LAST NIGHT

last-night

 

Last night
I had a dream
I dreamt
It was the last night
Of my life
But when I woke
Tomorrow was waiting
To hear my song
To see me dance
To feel my touch
So I sang, and danced, and felt
In case it’s my last
Every night is a last night
For something
Or someone
One last sunset
One last breath
Each note can be the last note
Every dance can be the last dance
The last touch can be the last feeling
Any night can be the last night
Any day could be the last day
Live and love in peace today
And every day

Destiny Quest

quest

 

Just as the fallen acorn dreams
Of becoming one of the mighty oaks
So do the seeds of true knowledge
Yearn to grow into a wisdom
To become more than simply words
But rather concepts worthy of evaluation
Considered for shared validations
Perhaps exchanged in earnest honesty
Not debated as calculated opinions
But rather discussed as alternatives
To avoid using conflicts of death
As a means of arbitrating differences
A sound unifying of cultural concepts
Leading to a solid construction of idea’s
Not built as a house of cards bound and intertwined
On fragile shards of misplaced mutual discord
But built on a foundation of shared harmonies
A verbal arrangement like an orchestra
In an everlasting quest of peace and unity
In which we can proudly reserve for our children
Truth

What Day Was That

what day

 

 

Running across the yard
Swinging on a cloud
Skinned my knees
While laughing out loud
Bee stings and baby weeps
See saws and bedside creeps
Lost inside an empty crowd
Underneath a storm filled cloud
Minutes to spare and hours to burn
Battles to be fought
Lessons to be learned
Never a concern
Except Mom and Dad
What we needed they had
Before time walked me home
Made me go it alone
And childhood left me flat
Memories
What day was that

 
She had long silken curls
I was noticing girls
We were all having fun
In search of “the one”
Holding hands on the beach
Heart screaming uptempo
Thumping beats of promise
Seeds of passion were growing

With loves flame a aglow
A life everlasting
Two teen hearts broadcasting
True love forever
Initials in a tree
Etched for ever in eternity
Before time turned and spat
Spat in my face
What day was that

 

 

Couldn’t wait to grow up
Find the answers I need
But as age rolls downhill
It gathers much speed
Time offers not wisdom
But makes us it’s victim
Fueled on fruitless pride
On a mindless blind ride
Like a peacock I preened
Success was my insanity
The peak of my own vanity
Until time got angry
Focused its wrath on me
Much too conspicuously
Cutting furrows in my brow
Who needs a body anyhow
Crippling my emotions
Erasing my devotions
All the lines in my eyes
Stained in tears that I cried
Now even the mirror won’t lie
In a flash old age arrived
Leaving just memories inside
With a sarcastic smile
Time tipped it’s hat……..
What day was that

Moms Home

Mom

 

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.
Peace……..

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
Blurred
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

Existential Clock

an e clock

 

 

It all just dissipates
Everything you are
Disappears in a second
A million breaths in the air
A billion heartbeats silent
The world fades
Steam on a mirror
Smoke off a candle
Just gone
Forever

 

Memories never move
They stay where they lay
Leave when they’re forgotten
Like a dream in sleep erased
Abandoned when you wake
Or when you don’t
Everything passes
Time in a handful of sand
Slipping through my fingers
Waves crash to the shore
Then disappear into the sea
Here then gone
With the pulsing of a second
The existential clock ticking
Life is so precious
Be your own pilot
Fly your own vision

 
Waiting creates stress
Tomorrow keeps secrets
Until it becomes today
This moment is reality
No one lives yesterday
With the ticking of every second
Each heartbeat moves forward
Away from our birth
Closer to death
Each second wondering
If it will be that special tock
The stopping of the clock
When everything is gone
Except a distant memory
In someone else’s mind
Fairy tales fade
The existential clock spinning
We are precious
Live life now

 

Time is a vapor
Fogged on the stars
Shooting across the nightscape
Here then gone
A quantum tale to be told
Non linear progression
Seconds reflected in a speculum
A familiar song
A smile unobserved
An image left behind
My memories are not for me
But for you
Yours to clutch tightly
I give them to you
Memories are the morning dew
Like trying to hold onto a cloud
You can carry them with you
Until your song ends
The existential clock
Runs out one day
Redemption becomes obsolete
There is no ever after
Live and love in peace

Carlos and The Age Of Aquarius (A cryptic mythic revelation of Music)

abraxas

 

A cryptic mash up free flowing tale of the spirituality of Carlos Santana and various mythological characters with a little hippie legend tossed in……..

This is the dawning of the Age Of Aquarius
Golden living dreams of visions and The minds true liberation
When the moonflower is in the seventh house
And Jingo aligns its Evil Ways……Carlos flies

 

The Pumas guitar sang me a tune
Revealing a painting hung on ancient wall
There the image of the whore I had once berated
Calling her name as I made love to my mother
My beloved Abraxas squealing delightful
Daughter of the clawed feline devil
Angel who shared my very own womb
I half god Castor the true son of Leda
Born of the rape by the swan chameleon
Hath stabbed to death my devious father
The frozen heart of Damien stopped
Vile chilled slayer of Pollex Gemini
But my deeds are etched deep in stone
Upon the hill of the angel Gabriel
Messenger of the creator on high
Mystic crystal revelation
Play on Carlos

 
As my sword pierced the burning spirit
A huge crowd sings of soul sacrifice
The Morning Glories fade to crimson
The whore of the Caravanserai pauses
Clutching me tight to her breast
Filling my mouth with lactic lifeblood
Offering me an oedipal choice
Take the life of Sophocles and the bed of Jocasta awaits
The rape of my mother and murder of my father
Blessed by the oracle of Delphi
The four elements remained in riddle
Revealing the Sphinx as a fraudulent god
So I destroyed the body of the lion
But the spirit of the head remained
Inscribed in the kingdom of Babylon
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Play on Carlos

 
The whispers of my love stricken Rhea
Sobbing behind a forbidden wall of sin
Begged me with tears most amorous
My brother please take away my virginity
Give fully yourself unto Magna Mater
Water bearer of my daughter Gaia
Sister of the father husband Cronos
Blessed incestuous communion
Now the face of the lion Borboletta
One of many morphed in the mane
Layered egos in regal camouflage
Brother father and raper of Europa
Bearing the fruit from the loin of Zeus
The hallucinations of the abalone bull
A song sung in voices Supernaturel
I begged of him strum his lyre once more
To escape me this life of indescribable pain
The Aztec Archer drew back tight his bow
Firing his arrow across the entire world
His message of peace love and music
And then he played a Samba for me
All I had to do was listen
Let peace guide the planets and love steer the stars
Play on Carlos

 

Existential Crisis of the Future

crisis

 

 

What is the future but a collage of moments
Waiting to become memories
Painted by the brushstrokes of the past
From the pallet of the present
Times yet to be created
We all wish we could glimpse into the future
Peer into the portent
Of our own crystal ball
Premonitions
What are premonitions but reflections in reverse
Remembering the stories of our experiences before they occur
As told by the apparitions that haven’t yet passed
Is there a future after death?
Or do all graves remain in the past

Father
Tell me about my future
Your future is your story son
Built on the pillars of your present
And lessons of your past
Interconnected choices
Determined by the fate you make
Your future will be consequences
Of the choices you chose long ago
You will be what you are meant to be
Be only yourself is all I ask
You see your future Son will some day be your past
As mine is now so will yours be in days ahead
What does that mean Pops?
Its just another existential crisis son
Why don’t you tell me about your future
My future? My future is…
Paintings filled with secreted dreams
Red desires, true blue loves, green envies
A calliope of melodies yet to play
Songs waiting to be sung
Lyrics longing to be written
Tales of joy and anguish
Of love and anger
The future is bright and dark
Full of smiles and tears
Halls waiting to be filled with family
With children pondering their own futures
Laughter, sorrow ,hugs, kisses
Or maybe a lonely room
Sad and gloomy
Forgotten and abandoned
But its my future Dad
I’ll try and build a good one
I hope we both find what We’re looking for
Me too Son
Or at least mercy and forgiveness in the end
Don’t ever stop looking son, the thrill is in the chase
Without the thrill well……
Anyway my portrait is finished
My song is sung
My tale is ending
The future belongs to you now
I had my chance
All that was to be
Now just a memory
Go and make some memories Son

Once Upon A Ginge

ginge

 

 

A city boy at heart who loves the urban chaotic

The asphalt pathways and concrete concubines

Where sirens and horns replace the blackbirds at night

I was positive I could never leave that behind

But the lady I cherished asked me to visit her home

Fields dreamed and the beauty in which she’d grown

Where we could be the keepers of each others secrets

Off to nirvana of farmlands last stand

For me a world unknown but grand

 

The wind tugged lightly on her bright orange curls

Sweet smelling wind pressed close the polka dot dress

Outlining her form and betraying salacious intention

A fiery red silhouette against the waning prism of day

Waiting for evening to lock tight the bright door of sunshine

Obscuring the once vibrant fields of yellow green and black

The towering sunflowers bowed their heads good night

Allowing the dark sky to light up unto a diamond landscape

Lust beckoned in the Kansas field

Two lovers both prepared to yield

 

Cicadas sang cricket love songs to the distant horizon

Tongues tangoed furious an erotic passion dance

The still night air was soaked in aphrodisia essence

Arms legs and torso’s in a desperate search of belonging

The ground trembling and writhing with reckless abandon

Where we clutched tight a duet of burning desires

An explosive vortex shrieked shattering the glass moonlight

A cantata of emotions led a orchestra of sizzling emotion

Satisfying of our carnal hunger

Brought us to a peaceful slumber

 

 

 

 

In morning the solar king held golden specters of light

Above grains of our love reaching up to the heavens

Creating Waves of wheat, corn , and tall shining reeds

And a carpet of green for lovers to frolic and stroll

We tip-toed the sharp blades of grass whistling a tune

One lasting song hummed in a lifetime serenade

The grandeur of serene bliss in this captivating pasture

Far from the garden iron barriers of urban decay

Passions equaled and skilled

Two lovers hopes fulfilled

 

But it seems nothing lasts

So time passed

An old cliché that may seem contrite

But

She turned left

And I turned right

Yet saving our brief magical connection

Is out of sight