Hi all. Welcome to a another installment at Blog Central. I'm tired. I'm not sleeping quite right. I get home from work, fall asleep on the couch and wake up at two in the morning and then I'm up the rest of the night. Then I"m tried all day and the same thing happens again. A vicious cycle. It's a pain in my ass. When I go to Vegas in a month it'll be perfect, but until then, I gotta fight through it.
Well, let's do some more poetry, or as I like to call it, random mental discharges. Oh, and the copyright thing still applies, you know.
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Strange Flight


In the place between sleep and waking
I find myself weightless, 100 feet above the ground.
As is strangely normal in this context,
I am floating in forward motion above
a familiar neighborhood of my past.

I pass houses on my left, feel the wind in my hair,
as I recount family names of those in residence below.
A hundred yards or more of green lawns and light grey driveways
pass under my levitation and I smile with recognition
as I see the house I lived in on the corner across the street.

Down the hill I glide, skimming trees along the way.
I begin to feel gravity as it slowly pulls me toward the ground.
The surroundings are now only vaguely familiar as I now pass
through trees rather than over them.
But I cross the familiar street as I drift ever closer to it's surface.

All too aware of my altitude, I approach a pond that was once a creek
and it tries to lick at my feet.
Ankles bent up, I raise my toes as the water salivates below.
My concentration proves ineffectual as ripples mark my progress,
and my toes get wet anyway.

But I kept aloft just enough to keep my ankles dry,
skimming the surface like a low skipping stone.
A u-turn to the left at waters edge and I'm off again with new speed.
Off the water and up, my will obeyed, but where familiar woods
once stood is a building in its' stead reflected upon the pond.

All glass, stone and steel, I reach for its' heights, and am rewarded.
The air is clean, the breeze cool, my flight natural as breathing.
Through a tinted window I pass, both of us unscathed.
Along the dark halls I drift, passing strangers in featureless rooms,
until I come to one I know.

She smiles with her whole face,
her dark eyes brightening the hall as well as my soul.
Her embrace warms me, anchors my desire,
but cannot weigh down my heart as it soars again,
taking flight out the window and into the fair blue above.
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Church Of Boardner's


Midnight at Boardners.
I think about leaving as the holiday crowd
makes a racket I can no longer bear.
The smell of fried pub food somehow
makes it's way out here to the patio
so I go inside and make my way to the door.

But as I pass the corner of the bar
my eye is drawn to a man sitting there.
He seemed to be of few assets,
his hair is long and his beard is longer.
He sits among the noise as a drip of perspiration
falls from the bottle in his hand.
A light above the bar is angled so he is more
illuminated than those around him.
It gives him a warm glow and I expect to see
a precious halo above his head.

I stopped to watch him as I wondered if
this somewhat somber man might be of
Heavenly ilk.
But in a Hollywood bar wearing a bad polyester shirt,
drinking a Bud, is hardly how one might expect to
see the creator of the Universe, right?

I walk out into the cool night,
walk up to Hollywood Blvd. and take a right.
At Vine St. a local character wearing a priest collar and cape
yells at passersby to 'follow the Lord'.
I don't have the heart to tell him that tonight,
God drinks alone.
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A Little More Color


So unearthly a vision,
she glides into the room so smoothly,
like Morticia on a camera dolly.
I knew I would love her;
she would be my Mina Harker.

Skin so white, translucent in fact,
that her veins I could easily find
behind her hair, tousled serpents of black,
to her shoulders intertwined.
“A little more color”, I thought,
“would bring out her eyes, so icy blue.”
Ah, those eyes, saying much more than words would ever construe.

Her lips, two black leeches,
lying side by side, barely parted,
pressed against mine, would they leave me broken-hearted?
Were they the color of a valentine,
I would make those lips mine.

A little more color then, I implore.
Yes, a little more color upon her
porcelain face,
I thought would be best for such
a delicate place.
But recognition of me, there was not a trace.
To her I may as well have lived in outer space.

How to win her love, have her all to myself?
Such was the question with which I wrestled;
I, and of course my demons within,
so comfortably nestled.
It came to mind so suddenly, in a snap;
nothing too complicated, no better mouse trap.

Just wait until dark, follow her close,
strike a blow to the head, let her heart
do the rest,
as it pumps a rich, red palette into her
head’s raven nest.
Streaks of wet crimson, so warm and fresh,
just what was needed for her wintry flesh.

It was clear to see;
a little more color, some warmth of hue,
gave her the life she was so sorely due.
A perfect visage for all Eternity;
I kiss her lips, now of warm ruby.

We’ll be together forever,
And I love her truly.
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Hometown


I get off the plane in my birthplace
but it doesn't feel like it used to.
Familiar faces pick me up at an airport
that changes shape every time I visit.

In High School
it was a small town that rallied
around it's football team
every Friday night without fail.

Students gathered at the McDonald's
like a soda shop full of bobby-soxers.
An '81 Chevy Citation made you popular,
even just for the ride home.

Town Square complete with big, white gazebo,
was filled each summer with cotton candy
and ring tosses, a Ferris wheel,
and shouts of "Guess your weight for a dollar!"

Now it's shopping centers and fast food joints by the dozen.
I hear nary a word of High School football
in a town whose youth choose nights at the mall
over a summer carnival.

What was once quaint, full of familiarity,
is now a bland, midwest town that I don't recognize,
yet know I've seen a million times before
in a million other places.

Overweight moms and their little, overweight banshees
have replaced me and my high school friends.
People gather in groups of faux upper class elite
in a town where there isn't really anyone to impress.

A decrepit-looking man in the town square
shuffles along in dirty clothes, using unneeded crutches.
The smoke he puffs above a neck brace ages him beyond his years.
I sigh in resignation; he's the last straw.

Hometown is no longer where my heart is;
I'm eager to travel the 3000 miles to where I hang my hat.
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A Day At The Beach


It's a rain cocktail on a grey beach
and not a bikini as far as the eye can see.
A lone surfer paddles into a breaker fifty yards away
without acknowledging my presence.
In my diluted rum-banana daiquiri, a cherry floats
wishing she would show to tie it's stem with her tongue;
a talent she once was so fond of showing off.
Gone are the silly days we'd spend here in the sun,
laughing for hours that passed too fast, digging moats
for our castles in the sand.
I guess she'd grown up with the coming of autumn.
My calls went unreturned but
I thought she'd meet me at least one last time.
Now I sit alone on this towel wishing I'd brought an umbrella
as water pelts my shoulders and head like wet bullets.
In a land of perpetual summer,
a day in Mailbu never seemed so long.
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Haiku Valentine


Champagne and candy,
or roses by the dozen,
are just mere tokens.

But I wrap my heart
in a bow of promises;
a more worthy gift.

Or even more sweet,
a candy box of my love
wrapped in forever.
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