Archive for June, 1987


Posted: June 25, 1987 in Poetry
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Trickles around stones
From way underground
Places where secrets sit
Still very unfound
It searches and pries
Through caverns and cracks
Picking up, putting down
Glistening, it refracts
Bubbling up, winding through
Under, round, over
Supplying things with itself
From sequoia to clover
Joining, growing, getting more
Gaining much momentum
The tiny little rivulet
Intent upon concentration
Down, down the water goes
Fingerlets, creek, brook
To stream, to river, to mighty ocean
A lengthly journey it took.


Posted: June 25, 1987 in Poetry
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Incense – something to burn upon a stick
With many scents, you can take your pick
Pine and pinyon, sandwood, too
They probably even have leather of shoe.
Incense provides a pleasurable smoke
To breath and refresh and relax and stoke
Primeval passions, unleashed from their cell
Let loose from the madhouse by that elusive smell.
So brilliant, so fiery, yet so mellow
It changes, rearranges, and startles a fellow.
A stabilizing factor, possibly disturbed.
Sometimes my appetite has been curbed.
It makes you feel silly, or maybe feel cool
It will make you stand up and sing like a fool.
Now that you’re done, go take a bow
You can tell that I’m sniffing incense right now.


Posted: June 25, 1987 in Poetry
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I’m not a ghost
Don’t be afraid
It’s just me in my
Fancy shades
Don’t mess around
Don’t get too hip
Turn up the temperature
Of this comic strip
Too hot to handle
Too cold to hold
Larger than life
We’re big, bad, and bold
Writing out stuff
That don’t make sense
Dogs living with cats
In the wrong tense
I’m not trying to be silly
Not attempting to be dumb
But I bet you’re wondering
Where this babble comes
I tell you it’s spontaneous
Like I said before
If there’s no peanuts left
I’m walking out that door.

I Wish

Posted: June 25, 1987 in Poetry
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I wish I could be philosophical
Like the poems written by Jared
But I have tried my hand at profound stuff
And not well have I fared.
I have attempted to compose in classic style
With coolness, structure and order
But, alas, like Alex Pope said
Next to madness I was close to border.
I tried to be romantic in style
Emotion, no structure or composure
But I couldn’t do it; I don’t know why
So that poetry came to its closure.
Realist, naturalist, all those things
Styles and types for poems
But I’ve tried them all and can’t adhere
So I’ll stick with the style that’s my own.


Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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Why does it have to be this way?
When the fabric of my mind is beginning to fray
Like a bolt of lightning, straight from above
I ask myself, do I deserve your love?
Why is it always like this?
We laugh, we argue, we fight, we kiss.
I can’t believe it, that you really care
Almost like a game of truth or dare.
Why is it so hard to say goodbye?
You can make me laugh, you can make me cry.
It’s such a great feeling being in your arms;
Cover me, smother me, in your charms.
Why can’t I understand
That magic I feel when I hold your hand.
Like electricity through my veins
Soothing and healing my many pains.
I really believe you’re heaven sent
Hold me, love me, through and through
I’m so lucky because I have you.

My Harmonica

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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My harmonica
It is good news
Even though it only
Sings the blues.
Like Willie Brown
Harp in hand
Playin’ at the crossroads
Yeah, he’s my man!
I’m feeling great
Yup, just fine
With my old harp
I’m gonna whine.
Shaking all the hills
Playin’ to the beat
Makin’ all the people
Go dancing in the street.

Untitled Poem #11

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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My life is with what everybody has toyed
Shuddering, quaking, my will is destroyed.
I fall to my knees with a heart-rending cry
That echoes around in an empty blue sky.
Now the tears come, they come like a flood
But it’s not saline moisture, it’s dark crimson blood
Coursing down my cheeks, staining the fair earth
While my life is waning, they giggle in mirth.
Pounding in my ears, pumping in my chest
Why is it that I’m cursed, never blessed?
I hurt so bad, I writhe in pain
Consciousness is so hard to maintain.
Nothing cools me or quenches my thirst.
The throbbing in my brain keeps getting worse
As I see my life spill out before me
The sand turns black with my misery
There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say
To make the world shut up and go away.
Sorrow overwhelms me, with blood I cry
My last remaining wish is that I wish I could die.