all of a sudden passion suddenly

Unreasonable Doubt

The simplest answer is always me
when Occam’s razor is pressed
against the fading pulse
of a relationship. The answer to
why do you doubt
is someone told me to
and why don’t you doubt
is someone told me to.

When someone changes,
my fingers spend hours
on the teeter totter button
in my mind pressing play
and rewind on past conversations
until the tape jams and doubt
decides I must be wrong.

Doubt makes it difficult to be brave
and impossible to ask why.

It feels safer to bleed alone.

there is deftness and duality
dancing below the uncertain certainty
that maybe for sure some of this happens
more in our own heads than it does for real

I've rolled my eyes at another's pain
thinking it less than my own
but what would I know

am I callous
do I have a higher pain tolerance
or am I just numb to all but self

empathy is a sack full of sand
shifting granules
the weight never even
heavy, awkward at best
but I carry it in the hope
that I can help
you
with yours
maybe we can put it down
if just for a moment
and share our views

really hear each other for once
and instead of it being a burden
that weighs us down
it becomes a weight that makes us strong

playing with three phases power
alone in a tin shed
gambles the gambling man

rolls the die to risk the loss

to conform to a promise

hold it in the highest of invisible bonds
and what is electricity
but a trifle

so I juggle the toggle switch
hot the amps

what you see
is lit up

and as down as gravity

surely there's rules to control the chaos?
grammar
punctuation
stop me before the period

and light me up
on the whims of negligent promises

I can win if I down shift the safety switch
and defer to the nature
of having no brakes

The Ride of the Unintended Writer

The blinking cursor counts
down while I sit on the fence
4-3-2-1
second until I slide
onto the page, straddling
my bull from whom I cannot run
but who rarely gives me control.

When the horn sounds
the gate swings open
and the words scatter.

I try

desperately to rope them in
to string them together, linking
one to another until I have an image
some lines to act as reins
for me to tug and pull
Calliope this way
and that, keeping her inside
the fences of my conscious
intention
but
sometimes my bull is ornery
and paws the earth, burying
creative destinations in dust.

With her horns she sets
my loosely roped poem free
to run again
in front of me.

With one final buck
she gores my leg
and smashes
through the railings
of my outline, throwing
me on my ass
my words baa at me
as they follow her
through the holes
and together they ride into the sunset (cliché: edit later)

Bleeding, I run
behind
picking up meaningless strays
here and there, thinking
I can still catch up
that I can still capture
my escaping thoughts.

Eventually I concede.
All my darlings have wandered
off my empty page. I have no choice
but to sit, watching the tumbleweeds
waiting
for Calliope to decide
it’s time
to go for another ride.

my mind intersect these thoughts and strays
down errant paths

sightseeing
the intent and the interpretation..

when you say ride
my mind takes it and turns
the intent into interpretation

you've lost control
and in that chaos
I found something
a calm oasis
somewhere I can sit

and exist in the flux of
what you're saying
and what I'm seeing

If only you could come
sit with me
and realize how

well baby
you'd have to come
here

Reindeer Milk

I can't believe you!
There's so many people I'm trying to hide.
Your nature replaced in capable taste
with a tangle of flowers invading
the still, heavy air.

Climb higher, dirty curls.
Don't forget! You're the best
and you're beating them.
Wipe your lips on the bricks
and take care when you're greeting them.

Dare to stare!
You're a labor in vain.
A dead, empty rain.
You're insatiable!

Voracious, hateful and sour.
Your accomplishments might meet their match!
Drive it home! Pound it out.
That heart beats like a stone.
It's the ground in your way
and it won't mind having you back.

Sight: nose piercing
Sound: empty forest
Taste: peppermint
Smell: peppermint
Touch: coat

Full fathoms five
or I forget how many
father lies
but that's how deep I fish
to sleep, each night per
chance to mix meta
phors or wax on dreamy

palettes

predominated by blues
San Francisco Blues
only gray at the edges and
sullen purples before the dawn
breathes away the darkness
for now.

imagine I'm there
whispering your name
free from the other sounds
that vibrate through the day

you are free to choose
where we go from here
but know that my intent
is naked

are you willing
to take the layers
in your fists
peel them away
tare down concepts of being defined
from what you do for work
or how you see yourself defined

lets us
define each other
not from titles
but from the core of who we are

of yin and yang
of true masculine and feminine

let us be the definition of smut
of passion
of sex
let us be the crawl through
primordial swamps

understanding the
interactions of our own truths

or you can choose to walk on
past that second
where you could have had
something free
that no one could take from you

and I
I will know what you missed

sounds like beat poetry. add some bongos, lol

Your Body

is perfect, even when now slumped
with age, because

I remember, remember your beauty
in that tent we pitched

next to the lake, how
we almost kicked out the pegs

and brought the whole canopy down
as we coupled

frantically as squirrels, always nervous
about wolves or park rangers coming upon us

but here's the thing—
you are now such a part of me

you are like my skin,
or you're a vital organ outside my body,

you are like my life
or you are my life

in any meaningful way a philosopher
might balance the terms existence and love

You drink mystery like cereal milk
Frosted Mini Whats?

Having just spent 10 days northcountry canoeing with my partner, I'm jealous of your poem and wish I'd written this. The specifics differ as specifics will, but I might add that the whitewater sections do wonders for intrapartnership communication.

Tzara said:

Your Body

is perfect, even when now slumped
with age, because

I remember, remember your beauty
in that tent we pitched

next to the lake, how
we almost kicked out the pegs

and brought the whole canopy down
as we coupled

frantically as squirrels, always nervous
about wolves or park rangers coming upon us

but here's the thing—
you are now such a part of me

you are like my skin,
or you're a vital organ outside my body,

you are like my life
or you are my life

in any meaningful way a philosopher
might balance the terms existence and love

Click to expand...

Paper
Paint
Ink
Acrylic
Water color
Art books
Canvases
Paint brushes
Pencil sharpener
A bag to carry it all in

Where it all stays

In hope for the day to do it all again
I can’t stir actions
Just collections
and notions

Handwriting

She left me a note.

When I read it on the train,
I knew her body

in that loose, looped script, her words
just words. Yet, I felt her hips.

Love, a Kind of Definition

It is sometimes about
the curve of your thighs, how
they flare from your knee
and then dive
back

as if inviting my attention,
which, of course, they do,
just as your breasts,
the gentle swell of your hips,
the soft nature of your skin

reminds me how different you are
and how much I want
to join with you.

This is all body, though,
frantic enough, but ephemeral
as a lightning storm
over an open field, where
I try to find a low place to lie,

to be safe, hoping I won't be struck.
But sex strikes everyone.

I'm sorry
I have attached myself to you but
you are so beautiful when you talk
about Jay Gatsby, Jane Austen,
I forget that you might look like

something other than perfection.

As if that mattered. Your touch
fixes everything. Your touch
tacks me to happiness

like a bulletin board in the hallway
of life.
Pin me there

forever. Please.

I'm nothing more than a silhouette
in the rain
a wet dog looking in
But you know
I pissed on the rug
tore done curtains
took a shit on the bed

so there's no pity
for the shivering
simply cold contempt
because even dogs have the capacity to learn
all I ever did
was think that love would be enough
for the rest not to matter

another navigation system
urging to drive off cliffs
in a carnival side show of screaming fits
why not take the car
and just drive
right off the edge

another shade of black
in 5am's shadows
a saxophone wails
the hum of a harmonica
rain falling lightly
painting pretty pictures on cold glass

another battle with the people in my head
screaming out their cacophony
of demands
food
drink
toilet
fuck she s smoking
damn what a wanker

If I take this hammer
and smash his face
I
don't
have to
listen
to him
any
more

I don't have to sever my tongue
with every emotional gas light
I can fucking find
because some pressure cookers
can't be releaswd

it's a tumbled down
rollercoaster
I want off
But it's free
so
just one more ride....

confessions of a drug dealer #1

it's easy to speak in double
entendres easy
to push what I'm peddling
because we're all addicts
looking for a high to end all highs

and baby what I got
is so full of empathy
so full of life
of questions and contradictions
you don't realise how deep you get
until you're there
waiting for the next
message in your inbox

anxiety churning you
up
eating away at you
shaking
in the waiting

and then
there it is
and it's gorgeous
It's glorious
it strokes you
caress you with those invisible fingers
envelops you in it's charge

smart, clever
and so so sexy


But it's never enough
when the source is
neverending

JCG

Forgive me my reveries. I'm maudlin
perhaps and tired of sadness scraping
grey wings on my door. I understand

that loss is inevitable, leads nowhere
but my own failed consciousness. Ok
but my heart is breaking. I'll never

hear you sing Knock On Wood again
or watch your fingers motorvate
up and down the frets easy as a walk.

In June it was 50 years since we met
and rode through our youth in song
and invincibility, carefree hope

jingling like change in our pockets.
Beatle songs, near beer jokes, oh god
and the laughing made a soundtrack

that plays on in me beep beep yeah.
You're in Heaven now: I must fully
and foolishly believe you're beating

great white wings in 4/4 time,
delighted by the outpouring of love
floating through clouds toward you.

Angeline said:

JCG

Forgive me my reveries. I'm maudlin
perhaps and tired of sadness scraping
grey wings on my door. I understand

that loss is inevitable, leads nowhere
but my own failed consciousness. Ok
but my heart is breaking. I'll never

hear you sing Knock On Wood again
or watch your fingers motorvate
up and down the frets easy as a walk.

In June it was 50 years since we met
and rode through our youth in song
and invincibility, carefree hope

jingling like change in our pockets.
Beatle songs, near beer jokes, oh god
and the laughing made a soundtrack

that plays on in me beep beep yeah.
You're in Heaven now: I must fully
and foolishly believe you're beating

great white wings in 4/4 time,
delighted by the outpouring of love
floating through clouds toward you.

Click to expand...

This is heart-breakingly lovely. Thank you for sharing what must be a very personal loss.

GuiltyPleasure said:

This is heart-breakingly lovely. Thank you for sharing what must be a very personal loss.

Click to expand...

Thank you. He was/is a very dear friend and someone who was a music guru to me when I was young. I'm still kind of reeling from the sudden, unexpected loss but the outpouring of love for him (he was a much beloved local musician to the end, passed right after a gig) I've seen on social media--the 21st century gathering place, I guess--has been like a balm for my heart.

so I'm looking around
trying to find what it means to be a
man
in these days of uncertainty
or political correctness gone mental
popped some acid and went on a massive bender

where the idea of masculinity
is a fucking crime
a sick joke
that has been acid washed to try and cleanse
the world of it

and is now trying to be bred of our boys
with the social justice moniker
that patriarchy is the problem with society
and fuck that....

not because I lose my place amongst the "elite"
or even because it's some god given right

brow beaten
cock shamed
for the sake of some imagined ideal
that rejects the notion that
gender has no basis in biology

that father is now redundant
that the fact I am a man
should come not only
with a bucket full of shut the fuck up
because its my fault
but also a truck load of shame to swallow down
pretending shit is steak

that I should tell my boys to dress like women because
gender is a social construct
a myth fabricated
by men to keep power

and this is where it will get twisted
into some buckshot shouts
of misogynist
woman hater

because its not right for a man to defend himself anymore
he should just look at the floor
and accept his beating
because its all were good for

its why we're bigger so that
we can cop the beatings
its why we are told to be silent
its why they attack emotional trigger words

because if they were to look around
and realise that behind the stoic shoulders
behind the strength we have
we're just lost
in a world that
rejects everything we are

and so I pay a salute to the last of the real men

and I finally understand
why trump won

The trouble with the hospital staff was
they only saw him as an age
treated him as an old man,
whereas I don't, I never have.
Now he's got used to being treated
as a doddery old boy
with half his marbles
unable to do anything for himself,
that's the man they've sent home to me.
They didn't see the big brave man
that rescues me from spiders,
puts in light bulbs and bleeds radiators.