Friday, September 30, 2005
The Allegheny River
(a vision early this morning)
The night was cold and the river warmer.
It's winding, twisting, ribbon of silver rose to form a trail
above the water
beneath the silver ribbon: leaves, mostly maples, just begun to turn
red at the edges
their hue, like apples, green with red curves.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
he is just the best around for a news junkie like me with a quirky sense of humor. he also has a blog which i try to read daily since i can't always catch his nightly show. you might want to take a look. s
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
white skin damp against white skin
a dark green quilt makes the curves and lines
legs, thighs, arms, hollows and hills, shine
dark eyes look down into darker
as i fit myself over you
heated muscles, a silky wetness
holding you as close as a condom could
gentle squeeze and release, over
bending back, white skin, white ceiling
forward, dark eyes, green quilt, moist
words that i taste from your mouth
we wear each other's passions
like birthmarks underneath clothes
unseen but familiar, always there.
too soon, you go home.
i strip the green quilt from the bed and
stuff it into the washing machine,
now your scent is left
only between my legs.
this came in my e-mail, my daily thought alert.
I can count on one hand, I think, the times anyone didn't consult their "schedule" for me, unless there was an emergency involved. People are so very busy anymore. I used to be that way, til I found that truly, life is short and "things" are just that, "things" someone will always have more or better, someone will have less.
and at the end of each day, while one person is looking around and saying mine, all mine, just look at the things I have, someone else is saying goodnight to another human being, a living being, that cares about them and not their "things" and is the far richer one. s
in dreams i dance
waltz, polka, boot scoot
i feel the wind in dreams
riding the 10 speed i never owned
i skate, in line or
the old key clamps on penny loafers
just a normal 50's sidewalk kid
double dutch jumping
with a best friend, so fast
in dreams i live a different life
graceful, normal. in nightmares
i see bright lights, breathe
remembered smells that almost wake me
hear whirring inside my skull
metal on bone
in my dreams, i dance
and no one looks, and
Monday, September 26, 2005
reglan stole my books,
left newspapers unread
tho i opened each section
page by page, pretending.
tiny little pills, swallowed whole
along with the promise of another day
another long night paced in
barefoot silence til dawn,
another daybreak without words
i turned to talk radio
any company i thought
any noise, any words
to replace the ones reglan stole from me.
i should have
thrown the fucking pills away sooner and
took my chances!
before the hill burned in the 68 riots
she walked toward wylie
early morning sun
it's shine filtered soft in sooty air
mill town, steel town air.
it painted a dull halo around
her shoulder length blondness
showed blue undertones to
suburban white skin
another pittsburgh madonna
standing on an uptown street
wearing bellbottoms, clutching
a folded bit of notepaper, knuckles
red with the cold.
a dozen rust colored row houses
broken grey sidewalks, yellowed curtains
one pair, pushed aside, waiting
for the first of that day.
black, brown, white
all pittsburgh madonnas
watercolored with tears.
she came. a sistine vision, knelt down
opening her churub pink mouth
to his dark hardness. unholy communion
before he scraped her shame
from a womb not ready
using a tool that might have come
from a kitchen drawer or
a carpenter's box.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
a friend sent me one of these little cartoons featuring foamy the squirrel. it was the squirrel's rant on the new orleans coverage by the media. really sharp commentary by a foul mouthed cartoon squirrel! this clip is about fears and mentions poetry so i thought, hey why not pass it on? bear in mind, foamy is loony and has a really foul mouth. i loved him tho. guess that says something about my nature and what strikes me as funny at times! s
Friday, September 23, 2005
he is going to see dylan in november.
i love dylan's words, the ones he chooses and how he places them, his concept of things.
philip lives in england, but i'll ask for a review!
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives you courage." Lao-Tzu
"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved-
loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves."
no smudges stark white
knife edged folds not
as sharp as the razor
i would like a coffin
of polished wood
dark and shining as
a buckeye just pried
from it's prickly jacket,
smooth with a soft glow
tempting hands to stroke
satin under fingertips
of my skin.
hasn't rained for two weeks or more
sharp dry grass pricks my bare ankles
as i make my trips back and forth from
the trunk of my car, up the
short slope, back down carrying
green plastic flats, tall red geraniums, mixed
with small gold and orange marigolds
their shapes and colors bring to mind
buttons on a fancy dress uniform.
the kind of buttons that say
look, someone important is coming by
but, no one is, just me
with a trowel, watering can and
flowers that look like buttons
down on my knees i soak the ground so
i can dig holes in graveyard clay.
i arrange the tall and the short
reds, golds and oranges
to my satisfaction, maybe his
hope so anyway
pouring the last of the water
over the grey stone making it darker
washing away the pigeon droppings and dust
wiping my hands on my jeans
i say hello and goodbye for another year.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
woolen blankets are a solid weight
holding my arms and legs
in a warmth i take
no comfort from.
a deliberate act
thought about, planned.
with each breath
a different memory
one in the rise of my chest
another in the falling.
my eyes, painful, unblinking
a dry, hard stare
single minded focus piecing
grey motes into outlines in the dark.
waiting for the
ringing of the phone,
telling me your breath has stilled
your memories gone into the night.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Simon Wiesenthal passed on. i do not have words to express my feelings.his life, his experiences are beyond my ability to comprehend. blessings on him and on his work. s
Monday, September 19, 2005
it wasn't even typed in correctly, but i left it there, as is, to remind me. now it's time for me to do a little work on it. it was a small thing, but it brings me memories that make me smile. this is how it was,
so very fragile, this love
we have for each other
like the promise of a rainbow
in a soap bubble
too delicate to be touched
by the fingers of reality.
THIS is what i decided to do with it.
so very delicate
the promise of rainbows
in soap bubbles
too fragile for
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Saturday, September 17, 2005
" at least two thirds of our miseries spring from human stupidity, human malice and those motivators and justifiers of malice and stupidity, idealism, dogmatism and proselytizing zeal on behalf of religious or political idols." aldous huxley
3 o'clock saturday afternoon,every
incense and burning beeswax
i thought it was like holy aftershave lotion
like my dad's aqua velva.
it tickled my nose.
i tried not sneezing. i never knew
if sneezing in church was a sin.
the sisters of st. francis, well
they weren't known for suffering the
questions of little children,
no matter WHAT jesus had to say about it.
they always told us that IF
we were hit by a truck after confession
we'd go straight to heaven
a get out of jail free card in
they weren't sure if we were flattened
on our way there if our intent
would mean much.
i would squeeze my eyes shut, one small and
insignificant supplicant. confessing a little kid's sins.
they are much more interesting now
STILL forgive me father?
Friday, September 16, 2005
the excello story 1957 to 1961. it has some great songs on it. 3 of my favorites are, i hear you knockin' by lazy lester, rooster blues by light'n slim and this one, rainin' in my heart by slim harpo!
really some good music. s
the minute hand
in sharp starts and stops
in time with your words
tick talk. i can
you choose just the right words.
i dug this out of my files. i had just found out that a local talk show host that i always enjoyed is back on the air. that made me remember this little poem. i wrote the poem before i started watching/listening to, the host, but hey, an idea is an idea! s
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
" hey buddy, ya needta grow up
will ya please? jesus buddy
ya were so fuck'n drunk, what
a show ya put on, at yer goddamn age
a god-damn-middle-aged man
act'n like 'at!
what were ya try'n ta prove anyway?
all that bullshit about tha old days
tha big time make out artist
tha local stud, HA!
hey, i'm yer best buddy here, ya unnerstand me? huh?
grow up, ya embarrassed yerself
yer wife, christ, didja fergit she was here, over
inna corner, play'n tha machines. jesus
was she PISSED! fuckit,
ya even pissed me off, ME, yer best buddy!
i threw a tip onna bar an walked out, never even
looked back atcha, buddy!!!!
hey, i know ya man
ya never was some kinda stud. i know'd it
everybody knows ya here. damn we tried hard not ta laugh
we watched ya try'n ta pick up fuck'n angie
dumb bitch, an even she was'n kicked inna ass enough
ta go out inna park'n lot witcha, man
THAT'S say'n summp'n. hell ya
could'n even cop a feel offa her
even when yer old lady wassn't stare'n dagger eyes atcha.
christ sakes buddy, grow some balls willya?
ya make us all look like shit when
ya get THAT damn plowed
we're a classy buncha guys here, YA KNOW?"
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Monday, September 12, 2005
well, uncle buck's ashes are at pudd'n and pudd'n's wife GL'S place. they have included uncle buck in some parties and watching sports on t.v.(uncle buck loved t.v. almost as much as his Harley) pudd'n found a ton of old photos while cleaning out buck's house. he brought them out to the backyard where we were sitting and we put them up next to buck on a table and partied with and for uncle buck!
uncle buck wasn't a traditionally handsome man, but he had great charm and a good heart. his nephew has that heart as well. the pictures, i was surprised to find that buck was very good looking when he was young. he still had a way with the ladies, even right before he passed on. i can see why. it wasn't ever his looks tho, i think it always was his sense of fun and his kind heart. here's to you uncle buck! s.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
shine on, my love
like one of the stars dawn touches
unafraid of the coming light,
you reach for the rose tinged morning
to find the warmth hidden
in the softening blue
bright and beautiful still.
willing to risk all
for the sun's promise
of another day together.
this is philip's
my love, shine on
unafraid at dawn
you reach for a rose
find warmth in it's softness
risk all in hope just one more
Saturday, September 10, 2005
at the little club/bar, where i spend a lot of my time, steeler games are fun to watch. i really am not into sports, but the people at the bar make the game for me. we have one guy that sometimes dresses like a referee, striped shirt and a whistle hung round his neck. there is a lady there that has a plush toy chicken that flaps and sings when pressed and if the steelers score she runs a lap around the bar holding the chicken over her head! everyone knows everyone else there and it usually is a lot of fun. unless the team stinks that day! guess we'll see tomorrow.
me, i just like the company. i have one favorite player on the team, jerome betis (i think that's how it's spelled) i like him because off the field he seems a caring and generous man, always ready to lend support to a charity or a cause. THAT is a true hero in my books. s
hot sausage dip
1 lb. hot sausage
1 ten oz. can diced tomatoes and green chilies
1 eight oz package of softened cream cheese
3/4 cup(about 3 oz.) shredded sharp cheddar cheese
cook and drain sausage, add tomates and chiles and cream cheese
pour into greased 1 quart baking dish, sprinkle with cheddar cheese bake at 350 degrees or until it bubbles. serve with corn chips
note. everytime i see something with sausage in it i think of mick, he sometime calls me a silly sausage. i like that, cause it's TRUE! s
Friday, September 09, 2005
do you watch me in your bed
old videos, under covers
in the dark with eyes
half closed and curled fingers?
can you see me, do you listen
to my voice saying things i'd never say
not to you, anyway!
do you rewind to the"good parts"
fast forward those that aren't?
do you slo mo, can you freeze frame on
images that please, tease
get you off?
black or white
or color, these
movies in your bed
do you rate them? am i 4 stars?
does it fucking matter that i'm dead?
"If you greatly desire something, have the guts to stake everything on obtaining it." Brendan Francis
" The wise man will love; all others will desire." Afranius
"the best is to be loved and desired and to love AND desire." Me
sometimes i wonder if i am easily forgotten or if it has to be worked at, if one has to keep busy in order to forget. s
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
her, the woman that i
want to be, she is
the woman that i really am
somewhere, in here
in the cluttered me, the
awkward me, buried
in the woman with bitten nails.
i see her at times
tiny teasing glimpses
see how she winks at me?
urging me to dig, dig
deeper within, til i bleed.
singing a song with notes i can't yet reach
her sanity hidden in the chords.
Monday, September 05, 2005
so, today, a quote,
"We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit."
Friday, September 02, 2005
i think i can write this now
because his death hasn't quite
become real for me yet, not
like it was for pudd'n boy and randy
they found him. gone
two weeks or so, that's real.
pudd'n's uncle buck
he was everyone's uncle buck, but
he is/was/is, pudd'n's blood.
so this is for buck, cause
it isn't really, real for me yet.
it will be soon and i won't be able to write
because the realness will make my fingers
fumble at the keys. i will feel
as if i've no right, tho he was uncle buck
who always laughed and
brought cake, leaving his Harley at home
cause you can't bring cake on a bike.
if i saw his car in pudd'n's driveway
i knew there was cake.
there will be other cakes, someday
uncle buck tho,
he brought good times along with the cakes.
right now i'll think about the good times
because soon enough, it will be really real.
i think when i see pudd'n
or i don't see uncle buck's car in pudd'n's driveway,
then it will be real
and i won't write.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
she thinks that's funny
so, she stuffs rubbers into a mason jar
hidden in the fruit cellar
on a shelf behind the canned peaches.
the tampons are sitting in a cupboard
with the liquid pine cleaner
peaches finds that funny too.
the freezer is filled with diet food
that's past the expiration date
by at least a year or so.
she says they taste like the feelings
she has when
she's shoving another trojan in the jar
and laughs the hardest at that.
peaches has all the makings of a poet.
had an interesting evening debating politics and religion. i'm thankful that i live in a country where i can sit in public and discuss politics not worrying overmuch about being overheard and that i was sitting at a bar/club where discussing politics and religion won't get one into a screaming match or a brawl. ( tho it may get me looked at, as being odd because some of my views are not the majority views, some, not even the minority view, just MY views) i hope that never changes and i hope that it never gets to the point in this country where we, the people, are afraid to express opinions openly. s.