HiM

Molten...fabricated...welded into my heart...a permanent pulsing through my veins...I eat..I breath...I drink...I think... of him. Like the dew on the daisy...the sun in the morning...on the wings of a dragonfly I dip through the garden...hovering above meticulous landscape...I soar to the trees..just an ounce of forest scattered about...I dream and I doubt...and I sit and I wait...hoping and praying until I get a glimpse...a breath...a whiff... of him. Day and night, through feast and flight, visiting at the grayest of sight...I dance on a dime...until comes a time...because money is nothing without monetary gain and fame and fortune and bullshit to boot. Living and dying...loving and crying...emotions like a death scream, a quick beam when the cream of the crop off the top of a frothy layer of bubbles, I slide under the mass...and sift through the stubble...in the dark of night...no more I fight...but let them in....forever dreams never end...all for someone I can't see, can't touch, can't have, but I don't stop ....ever...thinking of ....HiM. He is my heart.

A Candle in a Coffee Tin

When all else is gone...dark takes the light...alone and frozen cold...in the cold hell of night...comes a man in a cloak...his eyes warm as the sun...don't give up my child...your life is not yet done...he says with a sound so true to my heart...failing...thumping...dumping...anew...go run in the forest...fly with the fairy...lick the shimmering honey suckle morning dew...your a forever soul he told me so straight and so clear...I almost believed him even though he was queer...Come hither my little druid...and bring your coffee tin...it isn't without a candle...for it was left by your kin...your grandmother Marion K...new you'd come around...and pick up your quill and paper...without a sigh or sound...she called me from the grave to bring you a little light...that you may keep writing...throughout the wee wee night...

I can hear her words of wisdom...each time I yield my pen...And I'll carry her never ending candle...in her coffee tin.

Nana...I miss you so so very much.

ThE LaSt MiNuTe

When the last minute doth come...
And my breath, just a ghost...
To you I owe my heart...
For it's you that mattered most....

Muffled Song

Sullen faces on a dirty subway car,

a muffled song from nearby headphones,

a passenger absorbed in the music,

eyes closed and rocking to the beat,

echoes of words that cannot be heard,

voices that cry out from another world.

 

And there are other worlds,

for those that dare to listen,

muffled is their noise to us,

but a taste within our grasp,

if only we take time to listen.

By Kevin Lenihan

Tis The Holiday Season

Blinded by green thistles that stick me and tickle...mine eyes shine gold and silver from trinkets so fickle...I slide down the tinsel like angel hair pasta...purple ponies and ballerinas dance aramatsa...A time of the year where a collision of feelings...seep from beneath even the plum and orange peelings...sour and sweet...bitter and crabby...family and friends both smooth and the scabby...snow flakes finally welcome...no shoveling this day...just papers and bows and with toys we play...love remembered...love forgotten...love never ever begotten...tears of joy and sadness, green mushrooms that are rotten...in the forest where I live time will never stand still...it's a circle of life with my wine and my pill...the frogs and the feathers, the elves and the fairy...the beautiful and edible, the poisonous doll's eye baneberry...but the singing from above from the angels is reason... to draw me out of the forest this holiday season.  

Alone

Alone in a time warp. 

I'm present, but am I really here at all.

Longing to talk to the one that can make me smile.

When a smile is nonexistent. 

53

The Sixteenth prime, love on a dime,

living, flying, dreaming, dying...

Time flies like a dandelion on it's way to neverland,

But somewhere over the rainbow time stands still, and dreams really do come true,

Lovers and thistles all baby blue in the same shoe, when time stands still,

And dreams come true.  

The Queen of Night

The Queen of Night,

with hands of snow,

shelters the Light,

from Winter's woe.

She warms the seeds,

of color and bloom,

denies her own needs,

a new world within her womb. 

by The BartendeR

Guardians of Light

Behold the Guardians of Light,

who under the conquering armies of gray,

shelter color within the night,

and protect til the return of day.

by The BartendeR 

BeAuTiFuL DyNaMiTe

Emotions screaming after me like a dark demented shadow...increasing in size...gaining on me...I cannot escape the thoughts that swirl around like lava in a lava lamp laced with hate and jealousy...I bolt from the seepage...emission spurting from faucets of infinite incarceration... A tongue as sharp as a razor lest I cut it off...tick tock...a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in enmeshed enigma...sliding down a knife trimming the Tarweed that sticks to negative cognition like two people split by a ginormous lightning bolt..the frustration...I run faster and faster and shut my eyes...an explosion like erosion consuming every cell of good and love until nothing's left but a darkness that doesn't diminish even in the surest of sunlight...but the fight isn't finished...with a perfect piston of nitroglycerin...I unwrap a short stick...crystals like the Emerald City welcome mine eyes like magic...a warning...a danger but not more dangerous than a thistled thought capable of crushing a carcinogen...With one strike of a match...I wrap myself around the short stick...casting it into the blackness that's in my bosom...

I close mine eyes...and wait for the light...the explosion...the rebirth..from this beautiful dynamite.

PLaStiC PrISoN

Like medicine bound by a plastic capsule, I struggle to breath...
Never knowing which breath is the last...but the last breath could be the beginning...
Out of the capsule, I fly like a dandelion blowing in the wind, drifting on a cloud feather for a night or a year...A whisper in my ear...is it death who calls my name...that only I'm to blame...for wishing and dreaming is supposed to be upon stars, not broken hearts in jars...I let the sharp bite into the flesh and the crimson and clover feels warmer than any arms can bind me...lest they shackle me...and I race from the prison...the captive so near, like a voice in ear...could it be death?

The Walk

I walked along a lightless swamp, sat on a moss covered log, and contemplated a way out of the deepest part of the forest. I must have sat there a long time, for when I was ready to move on, I noticed that roots had grown around my legs and I too was covered in green moss....
...but I was never alone. 
by The Bartender

A New Day

A new day will dawn

when the colors will bleed back into the white flag

A sun will rise

over the gray dawn of tyranny's night

A trumpet will sound

and stir the hearts of free men

A flag again filled with color

red white and blue.

by The Bartender...

DyNaMiTe

DyNaMiTe

Emotions screaming after me like a dark demented shadow...increasing in size...gaining on me...I cannot escape the thoughts that swirl around like lava in a lava lamp laced with hate and jealousy...I bolt from the seepage...emission spurting from faucets of infinite incarceration...Why can't the bitch just leave him alone? A tongue as sharp as a razor lest I cut it off...tick tock...a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in enmeshed enigma...sliding down a knife trimming the Tarweed that sticks to negative cognition like two people split by a ginormous lightning bolt..the frustration...I run faster and faster and shut my eyes...an explosion like erosion consuming every cell of good and love until nothing's left but a darkness that doesn't diminish even in the surest of sunlight...but the fight isn't finished...with a perfect piston of nitroglycerin...I unwrap a short stick...crystals like the Emerald City welcome mine eyes like magic...a warning...a danger but not more dangerous than a thistled thought capable of crushing a carcinogen...With one strike of a match...I wrap myself around the short stick...casting it into the blackness that's in my bosom...

I close mine eyes...and wait for the light...the explosion...the rebirth..from this beautiful dynomite.

A Birthday Poem for Me

Across oceans of azure and thresholds of golden light,

searching, always searching, for the visions of night,

timeless time ago, had she set out on her quest,

to find the well of ideas, without which she would not rest,

she came upon a land of creatures strange and queer,

and journeyed far and wide, until at last did appear,

a great and noble wizard, to whom she posed her query,

“I seek the well of ideas, and the magical creatures merry,

who bring them into form, if it’s not too much to ask”,

the great and noble wizard, was ready for the task,

he led her to a mirror, and teased her about the fuss,

and said her search was over, because “you are one of us”.

By Kevin Lenihan