perfect london bed

i dream of a perfect london bed in a room tight above a pub upon this bed hardly more than a cot lies a london man his head hides the pillow his feet dangle from the edge this london man large like a bear says to me with voice of honey gravel come my girl lay upon me tis plenty of room don tcha see I say no i dunna see even a spot left for me unsure trepid i climb aboard his chest his belly so deceptively soft warm i burrow snuggle find for my pillow a beard of curls thick strawberry red all is just right don't wake me you fools let me sleep forever on this perfect london bed

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Amsterdam

Please enjoy Miles Davis and John Coltrane while you read.

 Video below post.

Amsterdam

I let myself have a little wine tonight. After a glass, I found my thoughts drifting to you.

I remember Amsterdam and the loft we shared.  Just a bed and bath at the top of narrow stairs. Below us was that lovely bakery. I remember the smell of hot bread that would wake us before dawn. That smell still comforts me. Five days we had,  five days to make love all night, wake, eat, love again. Surrounded in our blue smoke, we were the only world. Occasionally we would take the stairs down and mingle with the locals. I wonder if you ever think of that time so long ago. I choose to think you do.

I am back there now, hanging on your arm [and every word you say] as we walk along Jefferson Avenue. We liked to stop at the Blue Goose to share a treat. We would order way too much food and ask the waiter for a doggie bag and take it with us as we rushed back to our loft, because the only thing we really had a taste for was each other. We made love almost desperately as the days passed and they passed so damn quickly. We knew that our time was close. Somehow we both knew that this was magical and that we would never feel this passionately again. I never did. I really never loved like that again. I remember once clutching my stomach with an ache that went deep down to my core. I loved you so much that the thought of parting cut me deeply. The feeling was so real that I cried out loud and you asked what was wrong. I lied and told you I had stubbed my toe on the chair. I knew when the five days were over that we too would be over and I would never see you again.

Many years have passed since then and I know now that we will never be over. We are together now. Trapped in time exactly as we were then, the free-spirited boy who wrote silly songs and laughed at the world and the brown-eyed girl who still believed in time machines and soft purple dragons. We are there in Amsterdam again. It may have taken the glow of the wine to revive you, but I relish the memory as I walk the avenue holding your arm once more and it is real and I love you now as I loved you then. There is no ache this time, because I know you will never really leave me. I keep you hidden from my world. You are my secret, never to be shared.

Oh Amsterdam, you were once mine and I will always cherish you.




A couple of fellows we ran into.

Glued Stuck

I can see the shadow of a hawk on the roof of the building across the way. I could see the bird itself if I would get up and walk closer to the window.

Niche

a little niche in my heart
chipped out long ago
a groove for him alone
tried to patch it closed

didn't try hard enough
left ragged and exposed
hope he will stay
know he needs to go

Clarity

The illusions have sharply gone. The clarity that is left is painful yet exciting.

Cocoon

Cocoon

I cocooned myself in delusion and reality has come and sat on me. I am suffocating in panic. I gasp...my eyes grow wide. I silently scream for help knowing the only help to come must come from me. I will dig deep to dredge up the warrior that I once was and I will battle once again.


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Enjoy The Decemberists "Cocoon"

Collateral Damage

skills honed by experience

nails freshly sharpened

they bite and spew

entangled in this ugly game

one played for decades

caught in their cross-fire

gutted and bleeding

laid aside as collateral damage

they pause then continue



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My Ride With Raoul

The back of his neck is hard and shows strength. There is a thick vein winding its way down from the hairline, I imagine a train coming down a steep mountain and I follow as it disappears into the tunnel of his Polo collar. Choo Choo.

The thickness of his black hair is freshly trimmed and straightened. I can tell that the slightest hint of moisture will cause soft baby curls to materialize and pop up all over his head. Presto Magico!

He holds himself erect, but not stiff. Confidant, he glances left and right with hardly a move. He silently and unknowingly offers security and control. I accept. I wonder what would happen if I reached up and touched that vein? I evade eye contact in the rear view mirror.

He brakes and turns toward me, I pay the fare. I glance at his name plate and say, "Nice ride, Raoul" and I tip him generously, after all, he has magical hair.

Scent of Yelapa

...the scent took me back to a mountain on the island of Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico, where a tall blond-haired and handsome Mexican, named Arturo, once handed me a stash of fragrant mountain-grown bud wrapped in the New York Times. The wrapping was unexpected.

disjointed

Old friend, I haven't sought you out for awhile. I have thought of things I need to tell you or work out with you, but it is always in the early or late hours as I lay alone, the hours when my brain starts spiraling with forty thousand disjointed ideas, fears, emotions, dreams, songs, poems, one line from a movie with Nicholson that I saw in the 70's, my Mama saying "I don't think I'm going to make it" and knowing, me, I won't go to the doctor, no,  I won't, God, your will be done, needing a change, how to change, "Spare Change, Spare Change" dog misses his yard, I lost his yard, I should have tried harder, I'm sorry, need some magic, pull something off once more, I can sell, no, I don't like to sell, why not, it is honorable, people have needs - you fill those needs, nothing magic there, maybe that is why. I like magic, I want HIM,  these people are insane, no really, they are certifiable, best play along. Old friend, it is hard to put into words.




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Glasgow

You can listen to Coltrane - After the Rain as you read.

(video below post)

Glasgow

Glasgow was as dark and murky as a scene from a Dickens novel. The rain was coming down so hard it splashed up from the ground to soak pants and shoes and the roar of it gave everything a "film noir" mysterious aura.

Outside the Glasgow train station I stood soaking wet and shivering with the cold and I watched you. You were propped in a darkened doorway like a knickknack in a shadowbox. Bless, you looked lost and confused and slightly wobbly. You stole a bit of my heart that night. I looked at you and made eye contact and that is exactly when you stole it from me. I felt a jolt inside my chest and became giddy like schoolgirl. I wanted to play with you. A stranger in a strange country, had I lost my mind? I wanted to take you home and lock you in my room and keep you all to myself like a secret souvenir. My hands wanted to smooth your wild copper curls, my lips wanted to taste your lips. Your lips were full and ripe, that's not something I have ever thought about a man's lips, but yours did look deliciously ripe and I wanted to taste...savor them. I wanted you. Apparently, you wanted me too. I had a six hour layover.

It was crazy really, I hadn't thought about a man in...well honestly, I don't recall. Maybe the job was getting to me,  I had been traveling so much, I wouldn't even know I was in Scotland if it wasn't for the sign hanging over the station door, maybe I had travelers lag, I don't know. I do know I will never regret a moment of the evening.

Whatever excuse I give myself for the way I reacted doesn't really matter now, it has been almost three years since that night and I still wouldn't mind taking you home and locking you in my room.  I hope you will take care of my bit of heart. I cherish the bit I took from you. You're my special curio.

Dark and murky Glasgow holds a special charm for me.

TO SOME I HAVE TALKED TO BY THE FIRE


by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)




HILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent down above the fading coals
And talked of the dark folk who live in souls
Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
And of the wayward twilight companies
Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
Under the fruit of evil and of good:
And of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,
And with the clashing of their sword-blades make
A rapturous music, till the morning break
And the white hush end all but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.







"To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire" is reprinted from The Rose. W.B. Yeats. 1893.

Chris Cornell - When I'm Down - Troubadour, January 29 2010

Shop Talk

 I wrote this during a time in my life when people I trusted surprised me. I was blindsided.

SHOPTALK

Users, losers.
Intentional abusers.

Why are you here?

Hating, abating.
Obviously waiting.

Why are you here?

To feed off the rest.
Ridicule - make jest.

I would like to send you out for repair.

Your tainted.
db original post 12-08-2001 Written in 1991

Rise for the Scattered Day

Rise for the Scattered Day

rise and rise above the influences
rise above the questions, the degradations, the nuances
rise above the unnamed fears, the pains, the transgressions

rise high above the imbalance, the reactions, and the depressions

rise for the scattered day

you must rise for the scattered day

~

db 04/19/06

Art :

http://www.karenjerome.com/treehouses_3.htm

Dark World

DARK WORLD
I stepped into your dark world
Drank from your angry cup
I walked into your blackness
Now you must give me up

No longer will I close my eyes,
to your unholy hate
I will turn and walk away
For I know you are not my fate

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Vampire Lust (Ode to Lestat)

repost for my friend Lestat.

For Poetry Thursday I have chosen Vampire Lust ( Ode to Lestat). I hope you enjoy. Vampire Lust

The heat from you is strong
I can smell your blood
I hear the sound as it pulses
I see the beat, the rhythm
I cannot help but take you

You feel my need, you sense
You come to me
I taste you slowly

Relish

You succumb, you become
We are one
Then I am gone

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 original post 12-08-2001 - Originally written in 1995

pathetic

pathetic

useless
no reason to be

kaleidoscope
i don't see

wounds
blinding me

drained
apathy

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original post 12-08-2001 written 1993
This blog originated as "Ramblings of a Manic Depressive" I just wanted a place to keep these poems. It was private for a long time. It still feels strange to share them.
I found out there was a book by that name published in the 70's, so I had to change it.

cornered

trapped
backed into the wall with no escape route
trapped by the times I didn't think
clutched by circumstances I don't own
breathless with anxiety my body tightly closing in
stopped cold by obligations debts owed to all
I want it to end I need it to stop
I scream in my mind
I have no where to go
my body has failed me my mind has escaped me
Will God help such a hapless soul?

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Contributors

I hate it when I feel this way. I always hope it will not return, but here I go again. Repost from 2006



Contributors

You have all contributed to my demise.

When you took my love and returned no heart
you contributed.

When you turned on me and spewed me with your hate.
you contributed.

When you falsely accused me of what I would never conceive
you contributed.

When you used your children and threw them up
you contributed.

What you left behind is a fractured shell.

I attempt to rebound , to lift up my head.

Just empty eyes remain. The spirit is dead.

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