About the Author I'm a painter, a poet, a filmmaker, a gardener, a photographer, a skier, a mountaineering woodsman, a fly fisherman, a city boy, a poor boy, a train hopper, and a man with class.
Recent Entries
Enable JavaScript in your browser to view this document as it was initially formatted. 1 I am afraid. More than usual, for I am not in a city that is dead, but in a city that is dying. I am watching the buildings hold onto their frames. The roads bricks are barely glued and screaming for feet to push them back down. I am in a town that is denying its disease. It's store fronts not yet boarded, but filled with pawn shops selling clearance, end of the year, everything must go, half off souls. I see see them on the store's shelves, ready to dry. I see shoppers placing them on the counter, stale passion dripping onto the glass. This town is not dead, it is starving for air. I walk down the streets as instant dinner rapers dance by my feet. I am in a town with thousands of lips that have begun to dry, after only last week having the laughter shining their teeth. I hear waves crashing, stirring the frightened child within. I see women swept off their feet to be risen above the cold ground, but they won't mind being but put back down again. I see men in suits, that worked like well oiled machines, now all stops pulled but the malfunctions prevalent. I see roads pouring out of wonderer's eyes, and filling their ears. I see children with damp asses from rising out of the summer morning grass. Why have they stood? Why have they joined? What good is it being old and not asking why? I am living in a town that's not dead, but is certainly dying.
I’m too young to be this old.
2 I'm too young to be this old It's happened so fast, my eyes don't even blink. Lights so bright, my brain can't think. I've been hot in the desert, and in the snow so cold, I'm too young to be this old. I've had thousands at times, and none when I need it, had so much passion, when I fell, I'd bleed it. I've had drugs my own, I've had some to be sold. I've seen men with ties, crying in the alley. I've seen from maine, across to cali. I've done what i've heard and opposite of what i'm told. i'm too young to be this old. I've smoked a pack a day, to keep the stress away. I've done yoga instead, to keep a straight head. I've had bliss in my days, and fear ten fold. I'm too young to be this old. I've been for groceries with a dollar, I've sipped tea with an english scholar. I've been quiet as a mouse, and I've been too bold. hell...I'm to young to be this old
3 I stumbled upon a young pale boy in the skirts of a yellow headlight,
who's eyes through the darkness, emitted wisdom, Fear, and excitement. He said, "Sir. may I utter But one thing into your ears?" I responded, "of course." He leaned towards my face, steam from his breath touching my ears with a warm damp ascent. He said, "Sir, You do not need miles to go far." My mind split and I could feel his words colliding with the inside walls of my skull, echoing at a deafening volume. Wondering what he could mean by this. He could see it from my brow to my fingertips that I needed more. He said, "sir, What roads have you taken to get here?" My mind like a sputtering engine turned over and over, just preparing what it would spew. I Took a road with freshly pained lines. I took a path with twisted rocks threatening my every step. I took arid boulevards of gravel and streams of clear water. I Took Cold steel rails with a man who taught me of stocks and the Profanities that money spoke. The boy asked me who else I'd met. I'd met women too intelligent for romance, men too afraid of what they want. I met children who bantered about politics and faith. I met an old man with a rubber duck and a lemonade stand. The boy asked where I'd been? I told him I haven't left yet. I told him that I was on my way. He said, "sir. You have been many places. Yet you haven't left."
he said, "sir, you're too young to be this old." I left that boy in the shadows of my own mind, and walked on towards the swirled light from the next town over. So I could earn these holes in my shoes. I’m too young to be this old
Description This is just a collection of poems I have written. Tell me what you think