Daytime Lullaby.

Greetings, greetings again. I'm in the midst of a very busy June, so forgive my recent lack of posts. To start things off again, here's something I wrote last November, it's about consoling a child who comes to love night and starts to shy away from daytime. This particular one ended up being cut up and developed into a number of other poems (some of which I've posted on here, and if you read back you'll probably be able to tell), but I like the original, so here it is:

Daytime Lullaby.

Morning's on the phone, it calls you to rise
And depart from your bed full of dreams.
Depart from your room, and your hall, and your door
And watch the Earth, full of life, how it teems.
No matter what the moon may say,
The light of day doesn't take the stars away.

Oh daughter, oh son, oh the owls and the wolves
Who fly to and howl at the moon
Fear not morning, alarming, charming bright banner of sunlight
Or the call of the robin or loon.
No matter what the moon may say,
The light of day doesn't take the stars away.

Eyes wide under space and pushed by the tide.
Restless dreamer, the new one, the child of stars
Swinging higher than clouds, swimming further than heaven
To spin in orbit with Mars.
No matter what the moon may say,
The light of day doesn't take the stars away.

The children of day, will you join them in play?
As they bounce between town and the school
And pass town hall, apartments, the carpenter's place
To buzz and hum with his woodworking tools
No matter what the moon may say,
The light of day doesn't take the stars away.

The warm dry grass so comforting under foot
Had its dew baked away by the sun
Fond memories in the pond so warm come midday
Hasn't it brought you hours of fun?
No matter what the moon may say,
The light of day doesn't take the stars away.

As the waves cool and the moon comes back
And night's window puts stars on display
Enjoy night when it's here and day when it comes
And you will always know it's okay.
No matter what the moon may say,
The light of day doesn't take the stars away.

Sound Cages.

Serenade sung through a chain link fence.
Timid and tamed, hung and framed,
Locked and guarded, cruelly regarded.
Serenade sung so forced and tense.

Symphony played in a theater on fire.
Frenzied and worried, hastened and hurried,
Relentlessly razed in an overbearing blaze.
Symphony played in its funeral pyre.