Poem in Amber

December 6, 2009

Amber is the color of no pain, no happiness, no fault.
Preserved in all is amber stasis
Not failing, nor succeeding, locked in potential
On the verge of everything in a reality of no-thing
Amber suits a life of side stepped opportunities
Dreams never fall into amber, vivid colors only
Fame in Truth is found by mastery of amber phasing
Amber is the color for what was before the Future

Amber is the color of no pain, no happiness, no fault.

Preserved in all is amber stasis

Not failing, nor succeeding, locked in potential

On the verge of everything in a reality of no-thing

Amber suits a life of side stepped opportunities

Dreams never fall into amber, vivid colors only

Fame in Truth is found by mastery of amber phasing

Amber is the color for what was before the Future

  • Written at:  Saint Petersburg, Florida
  • Where exactly:  my desk in notepad on MacBook
  • When:  Sunday December 06, 2009 12:45am

Time, Sunday, Midnight, Music [poem]

July 26, 2009

  • Written at:  Saint Petersburg, Florida, USA
  • Where exactly:  my desk
  • Written with:  MacBook (black)
  • When:  Monday July 27, 2009 @ 12:21pm

Time, Sunday, Midnight Music

Time just does not STOP

Though every day I keep EXPECTING it to

Guess I cannot catch up then.
So many things almost in grasp.
Now fading further to half-dream status.

I still feel their memory, on Sunday nights.
In between blinks I almost see her then too.
So archived now is the time before the damage.
Filed neatly into a decade that is almost two past.

Music finds paths to these archives, involuntarily.
On purpose in doom moments when physical form becomes too taxing.

Forecasts for the future have jurisdiction only in day.
And today is over.

Past midnight is the wild.
Who could ever die in the day?
Surely we all fade after midnight on a predetermined Sunday.
Surely.

The Thin Memories [poem]

June 4, 2009

  • Written at:  Saint Petersburg, Florida, USA
  • Where exactly:  my desk
  • Written with:  MacBook
  • When:  Thursday June 4, 2009 @ 1:02am

The Thin Memories

Ever do these words echo in my mind…

“Teenage angst has paid off well, now I’m bored and old.”
I hear them all the time,
But mine own angst lingers,
Keeping me from getting old.

Purity of emotion peeks in adolescence.
Angers and wrongs incurred in such times
Are not yielded lightly.

Decades later, adult decisions are deferred, by design.
Ghosts wonder.
Physical pursuit ends, astral begins.

Selection of thin memories,
Engage the time meant to be bored and old.

Results are restless and stilted.

Memories that hurt are too valuable to give up.

Green Sky Blue Grass [poem]

July 29, 2008

  • Written where:  Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
  • Where exactly:  in my apartment
  • Written with:  white board marker on white board
  • When:  3:10am on Tuesday July 29th 2008

GREEN SKY BLUE GRASS

If the sky were green
And the grass was blue.
What color would be the dew?
Would it still be see through?

If I were you, 
And we were me,
And there was cancer for all three.
Did I die before the sky
Came back from green to blue?


Juno inspired poem

April 18, 2008

Juno holding hands

  • written where: Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
  • where exactly: in my apartment
  • written with: computer
  • when: February 24, 2008

I was inspired to write this poem by the lyrics in the songs in the JUNO soundtrack.

I hear broken hearts make you strong,
If so I should be able to lift the world.
But what pain would that end?
Where is she now?
She’s still my friend,
At least that’s what dreams portend.
In the end.

My review of the movie JUNO

Untitled — Allusion to Her series

April 18, 2008

  • written where: Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
  • where exactly: in my apartment
  • written with: whiteboard
  • when: April 02, 2008   

How many men have said you are beautiful?

None, one, or a ton?

How you answer equals our fun.

But no time for your answer now.

See, I have to run.

For nothing is as beautiful as the setting sun.

Untitled rhyming poem

April 18, 2008

  • written where: Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
  • where exactly: in my apartment
  • written with: whiteboard?
  • when: approximately January 2008

Cross that line, it is made of brine.

That was another time, a previous pine.

Crossed and out of place in no space,

Bred by beavers from bubble gum & lace.

Crssing a timely ruin still doing,

Another Wednesday spent fooling.

Poem from a Dream series

April 18, 2008

Dream Photo

  • written where: Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
  • where exactly: my desk in my apartment
  • written with: pen & notebook
  • when: January 17, 2008

Dreams from the Night,

Fly into my Day.

It was bullets first,

Then alligators,

Forests last, over the fly.

Gauge was there, lightly.

And then . . . .

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