The blue in snow

 

The cobwebs on the door
Broken bottles on the floor
So many ashtrays spilling over
Dirty trash can dies if sober
Empty whiskey bottles overrun
We are all blacked out from the sun
You always told me “little son

You should just hate on everyone”

At the bottom of the stairs
A which way sign but no one cares
I cannot stop the cold from blowing in
Corroded coins fill up a rusty tin

There is no phone to make a call
I’ve just been screaming at the wall
No ones ever left this room before
A shackled tragic weeping whore
I’m so afraid of
To never be let out past the door

Is this a terror or a rage
Like our voices it will change
It’s no one’s fault that we all age
But is your fault that you were dying
And its mine for running away
Now it’s mom who’s left there crying
Sold asunder lead astray
The sound of silence it cannot fade

Like a Maine accent
the winters were too cold
A crypt of the ancient
Death in a basement
a shallow goal
There’s much more blue in deeper snow
Escaping that I travelled down the road
Black ink on white a story unfolds
Poetry like truth words best untold?

Well the world is just as dusty
wagon wheels worn and rusty
No matter how far from you I’ve run
From that tomb thus become
the shadow of the sun
What you’ve taught can’t be undone
just like father. just like son
Drunken bastard you are gone
And I still hate. on everyone

 

 

 

Carry me to bed

 

Because you believe me
No matter what I say
As long as I say and not refrain
And with patience I explain
Those tiny eyes smaller eyes
Bigger even than the rain
Looking up to me are starry skies
Kitten’s dandelion mane

Because you call to me.
Like an honest winter calls the frost
The color of your voice just melts me
Our fingers interlocked
I organized a forehead kiss
While in dreams our wishes talked

It may not last forever
Like the hills the moon the sun
But while we are together
Let’s just breathe as we are one
Daughter light as feathers
One look from you and I am done
My heart becomes untethered
As my name rolls off your tongue

give it a name

 

A splendid hurricane
The high clouds racing to other borders newer days
Strange birds magnificent the color of tourists fly sideways
A bug I’ve never seen before pauses on my peonies
Innocent portents of the coming violence in the breeze
Motherless infants gifts from the stork’s beak
She swam from nightmares the unknown blackness in the sea
A question now, How strong are my trees?
This time around how brutal the wind may be
How soft the ground, your demise too many leaves.

Every place is beautiful when I first arrive
Smell the flowers a new named color is in sight
More curious than afraid
ignoring the warnings on display
Til the poison that is in me starts to taint
a warm breeze a wind chime she will say…..

“Momma is coming child there is nothing can be done”
Too soon winds are howling it’s  allies on the front
The Foamy waves pushing pulling to and from
Feces tainted water pours into my lungs
The tentacles have stung
Sickly larvae feeding
on the bleeding
On the ankles stuck in mud

A blaring siren in my mind
A migraine in strobe lights
I’m pulled under once again
I can’t hear you in the din
The bees are swarming in the wind
My cries unheard cross my chin

In the wreckage they’ll chase blame pointing fingers
New profile pic, “Someplace strong” bumper stickers
Move on to tomorrow remember my storm by name
It’s always there, whether it’s sunny, Weather it reigns.

Fathers figure

 

I had two paternal influences
Raised me to be two men, but one
Not the same

Like in life you both chose my mother
In one month you both chose your graves

You’ve showed me two ways to be
Two ways to live. love.
Two ways to stay.  Two ways to leave
And only one not like the other

gave me time to grieve

Dad we’d walk the trail together
Into dark wood. white floor, leaves brown

Father we’d walk the beach in cold weather
Waves come and go, some waste away, some drown

Here’s to Harry flying in his taxi
Taking tips always getting stoned
Here’s to Robert on his safari
Just this last line men – welcome home

 

 

 

 

Sow

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singing Wonderwall in the rain
hoisting up our heffeweiss
we stangers made a pact in pain
clouds hide the moon’s first quarter slice

you could have taken the train
would not have paid the winter river’s price
before the bridge I’d blame the weather
it must be so cold under Neckar’s ice
you can’t warm your bones with Hasenpfeffer
after the Eiswein pulled the wheel to the right

wrapped up like maultaschen another runner in the night

Thinking there is a point to find is as pointless as to find life

your crowd only wanting each other
ways to fill voids in their own hollow lives
singing away memories smothered
waking up a new day and old Schwabian housewives

the pre-chorus naive and so full of trust
I envy you who leave before jaded by lust

into the black forest a boar
looks back over his snout
digs it up in the mud
by the river to the south
a backstage pass on his tusks
mystery of this poem in his mouth

you could have taken the train
you’d not be wrapped now in the hearse
it was beautiful to sing in the rain
The Backbeat starts, second verse

Southern Town

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lake Maleren blows a thin mist
into the tent city of the Assyrian
like the breath of forgotten lovers once kissed
it never reaches the railway to Gamla Stan

I came expecting fair colored maidens
lovers of viking gods Odins solstice queens
but here a genocide ripple a refugee laden
displaced takeover mafia crime scene

no platimum blonds or swedish meatballs
only shish kababobs and islamic rules
to walk here with money a thing for the fools
roaming mobs dark of hair trade a knife for your jewels

motherless men twenty something or less
from the desert they’re from can’t hang the dead
so desolate not even a single tree left
here they now live tears of Thor have been wept

I sit looking out Mariestad in hand
an American standing out like my clothes a namebrand
a target a Bush puppet the one who invaded your land
I never signed up to make inroads to die in the sand

in Winter the sun never rises in Arab streets of Sweden
the cold never dies molotov only light
in the dark scandinavia the dead garden of eden
a season to survive Stockholm Syndrome and strife

 

 

Smoked Meat

in the shadows of Elliot Trudeau
grafitti dumpster a cliche routine
I was trying to understand the CFL
with my Molson, Tots and Poutine

but you had to come in take the stool by my side
an empty bar so many choices
but belly up to me you’d decide
than with your scarf and brainy voice
you would scoff and you. you had to chide
how is it that I bothered you
when it wasn’t I who came from outside?

As if the Sun is to be blamed for extinguishing the night

when you slinked back out to grab a smoke
no cameras around and you didn’t have a phone
looking up from the trash see the airbus has flown
in the cold still winter air hear the highway moan
I am the island in the city of Mary
and I should have been left alone

I have found things for which I am loyal
my precision. my love. my kills
looking down from up on Mount Royal
the seagulls circle your landfills

you can have a brother or a wife
and not know them til their funeral day
it’s easy not to notice in life
it’s easy not to hear what they’d say
they will know you now friend by my knife
pass the Schwartz’s, S’il vous plaît?