I’ve Got a Little Black Book With My Poems in It

I guess it’s about time that I posted some of my own stuff and maybe give a little peak into the bizarre mish-mash of ludicrous confusion that I call my brain. Here’s just a couple of free-verse poems that I will hopefully be able to turn into song lyrics someday, when time decides to allow me to.

I’ve got a little black book with my poems in it” – Pink Floyd, The Wall

The Tagger

Windborne colors

Swirling softly

Clouds of black, white, yellow, turquoise

Hug the wall

Of an industrial warehouse

A semi-truck

A McDonald’s dumpster

For all the world to see

The words

 Of a self-righteous artist

Crushed by the feet

Of white-collared yuppies

And society’s soldiers

With batons in hand

And electric shock at their fingertips

Make their advances

On the self-righteous tagger

Armed with nothing

But aluminum cans

Of liquid color

To spread the word

Combat injustice

Fight discrimination

Defend equality

But his hands are chained

By the big man

With the money

authority

power

to maintain the silence.

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Future Fantasies

Looking through a nostalgic mosaic

With snippets of wisdom

From the wispy sprawlings

Of centuries-old prophets

Or a fortune cookie

Wrinkled is his skin

Like the fabric of time

Rambling on and on…

About rain soon to come

But the rainbow lies ahead

To cross over into elsewhere

Or nowhere

Or wherever you might want

Or dream of

If we can only push past

Stone sentinels guard the way

Teach ’em to love

And we could make it

If only they could

If only we could

Learn a little

From our history books.

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Modern Dystopia

Just for your convenience

Let me take your independence

You don’t need to think

No need to take action

Consuming satisfaction

Won’t realize it’s a distraction

Lean back in a luxury recliner

And don’t look out the window

Just keep scroll scroll scrolling

Fixed to your devices

While the world burns around you.

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Bucket List

I don’t know what happens after this

If Judgement will send me skyward

Or shove me hellward

Or if I’ll be recycled

Into some new and improved thing…

Or maybe I’ll just rot in a hole

Human landfill

Turn to dust.

I don’t know

If I am the way I am

Because of the age of my soul

My past lives

The sequence of my nucleotides

Born into each of my cells

My thoughts?

Am I a patchwork storybook

A hodge podge of fables

More are added over time

Like a photo album

Of learned lessons

Or is there a central pillar

From my genesis

Always there

Always will be

A blueprint for my very being

The voices in my head?

I don’t know where I’ll go

Or what I’ll be

Or how I’ll be

Who’ll I’ll touch

And what will change

But I’ll try my best

To make it good

It’s all I can do.