Poetry for the long and lustful...

Left as a note to the night shift...

To Whom It May Concern
======================

	T'was smooth sailing, without failing
	So we knock-off early, as night begins
	With a sly, sinful, prideful grin
		at a job well done

	Oh don't come looking, we're long gone
	On time and under-budget, anon
	And now it's time to move along
	Perhaps to see one of my favourite cooks
		about a meal



				Good luck,
				-- Patrick

[BTW, it doesn't have to be *good* poetry, does it? Does it?]



Cheers,

Patrick.
Has a bit of a Neil Gaiman feeling to it, but not quite.

	Rapunzel and the Peasant
	========================

		I know you're in there
		Still as beautiful as ever
		More kindly than you might believe
		But I'll never see you again,
		Will I?

		You're far too good at locking people out

		Always hiding this, lying about that
		Always trying to control
			how the people see you
			what we think of you
			how we feel about you
		Always trying to control

		And we'll never see you again,
		Will we?
		You're far too good at locking yourself up
		And yet, like to think it sets you free

		Did you know it never worked?
		Just so much wasted effort
		We never much cared for public image
		Always loved you despite that shit
		But you persisted

		And your marriage to the Emperor
		And your wedding dress, c'est magnifique!
		No one dared mention that you danced together
			naked, in the town square
		No one wished to embarrass you
		It was a lovely wedding, really

		But you'll never come out again,
		Will you?
		You've become far too good at locking it all down

		Years ago I knew you were locked
		And yet persisted
		Now I give up, Your Highness
		My last knuckle is broken
		I will not knock on your door again




Goodbye,

Patrick.
It came upon a winter’s night
that I would try with all my might
to coax the muse out of his box
beyond the latches and the locks
to dance for us a little jig
and become a little big.
correspondence with the soul
in poetry in rock and roll
and when he’d done his little dance
and split the sewing on his pants
Id clap my hands and shout encore
Id show them what applause is for
cause muses show up less and less
There’s some who’d say it’s for the best
but me I love my poetry
tenacity alacrity
I guess Id say Im real enthused
to get the chance to be bemused
The Bear of End Times
She called me once,
And that is all
I can remember...

The snow still falls
It's three feet deep - I'm sore,
My feet hurt, and with my legs not
Quite working right I stumble through it, lost.
The blizzard stalls:
I look up, further, more
And see the mountains, coldly sought.
The storm returns. My eyes are sealed in frost.

In warmth a book is read, the fireplace near.
The late night too is quiet, still,
And all is simply well.
Here's a wood chair.
No worries are inside, and not a fear.
There's water boiled, a cup to fill -
Tea or chocolate, tell.
Time is so rare.
horizon died six deaths
on the morning of the first frost
the sweet smell of leaf rot
is no eulogy

horizon died before
in other ways
and other times
passing its shadow hence
generations on the block

horizon rises again
:blackphoenix, ashjesus:
every morning a quash
every night a smolder

horizon bleeds the edge of wisdom
the cold handle of a knife
isn't cold for long

horizon grinds heel deep
claims all before the king
climbs the well walls
kills hubris where it sleeps

horizon died six deaths
before and will again
outside sin and wake this dream
sing, horizon, sing

-vec
51 and stark trying to quit smoking pot
No special effects. No big hall reverb. Just dry.
Alone on your birthday,
Like that time in Japan in a Gaijin house full of strangers,
Breaking the law on your 27th.
"After 27 you have to buy your own drinks on your birthday" the Canadian guy
had a dojo down by Shinjuku.


now 51
and trying to remember other birthdays.
There must have been one that year you lived in New Zealand.
I got nothing.
How about those years living in the forest?
No.


So birthdays don't matter much.
End of poem.
quote:
Originally posted by Infinity_Circuit:
Let your eyes linger
Your hand brush against mine
My imagination will tell me what you’re thinking
All my secret desires projected
Onto your sly smile
As I give in, over and over.
You must smirk, how easily I
Seduce myself on your behalf,
Laugh inside as I surrender.
Just remember how hard I fought it
With protestations of my virtue
(Such as it is, or ever was);
My apologies for proving that
We women really are the same
Liars, cheaters, harlots all--
All I ask is that you lie,
If you must and tell me
One kiss was true.
Still on a bit of a Gaiman kick.

Snow White and the Queen's Spy
==============================

	Dear Snow White,

	You loved me once,
		for being thoughtful, perceptive, and clever.
	Please don't hate me now,
		for being thoughtful, perceptive, and clever.
	I cannot help but see what's before me.
	My eyes may betray you,
	But my tongue never will.
	I promise.

	I will not say where you live,
	Or what company you keep --
	Your devoted dwarvish friends,
		with their guttural accents.
	Your new private language
		derived from the Saxon tongue.
	I wish you all the happiness in the world
		wherever you may find it.
	No poisoned apple will find its way to you,
		through me.
	My lips are sealed.

	But still, your discretion serves you well,
	For I am not the Queen's only spy.
	Take care, and be well.


						Sincerely,
						The Queen's Spy.




Cheers,

Patrick.

PS: There is no KGB. The Cold War is over. You won, remember? It's okay. You're safe now.
Alright, I finally got it. Next time, something new...

Our Movie

In my head
The script was already written
All my lines memorized
Wardrobe chosen
Skin softened
And scented

And you, the leading man
Scruffy but clean
And handsome; that smile
Hands rough but gentle

You'd speak to me and
Lines forgotten, I'd put my
Hair behind my ear and
Look down
Fingers trailing along my neck
Your eyes follow

Into a close up

Of you enumerating again to me
To yourself
The overwhelming complications
Our individual obligations
The inevitable regrets to come

I know all this
I've been in this movie before
I know how this story
Always ends
(I've got my scarlet A badge still, somewhere)
But I won't hear a word you say
If the epic music swells
And we kiss at last

But it seems there is no script
No lines but those on our faces
No map but the
Cracks in our hearts
No bridges between them
Only a road that goes nowhere

So our movie
Fails before it begins.
But it's just as well--
I never did like this dress
we are without, within
white and black on the face of god
on the face of home
on the face of satan
on the face of stalin

terrible witness and we are
dead on the street
bodies in the water
blood in a child's nightmare
trash drugs and collapsed veins

keen line of shadow
purpose bred and
too many nights with no dawn
harrowed on that vintage wheel
spread thin and open

we are within, without
magnetic limbs and virtual holiday
vague nothing
true empty
double wide vacancy
million dollar overdose

crane necks
bleed on the face of god
the face of nod
the face of anger and pain
tragic and alive

-vec
Owls call bullshit on
Ukrainian politics:
Buy weapons, girlfriends.

All you need to know –
Popcorn flavored potato
Chips. Say it with me.

A cat in a box
Dreams of mice she's never known.
Run now, find the grass.

Eight Soviet girls
Made me hamburgers before
The contest started.

Cry, laugh, smile, and sigh,
But always hate in secret,
As the train tunnels.
With sincere thanks to Mz. Self Destruct, and the Czech lady.

	Sleeping Angels Lie
	===================

		I am no one's guardian angel
		Not now, not again
		But a mere man
		Frail ego, fragile identity
		Fallible, subject to ordinary wear and tear

		But once, I was so different, so perfect
		Cool, clean and sharp
		Much less a person than a purpose
		My every move an expression of that purpose
		A means to an end

		I needed nothing else
		The need itself sustained me

		But that's no role for a human being
		The light that burned twice as bright
			burned half as long
		Soon guttered and burnt-out

		And when it did
		I fell into an Abyss of dark and quiet
		A welcome peace and loneliness
		And there the Angel slept

		That was where you found me
		You shook me
		Roused me out of that long aching dream
		And set me on fire

		For you, for you!
		I would live for you!
		I would do all of this for you!
		So grateful, so joyful
		I praised you, almost worshipped you
		It was all for you

		And with a new sense of purpose,
		The Angel began to open its eyes
		There was work to be done

		But that's no role for a human being
		An angel, in this flesh, is
			nothing but a monster
		That flaming intensity of purpose
			could only burn you
		That terrible cold edge
			only cut you
		And it did

		Best fold up my wings now,
		And let the Angel die
		You never asked that much of me, anyway
		You never needed to be saved

		But thank you
		Thank you my demon, my temptress
		Thank you for my life
		Thank you, for making a man of me
		Sorry I'm not much good at it yet
		I'll do better next time




I've stopped wearing it, btw.





Patrick.

Attachments

Photos (1)
came the shiver man
all bloodtragic and fog
howling the tree's song

stunted armature
a child, a puppet, a shell
dread things in dread space
thing hollow, thing born
thing vagrant, thing torn

backstage shadow and judge
hollow words, echos, scales
old kings in old space
king's tired, king's frost
king's anger, king's lost

shiver man and the metronome
clock in the soul
cadence in the crown
too dizzy over the void
where all things fall
and all kings die

-vec

(just getting some words out of my head that have been mercilessly bouncing around in there for a few weeks)
Thinkng about the L-O-V-E thread, and what it would take to start over and people I know who are starting over with these things, this is what came out...


There is no way for us to come together clean, with
No history, no attachments, no damages--
We can only smile when our wrinkles match
When I touch my hand to your face

And we press together

Our lips, our bodies
No longer have the perfect beauty of youth
Scars won’t be erased with a kiss
But the pains of those memories can fade
Under the tender ministrations of another’s hands
Who knows what it takes to survive this world of hurts
And betrayals, injuries and accidents

What bravery it takes to reveal ourselves--
So carefully, one dent at a time until
We are laid bare before each other
And embrace what we see, feast our eyes
On the wonders of fortitude and grace we have
Forged ourselves into
Reaching out and gently forming each other anew
With reverent hands
Finding each flaw and falling in love with it
Because of its part in who we are

Marking our journeys
Sharing ourselves
Is sweeter in the telling when the story is long
And the time is precious
No touch means more than what’s given in understanding
No kiss as healing as when formed by admiration
For another’s endurance and strength

There is no way to bring back who we were
And I don’t want to
Who we are is enough;
What we make together is perfect.

----
Escaping to technicalities you wax polysyllabic, trying to block out the hospice, the mournful look in your sister's eyes when you said goodbye.
The harsh truth of this day in December, that I may not see her again.
She won't make it 'til Christmas.
Her long fight is over.

Shit I'm a little rough myself.
Two ski poles and a ski helmet to make it in to see her.
Dad's business is having 100 million dollar years a decade or two after dad died.
3 out of his 4 kids have nasty illnesses though.
One died.
Two will be dead and I am next.
His business was largely washing black goo off engines from the 60s and 50s
Banned substances from early petrochemical elixirs.
He wore potassium permanganate like a perfume.
He was an exec, not one of the boys on the line, but in the early days like when I was born he was close to production.
Bad luck to have three kids sensitive to the toxins.

She won't make it 'til Christmas.
Her long fight is over.
No Comment

Those world-altering diamonds forged in one’s mantle
Are public service tantrums that stir only fits of laughter and irritation.
All your best typography is but
Hot air filling a party balloon-
And the party is not on your laptop.
It’s not even on your block.
Or in your area code.
All your trillions of braincycles, your blood sweat and tears,
Are but molecules of data harvested
By globespanning machines
Trying to sell soft drinks better.
You are one billionth of a gadget ad.
You are a vector for someone else’s virus.
You are one set of eyeballs.
You are one Global Positioning Node
Amongst a grid of staggering pawns.
Tracing the shape of reality
For eyes that will never see.
At best the fruit of your labor is fodder
For established fruit juice brands
Because distribution trumps content
Every single time.
And you have no channel.
You have zero weight.
Zero notes.
No comments.
Pencil sketches of your wedding dress,
A pay stub, the lighter and the pocketknife;
Keys to forgotten things
Lock us like the blue tape across the top
Of the thrice-moved box.

It all unwinds and spills out
Across the tables and chairs and floors and hours.

Each time we pack it back,
Flammable and missing bits,
Exhausting what keeps all these things together.
Achilles and the Tortoise;
You and I and the slow crossing.
I like that, dp

Something I worked on a bit while in CA this past weekend. I'm sure it's not finished yet.

---

Walking the edge of the world
I feel alternately small and
Powerful
My tidal rhythm reset, my sanity
Restored
As the cold waves wash over my feet
Leave me scoured clean

I want to lie back and stretch out
Let the sea take me, let
The mermaids find me and
Teach me their ways
Turn my heart cold to survive
Their shadowy depths, to be
Free

On the shore still
Breakers of heart, the pain,
Disappointment, and loss wash over
And through me
Drown my sense of self
Drag my soul down
To the dark
Hold my faith under
Struggling against a tide
I can't resist--
I hold on
To the ancient rhythms
Whispering of peace
And breathe

The mermaids
May not have long to wait

----

Okay, now I'm done. Smile
Thanks, TM.

I just don't feel like I'm actually at the coast until I've put my feet in the water. I could feel, with each closing step, my lungs expand further and my shoulders relax--it was great. I'm just sad I can't go down there more often, as it's about a 9 hour drive. I could go to Mexico, but it's not that much closer and also not the Pacific.
What meditation can be, lasting long -
Exact distinctiveness, oneness equate -
Really despite the human shell, not strong -
Echoes find it, tease it, knowing its rate.
When I stop to get food, I sit down, think
Or imagine an animal's being,
Like what makes sense to it, what doesn't link,
Forgetting myself a time, given fling.
What girl is this? She smiled at me. I'm caught
Off guard. My coffee's getting cold. I know
No less than a thousand types. Her name, lot,
Desires me to see through her mind. I glow.
Ergo sometimes the bullet misses. Laugh.
Reveal tomorrow over under half.
Got nothin in the can
for the greedy little man
just a rant,
that I can't
make a living from my rhymin


I mean getting paid is fickle
like a sharp edge on a sickle
sometimes there
sometimes gone
some times rely really wrong


and I wander
pver yoner
to the juke box in the bar
Im not on it
write a sonnet
we can listen in your car

mp
mp
mp
kang


mp
mp
mp
kang


and so on

Something new. I went to a friend's house for the first time. He lives in the 'back woods' of Benson, surrounded by mesquite trees and not much else. I felt a deep, almost overwhelming sadness and loneliness there, and no wonder; the family just broke up recently and he spends approximately half of the time completely alone there. Not to mention the natural isolation of living so far out of town (even one such as Benson, which doesn't have much to speak for it)...I couldn't help but be affected by it. It reminded me of when I lived alone while my ex was deployed to Kuwait. I had no idea how to manage living alone and went through a very bad time, and going to my friend's place brought that feeling right back.

 

-----

Two houses for one soul and all three in disrepair;

Doors once decorated with care

Warped and fading, cracked  

Thorns threatening from all angles,

Broken windows gazing out, in

 

Complete silence

 

Twists the line between solitude

And desolation, tears down

The grace of memory

With Winter, bare bones

Of work unfinished strewn

Amongst the Mesquite trees, all around

Across the yard, through the house--too much

 

For the sprawling mind to grasp

 

How to live without speaking of a

Decimated peace of mind

With every abandoned task,

How to wait without waiting and

Fill the time with tranquility

Until the phone rings, the message comes,

Or it is time to go somewhere

 

A moment alone with bare trees and silence

Puts me back in the cold, bony grasp of solitude

Her hand clutching this broken place tightly

 

How I wish I could banish her!

But that is not my magic, I know;

So the Mesquites and I reach out

With the scant protection of our creaking limbs;

Not much against the sharp cold of isolation  

But all we have to give

An anglophone goes wandering -

The street lights each a thought he gives,

And enters a bar on a row,

Half tossed on friendliness and drinks.

 

The f-bomb, it's Hull, Quebec, dance!

My feet aren't coordinated,

So music shows so in my eyes.

I find a corner, merci much.

 

A belly button, desire such,

Is searched for amongst the many.

How close the white wine if spilled, thus,

When searching, searching for the French.

 

Drunk English idiot, moron,

I hear.  Not speaking the language,

I chalk it up to the drinks had,

And that's when the lucky thing came.

 

She sang on a stage, cover stuff,

And boy her voice was angelic.

She read the words from a prompter,

While a small band played around her.

 

So many people laughed at me,

Because she pointed at me, smiled.

I do not care, haven't ever.

I walked front center stage to her.

 

I can play the bass for you, girl.

Inside a realm of alcohol

Where I cannot walk, even stand,

I still play perfect lines of notes.

 

I do not lie.  She understood

Somehow, and up I jumped, then waved.

A person handed me a bass,

And silence waited on the queue.

 

Shock this, the music came to us

Irregularly perfect, played.

The bass and drums in oneness knelt,

As she went back to the mike, screamed.

 

I shot John A. MacDonald, felt

It on you tube over again,

No judges separate from us,

Something about I do not know.

 

One hour and a half later I

Was still in amazement, drinks gone,

Quebec Qua this, Quebec Qua that.

They loved us.  They really loved us.

 

That girl, for all my life, her voice -

An equal I could never have,

To all I ever cared for; Once,

At least, if ever in passing.

 

 

Come gather round me children and I will tell a tale,

of a rampant conflagration and the long forbidden sale,

of disharmony, impatience, and a long forgotten song,

of misbegotten rightness that is very very wrong.

 

Our hero stands before us, theres a devil in his eyes,

the things he never reaches, and all the things he tries,

 are what we speak of nightly, as we sit before the fire,

his quests and then his conquest of Alvin Macintire.

 

Their feud is known quite widely, I'm surprised you haven't heard, 

how he searched across the land, and how things got absurd.

 He trekked across the distant moors, and swam across the lochs, 

to capture Alvin Macintire and stop the way he talks.

 

Our hero, Jones we'll call him,though his name was something else

conducted searches thoroughly, up chimney vents, down wells

 It took 2 years til came the day, in little Applecross

When enemies stood toe to toe to find out who was boss

 

Not much was solved in Applecross, when they first came eye to eye,

but they'd meet in different circumstance, to give their war a try...

 It came in 50 battles, set all across the land

our Jones behaved like Robin Hood, out with his merry band. 

 

 you may wonder why it was

this battle came to be

it wasn't land or family feud

but a lass  called Kate Mcgee

 

 

 

The One We Deserve

 

This intricate illusion might obscure,

but will never hide the simple fact

that life is "kill or be killed".

 

No matter how many facets

are cut into the gem,

it is still a cold, hard stone.

 

We pretend and act,

We close our eyes,

We hide the facts as

We birth our lies.

 

And though we all know the truth,

it remains perpetually unspoken,

as if, as long as we all agree

never to speak of or acknowledge

the reality of our animal nature

we might become something other,

something better,

than the animals we are.

 

When, in fact,

we all know

that life is "kill or be killed",

and only the most vicious,

unrepentant psychopaths

will ever attain any station,

office or position

that allows them the power

to do anything

about it.

The simplest game seen underneath's the same
As a great challenge, complexity wild.
Adapting more and less through time, one frame,
We are between the quite extreme to mild.
It is no different.  Each day we rise,
Approach the contest, take distinctive notes,
Experience our wins, those losses, ties,
Relax, then sleep, but still the number floats.
Forever.  Other people learning, we
Find, come to know them in the games we play,
All having access to the secret key
That like of doing works, lets living stay.
In time all is known.  Surprise!  Arise, what?
A face I wished I'd never see here, but...


A friend introduced me to Lindt's dark chocolate with caramel and sea salt. It's my new crack.

 

------------

 

Laying on my bed

In the dark, holding one

Chocolate square between

My right thumb and forefinger

Balancing another on my chest

I take a small bite.

 

Pressing my middle three 

Fingers against my lips

I savor the complexity

Of sweet caramel and

Grainy sea salt

Bound within the smooth

Confines of its surface.

 

I let my body’s heat

And tongue’s friction

Melt each morsel,

Each one relished as a silent

Solitary pleasure

Though I find no peace

In their tempered darkness.  

 

I finish the second square

At last and remember

Laughing silently

(But hard, so hard I had to put

My hand over my mouth)

To keep to myself the

Bittersweet feeling that you alone

Speak my language

When you texted

“Don’t eat the whole bag at once”

* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * X
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * X

+ - + - + - + - +
- + - + - + - +X

Techno's loud so no one talks, just drinks
And dancing, speechless stares and hints.
You can hear me still.  It's magic, girl!
But yes, it's me, no glasses, tints.

Seek thou the unemployed writer, find,
My lady, me, say, at a bar
Off of Hollywood Boulevard some,
Where all these actors have a star.

What is this?  Producer!  My, my, sigh.
A movie, money, means to make -
Simply all the parts you have, but what?
In process, nothing, a bad fake.

I, my dear, my lovely lack of words,
Have always been a pusher man
Sort, so what's your spin, your need to lie
And I will be that biggest fan.

Love of freaking rhino horn, you kid!
An acid trip flick.  Buy my drink.
In short your screwed, and this is why, then
I'll tell you how to save it, pink.

Few at first the genre greatness caught -
A thousand copies come, all bad.
My head hurts.  So who believes the line:
The trip is good.  It's crap.  I'm sad.

Studio lover, please know what's down.
They took the content away, sneak!
What's left is boring machine drug ups,
Not hummer go where ending peak.

Producer, please look at me close face.
I wish to put the content back,
Then let sensationalism win.
Someone will care who you are, snack!

Winner.  Breakout.  Consumed.  Eaten not.
More money than an island makes.
My blessing.  Cut my arm.  Blood touch yours.
A secret, cookie nonsense, bakes.

Write.  Write now, write long.  As if one's young,
Believes as youth do, good day comes.
I am as old as better sin, thus,
Long from belief, and silent, mums.  

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