Beauty is a Time Share

Beauty will not find its way into our hearts, my friends 

Lest we coax it over time with smiles and treatises of hope

Inviting it with soft delights of kinder thoughts and

Become the opposite of misanthrope

She will (when coaxed) - and slowly, how she will -

Work her sleight of hand, like magic in our smiles

And prove she is effective still

Against Life's many wiles

She will turn our faces soft, our hearts, forgiving

Understanding will abound

We will grasp the concept of our living 

In the skies with our feet upon the ground

We will see with great effectiveness

How the world around is changed

By this (sweet beauty's lovely kiss)

Into a time of better days

For Beauty, with its kindest grip

Will hold us close for years

And will only let a tiny slip

Occur as if to say that she's been here

Just Say Hello

Just Say Hello by Radio for the Blind

Oh, where will the Love be on Tuesday next week?

Oh, where will the Love be, my dear?

Oh, where will the Love be on Tuesday next week?

Oh, I say, my dear, right here

You'll never look again, my dear

For anything or anyone to hold you near

You see, I see clearly the wind

And I feel in its breeze

I could fall...

Down to my knees

I could fall...

Fall…

Fall…

In Love with you

Oh, you…

Oh, you…

Oh, you…

Oh...

Oh, you…

I could whisper and I could dream

Oh, I…

I could do anything, if you want

All you have to say is say Hello

Hello

Hello

How are you?

How are you?

How are you?

How are you?

Just say Hello

Hello

Hello

Just say Hello

Guitar by Isaac Clawson

Lyrics & Voice by Joshua David McLerran

Dance Until We Drift Away

The dance before me, held within my heart and circumscribed to be a latent barrier to my efforts just to dream, came barreling into my chest with great force and little compromise.  I could feel it (that old dance again) drilling its way into my soul to either permeate the core or to leave me haggard and abandoned in a corner on the floor.  

I felt the heat from bodies pulsing in the heart of who I am - the rapid thump-thump-thumping in a rhythmical sort of way was reminiscent of my march into the dawn that cold and fate-less night wherein our hands, two cherished things, were intertwined as were our legs and almost anything else that we could manage to entangle in the midst of the others skin and limbs and groans.  

A dance - more fitfully, a dream - made of our desires and our efforts to be free, was more than circled movements, pushes, pulls, and all the like; no, it was made of something real and less-imagined; something that, without great effort, could be recognized as beautiful and elegant and rare by the most undistinguished and rudimentarily-trained and nondescript of passersby.  

The world, without its Fates aligned may laugh and call the nighttime day, but we, the dancers in that night are quite aware of what to say when thus confronted by the test of nighttime versus day, "My friends," our words, or as we thus begin them, just to say that "we are neither champions of light or dark or day, nor do we claim the darkness' friend (cold night) in any of these ways.  We are simply mortal, and in this habitat's display, we shall forever dance in tangles here until we drift away."

The Song of My Rope

I once had the willing describers of Hope

Come knocking at night on my door

To what cause?

I was not the one at the end of my rope

Nor was I breaking the laws

But here in the night came the knocking, the same

Pulling me out of my bed

I went to the door and I looked through the lock

But I all I could see was in red

Oh, all I could see was in red

The wind called me outside, but I stayed within

I could not pretend yet to care

For anything outside my lover's embrace

Or just the soft scent of her hair

I whistled the night all the while from my bed

Knowing that I was alone

While outside, the wind was whistling as well

Alone, just as alone as I

Oh, where will I sleep to be rid of this wind 

Come knocking around at my door?

Oh, how can I hope to be rid of this wind

And not end up on the floor,

Bruised and disheveled some more?

Oh, to stay off of the floor

Please do not open the door

I've fixed myself a chariot of gold

And I've kept it right here all the while

I'll ride it and be gone forever, I swear

And go where there's no one for miles

To cut my rope or hold to the chair.

The Shape & Taste of Love

Love is an anchor and a buoy all the same.  It does not attempt to control us or to change us any more than we wish to thus be changed.  Love will not tie us down or make our hearts feel kept (beyond the feeling of one who is kindly welcomed to remain or go at his or her own pleasing).  Love brings us focus and filters out our desires to be selfish.  It gives us empathy when applicable and sympathy when we find ourselves discussing paths we have not walked before.  Love brings courage to the weakened mind and discovers all the darkened places of the corners of our souls (Love keeps all our darkest thoughts at bay and lets only those sweet lights within come out when we allow its sweet embrace).  Love encircles us when we find ourselves alone and entertains us when we simply need to laugh.  Love will never abandon us, but will stay quite consistently at our sides.  It will conquer all our fears without ever asking why we were afraid - Love will not ask questions that seem to probe too far without first reminding us of all our hopes and dreams and of how it is here to help us find a grin within the dark.  Love will always change us for the better, if we so allow it, but we must learn to recognize it and embrace it and give it not condition in our hearts, but open forum, thus allowing it to grow and take upon itself whatever form or shape it so desires.  Love will never disappoint in this regard, my friends, so just allow it to take hold and watch as all the world around you starts to shine in brilliant rays of light that were always there before, though you just never knew to notice.

Without Efficient Means

There are whispers in the air that speak of what the future holds - or more precisely, what the future brings - if I were to only follow them (these whispers).  I watch from baited corridors wherein my traps are lain to circumscribe my only heart into a box made out of Alder wood, with a lid quite tightly locked (the key, not swallowed, but hidden nonetheless from me).  

I watch as all the passersby - the tourists of this Life - go ambling about their days without regard to thoughts of Love and how they rest within it in the end.  I stand, I sit, I fall quite simply in a trance wherein the old effects of Life are felt, ready to enclose me in the gates of their old wishes (subtle wishes, quiet claims upon my soul, feeble confidants, untrustworthy intoxicated friends, subscribed to all I have to say, but with no word in edgewise like "belay the thought of ever coming close to drifting through this dream alone").  Oh, mortal claims upon my heart, take hold!  Grip me tightly in the darkest corners wherein my spirit falls to drift and dream and sift away the thoughts I wish to leave abandoned on the floor.

My heart, old beating thing, give me credence in the folds and lift me up when I am quiet and still wishing for a spark of light to come, to call, to drain me of my peace and craft for me a known desire without efficient means.

we Have Such Little Time...

Time, with Its quiet waiting,

Silent wanting, shameful visage 

From within. Standing gately 

All around me, keeping 

Quiet in the din. 

we do not, within it all, accept 

At all Its silence and Its rage. 

As quietly, It gingerly 

Runs lengthened fingers 

'Cross our page.

Sweet Time, 

Old Time, 

Old Father, time

To go

Before the lights within, 

Without blow out

And take us derelicts 

In tow.

(Screaming, fitfully)

Be kind, Old Time! Forget

That claim that on us You

Now hold: 

To keep us silenced and

Forever thus entombed

Within Your fold!

(somber now...)

Sweet Time, 

Quiet Time, We

Have such little time, you know;

To waste a-not

And wanting what we

Should have always known

Would be more fanciful than real, 

More tamed demure intoxication than 

The constructs of our steel and hardy 

Tongue, thus lashing out, foolhardy 

In its rage against Kind Time, 

Sweet Quiet Time, 

Whose fingers turn each page 

From book to boundless energies, 

Thus floating in the squall 

Of aftermaths of aftermaths, 

Alive, despite it all. 

As Time, 

Sweet Time, 

Sweet Eager Time and I, 

Most effortlessly, hand-in-hand 

Above it all shall fly 

To distances most distant and 

Most definitively new; 

Where all that's left is what We've done, 

Not what We've meant to do; and 

Quiet Time, 

Sweet Silent Time, 

Sweet Loving Friend and I

Shall, innocence now lost and gone, 

Be Heirs to every cry 

That once had kept Us

Silenced gately, thus 

Looking on, demure;from where We'd

Sought and even fraught 

Without comfort or a cure that

Seemed a-right and rightly so, for

Time, thus ticking on had

One desire: to feed Its fire and

Keep Us through till dawn.

(pause, reflect, begin anew)

Sweet Time, 

Quiet Time, 

Quiet Time, whose voice I share, 

Lead me not down leaden paths 

That end in deep despair;

But if, Sweet Time, 

My Quiet Time, my 

Final time is nigh, 

Then grant me this, my 

Final wish, and let 

The We be I.

It's Chilly Out

1.7 miles between 
My falling steps 
And quiet destiny, 
A train ticket away. 


Above me, 
Steel birds befit their 
Angels' wings. 
Each ridiculously manmade 
Breeze, 
The salakyans & the like, 
All blowing through 
My hair & skin, 
This chilly wind.

It's Chilly Out

1.7 miles between 
My falling steps 
And quiet destiny, 
A train ticket away. 


Above me, 
Steel birds befit their 
Angels' wings. 
Each ridiculously manmade 
Breeze, 
The salakyans & the like, 
All blowing through 
My hair & skin, 
This chilly wind.

‎(SWM) Artistic

Him:
Patient. 
Honest. 
Kind. 
Thoughtful. 
Quiet. 
Loud. 
Energetic. 
Lazy. 
Full of ideas. 
Independent. 
Loving. 
Poetic. 
Romantic. 
Friendly. 
Smiles a lot. 
Can get quite sad. 
Loves to laugh. 
Loves nature. 
Loves animals. 
Has 3 cats. 
Likes all things rad. 
Washes himself daily. 
Gets excited about things. 
Works ridiculously well when focused. 
Sometimes lacks focus. 
Enjoys life. 
Enjoys the company of others. 
Enjoys solitude. 
Loves the ocean. 
Doesn't like to drink. 
Drives a truck. 
Works well with others. 
Works well with his hands. 
Remembers people. 
Remembers names. 
Forgets most other things like bills. 
Has a firm grip on what he feels is truly important in life. 
Sometimes forsakes the short view for the long view. 
Sometimes forsakes the long view for the short view. 
Loves the mountains. 
Prefers remaining near water. 
Speaks multiple languages. 
Good with computers. 
Likes to build things. 
Excellent English skills. 
Adaptive. 
Hasn't killed himself yet. 
Plans on living forever. 
Kinda scattered, but... 
Worth it in the end.
Her:
Digs all of the above.

Vague Impressions of Me

I vie by my...self          However
My...self does not reply
     To what I must portray it as
           To be to others
                      To me
            To be...
                       Misinterpreted
                       Misinformed
   Or simply... Misjudged
                            Of itself
                            To itself
                      By my...self
                  My...self
              Comes by
                             To be
                   My...self
                   By misinterpreting
                                           me

My God's Garden Grows

My god's garden grows
It grows
With such vigor and force
And yet it grows with love
It holds back the winds
And welcomes the rain
It basks in the sunlight
And steeps in the shadows
It grows without warning
Request
Or decree
My god's garden grows and
I think
It grows for me

Of Nakedness and Queens

The girl across the street from me
Wears her clothes
In a cumbersome way
So she removes them
Uncomfortable in her skin
When it is covered.
She stretches
Naked now
And walks onto the balcony
(An effort to be seen)
Over the edge,
She peaks without reserve
With her perfect breasts
And her legs that reach up eleven floors
To meet the perfect, round shape of her ass
She plays a symphony with her hands
As they stretch
And reach
And touch
The nudity of her skin
Inside again, she lists about the house
Still naked
Placing things on top of things
Pressing things like buttons
And wandering...
Just wandering.
From across the street
I can feel the pull of the balcony against her skin
As she strains against it
Pretending not to notice
How beautiful she feels when she is on it:
A queen
In skinful splendor
Above the vassals of the clothed below her
She breaks beneath its will, the balcony
And walks
Again in rich ascendancy
To view her many acolytes below.
From her perch above them all,
She watches them, her acolytes
Still naked, she
Moving like ants, they
Throughout the breeze
Unaware of her sovereignty
Her nudity
Her extreme benevolence
And her virtue.

Josephine Wiggled Her Toes

For Josephine Irene Hill, if you you are half as intelligent as your father and half as beautiful as your mother, than you have already exceeded the world average.


Her name was Josephine Irene
And she had that crazy kick, you see
That turned her mama's face all green
And made her feel she had to pee
And mama, though she put up well
With all her rants and raves
She one day had to up and tell
Sweet Josephine, "Be brave!
"Go on!  Get out!  It's time to sprawl!
"You've got to stretch them toes!"
And answerin' her mama's call
Came Josephine's sweet nose
She sniffed about and took a peek
At what was goin' on outside
And with her hair all lookin' sleek
And nothing left to hide
She took a walk around the room
Shakin' hands and actin' swell
And everyone had to assume
That she would live her life out well
'Cause Josephine, that darling girl
Was smart like smartness goes
From the day she stepped into the world
And wiggled her sweet toes.

Am Nothing

I am a ghost
A monument lost in time
I am a moment
Lost in the ether
Of a song
A million lives & sonnets long
I am a forgotten myth
A story made up
Of conflicting sides
A motion
A moment
A monument of lore
A kindness suit
From malpracticing myself
Intuitively
Against the amber masses
The cheap façade
The grande display
I am
I am
I am
Am nothing.

The One Where Susanna Called My Name

I climbed to the roof the other day
It was beautiful
The sun was setting and the ravens tried to cut my eyes from their holds
It was amazing
In an alternate universe,
The one where I and the Costa Rican girl woke
Entangled in each others' arms,
I flew with them
Cawing and calling and stretching out all black, my wings
I could see the world from shadowless depths in flight
I could dream
I could wake
I could be anything but what I was at that moment:
A solid shape, less ethereal
Less real
More nothing than the air around me;
More changed
Than still the same
The same when I awoke last week
When everything was mottled, pained, and dry
When everything was sad and lonely
Forgotten and forlorn

An effort

I was something less forgotten then
I was something more held to and remembered
Well-loved and appreciated
Something more...
I was always something more...
In this alternate universe
Made of pixels and creations in my mind.

The Passing Time

I live in a world full of passersby Each skin-clad soul, a moment Each skin-clad soul, ethereal to me A ghost in times of change They all turn and wander on They all move and twirl And love to be my moment's grasp But gripped, they change They wriggle and are free of me A vixen in the night A self-engaging fright They move to homes where I am not And linger there Awaiting husbands and boyfriends and wives Girlfriends and the like While I, engaged by time itself alone, am left To figure out the pieces where they lie And make sense of something That makes no sense at all.

A Stranger Shade of Love

I exist within a shade of love,
unfamiliar to myself even,
I care for things
like time
and silence
and the patience of a moment
drawn into the night
and made to live forever in my heart
I find myself
in something
somehow
linked,
somehow akin to love
A drifting wayfarer
composed of fate
and stars
and falling things
like autumn leaves
and quiet eyes
and a slipping soft
and supple dress onto the floor.
I feel the weight of things
like manic grief
and the formulas of forgotten lives
without forgotten loves
as the efforts of those times come close to touching me,
close to changing me,
close to making me believe in them.
But I do not believe.
Not in things like love unfeigned,
but love unquenched
and love unfurled
and love, like a rocket,
blooming in the sky
with its hot and fiery breath
in an arcing swift display
that changes everything
around it in its light
magnificent
for only but a moment,
hearing oo's
and aah's
and things like laughter in the summer breeze
as ice cream is devoured
and bags of candied popcorn pass
from one excited hand into another.
But like the rocket and the summer breeze
and the ice cream and the popcorn too,
so love,
so fleeting,
so final,
is ephemeral as well.
It closes its now clutching hand
too tight
around my soul
and gives me little room to breathe.
It shows me things like who I am,
not who I wish to be,
and makes me live a life of pain
and excess
and the thoughtlessness of me.
But love,
sweet vixen laid,
sweet chamber maid
to the heart of who I am,
gives me more
than anything I could dare to dream;
more than anything I could hope to be
or just become.
Oh love,
sweet love,
sweet half-known cutting thing,
be not gone from me anon.
Be not changed nor changing
nor be left behind,
but be my friend tonight
and every night.
Be there when I wake,
and when I sleep,
sweet love,
be dreams to me
that come in wrapped displays
of elegance
and eloquence,
a heart-shaped form
of who I am to be,
of who I am to thee.
Oh love,
sweet love,
sweet love,
my shade of thee is warped, I know,
but educate me, love.
Entice me from the darkness of my soul
and dream of me as well.
Believe in me,
sweet love.
Believe that I am more than what I seem to be.
Believe that I am more than what I've said
or what I've done
or what I've attempted to avoid.
Believe,
sweet love,
in me.
And I will,
a shade no more,
believe entirely in thee.

So Standing Here

I have no need of skin, my love
This skin was never mine, but yours
My love
I have no need of things like dreams, my dear
Those dreams I had and found and lost, I am
Not interested in those
My love
I guess I never had to shake this off before, my God
I never had to shake the feeling that I'd lost, my love
I've lost
And now where should I stand, my dear?
With echoes and the winds against me, oh where?
My love
Should I be skinless and so dreamless and so... standing here
My love?
So standing here?

Ain't Nothin' Wrong with a Little Conversation

Well shit...
Maybe we oughtta have a conversation then
Of course, that's all I'm interested in
Well, maybe that & just a little kiss on the cheek
But that's all I really need from you, my fine lady friend
Just that conversation and a lovely little kiss on my cheek
Of course...
That is one hell of a beautiful neck, my beautiful girl
I may have to see what that tastes like right now
But that's all I need from you, my lovely lady
Just that one kiss on my cheek and a taste of that neck and -
Oh...
...that conversation too
Let's not forget about that.

;)

Come on Polly

I don't think I'm breakin' down, my girl
When I tell you this old thing
That's been dancin' round my head a while
And kept me in the wings

So come on Polly, don't be shy
I've waited all this time
For just a scent of what you got
That's comin' down the line

Now don't be harsh and don't be rude
And don't be silent too
'Cause Polly dear, my greatest fear
Is that you won't be true

So come on Polly, and come on with it
You see, I gotta go
But what's that thing you say is shit
That I don't wanna know?

My Power Comes from My Space Jacket

It isn't too roomy, it isn't too cramped
It isn't too cold and it isn't too amped
It came from a comet, with spacemen in tow
It's my metal space jacket, made of magic space snow

It gives me my powers to fight out in space
And be the protector of the whole human race
I punch and I swing and I kick and I jab
I shoot and dishevel, I poke, and I stab

I give 'em the ole - as they say - one and two
Defending the Earth for the red white and blue
I shake 'em and toss 'em and make 'em all run
I rattle their neck fat and just have some fun

I let 'em all know that it's serious-time
With a digital clock that reads quarter to nine
And if they don't listen and all go to bed
Then my magic space jacket repeats what I said

But it isn't so nice, as it only knows punches
Building fear at the center by eating their lunches
But all shall bow down at the end of the fight
To my magic space jacket and it's magic space might

The Stillness of Her Smile

I wish...
In small enticing circles
Across each smile she gives me;
I travel softly
From one corner of her mouth
And to the other
With the words "I love you"
Lingering
Between the soft spots in the air.
She is an effect of change
Brought by a silence in her eyes
And a stillness, pure as beauty
Suggestive of the peace
Of knowing one's true place in life
And knowing
That no matter where I go from here
It was right here
In small enticing circles
In the stillness of her smile
Where my whole life began.

I Seem to Want Her Now

We kissed...
And like wildfire
My thoughts exploded into her
A thousand words and dreams at once
I seemed
To want her badly
I seemed
To want her more
I seem
To want her now.

The Man That I had Dreamed

I felt a saddening love song within me grow
As the space between my soul and her eyes grew dim
I felt
Somehow departed from the man she'd made for me
Or more precisely put,
The man she'd made me think she wanted
I guess I never was that man
I guess
I never was that nothing
That I ever wanted to be
And so
Deep within myself
From somewhere deep without as well,
I closed that chapter of my life
And closed my eyes
And sighed
And became the man that I had dreamed

Strange Curiosities and Smiles

She danced the room
With eyes like honey gold,
Causing me to believe in
Things like hope
And love
And pain;
And it all came
In silently sliding vicissitudes
From a heart made up
Of lovely moments
And a quiet
Calm
That can give an urgent pause
To a life left stalling
In the wings.
She smiled
From a place I knew too well;
A place where silence is
A thing forgot,
Where harmony
And song
And believing
In such things is more real
And less
Fantastic,
As it so often is here:
Here,
In her world of strange
Curiosities and smiles.

To Be Not Heard

There are words that I should speak
Yet I save them from you
Feeling that my thoughts are not needed
To be heard...
O my voice!
To be heard...
But I wait.
Ling'ring in my own thoughts-
And the words I should have said
I watch myself
Thinking
And hear myself
Break
I give in
To my thoughts
And become
What I have made myself to be:
An author of the written word
Speaking not
To be truly known only to myself
To be myself
And seldom heard.

Opinions are Like Assholes

I guess the reason that I said before
For laughing at your kitchen floor
Is not the best or most polite;
And even though I'm mostly right,
I'm mostly sorry too for that
'Cause I don't want you to react
In such a way as you just did
With yelling words and getting rid
Of things that, true, are rather dumb
To me that is, to you, they're "fun"
I guess the thing for you to note
Is that old adage that I wrote
In amber paint across your lawn
That you won't see until the dawn
That opinions and all assholes, hun
Are found in almost everyone.

The Carnival of Dance Outside of Nazi France

I hand me things like naked
In a time of Nazi-France
When no one said I'd make it
To the Carnival of Dance

But there I was, regardless
In lust or luster or
The once and always clothes-less
And the ever-wanting-more

"More this! More that!
"More everything for me!"
The never skinny, ever-fat
Fool's errantry of greed

Is something more than lacking
Friend, I tell you this because
I've heard you back there snacking
On a thing called powdered love

And though you may believe it
Will outside of Nazi-France
Bring you luck and fancy shit
You'll never learn to dance

So shed your thoughts of Nazi-rich
Enticements and your pants
And walk the leading road which
Finds the Carnival of Dance

Beyond the Wall

As the light twinkles through my fingertips,
my mind departs on a wonderful trip.
I see flowers above me, below me, around me,
flowers go on for as far as I see
until I come to an end and find a long road.
To find out where it goes, I ask a small toad.
The toad says, "There, sir, the road goes there."
I say, "Where is there, sir, anywhere?"
He says, "There is your direction, your very next step
"to find your Life's perfection and whatever happens next;
"there is what you make of it: your future not shown;"
and so I began down the road unknown.
Now, each step is different, and on some I trip,
but I get right back up with a new break in my lip
until I see something blocking my sight,
something large and luminous that doesn't seem right.
As I approach it, I'm scared and I fall
for blocking my path is a rather large wall.
I say to myself with a gasp in my breath,
"Oh no! It's the end! This must be my death!"
but as I stare at the wall, I start using my head
and aptly remember what the small toad had said.
He said, "There is what you make of it, your future not shown."
So I made a keyhole, then a key out of stone.
Now, let's take one moment and we'll pretend
that maybe (just maybe) Death isn't the end.
I put the key in the lock and I turned it (like so),
but what I saw after that, you'll never know
unless you come to your wall and try not to bond
and then use your head to take you beyond.

Author's Notes:

2 March 2010
When I was eleven years old, I woke with a start at 2:30 in the morning and scribbled out this poem into a notebook that I kept beside my bed for such events.  When I woke the next morning, I opened the book to examine what I'd said and felt confident that it was the best thing that I had ever written.  I closed the book and went on about my day.

There are very few poems that I have memorized.  This is one of them.  I can say it at any possible given occasion, I am certain.  The words have barely changed at all since its original conception.  I believe the only world therein that still remains somewhat ephemeral to me is the word "Until" in "Until you come to your wall and try not to bond."  This word I'll often swap with "Unless" and feel fine with either way.

23 February 2013
The following updates have been made:

- Capitalization follows sentence structure rather than line designation.
- "Unless" used instead of "Until" in "Unless you come to your wall and try not to bond"
- A misplaced "So" or two removed at the beginning of lines, 'cause it sounded weird.
- Title changed from "Living Beyond the Wall" to "Beyond the Wall"
- "and aptly remember" changed from "and then I remember what the small toad had said." 

New:

He says, "There is your direction, your very next step
"to find your Life's perfection and whatever happens next;
"there is what you make of it: your future not shown;"
and so I began down the road unknown.

Old:

He says, "There is what you make of it: your future not shown;"
and so I began down the road unknown. 

My Immaculate Love

In honey-lemon skin
and the efforts of an angel,
she approaches me
and loves me
and causes me to burn inside
and melt
I feel her in my skin when I smile
and dream her in my mind when I sleep
she is my effortlessly beautiful
my angel sin un acabo
she is my love.

All of My Kittens

All of my kittens
With all of their mittens
Have come out for tea and iced cream.

They’ve all brought their pails
And filed their nails
And taken the path by the stream.

They begin to arrive
At a quarter to five
As the kettle’s beginning to steam.

They all take their chairs
Right next to the bears...
And that was the end of my dream!

The Wind and the Whole World

He wanders the room in search of her, not knowing who she is, not knowing her name or even what she looks like; but just the way she makes the air around him feel when she is near: trembling in stillness as though it was the wind and the whole world now holding its breath, and not him, gripped by the optimistic anticipation of the possibility of her. The wind and whole world sigh as he approaches her, and gasp, as he walks on by, unknowingly. But he, in touch, in search of Love himself, takes pause at the wind and the whole world’s breath and wonders… and turns… and sees... her, surprised to know that he had heard her prayer. While he, surprised to see that she had answered his, surprised that here before him, in her silent radiance, beaming like a thousand suns: staring him down as he watches her, walks toward her, takes her hand and whispers, "My God... my love... you've heard me!" as she crumbles into a thousand pieces in his arms, tripping over her words, expecting everything to be perfect, finding nothing is the same when he is near, but better, she trembles… unable to speak, able only to Love, to Dream, to fall into his arms and live a thousand lives of Hope and Love and all the things between;

Your Skinny Legs [lyrics by Joshua McLerran]

I can’t see
Your skinny legs
Your skinny legs
Dancin’ ‘round the room no more

And I can’t see
Your skinny legs
Dancin’ ‘round the room no more
Dancin’ ‘round the room no more

I’d give it all up
Just to see your smile
Dancin’ ‘round the room once more
Dancin’ ‘round the room once more

But everywhere I walk around here I see nothing that reminds me that I’m anything
But sitting here alone
Everywhere I look, I see quiet pieces of my soul
That used to have your name on them but now they are no more

I can see your eyes at every turn
Deep inside my soul, they sting and burn
They sting and burn
I cut
Out
All
The pain.

[breathe]

If I had a moment, love, I’d treat you like a queen
I’d lose myself no more, my love, oh I’d do anything
Just to feel your breath again inside my weighted room
Just to see your eyes go dancing

[breathe]

Not spinning round the room




.

Describing the Emptiness

The silence was deafening. I could feel it intensify as it wrapped around the room and headed toward me like a train, ready not just to knock me down, but to completely obliterate me. I was intensely aware of the nothingness I had become and by which I was now surrounded. I no longer wished to deny myself this emptiness, so I embraced it, acknowledging the hole it left within me. I looked forward to the sadness that I knew was sure to come, as it would then at least be something that I could feel. But the sadness would not come, and I was left with only emptiness. An emptiness so familiar and unwelcoming. An emptiness... such emptiness... such emptiness within.

Claire

She bore the efforts of dreams with the determination of one who believes in the subtle realities couched within them.

The Bones

The knowledge of humanity is enclosed within my one and stinking eye.
Completely sheltering graveyards of the unsung alibis
Who always called my name out last, within their dying droves
To shit before they eat, my friends, and all of it: my bones

Nothing More

Sometimes when the desert moon closes
Its one and giant eye
I fall into an image of myself
Upturned by something less than ethereal

A portion of my languid tone
Against the fallen sky-clouds
Is my only claim to fame tonight
A teardrop in a less than perfect world

I create myself indelible
Upon the echoes of my past
Where I, upturned, infallible
Am more than anything, less real

A shoulder left to cry upon
My only calling claim
Is nothing more than nothing more
Then Nothing More: my name

Some Men May Fall

Some men are not meant to be gods
Though they may fall with a dove's soft wing
Some are to be born without hope

Some men are not meant to be free
Though they may fall beyond the fence
Some are to be born without hope

Some men are not meant to be loved
Though they may fall too deep within their own
Some are to be born without hope

Some men are not meant to be hurt
Though they may fall as their tears run dry
Some are to be born without hope

Some men are not meant to be heard
Though they may fall somewhere within earshot
Some are to be born without hope

Some men are not meant to be born
Though they may fall short of their god
Some are to be born without hope

Innuendictiveousness

Walking across the backdrop
Of another life
Down tunnels of time
Echoes...
My name against black skies
Forming pictures into words
Before my skin
Before my eyes
They change
Formed by my own anticipation
Grown from my mouth
Like weeds against my tongue
Echoes...
Once again into the black
Forming down into my name again
Shifting slightly
Wandering down my throat
Through the bowels of the air
Turned upside-down
To my heart
To my eyes, they form "Hello."
To my legs, they form "Goodbye."
Someone of the radiant mix smiles
Not for me to know her
Not for me to listen
But in still forms remembered
I could have caught her voice
In my leaden image of her
Heavy against a broken ribcage
I smile...
A frail entrapment of glee
Escaping all thought beside
Becoming what I always dared to dream
Lengthening the tip of a fallen sword
To pierce the reaching grasp of my words
Too rude to answered
Too polite to be heard
Angered, my face against the night
Bellows her futile name to my soul
"Wash me clean!" was my command
"You have been washed," still reply.
"I wanted much more than this!"
I could never have dreamed
If I only was the face tonight
If I wasn't an answer to the sky
If I wasn't the answer, then why?
Why could she not feel me before?
Touching her skin in the night
Watching her eyes from the shadows
When darkness' shallow cry was heard
I could not believe her name was real
She watched me, though I hid from her
She saw my eyes move to hers
Was she asleep?
Or was I?
Do I dream of her now
As I always have before?
Or soon, will I die
Peaceful and torn
Haphazard and worn
Touched by all time
And given to lies?
"I was not ignorant!" I scream
Though I doubt she ever heard
For she was
As I have always been
But what I've always been
She never was
So were we?
Or was she?
Was I alone in this?
Or did I fail her belief?
Watching from beyond my own death
Where twice I died before
I could hear her name again
A thousand voices more
In distant tunnels
Lost to time
In search of wanderers
They cry
"I too, as well as I!"
Again, their faint reply,
"As I."
Again, their distant cry,
"Then why?"
There was no answer then
Nor shall there ever be
For when do answers come?
But when seeking bids them so
And if, in time's sweet kiss
We seek to let them go
Then go, they shall
Whether gone or at home
Asleep or alone
The answers' still reply:
"As I."
And the questions to the sky
Fall answerless
To the pits of fallen promises
When promised to ourselves
We answered, twice, their cry
And expected their reply
But found in worried tongue
In ends of having none
That we, two pieces came
From night
The one, from day
To cry that weakness warrants it
In weakness then reply
But who shall answer
You?
Or I?
And if so you, then your reply?
Be honest in your cry
For against the morbid sky
Shall truth ring true in night
And then what, you reply?
Shall distance to your voice
Ring hollowed, true, or bare?
Or shall, in lengthened times like rope
You stand to take the chair?
"Fall crying."
Your name can be heard
"Fall crying and die."
An order, not a command
To be alone?
To be dead.
Were they not the same again?
Or were they to be my death?
Words, wandered answers to my mouth
As questions came like storms
"My harbored tongue no more!" I cry
As loud as loudness was
My voice, as shells against the storm
Thus broken, split, and cut
"A hero's song before me lies...
"... A hero's song before he dies."
Or was I dead?
Had I reason thus to be?
Had I ever felt the need
To thus expand, conform, confound
To fall, as sleeping, on the ground?
To watch from watchers' twice replied:
"My ache within becomes inside"
Or shall I ever drown those thoughts?
Those distant motions?
Those memories remembered?
Could I fall forward?
Could I dream to fall at all?
Or was I alone in this as well?
Was I alone all along?
So what if I was?
So what if my voice was my own?
If the voice in the sky was mine,
I was sane
I was cornered by my own misgivings
My own translations of time
My own echoes...
... And so that must be it, I'm told
But by whom, I'm not sure
There was once the one that knew
And I thought that one was you
But I've found through slowing time
That your voice has just been mine
So I echo
And so I play
Pretending to be someone's love again
Feeling special to be loved
But in the end turn up
Used
Abused
Fallen
And mistaken
But this shall wash away my pride
And in it, I shall ever ride
The night to dreams of dreaming youth
Devoid the watchful eye of truth
And calling random names, like knives
Shall cut a hole in both my eyes
And then my gaze, though raw, be true
Shall gaze upon the sight of you
And just before my blinking gaze
I shall, in heart-ward, find your face
To be a mirrored, twice reply
To mirror my engaging cry:
"If I was always, you, were me
"Then why, in changes, did I see
"That fallen face-ward, my reply
"Could thus be stated thus:
"As I?"
And laughing...
Quietly laughing...
Her morbid echo
Reply:
"As I."

A Ghost & Gone for Good (or Multi-faceted Subterranialism)

Sitting beneath the hum of a thousand watts of fake and fluorescent oil and concrete-scented light, I long for the sweet breath of the Metro winds, reminding me of the world I left above me: a world filled with hope and dreams and movement. Not the silent sheltered graveyard that this tunneled tomb is to me. A carriage comes with screeching grating wheels and a hundred placid faces staring out, each visage torn by the silent hopelessness that this tomb of motion builds within us all. I watch as the elephant-sized steel caterpillar stops and gapes its sideways maw at me, welcoming me to its compartmentalizing hell; laughing with its pre-recorded voice of instructions, like a robot that cannot feel. I step into the guts of the beast and lose my soul with all the other wearied travelers, as I await the sweet release that its closing jaws had promised me. But deep within its belly now, I find that no release will come to me. Instead, there are only new and older smells, more human and grotesque in their complexities. I scoff at the idea that I could have once considered this new world with all its perplexities and all its swallowed lives as anything close to better than the frightened and yet docile life I left behind. I shudder as I discover that my kindness and my thoughtful nature and my conscientious ideals that encourage progress in a human life all mean nothing here. My skin grows pale as I feel the silence of the void, enticing me to become one of these lost souls. I clam up, deep within myself, becoming silent in my heart, as the thought approaches me in fear and a kind of frolicking cold mayhem, that perhaps I've always been one of these pale zombies: dead wanderers in a world of steely grey, enticing others toward the void. But just as those thoughts emerge, just as the light within the tunnel of my mind grows dim to the point of patent blindness, I hear the robot voice again: "Hollywood & Vine," it says, as I stumble through its maw, returning to the thousand watts of fake fluorescent air without that is still somehow within. I feel the solidity of the concrete and immovable ground beneath my feet and wonder, had I stayed another minute there, alone within the belly of that beast, would I have found myself turned to one of those lost souls: a ghost and gone for good?

At Any Cost

Oh peaceful change of beauty's ways,
be quick and draw me in, I pray
give night to slumber, life to day
And change again my heart dismayed

Oh heathen-heart, thou fleshy crime!
a broken ribcage, found sublime
could neither bend nor break thy time
to bear this burden: oh burden mine!

Oh burden bent, my breaking back
inside, a cage without attack
can neither tame nor ever crack
the shame or torment that I lack

Oh lacking heart, a breath so cold
could fateless vision now controlled
within thy wake thy fate withhold
to break from thine encumbered mold

Oh mold thus broken: shattered seam
a torn and fraying broken dream
could more than just within us seem
to crash into a thousand beams

Oh thousand beams of fraying light
give hope to darkness' straying rite
that deep within me causes fright
to guide me blind to futures bright

Oh future bright, thou future found
solidify my raucous ground
and in my slumber make the sound
that brings me home so thusly bound

Oh binding tie, thou wish of mine
to thus within me grip and bind
and in forever, thus to find
thine heart of hearts again in kind

Oh heart of hearts of heart of hearts
a thousand dreams i would impart
to on thy stage play some small part
and in thy life not end but start

Oh starting time, thou life unspent
intoxicated by thy scent
of wishes held and words unbent
i dream of life and dreams unrent

Oh rending dreams of beauty's wish
a brand of savored empty dish
that in itself fulfills it's niche
to neither charge nor mend a stitch

Oh stitch un-stayed thou fix unclave
thou witless folly fit, unsaved
cannot by meaninglessness waived
befit the courage of my grave

Oh grave unkempt, thou graven grove
within thy slumbered kit I love
for moments passed in hidden droves
that slumber fitfully above

Oh fitful height of slumber lost
i would to thee, at any cost
impart my whole unspent unlost
unending soul at any cost



30 July 2008
started at 7:50pm, ended at 8:45pm

The Crummy Curmudgeon

The Crummy Curmudgeon all covered in crud
Is nobody's playmate and nobody's bud
He climbs up the ladders and gets 'em all sticky
From old rotten candy and boogers he's picking
And when he climbs down, it's not that, but the worst
'Cause his feet are all covered in sores that've burst
They ooze from the tops and lop over the sides
Of his over-sized feet, too long and too wide
And his smile, when he does it, is nothing but gross
'Cause it's all filled with worms that fell out of his nose
Yes, the Crummy Curmudgeon is most nasty at best
With his head full of transplanted hair from his chest
His back is all covered in pimples and scabs
And gross deformations he pokes at and stabs
He yells and he burps and he sings out of tune
He stinks and he slurps and he sleeps until noon
He doesn't say "thanks" when he's given a gift
And he laughs way too loud at the farts that he's whiffed
I guess what I'm saying is, don't let him come
To your parties or functions or anything fun
'Cause he'll just ruin all of the plans that you've made
Disturb all your guests, and trouble the maid
He'll upturn your tables and untie your bows
He'll burn all your muffins and tickle your toes
He'll do all he can to wreak havoc and pain
To hurt and insult, disfigure, and mame
So if you are smart (and I hope that you are)
You'll lock all your doors and relocate your car
And when you can smell him, just give him a shout
"Hey Crummy Curmudgeon, there's no one about!"
"Don't come in our gates or pee in our yard!
"Don't break all our things into small tiny shards!
"Don't stomp in our gardens or ruffle our pets!
"Leave open our doors or sleep in our beds!
"'Cause there's no one about to say, 'Hey, look at you!'
"And give you the credit where credit is due!
"So just walk on by, 'cause there's no one about!"
And that is the kind of loud thing you should shout
And the Crummy Curmudgeon will just pass on by
And perhaps at the next house he'll go in and try
To wreak havoc and grossness that goes beyond mention
And to think that he does it all, just for attention.