stricken with silence

another month of near silence

pen stuck in the mud of non-thought

journal writing is automatic

like the weather bound to change

in the mind of non-thought

staring off into somewhere else entirely

visualizing that place not quite sitting

but comfortable another month

a failure in the skeptical eyes

of the alter ego another month

of knowledge and self scrutiny

under the microscope and the eye

my own got to do it alone

no one is going to pick it up

and eye will have to make it fly

be it's wings at 33

turning up everywhere

and even here now as the fire

turns the room smoky

and water in a glass it would be

half full and rising

or falling depending on the day

the trees are stripped

to skeleton fingers outstretched

over the neighborhood tonight

it's still early...

nothing concluded 172

more thoughts down

randomly throwing
twelve-sixteen
ten years since
they lied then too
 
claiming mission
accomplished and
job well done
ask the soldier
who comes home
 
without his legs
how does he feel
when the president
jokes about the reason
we went to war
 
and how soon
until we the people
are labeled the enemy
again some might
not have to worry
 
how many more
years will we the people
be here to warn
the others
nothing concluded
 
another rainy
November night
probably been ten years
since Scorpios stood close
open to new ideas
 
sprouting like herbs
in a garden of knowledge
someone will forget
no doubt continuing
under some other name
 
who knows when it will
all make sense again
when will we the people
be able to feel secure
in what we the people
 
truly are
not herd-able
as some might believe
there will always be
those who stand out
 
and those who stand up
for what is right
despite what has been accepted
without checks
and balances as intended
 
some will say
time wasted
on thoughts that will
change nothing
but minds
 
can move the masses
to realize we don't
have a choice
to fight this
abduction of freedom...

nothing concluded 171

there is no law

been said over and over
nothing found
all the research
turns up nothing
 
steadily approaching
twelve-sixteen
wonder if it will
truly end
at ten years old
 
spilled ashes all
over the page
and keyboard
luckily none
got into the coffee
 
spent nearly
the whole day
alone and didn't
mind at all
other half will arrive soon
 
so many thoughts
simultaneously
colliding in the mind
hand pen page
keyboard screen
 
nothing concluded
just wondering
around my own
empty head
worried about money
 
as always
none of us have
enough to do
what we want
and need meet
 
in the middle
of one thought
and into the next
another appears
as if invited
 
we are all being
tricked she screams
there is no law
requiring we pay taxes
as we do
 
confused staring
at a weekly pay stub
with this amount
withheld
nothing concluded
 
searching for answers
to the simplest
questions in the hardest
times was and fear
and violence
 
confused
into believing there
is no other
way back
when it all began
 
they lied the too
ten years since
twelve-sixteen
randomly throwing
more thoughts down...

quiet month

quiet for a month

reaching for a new way

out of the same old

hole in the wall city

east of almost everywhere

sleeping by now

or choking on smoke

enter quiet in a minute or two

quiet too long

so much still to say

just haven’t found

the right road

and the vehicle

has always been

out of control…

nothing concluded 170

as plain as
day time next door
you can hear
the conversation
down the street
silent autumn
nights until
the dog starts
yelling about
being short again

laughter and maybe
it’s a party
or someone
celebrating
all alone

remembering the idea
over and over
again rereading
in order to move
something around

jump start
creativity when
it stumbles
over it’s own
redundancies

is there time
for another
pot of joe
not knowing anyone
by that name

like my ring
when I shower
for fear of the drain
(and when I wash
the dishes)

extended summertime
feel in the night
air as I drift in
and out of a deep
or shallow

thought depending
on the moment
and if the sun
was out all day
most likely outside

at some point
look to the stars
through the trees
in the back yard
as high as eye can see

head down
full speed ahead
like the old days
in a closed down
restaurant

resonating like the bell
returning to the
mindfulness of
each moment
as they stack up well

and they may
fall over at times
somehow
still hovering
above ground

metaphorically
driven to find
the next thought
and that
might be all

there is
to it
driven daily
and certain phrases
don’t like to repeat

everything changes
and it should
for it’s own good
and the good
of all involved

in a thought
can’t tear
away from the page
like a surge of energy
holding the pen there

exploding longer
than the usual
one page limit
as of late
nothing concluded…

halfway across

listening to the rain

knowing somehow that act alone

is about as free as we get

halfway across the country

in the middle of nowhere

someone with something special to say

back to the solitary nights

this pen is the crutch

can see as I walk from here to there

until morning and the eyes begin

to cross like they were t’s

until morning

when sun shakes water from leaves

behind the wall

underneath all the darkness

and rain written black ink white page

trying to fit back into my skin

after all these years

so many thoughts uninterrupted

dreams waking three

maybe four times

after sleep has come

nearly one am with nothing to say…

my brother travels(for the record)

my brother travels westward tomorrow

might take two full days
before he is high in the mountains
thoughts and positive energy for
his safe passage…

for the record

we are closer than ever today
he needs to leave in order
to someday return
and no matter where
he finally settles
we will always be this close
 
for the record
it is a dream I will
never let go of
and when I wake he will be gone
my guru the man
I call my brother
and best friend…

red alert(for the record)

red alert

more restrictions
will apply pressure
on the liberty
it’s been planned
months years even decades now
admitted surprises work better
to induce fear
it’s probably how the rich
we don’t know run the world
no longer merely pre midnight thought
hung out on the postgame show
tires screeching
as for some the night has
just begun
still drinking coffee
as if to stay up for a fight
 
for the record
obviously internal
no one else is here…

and beyond

 

first night productive in a couple of weeks

the wind picks up and suddenly it’s 100

back down twenty or so it seems

even if it’s still high eighties

planes overhead that sound like cars

when I used to sit at Bickford’s

drinking shitty coffee and smoking cigarettes

completely crooked standing still

at the bottom of the hill

looking upward and onward

passed all my mistakes

empty pockets where hands once were

too generous until the hole dug

enormous and I don’t know which way is up

branches crack in the backyard late

someone taking the shortcut home

what if I leave some morning

and no one hears from me again

these days truly stranger than fiction

how many pages spent until something

makes sense here and beyond…

better than snow(for the record)

one hundred degrees

is not the norm
in the north east
this humidity can only
be experienced
not even talked about
everything is melting
ideas onto paper
nothing can stop it
water eating ice
sink swim or fall
whenever January to July
further beyond the coldest month
 
for the record
the heat is better than snow
take it over cold
any day and just as
pen melts into page
the temperature
starts to drop
and twenty degrees
in two hours
how about that
the rest of the night
enjoying a smile
like no other…

time's up

a minute

later date

would be

difficult

idea pop

into the mind

at the strangest

time’s up

ready for sleep

and it’s tomorrow

out on the porch

right behind

my ears

eyes don’t do

much good

in the dark

time’s up

most likely

most likely

more angry than

anything else

crash

no one hurt

quite the mess

one the way home

most likely

keeping someone

awake worried

without a call

music somewhere

far off in the night

music getting

closer loud exhaust

to match it all

these thoughts

don’t add up too much

of the time spent

cross-eyed thinking

some nights

out on the back porch

is the only remedy

for what has passed

too fast until tomorrow

bring back tonight

until all the sirens

cease until

well

they don’t stop…

wrinkle hand

wrinkled hands now

thirty-one years

what’s been learned

enough ten years ago

now knowing too much

can we ever  know too much

wrinkled hands put down a verse

or a whole thought

no one moves

everyone is asleep…

nothing concluded 169

back wood smoke

and the sound of music
far away carried
by the wind
across the city
 
nearly every sound
the dog goes nuts
and I still think
it’s because
he is a short dog
 
the coffee is strong
because I made it
tonight and not
the usual drive round
the block tonight
 
five minutes
prior to now
still sounds
from outside
across the city
 
new shoes
surprises are
always nice
partner in crime
upstairs just a minute
 
back down
comfortable
being the pair that
will be eternally
nothing concluded
 
only months now
until serial thought
shifts to another
avenue (title)
everything changes
 
so small no
one will notice
until we all
wear microchips
in our pockets
 
maybe we do
and don’t
know it
already in the license
an endless ramble
 
ten years later
same conclusion
            none
to speak plainly
nothing concluded…

only the moon

ee cummings proved how abstract

words can actually be

certainly uncertain about meaning

more than to invoke the spin

it might get dark fast tonight

only the moon shows

through the transparent clouds

overhead seventy-two days

how many cigarettes

have I avoided

and how could I miss

such a horrible habit

someone sick enough

to intensify

the draw

exists in this world

where are we now

some would say the end times

and isn’t that period

supposed to last hundreds of years

why are the rich and powerful

so willing to blow shit up…

write quick(for the record)

not nearly as hot as yesterday

got home from work
picked up the pen
write quick
what else would I do
 
for the record
overhead traffic route
a plane every twenty minutes
and on ground
a train every ninety minutes
been out for the last time tonight
the dog snores on the floor
 
this time only 8 minutes
between the planes
this time around
maybe a circular descent
put it down on a page
if the plane was a pen
anyone else listening
to the night
seeing these words
verbal interpretation
of these strange thought
visualizations wish I could paint
 
for the record
only slept five hours
last night
suppose that’s all I needed…

storm getting closer(for the record)

the rumble in the distance

a storm getting closer
maybe it will cool
this stagnant air
 
for the record
can’t remember the last time
it was this hot here
still drinking hot coffee
out of a mug bought in NH
dog at my feet on the floor
trying to stay cool by a fan
floor is cooler in the kitchen
how can I tell him that
sitting in the western most wing
of this house also white
another rumble and lightening
flashes closer still
heat wave might just break tonight
 
for the record
scent of rain coming through
the windows with the breeze
haven’t moved much
in the last few hours
had other plans until
the pen took my hand
as if it was afraid of the rumble
above the house
and the rain in the trees…

this late

hardly ever this late

night writing retired

years ago on a porch

that no longer exists

in memory alone

have to wait another

ten minutes since

brother left door if you are

looking from the street

remains quiet tonight

inspiration left behind

as if by design

everything from above

falls rapidly approaching

wishing for another trip

down a flight of stairs

somehow not becoming

familiar with surrounding

areas of the mind

field running but getting

tired of the commute…

terrible reign (for the record)

it’s almost tomorrow

thinking about war again
a strange idea
the Solomon solution
bring down the temple
no one will make it through

some terrible reign

for the record
an artist is hard at work
thinking sitting
on the floor at midnight…

shoes on nowhere to go

still got my shoes on but the feet

need to rest for the night

not going anywhere

sleeping downstairs

and it’s so hot I stay awake

could be thunder

or a jet rumbling above the head

deep in the night sky darkness

short thoughts like stray heart beats

just in case I skip one or two

because of an allergic reaction

to something in the air

shorter breaths and eye lids flutter

as if to tell me something

and I am not listening

wanting to see the sun rise

three days in a row

stays with me all day long…

still a puzzle(for the record)

more terror in India

yesterday
who benefits
first question always
who suffers
always the same answer
innocents in the way
and soldiers doing their duty
 
a means to what end
only truth seekers piece
together the puzzle until
it becomes a clearer picture
still a puzzle made up
of half-truths splintered
with boldface lies and rumors
 
for the record
the real motives still unknown
as usual
some sick and twisted formula
no one know how
never mind if it is even meant to work
 
for the record
day two page seven
writing out under
all these numbers might get wordy
does anyone really mind…