This blog was created for others who will hopefully glean something from the words I have written.Not much to say except I ran off from an orphanage when I was 13 years old.Hopped on a freight train and joined the circus.Have been wandering ever since.I am grateful to be alive and my only desire is to leave something here for others to gain from.If I can accomplish that then I have successfully reached my intended goal.All we have left in the end is our legacy.
Empty swings down by the playground My voice used to be heard in that place The many voices have now been silenced Only the memories are there to embrace Grade school companions have moved on Somewhere over the settling horizons dawn My pass through town I come here to stand Searching frantically for a loose strand A similar voice heard in the shuffle Familiar visions but not quite the same A rememberance of that sweet odor The mixture of which I cannot reclaim The old janitor still remains He recognizes the bulk but refrains From the recall of old plays Yet he steadily stays Faithful to his post at the end of the hall Down by the boiler room The great protector of childhood thoughts Like a miser who guards the virgin womb There will be no deep penetration today For the most part the mind will remain numb Thanks to the janitor who still remains Beating his loud gloomy drum Reminding all who return That there is nothing left to learn A well that has run dry long ago In likeness to frazzled tumbleweeds Over prairies that no longer glow Under the sun that is concealed behind clouds That do not return after the rain An exersize in futility For the human mind to bear its strain
Hoot owls that live out in the country Are always nice to hear Late at night when all is quiet The shining eyes of the deer Out in the fields when headlights shine They see the mechanical monster move Headlights are the eyes to them They surely dissaprove Yet the hoot owls remain on their branch Peeping with their yellow eyes Making their gentle hooting noises Appearing to look so wise Not a summer has gone by without them They are kind of like friends who are aloof In later times they have been seen Resting on my barn roof They are welcome to what I have As long as they keep coming around Hoot owls that live near my farm I look forward to hearing their sound
The eyes of the first men Who peered from this place Who waited for sunlight Huddled in fear Together they felt The coldness of night Their visions remained unclear The observance of animals In copulation Aware of the need for population Without fires that roared Empathy was still yet to be borne Until the sympathetic lightning Brought forth its warmth Lessening the presence of the frightening When peering outward from their place Unaware of the future of their race The mingling of the people Who huddled together Eons later buried in the nether Evidence of their presence in the soil Gathering at first in their primary toil They fashioned tools and stood erect Worshiping the sun with utter respect In the wake of their own wonder Their mark in history in likeness to thunder A presence to be reckoned with As they spun tales of lore and myth Placing images on the wall In answer to the distant call
Last night we talked past midnight This morning I awoke-she took flight Must had been before the dawn She took my smokes and left me none What am I to do with a sister like that She is more aloof than my cat Ahhh...she's nuts What's the use the way she checks Out people's butts She's definetly a bit of a freak Not like me at all-I'm a computer geek Always shopping and on the run More than one boyfriend at all times She's never done Resting up and taking a break is beyond her When she finally moved to the city Our parents rejected her ways Refusing to take on any more pity So when she showed up at my door How could I say no Or ask her not to stay and tell her to go Nothing wrong with her that time won't cure Until then I think I can endure Her sometimes childish ways Just around the corner are better days She will have reached full bloom In the meantime she has her own room My place is open to her at all times Until she realizes it's time to go She better have some cigarettes For me when she comes back Then I will be the one to steal her pack
The ponies run, the girls are young, The odds are there to beat. You win a while, and then it's done - Your little winning streak. And summoned now to deal With your invincible defeat, You live your life as if it's real, A Thousand Kisses Deep.
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed, I'm back on Boogie Street. You lose your grip, and then you slip Into the Masterpiece. And maybe I had miles to drive, And promises to keep: You ditch it all to stay alive, A Thousand Kisses Deep.
And sometimes when the night is slow, The wretched and the meek, We gather up our hearts and go, A Thousand Kisses Deep.
Confined to sex, we pressed against The limits of the sea: I saw there were no oceans left For scavengers like me. I made it to the forward deck. I blessed our remnant fleet - And then consented to be wrecked, A Thousand Kisses Deep.
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed, I'm back on Boogie Street. I guess they won't exchange the gifts That you were meant to keep. And quiet is the thought of you, The file on you complete, Except what we forgot to do, A Thousand Kisses Deep.
And sometimes when the night is slow, The wretched and the meek, We gather up our hearts and go, A Thousand Kisses Deep.
The ponies run, the girls are young, The odds are there to beat . . .
Baaaa....to you old silly sheep This day is almost over Time to take you home to bed You've had your fill of clover Think your probing eyes bother me Well they do just a bit I've known you all since you were ewes But lagging now I cannot permit Soon it will be dark I am tired and need to rest Baaaa....to you my woolies I always try my best Enough for one day though This morn I saw mother kneading dough Come let's go it's time for bed And I want to sample some of mother's bread Tommorow is another day for us The sun will come up just fine in the morn I will come to call on you By the sound of the horn Then you will be up and ready To kiss the morning dew
This is Terry But I nicknamed him Carl That's another story in itself Always happy about life Makes one take a look at their self Got him a job at the mill making pallets He did just fine I used to take him out with me Before he got on at the mill His job was to watch the hoses To make sure there was no spill He finally got to steer the truck While I sat behind the wheel Carl laughed so hard about it He actually began to squeal Found out the guys at the mill were teasing him They pinched him on his side The entire length of his torso was bruised When I saw it I immedeately cried Carl had this look on his face Wondering at my tears I decided then and there That I would end his fears ~ The assembly of hooligans like never was seen We waited by the old saw mill Those jerks who bruised Carl sighted us Out through the back they went Dispersing over the hill Although they escaped certain harm We sent out the small town alarm They got the message loud and clear No longer would Carl have to fear The owner of the mill got informed Shadowens was his name He was also visibly shaken And thought it was pretty lame One by one those jerks got fired Until there were none left Carl was his own happy self again No longer in pain or bereft He is my lifetime buddy I got him a dog last fall He likes his dog-the dog likes him There is the story of Terry wherewithal
It's light shines bright The welcome in its omnipresence Hail to all who enter the gate It is the place where the exsistence of hate Was given birth to the foolish mirth Of a handful of men who rose above all It was known to all as The Black Flower of Brzezinka Atop its tower as it hailed the trains All who enter where nothing remains Piles of eyeglasses Piles of shoes All who enter must pay their dues Poles and Jews,Gypsy and Czech Zyklon B awaits your arrival Shaven heads-pulled gold teeth No need for a bed or concern for survival Arbeit Macht Frei What a joke Soon your corpses will go up in smoke Once your eyes have seen the Black Flower From up on top of its place on the tower It will be the first and only time You will see its thorny edges pierce your eyes I die clutching someone's child I die an honorable death I die in your shower room tomb I will haunt you until your last breath Destruction of the body does not destroy What I am and what I represent Destroy the evidence as much as you can Your vain attempts to circumvent The yellow star is ingrained into my flesh Your Black Flower with its spiny thorns I shall hold it to my heart dearly As I depart and evade your pain
Small town population Eighty nine plus one I'm the plus one who comes And goes and is never done The old Shell sign years ago No longer stands The station is gone as well Weeds cover the concrete slab Without prior knowledge You could never tell Of the place that stood there Long ago When gas cost pennies and all was swell The town remembers to this day I am the hooligan who to their dismay Unplugged the letter on the old sign Pete and I laughed in our truck As we sat there and drank cheap wine Out in the strip cuts we listened to music On the old car radio as it played We had renamed the town hell In honor of the cavalcade That roamed the street made of dirt The folks in town were a bit stirred Next night we plugged it back in And thought it was a bit absurd Still being funny our little joke They still recall the time There goes those two hooligans again They commited the crime Three decades have come and gone We still bear the brunt and the blame This old town never forgets They still condemn us to shame
Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear. For I wear a mask, a thousand masks, masks that I am afraid to take off, and none of them is me. Pretending is an art that's second nature with me, but don't be fooled. For God's sake don't be fooled. I give the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without, that confidence is my name and coolness my game, that the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, ever-varying and ever-concealing. Beneath lies no complacence. Beneath lies confusion and fear and aloneness. But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant sophisticated facade, to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only hope and I know it. That is, if it's followed by acceptance, if it's followed by love. It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers I so painstakingly erect. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself, that I'm really worth something.
But, I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I am afraid to. I am afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance, will not be followed by love. I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good, and that you will see this and reject me.
So I play my game, my desperate pretending game, with a facade of assurance without and a trembling child within. So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks, and my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that's really nothing, and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me. So when I am going through my routine, do not be fooled by what I'm saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying, what I'd like to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but what I can't say.
I don't like to hide. I don't like to play superficial phony games. I want to stop playing them. I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me, but you've got to help me. You've got to hold out your hand even when that's the last thing I seem to want. Only you can wipe away from my eyes that blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. Each time you're kind and gentle and encouraging, each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings, very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings! With your power to touch me into feeling you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can be a creator - a honest-to-God creator - of the person that is me if you choose to. You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble, you alone can remove my mask, you alone can release me from my shadow world of panic and uncertainty, from my lonely prison, if you choose to. Please choose to. Do not pass me by. It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you approach to me, the blinder I may strike back. It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man, often I am irrational. I fight against the very thing that I cry out for. But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls, and in this lies my hope. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands but with gentle hands for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I, you may wonder? I am someone you know very well. For I am every man you meet and I am every woman you meet.
Lucid dreams are my only escape In likeness to the fetal cocoon The place where melancholy is forbidden In this state I am immune Sounds of the world are muffled Only the motion survives In between eye blinks When in dim light it barely survives Free to fly to distant places Where the essence of time is no more Floating into fractal spaces To voices which seem to implore Variance is turned into harmony Friendly hands wave on in direction Free to fly-free to go It is safe in the voice of Inflection Through the inner walls of my mothers womb While floating in man made waters The spirits within recall the djin In the presence of unborn daughters There is no recollection of the inner connection Countless years that go by Until on a night when exposed in the light In a smattering of an innocent sigh A veil is lifted for but a brief moment As though it were some sort of a tease Then it is gone as quickly as it came Like the brief lullaby of a nightime breeze
Out with the old-In with the new Either one bids the other adieu Each tolerates the other Content on causing their rival To smother In contrast it is like mother and child In unison side by side Not meant to be in variance Each in true form and pride At first glimpse it is striking Then it becomes part of the scene Not many heads look up to it thereafter Or take notice of what is forseen
Suspended in a tide Of constant motion In the immense population It's expanse greater than any ocean Things go by without notice My shoes on the telephone wire Observing it all in due form Up where the smoke is but out of the fire Daily scenes of life below Day by day goes by My shoes record all that happens Under the canopy of the sky Sometimes there are tears to record On occasion a smile or two The procession pays no attention Most have not a clue Bright flowers filled with sunshine Seek refuge in windows with shade Out of the smog but not the bark of a dog This is the place where lives are lived Yet also broken and made
Nothing is sweeter than a child with flowers It is a gift from their heart If a child brings you some one day Do not allow them to depart Until you have shown them what it means To give a gift of such If they bring you dandelions They can mean as much Don't tell them it's a weed It will make their heart bleed To know they gave you something other Than just a tumbling weed Deprives them of the sunshine And that which they all need Love may come in many forms It is as it appears to be To accept love is to give it That is the secret key
Pepe the toad lived under our bug light Out in the middle of the field He used to sleep in the ivy Until we made him a flowerpot home After that he would barely roam There was a pan filled with water So he could get himself a drink Pepe was wild but he was spoiled A bug eating toad who never smiled Winter came and winter went We looked for him in the spring He didnt come until late in summer To do his favorite thing Maybe he was not really Pepe But just some other toad We put out the pot and the water pan To keep him from crossing the road
The silent fingers reaching Gulls look on in wonder People like gulls rest on the fringes Awaiting their daily plunder Nobody takes much notice I feed them bits of bread Shreiking and groaning Sounding like they mourn for the dead It doesn't matter-it's never enough Dare you call the seagull's bluff Acting as though their hearts were pierced Their shrill cries in the air Every scrap belongs to them Not intending to share A hundred seeds are on the ground Yet they fight over one Going from one seed to another Until they seem to be done Next time I go through town on the train I will stop by once again To feed them bread and give them seeds To listen to them strain against their peers As I see their false tears Drop like utter pain In teardrops like the rain
