Leave Your Homophone At Home



Just having some fun playing around with words which I have since a very young age enjoyed distorting for my own twisted pleasure……
In the dark
You can visualize without visual eyes
Until realize you don’t need real eyes
To hear real lies until you realize
You need to realign your line
To comprehend in the dark

If you’re near here you can hear near
Where the ear here is near to there
And listen as they list them
So listlessly and lustfully
To comprehend words spoken in the dark

Half of the hole is a whole half
If you have all the haves pitted against the have nots
Life’s in knots and you cannot
Have a whole lot of whatnots to
Comprehend the holes in the dark

I try to write what’s right but I don’t lean right
I lean with who’s right and the I write
What I think is right as I ride into the night
And ride the left until it’s right
Fuck politics
Because to the right I’m in the wrong
And on the left I’m just not right

but I have the right to write whats right
When I comprehend what’s in the dark
Now that we’ve discussed it to the point
Where we’re disgusted and discussed the disgusting
Subject of politics we’ve distrusted
Now I’m busted for keeping my open
Trying to comprehend the dark

Those skies are gray
Those guys act gay
The disguise of the day
Gets in the way
We can’t strip away
The mask of dismay
And that’s why we can never seem to comprehend
In the dark………..

Final thought:
Dig on the homophones
But detest Homophobes

I’m Miserable, Lamenting On My Birthday



(Something I pulled from the attic, dusted off and adapted. Apologies if you already heard this shit)
So like yea, today’s my birthday and I am way past a half century old. Damn, when I say it like that it sounds downright ancient. Okay, I’ve been alive for more than six decades. Fuck man, that sounds even worse! So what do you do when you know you have more yesterdays than tomorrows, more of the hill behind you than in front, and you worry you are becoming a Grumpy Old Man? Why you bitch of course…..

I’m miserable, right? So I down a glass of vodka…. I’m still miserable, right? Although not quite as miserable as before. So I down another vodka. I’m still miserable, right? Well maybe not miserable but I’m still uptight. So I down another glass of vodka. I’m still mizabell rightio? Well not exactly mizzabrell, I feel kinda okay. Matter of fact I’m feeling pretty shitty good. So’s I have another vodka. Now I’m feeling it. Matter a fack I may actually be shhhhhh-happy. My oh my that vodka helps me forget. Onliest problem izzz, when I wakesh up tommorry, I gun be mishabelll all over again. So why’m I so doggone angry alla time these days?

Well to tell ya the truth it began the day I received the letter. Oh yes my brothers and sisters, the letter is coming in the mail for all of us if y‘all haven’t received it already. That dreaded piece of shit envelope with my name on it from AARP. Say what? AARP??? You must want my damn father because I ain’t ready for no bullshit Retired Persons mail. That would make a a goddamn freaking SENIOR! Thinking she was being helpful my baby girl daughter pointed out that it would mean bookoo senior discounts, like at movies and ice cream stores. While she saw savings on really cool things like Netflix and Ice Cream Chill I viewed it as an insult to my entire generation. WTF? We aren’t seniors! We’re still vital. Not oldies but classic rockers who had the real music, the good music. We are the generation that had to walk barefoot in the snow uphill both ways just to buy rolling papers at the stationary store. And then we had to clean our weed and through out all the stems and seeds before we could even roll. Not to mention we needed to glue two small Zig Zags together to roll what Y’all call fatties. We had chamber pipes collecting reinated buds for those weed free days. Speaking of which we lived through the drought of 76 when we went three and a half weeks without any weed in town. Anywhere! Not even homegrown. Some hardcore puffersa even smoked those stems and seeds. Gave me such a headache! So we are far from ready to cash it in and get on the senior tour bus, we’re still digging the psychedelic tangerine flake hippie tie-dye bus tour. Anyway, that’s what started it all, when I got an AARP card reality hit me like a glass of prune juice on a backed up day. That’s when I came to understand that I have become the ripped up pair of jeans that are no longer worn but were so comfortable back in time that Ithey just can’t be throw away. I am those old comfortable shoes that went out of style years ago but still take up room high on a shelf way in the back of the closet. Damn now that I put it that way I’m miserable again.

I was never really a big fan of reality but when it knocks you have no choice but to let it in. And here is the reality….I’m not getting old, I already am fucking old! And so it became that my new angry path was the golden road to grumpy old mandom. My sarcastic wit was far too quickly morphing into cynicism and distrust. I was becoming grumpy about everything so I took stock of myself and let reality come in for a visit. Reality entered my abode like a bull in a china shop, it was like a cannonball of facts. Crows feet? I got damn ravens legs. WTF are those wrinkles? That’s just because my skin don’t fit as tight as it used to even though it’s covering twice the mass. The ever increasing midsection of my body went beyond pear shape straight to an amoeba like glutton. Exercise? I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a rep of sit up’s today. The most work out I get is carrying the what I bought at the liquor store into the house. Even my license lists my hair color as transparent and my weight as a work in progress. Okay, so getting old sucks and being old is worse but that’s really not a reason to be miserable. No one ever said life would be fair but giving me the knowledge I could have used thirty five years ago just ain’t right. No, that’s not what made me miserable on this particular occasion, it was the culmination of all that reality combined with a recent visit to a local bakery that broke the dromedary‘s spine. I went to get some rolls and a loaf of French bread to bring over to some friends place that had invited us for dinner. The sweet young counterperson said to me, “Have you seen our discount? Twenty cents off on Wednesday.” Well another part of aging is I’ve become far more aware of diascounts and coupons than I used to. Just like my own father I have become a horder of Sweet and Low packets everywhere I go. Never have to buy them anymore, they are in the drawer with my soy sauce ans duck sauce packets. So hey man, twenty cents is twenty cents so I thanked her, paid and left. But when I got back to the car I began thinking she gave me far more than a twenty cent discount so because of another one of lifes little practical jokes I put on my reading glasses and stared at the receipt until it made sense. A half hour later I realized it said Senior Discount Wednesdays 20% off. Puzzled because of the oncoming storm of senility it took me 10 more minutes to realize she hadn’t said have you seen our discount, but We have our senior discount, and it wasn’t twenty cents, it was 20%. As I left the bakery I went straight to my happy place, the liquor store. Why? To get some vodka because now once again I’m miserable right? Happy fucking birthday to me……..

Philosophic Crisis




My daughter searched my eye with solemnity
“Dad, why am I here?”
I sensed her holding back a tear
After pause I understood
Tinges of pride swelled
My child’s first existential quandary
And it is I to whom she turns
Antiquity has given me wisdom
My gift to share
I began with caution
My child:

Chase your dreams
Or your dreams will chase you
And you will never stop running
Be strong in quest
Don’t become the sum of your decisions
That’s just chasing your fate
Surround yourself with positive friends
Live and love in peace
Many times my love I too have pondered
Who am I, really?
A consequence of sexual encounter?
An anecdote of an amorous evening?
Perhaps merely the result in survival of species
Geographically and socially placed
Destined by my environment
To be just like everyone else
Repeating the same rituals
Striving for the same goals
Day after day
Is that who I am?
A unique being similar to millions of others
Pretending to be different
Becoming a product of society’s will
Forced into a subliminal advertising conspiracies
While following the rules of their game
The rules of engagement
Set by the few of power
Obeying the laws set by men
Observing religion controlled by humans
Believing the garbage spewed by leaders
Unending unfilled promises of life
Is this all there is?
White picket fences and a barrage of bills
Living debt to debt instead of day to day
Looking for answers of the ultimate question
Darling you need to search deep within yourself
Determine your own truth
Your own reality
When the dark frightens you turn on your internal light
Together we will brave the unseen
Don’t waste too much time on how or why
Just enjoy your life
Before time catches up
Time spins so much faster as it builds momentum
With a tear in her eye she searched again
This time holding back a giggle
“No Dad, I meant why am I here?”
“Why did you ask me to come over.”
My eyebrows furrowed of their own accord
My smile hid behind a wrinkle
The truth is I forgot. I guess senility has it’s virtues as well


Bounced Reality Check (Existentialist Lament)

check real



It’s reality
But who’s
Mine or yours
Is there a reality
Beyond my perception of truth
Is my existence absolute
Or is my world
Built on fantasies
Deceptions and lies
An uneven keel
Is society real
What is life
Silicon emotions at
The swallow of a pill
Gray matter degraded
By advertising swill
Corporate domination
Tearing down our will
Binary connections
Robbing us of skill
Chained to our touchtone
We all know the drill
How can this be real
All you can eat GMO buffet
Served the American way
Seasoned with poison
Paid with accounts receivable
Filling up our gullets
Stuffing political bank accounts
Betraying the people
Corporations aren’t natal
Advertising is fatal
Its chemical and psychological warfare
And big business don’t fucking care
The American nightmare
Reality disappears into the night air

Its not surprising that advertising is compromising by emphasizing
That they know our wants and needs
They’re fertilizing and sterilizing our minds and cognizant realizing
Super-sizing through product baptizing
Disenfranchising the monster it feeds
We’re idolizing what they’re franchising It’s downright tranquilizing and hypnotizing
Disguising the subliminal evil deeds

Subverting perverting converting reasserting inverting and spurting hate
Reminiscing something’s missing but insisting and assisting to dismiss love
Rage, rage against insanity
Reality is society
Society is a lie
Social order has become
A never-ending landfill
Mental garbage
Loading and uploading
Polluting our minds
And our homes
Slowly eating away at our brains
Tranquilizing our thoughts
Infiltrating our very essence
Reshaping our ego’s
While we smile
In our houses of worship
Real or imagined
Open or confined
Free you mind
Or follow blind

Moms Home



Where I learned about life
And love
When I scraped my knee
Mom fixed me
With iodine and love
Sacrificed everything for us
For Our Home
Moms Home
She always filled it with love
Taught us to be who we are
Shaped our hearts and our minds
Constructed tender memories
Mom made home a house of love
So why did we make her leave it?

Have you seen Mom lately? No, you? Always busy, always something more to do.
It’s been so long since we went to see Mom, but it’s just so far away and there aren‘t enough hours in a day. Time flies by and what with Billy’s baseball and Janie’s soccer along with band practice and PTA meetings there just isn’t enough time for anything. She’s better off at her new home at Echo Valley anyway, don’t ya think?

Echo Valley
Moms new Home
Museum of archaic statues
Final act of an ancient drama
Waiting for the final curtain
The theater where time stands still
Where everyone screams but no one listens
Echo Valley
That’s where we brought her
Where Mom now makes home
A carousel of strangers
Life of structure
Memories have deserted her
We’ve deserted her
Made her someone else’s problem
Gathering dust and urine stains
Wafting in fumes of ammonia
Formaldehyde in waiting
It’s Moms home now
Why not give the old woman a call

Welcome to Echo Valley, home for the old and forgotten. All our representatives are busy with other family members who are also substituting a phone call for a visit. Please continue to hold for the next available attendant. Your call is as important to us as your family member is to you so if we make you wait too long, imagine how they feel waiting for you to come visit so shut the fuck up or do the right thing and make the trip. After all she’s done for you how can you dump her in our Home and forget about her? She has nothing to do but wait and count the seconds as her time is runs out in a Home full of strangers.

Parades of old parents strolling and rolling
While no ones patrolling
And predators are trolling
Looking to sneak inside their room.
With discretion and success then
For them a profession
They remove every worldly possession
Leaving the old codgers to ponder their doom
So while your out running around
Till you’re running aground with your
Cunning new sounds and then
Suddenly drowned
Like an obscure dream
Moms in her home waiting salivating
And an-ti -cipating
While the nurse is placating while
You wait on call waiting
So fucking frustrating I wanna scream
So we placed Mom on display in a terrible way
Her new home’s always cold and lonely, where no one remembers her love. All alone she sits daily her brain slowly wasting away.
No flames burn eternal
We’re mere flesh and bone
And Mom keeps wondering
Why we left her alone
She thinks we’ve forgotten
And maybe we did
All her sacrifice and work
Is off of our grid
And none of us are there to see her silent tears
A harsh way to total the love through the years

Thank God for Echo Valley, Mom needs structure to keep her going.
Time to get up Mrs. Jones, come on I’ll wash you off and bring you down to breakfast. Here’s your medicine Hon. Time to go back to your room Mrs. Jones, please wait here in the hallway while we take care of the other fifty guests. Here’s your after breakfast memory medicine Hon. What’s that Mrs. Jones? Oh no honey, it hasn’t been four hours its been a half hour, an hour at most, come lets get you to your room. I’ll put the TV on so you can watch your favorite shows. Lunchtime Mrs. Jones. Lets get you ready for lunch. Time for your midday medicine Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Jones? Are you awake? Call the orderly I need some help.
Mrs. Jones??? Too late, call the family, now maybe one of them will come by to at least get her things. I guess she’s finally home.

I’m Not Politically Correct, I’m A Non Xenophobe

“After almost 400 years we finally ended racism and now I have to be politically correct?”  Wait, what? Ended racism? Are you serious? Racism isn’t dead, it’s not even dormant. Its alive and as ugly and mean as ever. It never went away, it just got covered up with a blanket of ignorance. Well social media has kicked the covers off and now racism stands buck bone naked for everyone to gawk at. No denying it, we can all see it in it’s vile ugly nakedness. But someone is trying to hide it in a thin veil of smoke called political correctness. “I’m not a racist, I’m just tired of having to be politically correct all the time.” Are you saying your tired of concerning yourself with how your words or actions may hurt or offend someone? Dude, you are a fucking racist.

Personally I hope I am always able to remain “politically correct” despite the horrible connotation that politics have anything to do with respecting anyone unlike you. I prefer the term “Non Xenophobic” I hear people saying “PC” has gone too far and its ridiculous, I can’t say anything without offending someone. If that’s true, then just STFU! Because if what you have to say is offensive I, ….we, don’t want to hear it.  Many people are sick and tired of political correctness until it hits home to them personally. Growing up Irish people called us drunken Micks, and if you said that today everyone would see the racism you see in your own reflection .I was taught by my parents that Italians were dirty, Polaks were dumb, Irish were drunks, Jews were cheap, along with an assortment of racist generalizations most of my generation grew up hearing ad-nauseum. So some clever pre-hipster came up with the term “Politically Correct” as a means of rejecting those worn out and untrue notions that anyone can be judged by their ethnicity. It worked fine for the mainstream, but the mainstream didn’t want to recognize the “outer fringe” or the people that can’t possibly fit into the Caucasian category.

It seems that now that we have rid ourselves of our basic European heritage generalizations we think extending it to others is “going overboard”.  What, I should be concerned that I say something offensive to someone Asian, or Native American or God forbid (which apparently transcends the love your fellow man doctrines) gay? Isn’t it bad enough I have to call them “The LGBT Community? No!! It’s not, it’s the right thing to do. Being politically correct, er I mean non-Xenophobic, is the path to peace. Is it really asking too much of others to be mindful of the feelings of a group of people you don’t fully comprehend?  After all it’s us that do the compartmentalizing and set the bar of generalizations about them. They just want a fair shake, to be thought of as human with at least a modicum of dignity.

So the next time I hear you say I am sick and tired of having to be politically correct all the time I will simply walk away, because racist have no considerations in my life. We all carry assumptions with us, it’s a burden. But if trying to unload that burden by being Non Xenophobic is too hard for you to do then I don’t need you darkening my life with your negative values. I will place you in a compartment that I call “Unfriended”. Sorry, being politically correct is a strength, not a weakness, and weakness of mind shines bright in the world of a racist.

Hate Fear Anger

hate fear anger

(Beat/Street Poetry Mash Up)
Hate fear anger
Killers all three
Murderous spree
Or just killing me
When I can’t see
The monsters
From under our beds
Confusing our heads
With blood feasts
The evil beasts
Inside us all
Tormenting buzzards
Churning upwards
Burning magma
Blood plasma
Disgust us and distrust us
Spewing injustice
Awaiting release
Destroying the peace
Blame the police
Blame it on sin
Or the color of skin
The monsters roar
A chance to soar
Even the score
Peace no more
Death to all
Who disagree
Death to all
Who are not
Like me

Hate fear anger
Murderers all
Our backs to the wall
Twisting fates
Pearly gates
Hellish straights
Tragedies and agonies
Scrambling our families
Dividing best friends
Refuting amends
The barrel of a gun
Mixes in with the fun
Has us all on the run
In front of our eyes
Disregarding our cries
Until somebody dies
Resulting in talk……….
Nothing more…
Hollow words
But undeterred
Until we descend
To the end
We can’t transcend what we don’t comprehend
So hope is dismissed
Because its easier to pretend
That hate fear and anger don’t exist
Yet feasting on our joy
Hate fear and anger destroy
Huffing and puffing
We do nothing
But talk
Live and Love in Peace

Everybody Leaves

everybody leaves


No one stays
Family and friends
Lovers and companions
Acquaintances in the park
Strangers on the train
Sinners and saints
They all go away
Leaving me alone
With my personal passenger
Telling me what to think
Inserting his will
I’ve spent so many hours
Trying to understand
What no longer matters
Because no one cares
When we jump the nest
Escape the chains of birth
Friends blow in the wind
Like fresh fallen leaves
Everybody leaves

Do you have to go
It’s much too soon
We barely blinked
Found a second
A floating bubble
One scene in my movie
An act in a play
Then it slipped away
I had once believed
We held the world in hand
Had every answer
Life bursting eternal
But love just comes
And then it goes
Runs away
With all the thrills
Tucked under it’s arm
We put our hearts out on our sleeves
Then everybody leaves


I tolerate life
In a world full of demons
Hoping to acquire
The true wisdom
Of an angel
So I meditate
In the shadow of my ego
Contemplating the evil
That makes me whole
When a voice speaks
Through my sanity
I deserve the punishment
I accept my penance
Surrounded by support
My amends are sincere
Offered in confession
A gift from my soul
Which my personal passenger
Most Happily receives
Once everybody leaves


Manhattan Was My Mistress



The moment I met her I was hooked
So alluring and seductive
Flashing her neon eyes
Singing her sirens lure
Behind an orchestra of chaos
She promised me a life
Reckless abandon
I pledged my heart
I would always stay
My Manhattan Mistress
Took my heart away
Howling like a hyena in heat
Her streets purr as though a moan
The ground beneath our feet
Rumbles and rocks us gently
She smiles from her throne
I beckon at her will
Noises fill every essence
Yet still she whispers my name
Inviting me inside her
That sweet seductive game
Lured by her voluptuous secrets
Inspired with her beautiful mysteries
Strolling moonlit avenues hand in hand
Disclosing sensual inquiries
Provoking my carnal beast
Entrancing me in her spell
My Manhattan Mistress
Loved me oh so well
She’s my concrete inamorata
Exchanging longing desires
Gyrating my internal fires
Chaotic Karmic spin
Two lust filled nocturnal silhouettes
Together dancing on a pin
But all good things they must come to an end
Packed up my emotions and moved away
Manhattan was my Mistress and
I miss her everyday

A July Fourth To Remember , A July Fourth To Forget

brass moon


J. T. Hilltop
I left my job as line cook at Windows On The World to become a working chef in a 40 seat restaurant in SoHo. I believed my career was on track now that I was the number one man atThe Smoking Moon Café, a quaint littlerestaurant in a very hip part of the city where happy customers sent back drinks or even the occasional joint to me in my kitchen domain.. A limited menu restaurant with a focus on specials, like eight entrees a night. My staff was one dishwasher, one waitress, one bartender, and me. But we all had the right attitude and abilities to make it a fully functional team.
Our clientele were mostly young hip professionals with an edgy style. It was an ultra cool place to work, the owner treated us like family, even when he wasn’t there when our shift was over he allowed us to lock up and have a few drinks at the bar before heading out. Whenever its really busy I bitch wishing for down time, and whenever there’s too much down time I bitch wishing for customers. Typical of foodservice workers. But on July 4th, 1986 I experienced the most excruciating downtime in existence followed by a near impossible power service. The city was alive with celebration, the streets packed with people in anticipation of the annual fireworks display. This year we celebrated the centennial of The Statue Of Liberty so the fireworks were on the West side that year. Being near the West Side ourselves lunch was crazy busy, I had to come in early to assist the lunch chef but by dinner just about everyone was out jockeying for a good spot to view the works. By seven o’clock we had had one single customer who only ordered a burger. The area was like a ghost town with everybody and their brother on West Side Highway. It was so slow Moss, the waitress, Eddie the dishwasher an I sat at the bar chatting with Stolie, our favorite bartender.
I mentioned that a customer who had requested a very hot meal had given me a bottle of Mt. Gay rum. I made some my patented dragon juice, assorted hot peppers stepped in sherry vinegar to an order of lamb couscous which I topped off with some harisa. When I came out to chat with him his face was covered in sweat but he loved the meal. He asked me if I like rum. Of course, who doesn’t so the next day he bought me a bottle of Mount Gay, his favorite, to say thanks. Before I knew it Stolie, Moss, and I were in a rum drink competition making each other rum drinks. Eddie didn’t compete but happily accepted the privilege of judging. My concoction was a combo of 151, Meyers, and Bacardi with a drop of every juice I could find then a splash of coke. Delicious and deadly. By 10:15 the four of us were toasted and still not a soul to serve, not even anyone passing by. Closing up in 45 minutes. We were laughing loudly when the door opened and a couple walked in. Shit! Now I am really buzzing and have to cook some dinners. As I half walked half stumbled back to the kitchen I hear Moss say, “Holy fuck!”
From the kitchen door I could hear the decibel level increase rapidly. It was like the floodgates opened allowing customers to come charging through the door. The fireworks were over and we were right smack dab in the middle of the path of hordes of happy hungry people leaving the highway extravaganza in search of a place to eat. Within ten minutes every table was full with a line of hungry revelers out the door. Half hour to closing time, but now closing time no longer existed.
Most restaurant people stay in the field working because we thrive on the pressure. All four of us were thriving our asses off. Moss handled the tables expertly, Stolie made the customers drinks and helped Moss by bussing. I really would need a new ass, thriving or otherwise if I didn’t cook it off I was certain to sweat it off. Eddie was promoted to assistant sous chef and he did a fantastic job. For the next two hours the four of us worked together half drunk on pressure, half drunk on rum. For me the best part of the crazy scene was after the last two tables had been seated, while things were semi calm, Moss came back to the range with her cocktail tray holding one large drink. “The happy customer on table seven wants to send a drink back for the chef so Stolie made you a JT Rum Special.”
I was literally drenched in sweat, rivulets of saline trailing from my temples. I was breathing hard because I had been cooking non stop even slapped myself hard and shook my head many times to try instant sober up, and Moss was standing there, also exhausted, but still smiling handing me a drink. “Are you fucking kidding me? A drink now?” Moss tilted her head, lifted her eyebrows, smiled at me shaking her head yes. All I could do was smile back, “That sounds about right.” I accepted the drink with a laugh, giving half to my newly promoted assistant. We didn’t have our usual close up drink that night, all of us wiped out, but we talked about our fourth of July experience for months after. Those were the days….PEACE