girl with the pearl earring 

(inspired by painting by johannes vermeer    1632 - 1675)

 

i tried to look into her eyes—where the question rested

—yet the longer i stared the more i wondered…

did life hurt?

 

vermeer called her the girl with the pearl earring

looking back over her shoulder

as if she wanted to leave but chose to stay.

 

nothing moves in her world;

her eyes still haunt me as i wonder,

where has the color gone?

 

vermeer added a blue scarf to match her heart

as she knew goodbye was on his canvas…

and her lips would dry a paler shade of red

 

 

new york memories

 

i watched the glare of neon lights

 from the place they say is new york city

 i walked her streets on lonesome nights

 and watched old men pushing carts of pity

 

i wept amidst the lettered street signs

 and prayed beneath the subway stairs

 stood for food in winding breadlines

 wondering why god refused my prayers

 

i stood in the shadow of concrete towers

 and smoked broken cigarettes cast aside

 and joints that gave me super powers

 refueling dreams that had already died

 

i watched the sunrise in central park

 joggers and dogs all looked the same

 but the sun painted over the black of dark

 and soothed my aching childhood pain

 

so many people laughed and smiled

 so many strangers seemed to understand

 time had come to travel the miles

 it would take to leave this new york land

 

yet with fondness i remember those new york nights

 when young women worked the streets for a hit

 as they stood beneath those neon lights

 hopelessly trapped in hell’s deepest pit

 

i felt the waves on the atlantic shore

 then travelled to the city by the bay

 can't see the new york lights no more

 and i suppose that's just how it'll stay

 

i never felt new york was unkind

 i guess i never felt new york at all

 but all the memories i could find

 i left scribbled on a subway wall

 

 

 

delusional

 

 old bricks red and crumbling

 flowers bright blue and crisp

 and i wondered where you had gone

 behind a wall that did not exist

 

 the sky silently wept over me

 clouds crawled by like angels wings

 san francisco died in the swirling mist

 it was just one of those unexplained things

 

 a melody whined through my head

 pianos and violins kept the music slow

 i decided to try life for just one more day

 there really was nowhere else to go

 

 mortar crumbles into dust at my feet

 from a wall that will soon fall down

 i’ll stay a bit longer until it is done

 i suppose i’ll eventually be found

 

 i lay my head on the cold, hard sidewalk

 i give my body one last jerk and twist

 waiting for the bricks that will never fall

 behind a wall that does not exist

 

 

the captain

 

the author wrote his first paragraph

the singer sang his first song

the poet scribbled his first stanza

and the road was winding long

 

everything has a beginning

and all things have an end

losers are obsessed with winning

and lonely folks wish for a friend

 

everything has an ending

and all things have a start

when the parts of life are blending

and the gut controls the heart

 

i’m sure we will never learn

too many years have come and gone

and the captain holds steady the stern

still trying to find his way back home

 

 

the whisper of silence 

 

 i laughed, i cried

 i lived, i died

 i walked amongst the saints of old;

 standing still as they opened ancient manuscripts…

 blank pages, filled with the wisdom of silence.

 

 virgins wept for their children,

 tears of agony for unplanted seeds;

 as multitudes looked on, looking for just one…

 the anointed. the survivor, the sailor, the savior.

 

 but the music stopped amidst the wailing

 and a defiant right hand was lifted from the crowd

 as one would speak but his words died…

 a violent death; and his thoughts grew old

 and useless

 like the man he had become.

 the manuscript with blank pages

 was closed

 and the whisper of silence

 was wet, like a tear.

 

nobody’s home

 

the path from here to yesterday  

has too often been traveled

in search of answers and street signs

 

darkened corners harbor memories

that reach out like a stranger

in want of a cigarette

and in need of a bath

 

dusty smelly corridors

permeated with cheap wine

are more narrow than the minds

of those whiskered men who walk them

 

and nobody is home

when i knock on the door

 

the streets of last night

are covered with newspapers

sports pages and obituaries

honoring heroes dead and alive

 

homeless men homeless women

pluck them from their gutters

to wear as jackets and fashion as hats

 

somewhere in the distance

a little boy cries

at the hands of a man angered by his failures

 

and nobody is home

when i knock on the door

 

nobody is home

 

i can’t knock anymore

 

pale green suicide

 

a pale green hallway

leads to the darkened glass

where windows offer no reflection;

through a door that offers no life.

 

dried brown stains once red with life

stick like flaking glue,

holding spent memories like peeling wallpaper.

 

the tinge of urine and spit camouflage corners

where hope died

and peace surrendered.

 

thick juices of passion streak down the brown sheetrock

in unbroken innocence,

and unbridled silence.

 

why would he select this as his tomb, his chosen battlefield?

the same reason tarnished coins

have died in the belly of white porcelain pigs.

 

everyone needs a place to feel loved

and deserves an occasion to feel acceptance

if love was never known, then he died wishing,

adding the sting of teardrops

to his eulogy.

 

broken silence

 

blank stares settled like fog on faces left over from midnight.

 

the smell of cheap wine, cigarettes and sweat jabbed

like a broken fighter

and nickels were passed around like street corner condoms

rubbed hard and spent but once.

 

men-boys walked in short semi-circles, weaving slowly,

not unlike a tattered flag,

while clutching the skinny necks of colored bottles

and spitting brown tar-laced saliva as if it owned their misery.

 

a new morning sun crawled over waiting buildings and shadows

crept like thieves into empty hallways

 

but silence filled the air.

 

then a single gunshot resonated like the first note

of a well-planned symphony

 

and everyone moved a step closer to becoming a conductor.

 

unraveled

 

midnight was dark again

tonight

and i felt your pain

as your heart cried out from the grave

words you had wanted me to hear

when life was too good for me to listen

and too painful for you to endure

 

where did you go

on that morning when you slipped away?

 

you chose to leave

without goodbye

and now i watch midnight

come and go

like a laden down freight train

too heavy to stop once it has started

 

i wondered recently...

why do i cry so easily

and does it make me less of a man?

now that you are gone

and only tears of the brokenhearted remain

 

once i saw your image in the doorway

and now i wait

for midnight

and the darker hours that follow

knowing that you will return

ready to say hello

so you may say goodbye

 

our hearts were knit

in ways we never knew

and now

the fabric of my soul is unraveled.

 

it was not in a wheat field

beside an outbound freight train

 

nor was it in a cemetery

where last i saw your face

 

but your image in a doorway at midnight

tears in your eyes

and a wave on your hand

wishing to say your goodbyes

though i could never understand

 

drought

 

does death ride a black horse?

is yesterday all that matters?

can emptiness be filled with nothing?

do memories feel pain when they die?

 

questions are easy

answers are hard

when the mind and the heart

are destitute

and the seed of hope

died in the drought

 

 

 

it was to be the final

 

the darkness of night hurts

when loneliness and emptiness are filled

with haunting voices of no one there

 

words are tightly bound like a whisper in the night

shadows crawling slowly

passing through the heart of darkness

where nobody lives

anymore

 

dreams are stolen by midnight visitors

who whisper before they steal

 

i sometimes wonder how much is left

 

the darkened window

stares blankly into the night

unable to cast shadows

or darken those already cast

 

windowpanes protect

from the nightmares of yesterday

and tomorrow

seems half a world away

 

how is it that darkness strangles

with hands of air

their grip tighter each time

while through the darkened window

 

only emptiness

 

strong winds blow

 

it appears the poet died today

he was afflicted with a broken heart

seems he had no more words to say

he’d already done his part

 

so they got the oven ready

cause he wanted his body to burn

and they held the tray real steady

and poured him inside an urn

 

seems the poet flew over the calming seas

more freely than ever before

his ashes scattered, just as he pleased

they sank slowly to the ocean floor

 

sand and ashes blend well, it seems

so the poet was laid to rest

it was just a troubadour’s wandering dream

after he’d given his very best

 

as the lyricist returned to the tranquil sea

he caused words to come alive

hoping someday someone would see

the world through his watchful eyes

 

the sea water became his salty tears

the clouds, a soft blanket for rest

in the depth he drowned his remaining fears

knowing he had given his best

 

it happened that the poet died today

he had nowhere left to go

the final words they heard him say

were 'take me where the strong winds blow'

 

lost minutes

 

so many nights i watch the clock

the minute hand agonizing its way from one

to two to three

until it stands straight up

splitting the one and two of twelve

at the top of an otherwise empty dial

 

questions born in the daylight hours

and aching bones

keep me awake

and only dreams are visited

while the minute hand silently mocks me

on its journey from twelve to twelve

 

each clockwise jump of the minute hand

erases a hope

of what might have been

if minutes could be saved

and spent like pennies in a chocolate store

in mid-april mendocino

 

if i could i would dream

of sleeping in a timeless bed

where no minute hand could scream my name

during the blackest hour of midnight

and no memories of yesteryear

could push ahead the moving hand of time

 

there must be a way

to stop the scream of the silent minute hand

without stopping the irritating thumping noise

in the recesses of my heart

there must be a way

to roll over and dream in black and white

 

it moved again

one more minute forever lost

 

the taste of love

 

remember the morning

when love tasted like chocolate

and we swallowed smiles like we owned them

 

your body was my playground

and i painted it with an olive on my tongue

and desire in my eyes

 

bed sheets removed themselves

in the battle we fought

with wrestling thighs and exploring fingers

 

that was a day when i told you i love you

like i had done so many days before

and so many since

 

the morning was younger than us

but we played as though we owned the sun

would engulf the moon and harness the stars

 

only clouds mattered on that day

and we wished they would stay forever

but clouds are clouds and they move on

 

have we moved on

until there can never be another morning

when love tasted like chocolate

 

as i watch the clouds i long for that morning

it was in the winter time

but i will always be warmed by the smile you wore

 

demarcation of love

 

music flowed through the air

like an unbroken dream

softer than tears of joy

harsher than a folded memory

 

as she turned to go

i had tasted her smile

and consumed her reveries

and now could only watch and reminiscence

 

the fallen tears we shared

were left inseparable

mingled with sadness

intimate in their joy

 

like water over rounded stones

soft and caressing

i felt her tenderness even in leaving

and her fingertips while she had stayed

 

she was the demarcation of love

separating passion from passion

as if opening a classic old novel

with pages brown and curling

 

i wept then…i weep still

guarding those places in my heart

while wondering if she thinks of me still

and ever answered the question:

 

where does the white go

when the show has melted away…?

 

walk into the water

 

thick brown muddied waters paused like pudding

swallowing the light of an insipid moon

digesting lifeless reflections, moving measured and dignified

 

the mississippi waited with hunger pangs

aching with its wide-mouthed belly open 

spitting on mud island, salivating on the wolf river

 

he didn’t bother to remove his white t-shirt or jeans

and black combat boots were not made for swimming

yet in his bipolar mind he chose to swim

 

oh, the american queen river boat sashays like a dancer

gracing the thick brown muddied waters

awakening the surface and leaving the dead to rest

 

slowly wading into the storied mississippi

he could not walk on top like jesus did

so he crucified himself

 

now mississippi river waters breathe darker and thicker

jagged, pale streaks of moonlight weep sorrowful tears

while dead echoes move undignified, the victor in an undeclared war

 

walk into the muddy waters, stir them up a bit

until mud-filled boots won’t take another step

the shore is there, somewhere in the darkness,

 

now he can only laugh at himself.

 

 

diane’s memories

 

her hugs were warm like big red balloons

born where blackberries still grow wild

and newspapers are thin

 

warm, whether on an unassuming weather-beaten bench

or a beach where water laps warmly on the sand

warm where walls are usually more colorful than mornings

 

her hugs turned cold as a northeastern gale

then, as quickly as she came into my life she was gone

the air released, the big red balloon deflated

 

her last memory was born where i could not go

she always said ‘memories are made in your heart’

she buried her memories deeply, then she went away.

 

proud to be an american

 

 i saw the mailman steal my letter

 i saw the tax man steal my dime

 just when i thought things were better

 i saw the preacher steal my time

 

 i saw the mexican steal my border

 and the terrorist steal my plane

 gas so high i can’t afford’er

 but still i pump ‘er just the same

 

 my boss became a very rich man

 and his boss was richer still

 i didn’t understand their master plan

 and i suppose i never will

 

 the dog pound repossessed my stray

 the ford dealer took my car

 it was on empty anyway

 so i know he won’t get far

 

 the banker closed my bank account

 the gardener took back his plants

 wells fargo got just a small amount

 but levi’s repossessed my pants

 

 alfani took the shirt off my back

 florsheim’s now has my shoes

 my new socks are from a gunny sack

 least i don’t owe union dues

 

 the plumber took my kitchen sink

 the carpenter took my wood

 so about this time i’m startin’ to think

 if this is bad i need some good

 

 tonight i’ll sleep beneath the stars

 and feel a gentle breeze

 i’ll wonder why god went so far

 just to get me on my knees

 

 i’ll listen for that still small voice

 and hear what he has to say

 that he had given me a choice

 but i kept pushing him away

 

 so while he had my attention

 and i was so naked and alone

 the government took my pension

 they picked me to the bone

 

yesterday

 

yesterday

and the days before

are now gone like the rain

while leaving the valleys

streaked across my tired face

 

once a smile was easy

and when the rains came

we made love in a borrowed bed

and umbrellas were left unopened

like the secrets of my life

 

i loved your body

more than i loved you

and the rolling terrain of your skin

made moments explode

juicy like ripe watermelons

 

and when you left

you took today and folded it

like an old already read newspaper

and walked out into the rain

your red umbrella still collapsed in the corner

 

i knew yesterday had come

and you had gone

taking moments and memories

out to the field where daisies grew wild

and rain quenched their thirst

like your body had quenched mine

before yesterday

 

we were children

 

we were children

already i was lost

it was so long ago

you came into my life

equipped with words

that echoed from you to me to you

 

now you have gone away

after so little time

how does god select one

to be granted immunity from life?

 

you taught me lessons

about how to live

as your life slipped away

 

god listened

then as you walked alone

he was pleased

with the work of his hands

 

those same hands

that touched my life

 

the window

 

i press against the cold pale window

watching children play on the overgrown lawn

 

filled with an innocence i never knew

in a childhood raped by faceless men

 

death swims before me

a hazy illusion of images

of days i wish to remember and nights i long to forget

 

though pain engulfs me

i choose to stand quietly still, hoping to remain unseen

 

as i slide my hand on the tear stained window

i see life distorted through it

as i watch children playing on the manicured lawn

 

april

 

her words rolled across my mind

guitar chords softly filling the empty spots

where loneliness once so easily fit

 

lines and lyrics kept me afloat

in the midst of a turbulent waterless sea

as tears filled her brown eyes

 

i fell in love watching her watching me

her words flowed heavy like wet cement and held me

encased in a moment like i had never known

 

she built me into who i am

and her song became my path

a place for me to walk when tomorrow had past

and yesterday was still in the distance

 

white flowing silk complimented her beauty

an angelic smile asked me to stay

until her brown eyes said she had to go

 

now her words silently roll across my mind

the soft sounds of her guitar fill my empty spots

where loneliness once so easily fit

 

and walking into yesterday is easier

because she showed me tomorrow

and shared her lips in teaching me to smile

 

brandi

 

she held me captive with her fingers

nails rhythmically tapping on sand-colored corian

like a general marching off to war

ready to go but wanting to stay

 

with my eyes i could taste her sumptuous lips

swallowing words was easy

snacking on syllables and punctuation

spilling juices onto her thirsty tongue before a kiss

 

i nearly drowned in her tears

weighted words pulled like an anchor

as she recounted her story

with talking hands and dejected eyes

 

i discovered the birth of tears

when the heart hurts and the mind knows

eyes can no longer endure the pain

and they cleanse the soul with wishes

 

i could have loved her

during days that allowed a gentle breeze

a quicker step, guilt-free innocence

and a season to nurture the blossoms of love

 

now we sit, fingers interlocked

the marching general no longer trudging to war

syllables and punctuation consumed

until tears mingle, wondering if love has escaped

 

why does life unleash prisoners of the heart,

forever trapped in yesterday

in places where seeds are planted

and in the parched heat of the noontime sun…

 

there, she died

wilted like the life she tried to become

brandi grew into herself

then died like the seed she hoped to be