On Leaving

It's not leaving this earth that frightens me....
But who would look out for those that I care so
deeply for.
So blessed. So grateful. So tired.

In the Rye

Remaining...in limbo...

Where wind blows but isn't felt...
Where pain exists but doesn't plague....
The rye it calls her soul..
She devils with a chemical cocktail like Hercules in Hell...
Oh Death, why do you not long for her as she longs for you...
Like a lover...a fix...an end...rebirth or recreation...
Why do you shut her out...
Tired is a soul...take her into the rye..
Where she can haunt no one, hurt no one, ever more.

Last Call

Late.

Dark.
A warning.
Time in a bottle.
An end. A beginning.
One last ounce of courage or pain.
The rain.
Night.
Without a fight.
But flight.
Because it's over, when he makes the last call.

Night Creatures

Like animals twisting, turning, grinding...yearning. I sit and watch a hoard of hookers as the music thumps...new, old, sexy, bold...give them a pole and it's like a grand strip club...grand ...now there's a word I really hate so much I could puke every time I hear it. But give them a pole; they will come, cum or come alike. Short skirts, stockings, boots, some hot..some definitely not, they eye the pole like  some sort of competition...sizing it up then eyeing  opponents. Consuming poison until the courage meter's about to split at the seams and it all seems like a dream, and I wish it were a dream...because one after the other they take their turn...spinning, humping, grinding pumping that fucking pole like it's some sort of sex God...and I just sit in hiding, camouflaged, at the credence table, is it real or fable ...a wooden pole they christen ..when they awaken, splinters like winter will bite their softest flesh..I slink into the nothingness..watching from the rye..I know it's crazy but it's where I'd rather be...in the rye.

On Skid Row

Separable in existence, a soul adrift like an anonymous anomaly.

Kakidrosis stench atomizing a festering, fiendish fortune foreclosed.

Ichnites of ichorous existence thriving even where shadows succumb.

Death knocks at the door like a familiar friend, a beginning...an end?

Rampant ramifications of a rarefied spirit lost in the frey without a say.

Omnipotent sentient without perception of time or place, living or lace.

Whichsoever is right? Day or night, frighten or fight, measure or might…

                                                                    

                                                                    …...when you’re on skid row.

Middle Ground

Half way through the week, up over the hill of hillbiliies pushing daisy carts like damsels in distress,
working no rest, if you're unhappy confess, cuz the cows won't come calling to answer the hauling on the way to the hump the bump we trump...not high ground nor low, not enemy or foe, as a group we all go to ....
                                                                               ............MIDDLE GROUND!

He Comes Calling

Leaking like leftover wax from a candle in a coffee tin, like blood...a flood... my brain, my heart, inflamed  he's ashamed of anything I represent, the time I spent, his name, his game, was I never even his real friend?

Who shall ask a friend to stay hidden, go in the dark, what you're not invisible, but your green bubble is showing, why must you fly a flag for everyone to see?

To him who isn't ashamed should the flag not represent light not flight?

Throw over the veil, back to your jail,  continue falling until he comes calling....

...lest he never find her again.

Beyond This Flesh

My everlasting energy pulses along the shimmering silver cord, splicing and dicing any discount of physical limitations to their filthy human equations pushing oneself beyond into a gridlock but unlocked by spirit and soul, a careful control of the consciousness without conspiracy or contemplation, tempted by  temptations but the healing of heavenly hands touch me ever so gently like the sands of time in a sublime sequential story, living, breathing, writhing and seething,  I look in on someone from another world, feel his energy...his breath...his heart beats into mine as I slip inside and plant a seed of a simpler time that perhaps he be reminded the moments we had typing, laughing, and breathing on a dime, never enough time but was I there or never was I ever closer within watching over him like an angel in the clouds cottony shrouds a gown of diamonds like Lucy in the sky shining, shimmering, for in my darkness he was the light that made my black eyes back bright and gave me his hand in the forest he did lead me out of the blackness I'd lain in to die, was he some sort of God, a magic pauper with a sparkling plot of sod, a soil in perfect production, his voice was seduction but in a gentle manner that made me raise my banner and trust in those that were not to be trusted, lust in those that shalt be lusted, a fusion of confusion but mine eyes aren't blinded to the light that lay beyond this flesh but too far to reach, his words do teach, and never did he sour preach hesitation, frustration but instead produced a fruit of a foreign frolic that never caused colic but soothing sublimation and I knew that I could live until it was time to lay back down to die again...beyond this flesh.

Breath

Living...
   Loving....
 Breathing....
       and shoving....

How wicked our ways doth the clock tower chime,
in a blighted existence, only the voice of a mime...

Dare do you lightly tread, but stomp with a ballad...
               No candy, no coke, just eat that damn salad....

And sleep is like whiskey, in a booze infested brook, before day cometh night, for all innocence he took...

Eyes clenched, lips pursed, rope merging with flesh, no chains, no fists, just a mind did he mesh...

In a prison so dark that the moon could not touch, now broken, submitted, his hand did I clutch...

Mind fucked, shucked of whatever was...is...was but is only a memory...but the forest took me in like a well weathered moss, no mercy, no feathers, but no god forsaken boss...and then it was apparent through the dew, I saw it, and I closed mine eyes and took the most beautiful last breath.

Theme and Destiny

What a full life busting at the seams.. like a dandelion my heart and soul scattered across the universe, in every dark place..a servant seeking a lost soul in time of need...honored to cut a piece of my heart out and give it freely without thirsting or hungering for anything in return...but there are no more pieces...what was me is not me anymore and I'm just adrift the wind and I'm ready to move onto another dimension, another form be it dust or rain, pleasure or pain...

.... it's time to move on.

This song ...every word in it... is me.

On A Cross

If you can feel the bonds of love around you...family, friends, lovers...and you can see the world ripping those bonds apart, does it break your heart?

When you see a husband and wife and their kids pulled apart because they can't make ends meet and the parents each work two jobs...

...or you see one of the kids being drawn to trouble because he's odd or she is ugly

...a child that once sat and giggled on a father's knee but now turns to heroin

...a son that once clung to his mother on the first day of school but now tries to prove himself to a gang

...or a tight family torn apart by cancer

...an old man alone, utterly alone

if you saw these things, and you could change them, how far would you go? If you could salvage the love and save the misery of those you see, would you suffer to do it? 

Would you get on a cross?

Written not by me, but by my best friend in this world. 

Mind Fuck

Warped like a wet board left to cook in the sun, forgotten, mildewed and rotten, a bending a breaking, my thoughts naked for the taking, no matter the speed, a bullet, a steed, I can't escape the thought, crashing and thrashing in every cell like he's become a part of my DNA. If I was a knife, I'd cut it out and watching it beat on the earth's floor, closing the door to the pain and the pressure, the laughter and pleasure I once had but have no more...30 after 4...one cut after another..I pray for the end...for I lost my best friend, I run and I cry and I run but I really just suck...and I'm stuck in a total disastrous mind fuck.

Wretched Destiny

What is creativity without creation, the starving of a nation,
the crumbs they scatter, while the rich grow fatter on peas and porridge the dragonflies forage,
and the sun doesn't glisten when the glitter has no glue, and what's to chew on when you choke on a splinter, your flesh is your tender and fresher than a kitten in snow is the sting of a foe,
that part of your heart that was ripped all apart when day turned to night and love waged a fight...deeper than sin or the untrusted kin and the axeman's high swing couldn't outweigh the bling of the tears in my eyes oh wretched destiny.

What Kind of Person Does That?

I just want to ask one Tuesday question...

What kind of person does that?

Pushed Aside

For what was I ever
If never I thought would come a day
When the mouse did play and the cat was ok
As long as she could strut about
And still have an ounce of clout
But still...
He told her to go
Could this be friend or foe
Be careful, tread lightly or you might make her mad
For what was I ever...
My happy turned sad
So to the dark forest I run
For what was I ever...

Except pushed aside.

Creative Blackout

Riding on a wave about to crash into nothingness...longing to leap over minnows while taking a bite out of the nearest shark...after all, one is either shark or shark bait, a test of fate in dark waters over a blue sky waiting to form the faintest of rain drops from heaven to hell, a prayer or a spell in divinity what is divine lest you prune the vine that bleeds you dry in the night of day then it all goes away...when one's breath turns to fire...and it's ashes to ashes and the dust it crashes into the light of another lost soul in the dark forest.

A Part of Me and Rainbow Connection

Dreamer with eyes of blue like infinite ocean on an ice age of tomorrow....The sun shines through the rain no matter the pain and what is pain anyway? Is it a feeling...an emotion...a desperate grasp for commotion...when sharing meant caring and caring meant he'd be there. Before her it was that way..but I must stay where I belong sing that whistling song with the chorus of a hundred frogs in the swamp and the fog...the mist never stops...and even through rain one can see the sun...and even if there wasn't a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow...it was still a rainbow ... 

Leftovers...

It was nice to be the main course. But I don't do second best very well...never have...never will most likely. I was there through thick and thin...but he still traded me in...for that newer model...tastier dish of Danish dung or was it her Swedish tongue...no matter, I've been replaced and I shall find my way back into the forest.

DARKNESS

What is darkness without light but a wall without flight, an emotion, or devotions to demons and notions. The moon and stars, just diamonds and cars, floating like feathers on a frog's back, where a fly's just a snack for a spider's lighter than the devil's heart that bleeds black like an ink blot on a time slot just a day in a minute and an hour forgotten no sooner than the sun's deadened for the day, and they come out to play in the darkness of night, slip away I might when decisions like collisions haunt me like a forever fairy with no wings at all, for flying is dying and day lilies will bloom and brighten the gloom, but she retreats into the darkness.

Not Knowing

Sometimes the pain of 'not knowing' hurts so bad you have to cut it out.

Nite Dreams Leave Me Be

Clawing at me like a meth addict's itch..and it's an itch one cannot scratch..driving and crying and screaming and dying...they nip at me like night fennel afraid to close my eyes that I might not awaken...to hasten the day with smiles and play when darkness is death in a time capsule catapulting me through an infinity of invisible monsters craving my blood..I run but can I escape the flood of emotions and potions dreams and devotions I climb and climb to the top of the well gasping and grappling for night time's due dwell on a swell of luck I pierce the light only to be sucked back down the deepest depths...where I scream but no one hears...and I struggle but no one is there...alone with the schemes and themes of demons and dreams..I beg in my boldest blues..night dreams leave me be.

Lack of....

Tossing and turning..night dreams nipping at my heels heeding rest like a rock slide racing down a mountainside...My Monday fun-day is going to be hell in the hay stack....can I make it? The little engine that could can't ...maybe.

My Delicate

Sensitivity like a single celled organism bouncing  between two walls colliding like rain against death only mocking the morning due in a springtime meadow...screaming louder than  crickets... faster than salmon on their way up a forever hill leading to a vast nothingness touched by a cloud of color that bleeds only red....a crimson and clover, send him on over, because he knoweth all but the bird's call and the bear's brawl..with sharp teeth like swords that cut into fangs of fondness...I cry oh I cry, why must the apple of my eye cut like a knife and take away the life of such an empathetic egg shell, cracked into a zillion pieces of gold reduced to only glitter and the freezing cold....faster and faster I run into the verdant vegetation, the edge of salvation, a decaying nation of voices and pain..but all will be better when comes does the rain.

Dream Space

Some things belong in dreams...the magical can squeeze them so far from the realms of dream space that they almost appear real, but when it's all said and done, they are really all still just ...dreams.

Inner World Called Me

McKinnon the Dean of Screen,
guide to unexplored lands,
and creatures unseen,
invisble hands,
where no one has been.
she will lead you there,
and leave you to find your place,
where hearts will tear,
and companions embrace,
so open your eyes,
and be ready so see,
ivory castles rise,
and the inner world called "me".


Poem sent to me :) I love this stuff!

The Mystery

I am the wind which breathes upon the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean,
I am the murmur of the billows,
I am the ox of the seven combats,
I am the vulture upon the rocks,
I am the beam of the sun,
I am the fairest of plants,
I am the wild boar in valour,
I am a salmon in the water,
I am a lake in the plain,
I am a word of science,
I am the point of the lance of battle,
I am the God who created in the head the fire.
Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountain?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the place where couches the sun?
                                     (If not I)
This poem is ascribed to Amergin, a Milesian prince or druid who settled in Ireland hundreds of years before Christ 
and is from the Leabhar Gabhala, or Book of Invasions.

The Forest...

The forest is dark and quiet and deep,

beware it lulls you to sleep,

there is a prize at the end of the wood,

life demands we seek what we could.

by Kevin Lenihan

The Treasure

In the forest there was a cave,

enter it she would not dare,

though treasure waits but for the brave,

and with the meek it will not share.

behind a mirror the cave lies,

at the bottom of a deep well,

where the tallest pines do rise,

and shadows cast their spell.

dare she would not...until one day she would,

guided by spirits of old,

housed where the temple once stood,

her old self she sold,

and cast all doubt aside,

then entered the cave,

where treasure indeed did lie.

By Kevin Lenihan

Sing a Song

Sing a song of remembrance,

of golden times to come.

of lost lovers and innocence,

in worlds that are yet to be won.

Of idle days and carefree hours,

memories dancing on the edge of vision.

a promised land of silver towers,

these thoughts are in collision.

By Kevin Lenihan