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Sunday, December 29, 2013

Places in the Heart

Places in the heart. 
That bring me serenity. 
Never absent their vanity. 
But a moment lasts. 
Even those of the past. 

Places in the heart. 
Its a universal tongue. 
Its the song, the lips sung. 
But a dream. 
Is not all that it seems. 

Places in the heart. 
A whisper in the ear. 
A smile, and a tissue for my tears.
Lifetimes of argumentative stuff. 
But yet, a diamond in the rough. 

Places in the heart. 
Reality falls to a halting break. 
And we forget whats at stake. 
Its bliss, with one simple kiss. 
A wrist, that sometimes bears a fist. 

Places in the heart. 
Fanciful flirting, at the bar. 
Its okay, he has a car. 
The truth is what we make it.
They dance, but often fake it. 

Places in the heart. 
They're the sonnets of Aristotle. 
They're the letters in the bottle. 
Hateful harmonies in the home. 
It becomes, a silent poem. 

Places in the heart. 
You'll find it on the radio. 
And sorrow, has no place to go. 
Experiences, don't know a clean slate. 
Its the reason, that we fight our fate.

Places in the heart. 
White wines, but just a sip. 
It tastes of Adam, of his rib. 
In the end, were all but Mayans. 
We find ourselves, dying in the dandelions.

Monday, December 23, 2013

The Grinch

The trees are trembling, but there's a roaring silence in the air.
There's something in the distance, but I can't put my finger on it.
Tonight the allurement of the lunar sun sits low in the sky,
and the fall flowers are covered in the snow that my boots lye.
Buildings of bright alluring red, built of brick by hands owed their bread.
I venture out, down the cobbled stoned streets.
All the windows are tinted, but one of the exception.
In my peripheral vision, a pair of swarthy pupils glare me down.
I turn the other way, but the eyes are there as well, in a new window.
My feet, taking me far away, find themselves on the schoolyard swings.
I remember those days, I remember the school theater plays.  
Its very cold outside on this lonely night, no illuminating stars out to say hello.
By now the ticking clocks have found themselves an hour into the new day.
My hands are shaking, and my fingers have grown numb.
I can see my breath, and the sighs escaping from my lungs,
My lips have no words, but my teeth are chattering like mice. my hands are shaking, and my fingers have grown numb.
And there again, are those familiar piceous eyes in the bushes.
Staring me down, as their charcoaled flavor feathers my discernment. My chest presses to my knees, as I rest on the wood chipped ground.  
I feel a breathing down my neck, but my eyes are absent.
All I know is darkness, while the fear closes my vision.  
As they lay shut, there's a man's voice in my ear drums.
Whispering one to the two, and I'm coming for you.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Pride and Prejudice

And the phoenix cast me out like I was nothing.
And the Third Reich rose, telling the Aryans they were something.
So I stand in my humble abode, a criterion and a kike.
Not absent spite, not the absent the hope to make wrongs right.
Fuck you, if you won't join me in my Harlem Blues.
Why not chose to stand by the battered and the bruised.
You think that makes you smart?
You pompous prick, with that cross around your heart.
Sure, dance on the mountain tops,
and shout from the heavens,
and you can even shout from the Olympus pillars.
And you can tell me were all Christ Killers.
What hate brought you to my doorstep,
in your pajamas.
I guess the worlds full of Hitlers,
and ostentatious Osamas.
Laugh with me, because someday you'll see.
Your the cat in the casket, your the dog in the ditch.
But your nothing but a bitch.


Long after the bullets and the bombs have burst.
I've surrendered my nationally narcissistic blood thirst.
Nam made me all that I am. 
A monstrous masterpiece of a man. 
But now I’m done saluting for Uncle Sam.
We all have those experiences that shape who we are.
And though my spacecraft spins half way to Mars.
I'm still hear.
Shedding my patriotic tear.
It’s a post-war pontificated positively perfect place.
I'm allocating acid for’ah hallucinatory taste.
In a wonderland paradise, I've melted my mind. 
And this tingling in my fingertips feels oh so divine. 
I've ceased to be serious. 
Cuz now my fried frizzled fucked up brain is absolutely delirious.  
Are those snowflakes on the dashboard?
Is that an earthquake of tiny sell-swords?
Do I twist and contort?
Or give up holding down the fort?
The green lighter-lit Mary Jane machine. 
Is yet to be seen. 
Right now I be trippin, 
And I know its not the beer I've been sippin. 
I'm out of my head. 
And for once, I don't feel like being dead. 
As I stay glued to the skies, 
completely mesmerized. 
I'm seeing a sea of stars. 
And the little red devil Mars. 
Dancing across the constellations, a thousand meteorite rocks. 
Maybe it’ll help you forget your battlefield brothers ah’comin home in a box.
Sorry if I’m too blunt.
Napalm was the perfect stunt.
It’s not regretfully said.
That all the Charlie’s are dead.
I write this impassioned letter of shaming disgrace to you, Dear LBJ.
Because this broken heart of broken bones has something to say. 
What was once a nation of green pastries of delectable pomegranates and tangerine teethed jungles, sits in a pool of rocket-fueled flames. Blue flames and bright violent bursting flames. 
And now I’m done watching young boys kill in the name of philosophical differences amongst their fellow man, I'm done with the games. Garrisoned games, chess games and your foolish blood games. 

I Love You, Isabella Whiley

            I beckoned over my son. He always loved a good story before bedtime. “Tommy come here for a second. Sit on my lap. Daddy has a little story to tell you.” I said. “What’s it about?” Tommy said in his little cute 6 year old voice, you get the idea. “It’s a story about mommy. She wasn't like other girls. She didn’t give into the peer pressures. She stayed true to who she was,” I said. “Daddy?” Tommy Said. “Yes Tommy,” I said. “What’s peer pressure?” Tommy asked. 
            I laughed aloud and smiled. I had almost forgotten that I was talking to a 6 year old. “It’s when people tell you to do things that you shouldn’t do and you have to resist them.” I said.
           “Oh okay. I’m ready to here your story about mommy.” Tommy insisted. “So here’s the story of me and your mother’s first date. Your mother and I were at Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios. There were people in scary costumes dressed up like ghosts and there were girls dressed up like zombies dancing around.” I exclaimed.
           Actually the scary ghost costumes were men wearing pig heads with chain saws chasing people around the theme park. But am I going to tell my son that? No, are you crazy? Do you think I want to be up at two AM in the morning while my son tells me about his swine flu nightmare. No, I do not. So I’m keeping it kosher. For everyone’s sake. 
           “So then me and your mommy went on that one dinosaur ride that you like and we went into some terrifying mazes where people jumped out at us.” I said. Yah so all that stuff is pretty much true. Oh wait, no we never went on the Jurassic Park that night. I just thought that telling Tommy that would make him happy because its his favorite. “So me and your mom were waiting to ride Jurassic Park again, because we loved it so much and she began asking me questions like, what’s your favorite type of ice cream.” I said. 
           No that’s nothing like how it went. She had started asking me questions about what I wanted to do for a living. I told her about my interest in computer programming. Then I went off and talked about how my father had started his own online software company and became a self made man. I told her about how I wanted to create something for myself. 
           How I didn’t think life meant anything if you don’t leave behind some kind of legacy. I thought the date had been going great right up until we happened to run into Elizabeth Burks and her boyfriend Jason Field. But as Tommy started to drift off and so did I. I fell into a silent flashback. A vivid dream state in which I could live out the real story of what really happened that night.
         “So after we rode Jurassic Park ride again we went to go ride The Simpsons where we ran into a few of mommy’s friends from school.” I said. It would take to long to explain to Tommy that there was another ride there before The Simpsons called Back to the Future because then he’d want me to explain Back to the Future to him and for the purposes of completing this story before my son falls asleep, were throwing historical accuracies to the side. 
         So as soon as Jason and Elizabeth spot us followed us into the line for Back to the Future and Jason immediately broke out with his one liner, ‘Wow never did I think I’d see the day, Isabella Whiley and Jeremy Miller.’ Isabella told him to stop. But he didn’t stop. His next one liner was, ‘Can you put a leash on that thing.’ So Isabella took me by the hand and we both left the line, to escape from further embarrassment.
        I didn’t really mention this earlier but at school I stood at the bottom of the food chain and Isabella’s so called friends had used me as an easy target. After the little fiasco with Jason, Isabella and I awkwardly held hands in silence as we walked around the Amusement Park, riding rides and going on fear mazes for the next three hours. 
       When it was finally time for the park to close I asked her if she was ready to go. She looked at me in disgust and demanded to know why I hadn’t said a word to her since we saw Jason and Elizabeth. I questioned her right back and demanded to know how she could be friends with pricks like that. She explained how she’d get kicked off the cheerleading squad if she turned her back on Elizabeth, who just happened to be the head of the team. 
      So that’s what this is about, I yelled at her. Then she said something about how I must think she’s shallow and superficial if that’s all she cared about. I replied with, yah maybe you are superficial and shallow. She retracted, softening her words a bit, ‘does that mean you don’t like me anymore.’ I responded to that the only way I knew how. I embraced her and we kissed for the first time that night. It was angry and passionate and fucking awesome all at the same time. Then, it was over. 
      A little while later we left Universal Studios and I drove her home. I walked her to her door and she whispered in my ear before kissing me one last time and going inside, ‘I think I love you Jeremy Miller.’ I responded in kind, ‘I think I love you too Isabella Whiley.’ 
      It’s silly looking back on it now. How could we have been in love after one date? But we knew there was some spark. Even after one date we knew. It looked like Tommy was asleep. “So where were we in the story. Oh, right! So Mommy and I saw some friends at the Amusement Park and then Mommy decided to move to France to become an artist,” I Said. 
      I laid there for a few more minutes as Tommy drifted off. The truth is my wife never moved to France to pursue her career as an artist. Though I’ve always preferred the fairy tale endings. Though cancer took mine away from me. She was an artist, a writer, a painter, a musician but most importantly, she was Isabella Whiley.