Blueberry Dream

Went berry picking with mother, in the summer;
She told me, pick the ones that are bright and ripe and juicy.

But I wondered, should we pick the berries
From behind the brambles, too?

And pick the ones that dropped
Up off the ground?

She said, the faded ones,
The rain doesn't reach,

And there are some you shouldn't pick
Like ones from dying trees.

But I thought, if not, they'll hide
And wither with the weather.

So, I went back and popped
A lonely blueberry into my bucket.

Said, the sweetest one mightn't be as blue
As the brightest berry according to you.

Should we try to re-enact
What we now lack?

The common sense of how to lose
By pick and choose.

Don't judge;
There might be a dream you walk into.

I'd say I knew you better than the fall
And sometimes we say sorry, but
When do we really mean it at all?

When your heated heart of rock explodes,
In your erupting mode, Kilauea,
You're eroding me.

When you're joy's in exhaustion
When your ploys can't be deployed
When you're seven miles from Heaven
And you can't gain exposure

Am I sound? Are you sound? Are you around?

As we're tumbling down these lava walls of yours.

Reassessment

Well, have you lost the sacred
As you try to reassess?
I know you mean to mend the madness,
But you're bringing back the dead.

They've gone out of town,
They passed yesteryear,
And have traveled light years
Just to end up back here.

Let's demean our demons;
God, let's get out of here,
And make a masterpiece
If the Magdalene agrees.

Question all the trees

Why won't you question all
the trees, darling,
Don't say they're hidden
by the leaves.

Branches can't bind the
blasphemy
that they say you planted
with that seed.

Strange to know those
swaying soldiers
saunter so strongly in
the wind.

They say before Cartier
found Gaspe,
he fought a raging
storm at sea.

You always think you can run, but
some things are rooted.
Run, go on, faster than
the wind.

Reckless redemption
rages while
righteousness
riles me.

Maybe you know that, or
maybe you can't see
that when in fall the leaves fall,
they blow and circle me.

Teasing treason,
trusting temptation,
tragic traces,
temperatures raising.

Keeper of old stories

Hey, we're through the alley,
running farther away, hey,
heading to the forest;
that's where the soul lives.

Say, isn't that the cantadora's story?
She's keeper of old stories...

Well, we're bounding through the arts,
bonding broken stars and bleeding hearts.

Reach

Well, if she's alive,
Don't leave her...
No, darling,
Don't try to back away...
If she's beyond what you
Believe is your reach,
Just reach, and reach,
You'll prosper, I preach.

And when do we know
Where we're going?
Will you be holding her hand?
Well, just behold,
Wait, we'll find out
As it unfolds, you'll find
Out, and I know
You'll get out if you keep on.

Fly, fly, my bluebird,
Those eyes can entice
Anyone you want.
Fly, fly, my bluebird,
Pretty bird,
Yes, I know,
You've found
Someone you like.

not quite a trilogy

And the birds,
in the red,
they are calling,
in midst of the fractured moon.

And what do you tell the others
when the mother's in the forest,
but she's glazed and glides (away to the glade)?

Catch a glimpse of the water
as she sways and slides,
soars into an angry swirl
of adventure, of human nature,
that has disrupted nature's calling.

And we're falling;
she's frightened you.
And after you're so frightened
you'll call on the father (on the father).

When we leave our nests astray
whispers sweep over the fire,
leaves and branches decay.

And the fires are fine --
we'll take them --
as long as they don't take us,
cast away our identity,
or cast away our destiny.

"Please, sir, I want some more."

Well, well, Oliver Twist,
all of a twisted tale...
What a twisted tale,
denied more gruel,
what grueling circumstance...
Well, won't you join me?
Dance the last dance of Fagin,
Ensure the bridge will break...
Nancy, she'll defy the thieves,
and you, Oliver, might be free...

-----

Haven't seen the play for about 8 years, but these lyrics came to me in the shower last night, and are still in the works, I suppose...

trinitarian

oh, trinitarian
of your scandal,
yes, that pretty girl was scared
of your unity,
yes, that little girl was shy

we sometimes
shred memories
when doctrine is sharp
well, sometimes we shed,
or do we bury them far
as you reach farther, father
confession won't scrap the wrath
that scrapes the edge of my heart

oh, trinitarian
of your scandal,
yes, that pretty girl was scared
of your unity
yes, that little girl was shy

Joseph was the father
so if you're the father, son, and holy spirit
you hold the power to
wash my holy water
from your hands

oh, trinitarian
of your scandal,
yes, that pretty girl was scared
of your unity
yes, that little girl was shy

oh, trinitarian
impurity by three
that hurt me

-----

Support the fight to end violence against women this International Women's Day.

Please donate to RAINN.

peace bond

don't want to bind you
but you struck me by your will,
on your own, on your way
out to desecrate
now we're gone
but are we done?
or are we bound
by some bond?
that's why I say...

oh, will a peace bond help me?
or will it only resurrect what's left?
maybe baby when you consecrate
you can reconstruct the ways,
the ways you struck;
haunt and heal your only ways

how could you say
"don't live beyond your means"
when you always want another?
im sure as your condition fluctuates
she'll not be your lover,
but do anything to restrict
your construction
as liquid impersonates and
builds your karmic prison tower

she'll say
oh, will a peace bond help me?
or will it only resurrect what's left?
maybe baby when you consecrate
you can reconstruct the ways,
the ways you struck;
haunt and heal your only ways

and if we sign a peace bond,
you'll be gone,
but we'll be bound
but by the time
you come around
you can't come around
this ordination

so maybe a peace bond will help us;
it might resurrect what's left
but baby when you consecrate
you can reconstruct the ways,
the ways you struck;
haunt and heal your only ways

bonding. sacred. bound.

If my heart breaks, do you win?
If it's silent, does God win?
Do we fade in and out like the lamplight
relative to the sun,
captured in nightfall's black hands?

Bonding...
Sacred...
Bonding...
Sacred...
Bound?

Did I sigh out loud,
or is my misery
a mystery of the rosary?
Does rain fall at nightfall
through black open storm clouds
that are God sent,
but what's a Godsend?
Is that just you and I?

Bonding.
Sacred.
Bonding.
Sacred.
Bound.

---

September 14th, 2009

before it all

when we wake up inside
do we feel these walls
as we rush away,
sweet and sane --
are you now? --
as you are
running down
our place,
do we decay
like gardens
before spring,
empty, as a vase
held wilted flowers
of my sex?

calm

The calm beneath the storm, the wind beneath the waves that keeps them rolling... how you been? Was what I meant to say tarnished in water and whitewashed that day in the sand, in your grain, in the harvest hour, where we were ridiculed, but found what we desired? By the storm, by the eve when the saviour did lay, there in His house did the goddesses pray?

-----

November 3rd, 2009

to inflect

You seem to know what I'm up against;
You seem to know what I'm standing for;
(Why) Is this between us?
What I believe in,
Has it conquered what I felt before?
Are we drowning in empty waters as I conjugate your verbs?
(Why) Is this what we squander? They're only words.
Maybe what you're looking for isn't in the dictionary;
Maybe its parallel was lost at sea.
When you see what's going to be,
Well, maybe then there'll be belief,
relief, and benefit.

games

When we all join in, as stagnant as it seems, what's the signal?
Riding the merry-go-round, "Oh, horsey, won't you gallop to my white knight, Lady Peace?"
And are the pieces to our puzzle hidden in Pandora's box?
When we battle must we always strike another match?
Or, so it seems, as I said, as stagnant as this seems,
We're under London Bridge...
We're in the Ring around the Rosie...

circumstance

Perhaps it's senseless in a sense that we're stranded when we're not, and bound when homeward bound.  How circumstance becomes a razor sharp blade even at its best is questionable because when that blade turns to ice and cracks and shatters, how solid is it really?  Are we really always tied and bound to circumstance, the queen of bondage? Or, is it more so that we falter and cry like the black raven by the riverside?

----

June 1st, 2009

Maybe when the flowers have beguiled their raging thorns,
Maybe when misery becomes forlorn,
Painted legends, mysteries of age bound with flames
Won't disrupt the rainbow's sun in the rain.
 ----

There is more to this and I'm still working on it, but this part is my favourite...

An introduction...

Welcome. I have had multiple classmates and professors recommend I start something along these lines. 

Here I will post my writing in the works, pieces from the past, and whatever else I decide.  My writing is lyrical poetry and prose.  Keep in mind that I write what comes, and it is more general than personal.  I usually am inspired in the shower, or when walking through a forest or near a cemetery...

My writing is unconventional and strong. It is at times obscure I am sure, but always interesting I hope.  It is protected under copyright law.

I am interested in thoughts, feelings, constructive criticism, and publishing opportunities.