i.
To see it all is not an advantage,
For then you are unlikely to conform,
To what the masses arbitrate is sage,
You see the capriciousness of the norm.
But the minds of men make few connections,
For they use the same words without the thought,
Once I was fooled-- thought they saw abstractions,
The abstract by conformity isn't bought.
There is no way to imitate a laugh,
To sing words that one does not understand,
Or to follow ideals with a blind lies wrath.
Conformity won't make a stick a wand.
To see it all will send you to your grave,
But you'll go knowing there's nothing to save.
ii.
You wondered how it could ever happen,
How the words we read came from once banned pens,
Beliefs we heed came from crucified men,
You wonder how, and it happens again.
The Prophet dies and the vultures descend,
Empty men fill themselves with the power,
Very same men who killed Him in the end,
Marry the dead, inherit the dower.
But he forgave, for they never felt more,
Than what the bestial feels for its prey,
Cold machines use pieces of prophet's lore,
To kill the living prophet of today.
It's not in a book, no, it's living hate,
No amount of wonder can change this fate.
iv.
Some day you'll read me, wonder what you saw,
In my poems that Southern November night,
Words of mysticism, without a flaw,
Upon forgotten feelings, words shed light.
Something in those lines transcended the page,
Joined a magic element in your soul,
They all combined and there was born a rage,
Out of the infinitely deep black hole.
A melody where there'd been none before,
A sculpture where there had been only stone,
A tale where yesterday there'd been no lore,
You knew your feelings weren't felt alone.
But alas, those feelings were long ago,
In some one new my poems take root and grow.
v.
The insecurity we inherit,
From our parent's flauntings in the face of fear,
As children we don't want a part of it,
Truth, fairness, and justice we hold too dear.
For we awaken, to a world unfair,
We scream to our parents to stop lying,
But they feed us on faith, insist on prayer,
It makes no sense, though neither does dying.
There is no meaning, and yet we must live,
So we play along with our parent's game,
And to live in this world, our lives we give,
With our lies the children we kill and maim.
The only pure faith is faith in oneself,
Not borrowed from men, or books on a shelf.
vi.
About just having felt the magic spark,
I write these words with beauty's thought of you,
Last night well on into the morning's dark,
Our long gazes kindled a flame anew.
Your soft brown eyes have found a way inside,
Every thought is punctuated with you,
From love's fate to fall there's nowhere to hide,
You're the queen of my dreams and all I do.
Brown eyes with blond hair is a thing so rare,
But without you here it is too rare to bear,
My heart's lost in hopes of moments we'll share,
About all else today, I can not care.
Unsure how you feel, in secret I 'll write,
Hoping our paths will cross again one night.
vii.
One morn I heard the perfect wind blowing,
The rustle of ten thousand leaves woke me,
I felt it was time I must be going,
I walked outside and the feeling left me.
A bright autumn day, but how many times,
Had I followed the beckoning wind!
Captured it in my mouth, and made it rhyme,
Only to find there was nothing to find.
The wind it blows right around this great big globe,
Only to return to whence it began,
Exactly like me when I myself probe,
The greater the dream, the bigger circle I ran.
But at each moment the tangent's a straight line,
So I rig my sail, reach for the divine.
viii.
You can't play a flute, nor a piano,
What makes you think you can play upon me?
The answers to my questions, you don't know,
Yet you act like you wrote my mystery.
You can't tell wind which direction to blow,
And yet you try to manipulate me,
You've never been to heaven, or below,
So what makes you think you see what I see?
You never cared 'bout contemplating,
How can you be sure what I am thinking?
You just weigh me down when I am floating,
Yet you think you can save me from sinking.
In your empty world all the lies are true,
Your soul's wafer thin, I see right through you.
ix.
Didn't like poetry, didn't like books,
But she read them, it was the thing to do,
She liked new shoes, and getting all the looks,
How could I love something that wasn't true?
Oh babe, you left me a long time ago,
Each time I saw you enjoy your vanity,
Who I really am, you never could know,
Cause beyond your own face you'll never see.
Same old story, her visage's glory,
Blinded me to the emptiness within,
But beauty is truth, and truth is beauty,
Hence sin must be good, and all good must sin.
Funny, it was your vanity I loved,
And away from you by it I was shoved.
x.
You can bury your head deep in Shakespeare,
Hope his magic will rub off on your mind,
There's a hidden element in a seer,
That makes genius impossible to find.
Art comes to life and gives lucid meaning,
Immersed in the rivers flowing through your head,
Only as good as your private dreaming,
Shades and nuances remain dry and dead.
It is the artist who imitates life,
Life means something different to everyone,
The better the art, the closer to life,
All points of view contribute to its sum.
So if you try to write, break all the rules,
In creativity rules are for fools.
xi.
She broke my heart, the music started playing,
Lying, cheating, stealing, that's all she did,
I guess in these parts I won't be staying,
Of the things that once brought me down I 'm rid.
Why it took so long, I will never know,
It was based purely on her made up face,
I once feared so to think she'd ever go,
Now I 've let her run, never liked the race.
Oh, but it still hurts me deep down inside,
I turn the music up, but it can't drown,
The feeling that to myself I have lied,
She's flying free tonight, it's me that's down.
There's something deep in me yet to be faced,
Before her pretty face can be erased.
xiii.
With one hand one God, one hand on the bomb,
Physicists became the reigning poets,
Of Black holes, our origin, time's womb,
But by elegant math could we know it.
Books giving a brief history of time,
How the universe began, how we became,
Cleanly explained, with no mention of rhyme,
A removed, peaceful description so tame.
For lest we forget our own conception,
Forces that drew our formers together,
The envy and fear at love's inception,
Words of hope and belief, the heart's lever.
In math you lose the soul's reality,
There's no Schrodinger's equation for me.
xiv.
I know a man who got a diploma,
And confused it with an education,
And then he went on to study the law,
So he could offer an explanation.
Of why he is rich, and why you are poor,
Why he is sane, and how you are crazy,
How you've become defiled while he's still pure,
How hard he's worked while you've been but lazy.
For you've got nothing, and no food to eat,
You took Socrates and Van Gough to heart,
So you've joined the lonely maverick elite,
The living poet, creator of art.
Rejection filled decades of frustration,
Is the price of highest education.
xv.
At the Cottage Club we turned at the gate,
Like we had seven thousand times before,
Paused for a brief moment outside to wait,
To bid my farewell to this closing door.
What is anything that you say or know,
When you put it over eternity?
The final quotient's equal to zero,
When you divide life by infinity.
And yet in those walls I knew forever!
What a cruel trick did youth play upon me,
To make me think that things would change never,
Cruel is all laughter, friendship and beauty.
At life's paradox we can cry or laugh,
It's nothing, yet it's all we'll ever have.
xvi.
The sky never told me how to write poems.
So why do you insist on doing so?
For there's more poetry in the starry domes,
Than we'll ever see from down here below.
There's a mystery in all our actions,
That mocks our scholarly contemplations,
The ones who accept answers with satisfaction,
Are the ones who lack imagination.
So what right do you have as a teacher,
To tell me the way I must create?
When all art is an intrinsic feature,
No amount of study can change one's fate.
But I guess all these things you might not see,
Without them you'll never truly know me.
xvii.
When the clouds blow across the autumn moon,
Do you still deny that there exist ghosts?
When a fog crosses the sun at high noon,
To say there are no spooks, do you still boast?
When you answer the phone before it rings,
Do you still scoff at my superstition?
And if your vivid dream tomorrow brings,
Would you pass it off as intuition?
If I told you you were being followed,
Would you start looking over your shoulder?
In the dark, do you fear being swallowed?
There now, did you just feel it get colder?
There are more things in this heaven and earth
Then we'll ever know by our sense's dearth.
xviii.
You say that the things I saw brought you down,
Oh, but beauty's in the beholder's eye,
It is the things you see that make you frown,
It's only your conscience that makes you cry.
Girl, it's not me you're trying to escape,
It's the void that surrounds all our dreaming,
But because I perceive the darkness gape,
It's at me that you direct your screaming.
But there's no turning back after that night,
The night which we fell in each other's arms,
To fall in love's to lose all wrong and right,
For love's high we trade all youth's perfect forms.
But you don't need perception I see,
Pretty, all you have to do is agree.
xix.
Men of principle will philosophize,
That because we're just men we should be fair,
In absolutes where only God is wise,
We must refrain from passing judgement there.
They set their thoughts in book's written pages,
Because no one knows, we are all equal,
And up rise the leaching pedant sages,
You know that tragedy is their sequel.
They wield the book as a bloody weapon,
Take phrases out of context to oppress,
All the time thinking that they love God's sons,
Our intentions our actions confess.
But my eyes see that the liars prosper,
While the lie's burden honest men endure.
xx.
Words are best when they do what but words can do,
When on the silver screen it can't be shown,
When music is too empty to be true,
When by but her face her thoughts can't be known.
But to use words to describe surfaces,
Shimmering spectacles of graphic sex,
Poem's words are corrupted in these places,
These temptations to where the weak mind trecks.
For who would take their words back in the cave,
Once elightened to the realm of noble thought?
To whore oneself, and be the mass's slave,
When with words a higher truth could be sought.
They see no difference between random and art,
White noise is nature; music's in my heart.
xxi.
If life isn't fair from the beginning,
Is it fair to lie if you're not winning?
If you see that the preacher is sinning,
Should you join the villains and keep grinning?
You know it would be easy to fit in,
If you didn't have that crazed notion of justice,
If in little lies you didn't see sin,
If you preached different from what you practice.
But with a soul you've got a lot to lose,
It's easiest to live your life half blind,
Without insight's doubt it's easy to choose,
Without a mind reasons are easy to find.
But there's nothing but the beautfiful true,
So cast away all thought, feelings shall do.
xxii.
Babe, you know you keep me moving along,
One look in your eyes, I know what to say,
Babe, you know you keep me singing my song,
You smile and I know the right notes to play.
'Cause I don't see much more in this cold world,
Than hills rolling off into purple hues,
Yellow sunflowers into blue skies swirled,
Morning's golden harvest sprinkled with dew.
You know it's from you that springs my belief,
in my words, because you believe in me,
Out of the old oak grows the living leaf,
Out of the green leaf grows the grand old tree.
She said we're happy as we'll ever be,
And then she turned, she walked away from me.
xxiii.
They say we're made of quarks, leptons, and force,
We have properties of mass, energy,
Well so does a tree, and so does a horse,
It is but man who's made of poetry.
They believe in grand unification,
That the goal is to explain all as one,
Well I say death is our shared destination,
So in death all unification's done.
In both words and science the poet lies,
Descriptions reflecting order within,
But only the fool believes he is wise,
For saints could never be born without sin.
Blind animals preaching divinity,
Won't find words nor equations for me.
xxiv.
You get old and find a place to fit in,
Yesterday's rebellious ideals congeal,
Somehow you justified a way to sin,
You can only think where you used to feel.
Meet the new boss, same as the old boss,
Lear, you blow and rage, beating down the youth,
They've got nothing, life is not a great loss
For youth, if it can not be lived with truth,
For the young man's riding against the wind,
And your breath, you know it's growing stale,
One fine morning you wake up and you find,
That coming for your ship is the white whale.
The things you once chased now turn upon you,
What you did to them, Moby does to you.
xxv.
What difference does it make if we describe?
The laws that govern heavenly motion,
But that it can be used to oppress tribes,
Life forms of a less noble devotion.
If we were but in it for the thrill,
Then to ourselves we would keep our insights,
But if not praised by others then we're nill,
So we make spectacles of inner lights.
We've always worshipped the best description,
It is but a description of the self,
Clearest mirrors give the best reflections.
And in mere reflection, we find belief.
But all the words, they don't really matter,
Next to the rain's steady pitter-patter.
xxvi.
I traded my dreams to see her brown eyes,
Early one sunny Saturday morning,
A sleepless night of asking myself why,
Feelings that dawned on me without warning.
What had I been trying to say to her?
What had she been trying to say to me?
I guess the feelings gave us both a scare,
Fearing that this would end no differently:
That we were headed down that one way road,
That had hurt us to walk down once before,
Love may fade away, or love may explode,
Either way, soon our love shall be no more.
I fear these things, and these things I must say,
Just as her nature takes my breath away.
xxvii.
When we met I saw a truth in your eyes,
Then I watched the world kick you in the head,
When you're down it's easy to buy into lies,
The eighteen year old I once met is dead.
Don't fear or hate me, just 'cause I'm different,
And I won't hate you just because you're the same,
It's not by choice that by cruel wind we're bent,
No one controls the dice in this cruel game.
And I know my words shall never reach you,
I guess I must just write them for the wind,
As it blows these long dark storm clouds on through,
May it blow my poems along to someone kind.
Honesty's a lonely place to be,
But it's lonlier to pretend to agree.
xxviii.
Won't you take me one more time to the extreme,
Show me a smile in which I can believe,
Make me an illusion, give me a dream,
Bring to life this summer solstice's eve.
I've been broken down so many times,
But it always gets me back to the ground,
Learned that flying too high, too long's a crime,
You've got to walk the miles for your soul to be found.
But now yesterday's pain is receding,
As youth's full moon's tide has begun to ebb,
Show me there's more than feeding and breeding,
Something after the grave, before the crib.
Science and logic mean nothing to me,
Without your mystical reality.
xxix.
How can you tell a youth he cannot write?
Tell him to pick up his books and to go?
To tell him that he's not creating right?
When what true art is nobody can know?
Oh, you cold, heartless witch, so full of fear,
Of the truth within a nineteen year old,
It wasn't his fault he was born a seer,
It isn't his fault you are growing old.
A crime against nature that you should teach
creativity when you're talentless,
You are who you are because you're a leach,
You can't see your sins, you'll never confess.
I forgive the blind, for running in to me,
To avoid collision, it's up to me.
xxx.
Riding two on a bike on red brick walks,
And I kissed her on the back of her head,
I don't remember about what we talked,
But the feeling remains from what was said.
A tender dusk, she asked me why I smiled,
But what was so funny I couldn't say,
The air tasted fresh, I felt like a child,
Along Chapel Hill's red bricks we found a way.
Cause she puts me at ease, and makes me feel,
So many things I lost away back there,
Where nobody talked, nobody seemed real,
About finer things no one seemed to care.
On my bike there'll always be room for two,
Just as long as the second one is you.
xxxi.
I called you back, because I thought maybe words,
Could let you know the way I feel 'bout you,
But the words we draw sometimes become swords,
We hurt those to whom we want to be true.
And I don't understand the way it works,
When anything I say, the opposite's true,
Words I feel come forth, but the meaning shirks,
The words don't transmit the intended view.
And without confidence in expression,
We turn away from words, towards silence,
Afraid to reach out, to make confession,
About vulnerable hearts we build a fence.
It's hard to let someone new in, to share,
When you fear they might not always be there.
xxxii.
She called me out in the hall to stab me,
In the back, where my classmates couldn't see,
Looked me in the eye, said I couldn't be,
A writer, for my style's immaturity.
She said I wrote of too many ideas,
I asked her which ideas I should remove,
She asked me nicely, to get my books please,
Into remedial writing to move.
Bitter spite behind her calm temperament,
The big nurse from over the cuckoo's nest,
I smiled and thanked her for her compliment,
I was flattered to learn I was the best.
Went back in, sat down, enjoyed the circus,
As she whipped their minds into nothingness.
xxxiii.
Last night I read some old sonnets of mine,
And I think I know how you must have felt,
To see the lost feelings frozen in rhyme,
Wonder if to us the same fate would be dealt.
But I know it's not just any one thing,
At one time we can only know one thought,
And though the truth in words we try to sing,
The true truth only melody has got.
But when the sun dives low, I think of her,
And late at night, alone, it's her I miss,
Cause in her eyes I have seen something there,
When I kiss her, there is a depth I kiss.
You know everyone has their mysetry,
I guess mine's that I say less than I see.
xxxiv.
I'm out of here girl, you're bringin' me down,
No need to be romantic anymore,
That short skirt, every night goin' down town,
I ask myself what are we talkin' for.
'Cause we can love, but still you're gonna flirt,
It's not your fault-- these days you've got no choice,
If I let you in too far it would hurt,
I keep my thougts to myself, save my voice.
You want me so badly to love your soul,
I can't do it if you don't do it first,
It's not easy girl, findin' the right role,
When with such keen perception you are cursed.
Right now I can't answer to anyone,
You can't slow down, girl, when you're on the run.
xxxv.
The old guard is trying to beat me down,
Though I respect them, it will do no good,
Upon their work time's tide begins to frown,
Their free verse does half of what a poem should.
For years now rhyme's been viewed as pretentious,
What better word is there for a critic,
Instead of creative, they're contentious,
Yet they claim the flame of the artist's wick.
From the midst of chaos best springs order,
Deconstruction gives art a chance to rise,
Reason and rhyme define a bold border,
Standards for calibration of the eyes.
I know to pass judgement would be a sin,
I 'll be quiet, and let the best poem win.
xxxvi.
She assigns books written by all her friends!
Where is Melville? Where is Shakespeare? Where is Mark Twain?
Literature for her is a means to an ends,
Sans thought, sans feeling, sans ideas, sans pain.
Her endorsement is on the back cover!
Her political game has no place here,
In thought my fathers were far above her!
But she prospers while dead lie the seers.
Oh, there is anger burning in my veins,
Oh, this poor world has been turned upside-down,
Political puppets judging our brains,
Be vigilant! Let not the poet drown.
Yet somehow I cannot justify cause,
For I feel that I'm breaking the same laws.
xxxvii.
I listened to that tape you once made me,
I know there was a time when you believed,
That there was something good in my poetry,
The other night I feel you felt deceived.
That my poetry was a game to me,
Cause I was smiling, you were feeling down,
By words you made your feelings known to me,
I read your poems, and the words made me frown.
So I had to share the feeling with you,
About the forgotten, we needed to talk,
I feel it's worth it, with you to be true,
To walk where with others we fear to walk.
But you know that I can't help feeling bad,
To think you think my poems make the world sad.
xxxviii.
I 'm sorry I ever entered your world,
Gave to you my depressing poetry,
I 'm sorry you blamed me for what's unfurled,
Sorry you blame me for your misery.
But you may as well, 'cause I 'm different,
You might as well condemn me to fiery hell,
Your anger at the world upon me vent,
Use my name for the reason we all fell.
The prophets they'll kill as they killed before,
Cause he wanted peace to last forever,
He made politicians resemble whores,
Threat of truth, his life they had to sever.
Politicians and prophets are best friends,
They feed each-other, and worms in the end.
xxxix.
Now suppose we have a hole in a slate,
A photon from a source passes on through,
And it darkens a grain on a film plate,
To say it went through the hole would be true.
Several photons pass through, we wait a bit,
And quite a simple pattern we do see,
A bright spot directly behind the slit,
Fading away as you move outwardly.
We choose to add an additional slit,
The photon seems to have a decision,
It must choose one of them through which to fit,
For photons are not allowed to fission.
But now there are fringes, common to waves!
In this manner, can particles behave?
xl.
What's seen is an interference pattern,
Which is common to every type of wave,
On the vast ocean or from a lantern,
This is the way every wave does behave.
Though you think particles blacken the spot,
Between the source and plate light is a wave,
As to its whereabouts we can say not,
Such is the way reality behaves.
These ghostly facts are true of all matter,
Electrons and protons and you and me,
We're but empty waves that somehow matter,
Striving to comprehend reality.
Wavy winds blow, our consciousness is lit.
It makes up our mind, our minds make up it.
xli.
"The question is to be or not to be,
Whether it is nobler within the mind,
To believe in indeterminacy,
Or refute that God plays dice in the wind.
Are there many worlds, or only just this one?
And is Schrodinger's cat alive or dead?
Of p and x, can we only know one?
And of Wigner's good friend, what can be said?"
He smiled and said, "no question, no answer,
This above all, science holds to be true,
Love is in the mind of the romancer,
And the kind of love determines the view."
He looked up to the sky, a sky few see,
A sky filled with a child's curiosity.
xlii.
It is in man's nature to seek meaning,
In the realm of his fellow peer's vision,
All men's endeavors and vital dreaming,
Inhabits the frame work of tradition.
When prophetic soul's are held in borders ,
The pressure inspires those souls to arise,
The offspring becomes their complex order,
A masterpiece to the witness's eyes.
He speaks of feelings and God and honor,
Leads a revolution for the true and just,
Abhorred by the ones holding the power,
Loved by the ones feeling the oppressed lust.
Thousand lives given for equality,
That two thousand eyes never get to see.
xliii.
The time has come for you to fly the nest,
I 'll miss you, so much with you I did grow,
Of all the memories, you're in the best,
Take them with you wherever you may go.
I 'll stay here, I have some writing to do,
Before I can voyage beyond today.
I hear the wind calling me to be true,
I feel the world's waiting for what I say.
So I guess this is our final good bye,
When you return I 'll no longer be here,
Oh, why can't we just love, and never cry?
Let us dry from our cheeks each-other's tear.
I won't forget you, though I grow older,
Yesterday is just over my shoulder.
xliv.
Out running one night, I stopped by Holder,
A crystal memory hung in the sky,
I breathed in those cold stars of October,
I feel tiny lights whenever I sigh,
And think of that day, not so long ago,
Where each season was fresh, full of surprise,
My aspirations were facts I could know,
Mortality was cloaked in youth's disguise.
Oh yes, my mind wanders back to Holder,
For it was much more than just a dream there,
There in that courtyard once I did hold her,
I met her running in the cold fall air.
To this day the chance in that night lives on,
She's still here though that fall's leaves are long gone.
xlv.
The scenery grows barren down the road,
Caught between home and your destination,
Alone you shoulder your memory's load,
Alone with yesterday's fascination.
You're missing that oak tree you once did pass,
It's roots cracked the sidewalk where flowers grew,
But those flowers have all wilted, alas!
You'll turn to stone thinking on nothing new,
So look up to the sky, pick up your pace!
It's hard to dream when the future holds fear,
But if you look back on yesterday's face,
You know you will never get out of here.
Run boy! The rising wind's getting colder,
Run boy! Don't look back over your shoulder.
xlvi.
I 'll make it-- I 'm rounding the final bend,
I see light at the end of this tunnel,
So many nights I feared it wouldn't end,
Now I 'm sad to see yesterday crumble.
Didn't know who I was, nor where I stood,
Afraid to do that which I might regret,
In everything there was both bad and good.
Pretty purple haze now, as the sun sets,
I think back to the start, so far away,
Oh, to know I 'm not me anymore,
The wide-eyed boy who saw all this to say;
He can't be found upon this brave new shore.
This virgin land is so beautifully strange,
And oh, you know how good it feels to change.
xlvii.
Every artist poet is but a thief,
Stealing openly from all his subjects,
Taking credit for all of their beliefs,
Seeking sweet revenge for genius neglect.
So go right ahead and deconstruct me,
I 'd just as soon be put upon a throne,
Fans and critics use the art equally,
For both are cannibals of the soul's bone.
Since I 'm a thief, and you're a cannibal,
Then perhaps we can forgive each other,
Everything I write I take from you all,
And of your critiques I am the father.
As these words live within both you and me,
Then let the blame too be shared equally.
xlviii.
Fell asleep in a dream, awoke to this,
A cool windy wet grey November day,
Through the woods my face the damp leaves did kiss,
I realized this beauty my poems could say.
Broke into a run, jumping over logs,
Rode my second wind to the silver lake,
There I bent down and lifted the cold fog,
Gold shafts streamed through, the forest did awake,
The black oak trees, the squirrels planting more,
The sweet smell of the brown and yellow floor,
Been knocking forever on heaven's door,
Finally opened to hear this poet's lore.
Touch me and you'll see that nothing's there,
For I am him, the poet from nowhere.
xlix.
I thought of you guys, and drew a deep breath;
I miss those days walking the winter beach;
Late college night thoughts laced with Love and Death;
The reality of youth we did teach.
Bob, Jim, Paul, Bill, I 'll keep you all with me,
For the morning dreams of life shape the day;
Through each-other's eyes we'll forever see,
Before I speak I 'll think of what you'd say.
As time's knife splits us along separate paths,
I greet my fate smiling, standing with friends,
Tomorrow's void will house echoing laughs,
Though they grow fainter, they will never end.
But more than friends faces, drowned in time's sea,
I miss youth's spark that once glowed within me.
l.
Telling lies and stabbing me in the back,
What care I? I know that it's all not true,
It's because you feel that beauty you lack,
That makes you the dishonest route pursue.
You've got nothing on me, I 'm innocent,
They might believe your lies for a second,
Their sight distorted, their minds may be bent,
But by the truth the youth shall be beckoned.
You loved me friend, and I rejected you,
Which was the pretext for our history,
You hate me because I saw right through you,
They shall know-- they'll know that's the true story.
For the truth I can not apologize,
You never said you're sorry for your lies.
li.
It rained on the day I was accepted,
My feelings went numb; my soul put on pause,
Addicted to being rejected,
Without anger, my mind was void of cause.
I lifted a pen, held it to paper,
But the wind wouldn't blow my hand along,
Burned out, I was no longer a shaper;
But a medium for depression's song.
I must lay my dried out dreams in the rain,
Be patient, fertilize them, watch them grow,
My art makes music from the wet grey pain,
And so I drown a little, for the show.
When the end becomes, there ends meaning's race,
It's not the kill, it's the thrill of the chase.
lii.
Why do I see three spatial dimensions,
Does something intrinsic lie underneath?
Or is it but an invention's invention?
Like all facts founded on flesh's beliefs.
Can math define the entire universe,
With no equations for laughter and love?
It's but a cold, grey beauty, with no verse,
That's too solid to describe what's above.
But math led us to the fourth dimension,
Dislodged us from the cosmos's center,
Of quantum fields words can make no mention,
Without math, time's secrets one can't enter.
But with words and math, walking hand in hand,
We approach the day we will understand.
liii.
Every little bit of fall is magic,
Even though you're so far away from me,
I know you feel each dying leaf's tragic,
While still believing the crisp air's beauty.
Just one year ago we walked hand in hand,
My red boot laces matching all the trees,
Through the woods to where the water meets land,
There we paused each day to watch the lake freeze.
Now the season's upon us once again,
Once again you are with me on our walks,
But instead of your hand I hold this pen,
And watch the wind, listening to it talk.
Our own autumns shall come in a short while,
Witnessing it with you makes life worthwhile.
liv.
In your eyes there is an independence,
That the leaders of society lack,
Leaders are slaves to what the common sense,
A train can only go where there lies a track.
But all you see are fickle boundaries,
That men lay down to hold on to power,
They drown in these imaginary seas,
And the salt of the deep wilts youth's flower.
The rambling spirit in you knows no homes,
Down the road you see mirages of cause,
The prophets make no sense, you choose to roam,
You found there's justice where there are no laws.
I know it's hard to walk this earth with eyes,
But it hurts more to compromise with lies.
lv.
I 'd be a fool to attempt to hold on,
To anything that isn't permanent,
As I know from here I will soon be gone,
I 'm leaving before time charges me rent.
For men whose dreams are born into the past,
Are weighted down by yesterday's sorrows,
Believing they can make perfection last,
Regret taints their remaining tomorrows.
So I have learned to not become attached,
It becomes easier with each good bye,
I bid farewell before the feeling's hatched,
Still so young, and I have begun to die.
To fall in love again sure would be nice,
For what compares to a fools paradise?
lvi.
On the way to the institute forest,
I stopped on by the graduate tower,
I climbed the spiral staircase without rest,
Up high I saw a sight full of power:
The magnificent colors of the east,
The Maples and Ashes were all on fire,
To live forever at the very least,
Was an inspiration stronger than desire.
My lungs savored the air so fresh and pure,
A propeller airplane buzzed to my right,
Up there where a soul could of truths be sure,
As high up and free as a child's first kite.
The sun got low, the wind began to rise,
The day prepared to go, I blinked my eyes.
lvii.
Sad poems can't compare with crying guitars,
And I know words don't mean very much,
Superficial beauty makes today's stars,
These worshipped qualities, I don't have such.
But I know there's a final curtain call,
Even for the stars caught up in the blaze,
And though I know I 'll never have it all,
I 'll have myself to the end of my days.
For I only smile when I feel to laugh,
And I only rhyme where I see reason,
You can't get lost when blazing your own path,
With my own heart I commit no treason.
Oh, I know silence prevails in the end,
I 've come to accept him as my best friend.
lviii.
To say Hamlet is this, or Hamlet's that,
Is but to make an unscrupulous bet,
For his character wears more than one hat,
One can only say Hamlet is Hamlet.
So often people have it figured out,
They have ambition, feel a direction,
Of justices and truths they sing and shout,
Striving to build eternal erections,
Acting actions with sanctimonious pride,
They flaunt goodwill upon this stage,
So sure they've chosen the right side,
Confined within their own minds they are sage.
To make sense out of life so easily,
Just goes to show how little one does see.
lix.
Can't you see what you're paving the way for?
Replacing substance with a selfish lie,
Don't you know that you're opening hell's door?
By your ideals our liberty shall die.
Wicked witch, teaching creativity,
Rewarding only what you understand,
It is a sign this culture's lost at sea,
That by you my poetry can be banned.
They tell me that you are educated,
Then how is it that this truth you don't see,
That when creativity is rated
by pedagogues, it is a tyranny.
When weak kill strong preaching equality,
They're but setting the stage for tyranny.
lx.
To be honest at last, I don't belong,
Soon I 'll be leaving here, it won't be long,
I 'm just waiting 'till my chance comes along,
I 'm tired of this tune, I need a new song.
Finding a place has never been easy,
For lost souls who never know where they are,
There's no meaning for those who truly see,
For they see forever, as far as far.
I hate this game, I 've just got to break free,
I 've been beaten down, trodden, on this land,
Now I finally see a way to be me,
In the great wide open, I 'll make my stand.
You cut me down and lied, but I survived.
I just wish I 'd left before I 'd arrived.
lxi.
Though no one may ever read what I write,
To write wasted verse I have no choice,
For dreams of you awaken me at night,
And I ease the loneliness with this voice.
I saw love's secret in my moon shadow,
Flowers were growing in the sidewalk's cracks,
That's how I knew to go to your window,
It was spring, only you did my life lack.
I wrote a short story, gave it to you,
You accepted what magazines reject,
But only through you do I know it's true,
For romance is the proof of art's effect.
As long as I 'm unknown, I will be sure,
That I 'm free to write for you, and be pure.
lxii.
Going back, going back to Nassau Hall,
I walked through this archway but yesterday,
I remember it strewn with leaves one fall,
To that blue eyed girl three words I did say.
And up these steps I carried all my dreams,
Five days to class, two nights up to the street,
I could be sure then, so real it still seems,
These ghosts of all the people I did meet.
I wish I 'd stolen the clapper back then,
And thrown it into Carnegie lake,
It's rung years away, left me with this pen,
To face a world where all youth time does take.
But I 'll be going back to old Nassau,
To search archways for a friend I once saw.
lxiii.
Laughter of friends, and familiar faces,
These good things too fade so quickly away,
Just as the dreams dressed in virgin laces,
Became lost in the sunrise of today.
And you know too well the end is coming,
Because nights always been followed by dawn,
Once my hopes had a chance of becoming,
But like last spring's buds, they too are all gone.
Then at the end, with but a moment left,
I met Bootsy and made one final friend,
Without her my memory would be bereft,
I see her smile when I think on the end.
Ive left the people and trees of Princeton,
But with my spirit, Bootsy isnt done.
lxiv.
Listening to childs questions of meaning,
Each day he set out to perform his task,
To make sense of our musical dreaming,
To look up to the sky, wonder, and ask.
Upon natures secrets none can intrude,
Your efforts have brought us a step nearer,
Though the answers continue to elude,
The world is today a little clearer.
Without a pen, it would have been tragic,
For wed exist without your inscriptions,
With pens you eternalized your magic,
Giving us your inspired descriptions.
And through your books of physics and Black Holes,
You shall inspire wonder in future souls.
lxv.
God plays with dice to father the weather,
Chance prevailed so that you and me may be
Fortune brought Princeton and I together,
And there I met friends for eternity.
May the truth of youth forever be young,
For the awakening years guide the way,
As we march on to the songs we once sung,
We stand vigilant by what we did say.
Magic as youths I 'll never meet again,
It defies the powers of description,
And though I now humbly pick up my pen,
True life resides within no inscription.
Oh, I could tell many a good story,
But words are void of yesterdays glory.
lxvi.
Hey boy, you've got a light in your dark eyes,
Reminds me of a man I once knew well,
When he was young, time he thought he'd defy,
Time took his youth, gave him stories to tell.
But I don't want to bore you with details,
I 'll let the lines on my face tell it all,
Oh, boy, next to time all our young dreams fail,
All monuments man erects soon will fall.
But what use has your youth got for my truth?
I 'd give it all to be unwise again,
From the cold current of time, stand aloof,
Believe once again in weilding a pen.
But it feels good to rest, to dream, to sleep,
For these aged bones, time's hill is too steep.
lxvii.
Oh girl, if I said to you I loved you,
Would you turn from me, walk the other way?
Oh girl, if I told you I needed you,
Would you leave me alone to face the day?
I remember feeling oh so lonely,
A silver lining nowhere could I see,
Then came you girl, and oh so suddenly,
The clouds lifted, and I saw beyond me.
The horizon on the sun is winning,
Oh girl, just these three short words I must say,
So tell me, is this a new beginning,
Or is it the end of a happy day?
I can't wait any longer, I must know,
Is it forever, girl, or must you go?
lxviii.
I see a thought and I run to touch it,
Before It can retreat into my mind,
Then only in my dreams can I watch it,
While conscious, that same thought I 'll never find.
I grab the thought, to set it down in ink,
But some of it escapes, the chase begins,
I concentrate and attempt not to think,
The trick is to let the thought think it wins,
And wait quietly, patiently, until,
It comes running on by me once again,
Without a sound I move in for the kill,
And nail it to the paper with my pen.
But every time I capture thoughts in pen,
Upon the paper it has changed again.
lxix.
I awoke to the dripping of water,
Pulled my shade and the sun flooded my room,
I saw the valentine I had got her,
Icicles melting, my heart sprang from gloom.
I ran outside, across the white golf course,
Patches of green were rising to the top,
No socks nor shoes, I felt the cold snow's force,
On a green in the middle I did stop.
Where there'd been deer, there was only cold air,
It was too soon yet for spring to begin,
The wind bit my back, but I couldn't care,
For my heart was warm, and the sun would win.
She had asked me to go to tonight's dance,
What's a little weather next to that chance?
lxx.
Some say it's providence, some call it chance,
Some say it's freewill, others call it fate,
Some profess it's a predetermined dance,
Where the odds against were given the weight.
What difference does it make if life's foregone?
Or if our volition has an effect?
Inspite of any beliefs, time rolls on,
The past no noble idea can affect.
All that matters is that we think we choose,
To create the lines we speak in this show,
And by words that we can avoid to lose,
Nothing's good or bad but thinking makes it so.
Chance or fate, it makes no difference to me,
Given either one, I 'll still strive to be.
lxxi.
To lose myself within the perfect serve,
Green fuzz against an immaculate blue,
Through the long hot rally, to keep my nerve,
Prove to the crowd my forehand holds true,
Then we engage in a cross court battle,
I don't dare to be the first to break it,
My legs grow heavy, begin to rattle,
Short bounce, I approach the net and take it.
I pop a volley in the corner deep,
But he guessed right, and he's been standing there,
I run down a lob, up a hill so steep,
It's got top spin, and I haven't a prayer.
But to lose a few games is no disgrace,
To win is to feel the wind in my face.
lxxii.
With a little bit of perspiration,
All my dreams and memories can be mine,
For a poem's as free as inspiration,
And my soul resides within every line.
All that I humbly ask from any place,
Is that it give to me something to miss,
A magic day framed in winter's white lace,
Or a red haired girl who I once did kiss.
On a guitar, yesterday should be sought,
For in a poem, words get in the way,
Poetry's words may speak well of my thoughts,
But my feelings only music can say.
But musical talent left me alone,
And so I condemn my feelings to stone.
lxxiii.
Wish I could give you the perfect fall day,
With a clear blue sky and a cool north wind,
Then I'd bring some clouds in-- a touch of gray,
Without thunder nor rain they'd pass by kind.
The sky'd return to Carolina blue,
All 'round everything's perfectly vivid,
The cawing crows return from where they flew,
When green did spring from everything livid.
Oh, I wish I could make it tangible,
All the ineffable beauty of sight,
Wish I could catch all imaginable,
But it is only words that I can write.
But the air's crisp, my spirit's sharp again,
For October's mystique I raise my pen.
lxxiv.
While there are still golden rays, there are ways,
Down summer dusty country boulevards,
Vision of the girl in cutoff jeans stays,
I try to capture her walk in these words.
The shimmering mirages up the road,
Borne upon the splintering tarred pavement,
A fuse running short, the earth shall explode,
And then what can it matter what was meant?
It's no trick to know this and persevere,
What else is there to do while we're waiting?
For the inevitable to premier,
Free from fear of choice, fear of fating.
But she's smiling as she passes me by,
Golden hair catching the dusk-- I know why.
lxxv.
Every word of mine is plagiarized;
In people's hearts I 've seen them all before,
In their minds these thoughts have all been realized,
To defend a few men have gone to war.
Yet I struggle for a new direction;
Ignoring lessons of the proven past;
With words I build eternal erections,
Hoping forever my spirit will last.
But books are filled with dreams of men gone by;
I wonder if they felt futility,
Or if it's enough after your last sigh,
To have your remnants stored in a library.
Though there's no permanence in wielding pens,
I accept my fate to join the shelved men.
lxxvi.
I 've seen loneliness, creep up with a knife;
When there was no one to whom I could run;
Where an hour lasted an entire life,
Felt my solitude would never be done.
Surrounded by strange and empty faces;
There was nobody to laugh at my jokes,
I watched the dealer slip himself aces;
Bit my tongue, they were all in on the hoax.
Could not turn off the light, nor go to bed,
I sprinted along the night's empty streets;
To escape from my heart, filled with grey lead,
But loneliness ran as fast as my feet.
Oh I hope that tomorrow, brings my way,
A new face to whom all this I can say.
lxxvii.
Meet me at midnight on the printed page,
Come lawyers, come critics, come everyone,
Get out of the audience, up on stage,
With words it's time to have a little fun.
Like Ellis and Tartt, wanna be a star,
You expect them to think you earned your life,
But they know, my friend, who you really are,
The nihlism you write won't buy a faithful wife.
You think you're true, but your words are profane,
For the truth they never attempt to speak,
They warp and twist other humans to pain,
Behind the pretense you're so scared and weak.
Otherwise why would you devote your life,
To capitalizing on other's strife?
lxxviii.
There's a paradox at the base of laws;
That they are made against half our nature,
We feel it to be evolution's flaw;
And seek to place constraints upon rapture.
Once ideas are institutionalized,
Natural selection quickly begins;
New interpretations are soon realized,
To help the interpreters have offspring,
Those that heed laws of guilt, shame, and duty,
Work all their lives for a two car garage;
Dying for a land of the brave and free,
While the free write the poems of the mirage.
Life evolved under tragedy's token;
Every rule made, is made to be broken.
lxxix.
Some beasts born with a curiosity;
Turn towards math for descriptions of nature,
Some having a taste for philosophy,
At a university seek stature.
Some beasts born with the talent to capture;
Paint upon the easel, mounting their prey,
Authors use a thousand words for pictures;
To become famous and secure rich pay.
Some beasts born with no beauty within them;
They manipulate the beholder's eye,
Political truths from fear's weakness stems;
With no truth from God it's easy to lie.
Choose to be and you'll see there's no way out;
To not be frees us forever from doubt.
lxxx.
It's already gone before it started;
And perhaps our love is better that way.
Warmer than some from which I have parted;
A perfect memory of you will stay.
I 'm sure you know the lonely story well;
Golden evenings in the park turned to lead;
Promises of forever somehow fell;
Buried beneath time's snow, forever dead.
But I know you will find a lucky guy,
With him your love will blossom and mature.
From time to time I 'll think of you and sigh,
Our future behind us, untouched and pure.
For what lifts you up, when you're feeling sad,
More than dreams of that which you've never had.
lxxxi.
Economists don't create tangible wealth,
They're of the entertainment industry,
Great, educated men of kniving stealth,
In their show they know to never agree.
And don't be surprised if I don't believe,
Your vile myths about the national debt,
Somebody somewhere I feel does deceive,
To say I owe money I haven't spent yet.
Tomorrow's money's worth less than today's,
As tomorrow's money cannot be spent,
But we borrow it; today's bills it pays,
Let children worry 'bout tommorow's rent.
They borrow and spend to survive today,
Start a war and the debt with our lives pay.
lxxxii.
When I hit the rock bottom of depression,
I can see nothing worth thinking about.
Senses thwarted by fogs of repression,
I awaken from dreams, laden with doubt.
Can't find a hand hold in reality;
Yesterday's music collapsed to white noise;
Without belief, I fear to chose to be,
The world is cruel to those of unsure poise.
For the whims of men, I can see no cause,
Within their society I can't live,
To fit, I ' have to put my soul on pause,
And to them, the use of my mind I 'd give.
If this depression be my eyesight's fee,
It's a small price to pay for being me.
lxxxiii.
The way the corners of your mouth turn down,
Cannot be so easily put aside,
In the moon's crescent lies your pretty frown,
From thoughts of you there is nowhere to hide.
With these words I hope I can pay you back,
For I can't help feeling I am in debt;
You have a beauty that most all do lack,
Next to it meter and rhyme are inept.
Soon some one will find the smile in your soul;
I regret in love I already fell;
To keep my honor is my foremost goal;
I 'll remain secret, know I wish you well.
To take credit for this wouldn't be true,
For this sonnet's lines were written by you.
lxxxiv.
When there's a virus, living within love,
You can't stop sick feelings from coming on;
Pain in your breast sends you praying above;
Dark circles under your eyes with day's dawn.
At times you feel better, full of sunshine,
But it's not long 'till the wind blows in clouds,
Spreading plague across all that was divine;
Yesterday's memories all dressed in shrouds.
Calm once again, you are gripped with a heave;
You double forward, grabbing at the pain;
Your mouth opens, in two your soul is cleaved;
Diseased love washes away with the rain.
Of this youthful virus, time's rain's the cure,
May your next true love forever endure.
lxxxv.
Why I write is because I know not why,
And in it I find the beauty of life.
Within this matter a consciousness lies;
Melodies from an invisible fife.
Fleeting dreams are born somewhere in the night;
Night becomes day, leading me to the grave;
Because it hurts to watch the fading light,
With words I try this awareness to save.
Not my awareness, for I own it not,
But an awareness of those yet unborn;
By whom the unanswerable will be sought;
Reading me, alone they won't be forlorn.
Each word replaced a tear I would have cried,
They're for you, when my mystery has died.
lxxxvi.
I do not wish to speak with you today;
I wish to talk to you a year ago.
Within I have saved you of yesterday;
She's the girl I wish to forever know.
Now she's gone; she's reached for the golden ring.
I wish her well and hope she finds her heart;
In her brave new world my eyes see nothing,
And so it's in the script that we must part.
Each word takes me further from what I mean;
Like the grey cool day I must be silent,
And search this empty earth for worthwhile dreams,
I have nothing, but my soul's not for rent.
Someday perhaps, our paths will cross again,
After all roads have been walked by this pen.
lxxxvii.
I 'm young and I don't want to fall in love,
For I 've already done it once before.
Love's labor I devote to what's above,
For beyond my passions I know there's more.
Oh, I realize we're all products of sex;
Each word is spoken to further our genes;
Cursing our lofty ideals with a hex;
From original sin life is not clean.
But above this stage on which we read lines;
There's the mystery of why we ponder,
Why we feel to bother to rise and shine,
In a world that's indifferent to wonder.
Man's reason holds the key to something more,
But the universe seems to lack a door.
lxxxviii.
Oh once there were these visions in my mind;
Even the echoes are fading away;
The beauty is taken by time unkind,
But this dying dream inspires me to say:
I believed in sun sets while in your arms,
And the full moon became a reality,
I learned winter's the season which is warm,
But then you said you needed to be free.
While my heart breaks, the visions awaken,
Seven years ago is but yesterday,
From my soul I wish you were forsaken,
But I 've learned it's not up to me to say.
How does your beauty continue to be?
Or is it just some trick inside of me.
lxxxix.
In but a few years we'll have forgotten,
The November day we walked through the woods.
From the purple skies fell leaves of autumn;
I would walk back there through time, if I could.
On a dune we played king of the mountain,
Remember how we both won at the top?
Time saved us from drowning in youth's fountain,
I wish I could grasp it, and make it stop.
But these days flow by me, the past grows small.
All is for naught, but from naught I was born,
Who am I to deny that naught makes all?
With precious words, one way time I won't scorn.
If my days with you were but quantum fluff,
Then I 'd say nothing was more than enough.
xc.
All these words and no one to use them on,
Will I exist when no one hears me fall?
Of what use to me is tomorrow's dawn,
When there's no hope for me that you will call?
I saw a field on which to plant a dream,
But the farmers all thought it was a weed,
And to you too, my dream a weed did seem,
Another rainbow the blind didn't need.
I know these words may fall short of your ears,
They lie at the edge of the universe,
But they're better equipped to span the years,
Than our perceptions of this stay so terse.
Here I write, isolated on my own,
But in being lonely, I am not alone.
xci.
Burning fires rage behind some men's eyes;
They control a most vivid consciousness.
In this strange dimension the poet lies,
Creating meaning out of nothingness.
Civilization worships past glory,
Inhaling the order into their minds,
Making classics of yesterday's stories,
Towards today's poets, they turn away blind.
And so the magic ones are crucified,
As to today's order they pose a threat,
The nature of truth is but classic lies,
Borrowing word's meanings, we live in debt.
When time comes to collect on our dreaming,
Tragic are those who thought they owned meaning.
xcii.
Dear Wendy, last night you visited me,
Awakening feelings I 'd felt before,
So long since your auburn hair I did see,
But for nights where you walked in my mind's door.
I wonder where you're running, how you've changed,
If our nick-names still mean something to you,
Or have those tender evenings been estranged,
And replaced by sweet nothings that are new.
The years went by and only I got older,
Lines on my face while you're still seventeen,
And though I 'm happy, it's become colder,
When you said you loved me, what did you mean?
Oh Wendy, I know you're forever gone,
Only in this old man, do you live on.
xciii.
Oh, there is an anger, burning within,
Pressure's building in this furnace inside,
More powerful than temptation to sin,
Is my gut feeling that your beauty lied.
You excused wantonness with ignorance,
A pretended innocence you flaunted,
Leading others to think they had a chance,
While ignoring the boy who was daunted.
But I can't complain, for it is fair game,
To pit your faces beauty 'gainst my art,
Both deceive, both are equally to blame,
For inspiring beautiful lies in the heart,
If truth be beauty, then in truth's lieu,
We'll be forgiven for lies that are true.
xciv.
I 've had days of gold, where I flew freely;
My mind thought not of the ride in the hearse,
But in days of lead, grey clouds blew dreary,
To be caught between is the best and worst;
The best because inspiration abounds,
Each day I feel dreams leading me higher,
Marching to rhythms of orchestras' sounds,
I could run forever and never tire.
But the middle's the worst when you're coming down,
The lost yesterday leaves you with heart break,
Light departs from day, humor clears the clown,
Everything you gained, time saw fit to take.
My dreams were beautiful when I had less,
Inspired by the abyss's nothingness.
xcv.
This poem will have nothing to do with words,
Most can be found in a dictionary,
I wouldn't waste your time with what you've heard,
This poem is a feeling deep inside me.
Beware of the stranger giving you hope;
For speech evolved to propagate life,
He may use it to free you from the rope,
But there is another use for a knife.
If I 'm so scared by the world being blind,
Why do I struggle so hard to be?
Oh I would fear a fate that is to find,
All my good will was selfish vanity.
I wish you well, hope you find your own way,
And ask you to disregard what we say.
xcvi.
Is Salinger's secret goldfish divine?
An existence for existence itself,
For no other eyes does he write a line,
He won't be used, for he's not on the shelf.
But if divinity not seen is divine,
Then there's a perfection in nothingness,
To end one's own life would not be a crime,
Living for perfection is meaningless,
But to take your life for perfection's sake.
You perform action, and you choose to be,
This action to be, life itself does take,
And you see that to be is not to be.
Comic and tragic is this paradox,
Finally free, we're buried in a box.
xcvii.
When I had an esteemed chance to fit in,
From the waves of pressure I swam away,
Beyond where they broke, out to the shark's fin,
Relentless waves make sand of all men say.
Where is a man, if not within his mind?
What happens to him if he sells that space?
Though he still sees, to his his dreams he's now blind,
Is happiness behind that smiling face?
If failed dreams start nagging, drown them in booze.
Though a mind of their own, some may not miss,
For with nothing, you've got nothing to lose,
Look about, you'll see ignorance is bliss.
Bliss we've forever before and after,
Life's short time where we hear children's laughter.
xcviii.
My thoughts are rooted in people I 've known,
Beyond them I know no reality,
I know who I am, because they have shown,
me their own feelings, when I chose to be.
I thank these people, who've played on my soul,
And strutted upon the stage of my dreams,
Their good company helped to fill the hole,
Which grows as we come apart at the seams.
For every day, it makes a bit less sense,
The absolutes that youth holds to be true,
Too many subtle connections, and hence,
I can't justify anything I do.
Sometimes I am relieved to say, my friend,
That good time's bringing this show to an end.