Come to My Window

Old Dream

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:25:57 GMT

It's like drifting off into an old dream
The kind that makes me feel warm and tingly
And wakes me up in a cold sweat.
You in your shiny black car cruising down clean dry roads
Me on a horse somewhere in the middle on wet grey sands.
The miles between us increase
As the image of us together becomes sharper.

It's like waking up to an old song
The kind that renders images of freedom and love
And the angst of our separate existence.
You in your comfortable old socks, curled up in bed
Me in my bare feet, running through the park.
The gap between us widens
As the tempo within us picks up pace.

It's like going back to an old poem
The kind that speaks of beautiful smiles and sad eyes
And the mysterious shadows of our souls.
You in your cold steel space, offering you no release
Me in my warm dry cocoon, seeking no refuge more.
The friction in our lives intensifies
While the certainty of our death comes alive.

The Old Fashioned Way

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:25:57 GMT

I�d like to call you in the old fashioned way
Ringing your 7-digit number slowly, one at a time
My index finger snug inside the plastic ring
Turning the dial all the way to the end
Then releasing and watching it fall back into place
A soft ring telling me it�s time for the next turn

I�d like to listen to the slow clicking sound
Of a pulse mode telephone as the digits register
Then that long wait until the lines connect
With the crackling and hissing of an analog era

It would mean precious seconds to think of
Something to say before you answer
Your long fingers cradling the receiver
As you speak into the mouthpiece
Hello?
Not Hey! How you doing? Or
About time you called!
Hello? A question, a plain and simple enquiry
Uncertain and reticent

I�d like to call you on your old red telephone
With the simple white dial
No tattle tale caller ID to reveal
Who it is on the other end of line
No knowing for sure if the fingers dialling your number
Are ones you would want to kiss
Or cut off

I�d like to call you in the old fashioned way
When no tiny little computer chip tells you even before
You hear the sound of my voice
How many letters are there in my name,
The colour of my hair
Or the day that I was born

And then I�d like to say it�s me as I try
To detect whether the tone of your voice
Is saying hang up now
Or stay.

Shallow

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:25:57 GMT

I'm as shallow as the next person
I would agree
But I surpassed even myself today
As I beat a hasty retreat
When I found out that the man
With the razor sharp wit
And words that strum my guitar
Turned out to look just like you
It turns out I don't want round two
With a man who's as afraid
Of speaking the truth
As he is of the father
Who taught him how to lie
Lies that helped him survive
His mother's tepid love
And nail the tight ass of
A lovely young narcissistic whore

Cheyenne

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:25:57 GMT

I see her in my dreams sometimes,
Sometimes in the bathroom mirror
When it's fogged up and warm
And my feet are cold.

I see her in his eyes sometimes,
Sometimes in my smile
Hiding the cold hard fears
Of an unused life.

I see her in my hair sometimes,
Sometimes in his eyelashes
That pour out a sweetness
I could never contain.

She never runs to me
Nor I to her.
We stand facing the sun
In different directions
And on separate lines.

I might have held her once
Too close and too long
It could have been everything
It could have been enough
Just enough.

Outside These Walls

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:25:57 GMT

I don't see or feel the power
of these lives anymore
When every snapshot from the mind's eye
trails behind mists of ambiguity
Take away these smoldering embers
of a blaze that once burned
perhaps too fast, perhaps too cold
and I am like a trained seal
I know the routine, I can still perform
but there is a stillness in the air
and in the eyes of those that watch me

I can't touch or taste the power
of these lives anymore
When the milestones have melted
into those well-etched pathways
Take away these empty glasses
of a spirit that once revived
perhaps too much, perhaps too soon
and I am like a paper kite
I rise and fall, I can still fly
but there is a lull in the wind
and in the hands of those that control me

I will not see or feel, touch or taste
the absolute and sublime power
of these lives anymore
No more

Marooned

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:25:57 GMT

I think of you
when I meet people I don't like
the repugnant reactions they evoke
remind me of the placid likeness
between us and our lives
the flashy irritants of their beings
bring to mind your quiet eloquence
the sense of your mind
the sensibility of your heart
the grating sounds they resonate
draw me closer to your gentle voice
the one I have never heard
but only felt and imagined

the putrid proximity to those I can't stand
takes me back to the light years between us
and the things we could never share
you're the friend I cannot laugh with
the love I cannot touch
the wise soul I cannot revere
the kind heart I cannot repay

you stood out then
you stand out now
when time surrounds me with festering fools
and deceptive minds
we're in the past
but still belong
sharing the same wavelengths
on different planes
and in different lives
I imagine your brush dipped
in blood red paint
filling out my empty words
pouring into my empty life

I still think of you
when I meet people I like
their carefree caresses
and vibrant embraces
remind me of our time apart
from each other and our lives
and I wonder if you think of me
at all.

Passion Flower

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 15:01:28 GMT

It wasn't an extraordinary night. The night they first met. There were no stars out, no warm glowing lights in the distance, no moon lighting up the sands. It was cold and calculating. Inside and out. People passed by, people walked in. Some talked out loud, some sat still nursing their potent drinks and impotent dreams.

When he first noticed her, he smiled to himself. At the novelty of her, at the sheer ennui of his own life. It wouldn't be long before another novelty caught his attention, or so he thought. She first looked right through him. Her eyes were out there, looking for old love, old magic, old wine. But days passed by in those few short moments.

She still can't tell whether he caught her eye in the motley crew of mediocrity surrounding her, or if he stood out in a very outstanding crowd. She surprised him with her choice of drink. He thought he had never met anyone like her. She wasn't taken back at the honeyed glow in his glass but at the sense of familiarity he had about him. It was like a dormant concept in her mind suddenly coming back to life. It was as though they had shared a moment exactly like this in another time and space.

In hindsight, it's easy to relegate this kind of propensity to a spur of the moment fantasy play. But when you're living the moment and riding the waves, it's all very real. The ebb and flow of emotions, the black and white of identities, the wrong or right of attachments. Everything they had experienced was real. Even if they chose to ignore it later and let it go like an erroneous journey taken on the wrong bus.

The silent throbs of that chance meeting continued to gnaw away at their beings. It was like being weightless in space. Sharing the same orbit but losing control. Moving away from each other but involuntarily floating back to each other again.

The image of them together was fierce and electrifying in its power, frail and ephemeral in its reality. And now they had to discard it like an aborted foetus or an unused idea. But the moment remained. Circling the space they had created, refrigerating the time they had spent, covering the scars they had unmasked.

The moment remained within them whether they chose to acknowledge it or not. They carried it inside them, for each of them, for each other.

Venus Girl

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 09:23:41 GMT

You call me your Venus girl
As I lay on you a structured attack.
Pulling you in with these familiar words at first
Then tying you up with the hidden worlds they explore
You orbit that space around me no one else can fill.

Sometimes I like to imagine your face as it lights up, or not
At the thought of me
And all that's left of me.
I like to imagine us standing on baked brown sands
Our noses crinkling, eyes squinting, cheeks red
While you point to my dark burned toes and laugh.
I like to imagine the lines on your face
Each winking at me, beckoning me to stay
My tired dark feet feeling like they've been dipped into a bucket of ice
And me longing for the coolness from your palms to turn me over.
I imagine us across from each other on a rickety old balcony.
The light from the sky long gone
Taking with it the yearning from our hearts.
Us sitting there peaceful and still
While the smells from the cognac and cigars mix and permeate the air
And our fractured lives.

You call me your Venus girl
When all I really want to be is your Earth woman
With the anticipation of your smile and the burning from the sands
With my ugly dark feet in ice and your cool smooth hands running over me
With the rickety old balcony and heady smell of the spirit and tobacco fusing
The longing from our hearts gone
The light from our eyes shining.

Postcards From the Edge

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 15:25:03 GMT

72 bottles of moonshine

One big brick of bliss

Animal around the corner

And you're still blue

Are you anywhere?

At all?

Windancer

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 15:25:03 GMT

Night throws carelessly
My thoughts asunder
Scars on my soul become
Whispers in the wind
I begin to dance
I am the wind
The wind is me
I am the windancer
And this is my song.