Master of Illusion (Feb 2011) (rewrite 2018)

In my pocket are two fistfuls of silver dollars

-I find them behind your ears sometimes

and a top hat that folds up, a string of silk handkerchiefs (that go on forever)

a deck of cards to play tricks, a wand, a cane and a walking stick

a live bunny, 3 doves and a little tiny mouse,

a few matches, a metal pin, a key and some handcuffs,

a saw of course and a full length coffin,

and all of that is in just one pocket.

I also carry some stretchy balloons for children’s shows

but in order to keep some mystery, really who knows

what secrets lay in a magicians pocket,

this wandering wizard, a one man show

-in my pockets are the dreams

of all people, the ones they think through

and the ones only I know.

Somewhere deep down I hold your fears,

those deep shameful insecurities that

you think are so hidden.

I carry the spiders, snakes, ferocious sharks and bears

the ones from your bed-ridden sweating night terrors.

The regrets and the guilt from

each little mistake

the words that make you cringe

the noises that shake

and I use them, ever

so slightly, delightfully terrorized

before the big reveal

because a trick is an illusion dependent on your worries

and I the master know

you believe your worries are real.

--------Thought I'd try an edit--------

In my pocket

            are two fistfuls, of silver dollars,

            -I find them behind your ears, sometimes.

AND a folded up top hat,

a string of silk handkerchiefs which go on forever,

a deck of cards to play hand tricks,

and of course, my magic scepter.

As well as a wand,

AND a cane,

AND an old walking stick,

but one secret revealed,

             I’m only faking my limp.

A bunny, three doves and a tiny mouse make their home,

but I’d not be the Master, if there weren’t room for more.  

Matches, AND torches, AND machetes to juggle,

handcuffs, a key, a chainwatch to muddle,

your mind, soon defined by my masterful babble.

And in the deep, you’ll find the bite of my saw and its sharp teeth,

The trick not complete,

without a polished full-length, hardwood coffin, 

And my dears, I have ALL OF THAT,  

            - in just one,   pocket.

Like a harmless clown, I also carry stretchy balloons,

for the children’s shows,

but by now you must assume,

that from there it only grows,

because from the harmless, I incarnate,

the fantastical unknown,

what treats, what secrets

might I carry with me,

perhaps fantastically, I promise the imagining of all human beings,

the ones they dream openly,

and those only,  I,    know…       (---------)

YES!

Deep in my clutches, I hold all your doubts

those shameful insecurities that 

you think are so hidden.

And I carry them, within,

my pockets

so slithering

snake wrapped,

defenseless and bare,

spider eyed and bug bitten,

all your dreadful,

night terrors - OF 

falling regret, such chasms of guilt,

each little mistake, that-

spasms to cringe,

and ripples, and trips you

till no safety exists,  

your mouth wide open,

your stomach in grips,

caught in concern,

and bracing in terror,

and that’s when the Master,

knows it is time to reveal,

for awe, is just the truth unbound from your fear,  

but luckily for me, you believe

your anxieties are real.  

Falling (The Heart's Lament)

The way the notes come together in dissonance, warmed sad-melodic

Is the way my heart finds you- missing

The brief subconscious thought sends signals and sends search parties

Finding nothing shallowly hidden in my chest cavity (nor immediate vicinity), a brief ringing alarmed despair

This is the part ears call jaw-line and eye brow to cringe at,

Met with remembered headlines

Things Have Changed-She’s far away, tensed shoulders

Longing from my diaphragm, spine crisped, eyes focus on the distance

Though the muscles of my back have braced for impact

my brain can’t comprehend the time and mileage

–and it curses itself with lack of logical understanding,

Find comfort somewhere more ancient, that distance

and minutes are not the true separation,

The heaviness sets in. 

Heavy like anchors (will have to be)

Heavy like hoof kicks, the breath of certain horses

Heavy like an oxytocin addicts miss,  and

Heavy like knowing that, I’ll still miss you tomorrow.

And I want to write that I’ve never truly been alone,

knowing my heart lied in the hands of others,

my thoughts always on their songs,

my truest hopes,  on their tongues.

Ripening with time to bitters’ sweet -my heart laments

such beautifully sad songs.  

********************************************************

Ink, Love, Divinity (Jan 2010)

The avatar of God on your right shoulder
Instantly excited me
Instantly attracted me
to this woman who desires to remind herself

that she is god for all eternity
and makes me want to speak mantras
like “uh uh uh”

simultaneously

and in rhythmic motion
but my meager love making isn't

my only form of devotion
I could write you bad poetry
Sing you a song
Rub your back and shoulders when the day seems too long
Trace my finger tips around your earlobes when I massage your scalp

Easing away the tension headaches caused by your humanity’s self-doubt,

Isn’t it human after all to be swept up in the love of God’s caress?

Seeing divinity in all, I assume in me you’d see no less.

Am I a flirt (A song from Jan 2010)

Am I a flirt
I don’t mean to be, just looking to respect
But a sense of entitlement pushes me beyond the boundaries you protect
Am I a flirt
Nah, I’m just floored by your eyes
And the goofy grin on my face lets you know it isn’t lies

Now she’s feeling slightly vulnerable
Slightly intoxicated with the honesty and comfort level
Not quite sure what to do with a man who’s intrigued
By the mundane and the beautiful heart she wears on her sleeve
At least it seems
That way to one who believes in dreams
Dreams that ignite the spirit of a lonely craving heart
And if you’re anything like me than I’m here to play my part
So if the look in my eye says I want to get to know you
Then miss please believe there’s nothing else I want to do

Am I a flirt
I don’t believe I am, just looking to respect
But a sense of entitlement pushes me beyond the boundaries you protect
Am I a flirt
Nah, I’m just floored by your eyes
And the goofy grin on my face lets you know it isn’t lies



And when I invade and ask about your past future and present
I’m seeking the marvelous gifts you have and that the rest of us haven’t
Please excuse me, I used that same line on a schizophrenic
And I’m really not trying to make you feel like a defendant
On trial
It’s just I haven’t seen a smile in a while
And a while, might be like a day or two
But a day of two of singing the lonely blues
And the low key notes got me scrappin for an outlet
And there is nothing about you that has made me doubt yet

So am I a flirt?
I don’t mean to be, just looking to respect
But a sense of entitlement pushes me beyond the boundaries you protect
Am I a flirt
Nah I’m just floored by your eyes
And the goofy grin on my face lets you know it isn’t lies

The Disappearing Act (Jan 2010)

Oh sweet beautiful

I am losing the traces of your face in my memory

Or is it the wind that takes your cute cheeks and leaves them hollow

Or is it the whims of the fashionable that calls in question your once round hips

Or is it the pressures uncomfortable that tones your legs and arms to twigs

Or is it the notions scientific and medical that steal away your softness

Or is it the secrets hidden that leave you with
if not less life,
Than at least seemingly more thoughtless

And drain your ambition, joy and laughter
Replacing with undue sadness

And cause you to question your worth just as much
But with so much less to show

And impress the shallow with what you’ve produced
But leave your love so scared and low.

New Years Eve 2009

It’s really easy to feel sorry for yourself
with your family's weakened voices in your ear
the surgery was successful
the cancer has spread though
not sure how far


London’s fireworks have fired and everyone is at the pub
Kissed and looking for more
That was two hours ago,
When you were still thinking of starting a band
When inspiration seemed imminent
When invitations were opening
And the news hadn’t really gotten around


Nothing but a phone call to make a connection
You’ve had plenty of experience and justifiable reason
You’re explanations for solitude during the celebration reasonable
And if they called you noble
Would you grin and bear it?
Would you contemplate or laugh it off?
Would you choke or spit it back?
Let em know it’s the same fear that keeps you from reaching


Listening to the “Smallest Skyline”
TPC singing with more meaning than the lyrics proclaim
And I’m ashamed, not knowing if its Jeff or Aaron
Telling me I better start pretty soon
If I ever want to change things.

Things written in my notebook (dec 31 2009)

Is that your Love?

You cant stop moving,
some would say your nervousness
has overcome you,
but I think its your
Excitement.
Some part of you
tries to defeat it,
but you can't keep from
Dancing.
-Smiles and head bobs
-beaming all blissful
winning his smile-dimples-cheeks rosed
with every,
single,
movement.


There is a thin line between
seeing and living
so thin that the former is often
mistaken for the latter,
especially in those with
a degree of imagination and -
large egos (the "empathetic").
But seeing is not living,
seeing can cause one
to change course.
But living
always leads to the
same end.

A Taxpayer's dilemma

Our eyes never meet in this
season of this climate.
Not for sake of politeness
but for sake of danger,
like Londoners avoiding dogshit
Junior High students' their shame
or Venetians a wet shoe
we tread this sidewalk in peril.
-A shuffle to keep
from broken hipped hobbles
-A nervous half step
to keep from plummeting
Its not for lack of tenderness
we miss greetings,
but a cities' lack of sand.

(possibly unfinished)

I spent the day
in and out of small shops
in the old quarter.
-dry concrete darkened by
time and car exhaust
framing each door way.

Doors always open,
always dark within-
for the odd lighting
of many lightbulbs
with low powered wattage
-cant compare with the sun.

But inside
a marvel of color
a mountain of trinkets
and that pashmina
intricately patterned, soft
and elegant.

But each a different quality, that only the touch
of fingers on fabric
can judge.

When we came to the shop with the softest
most beautiful
we haggled and pretended to refuse,
but really our ruse and his
were played for the part,
for pretending you're not interested
is more than half the art.

Now I see my print and color
wrapping the racks at Target,
but compare your cheap and easy
to my epic prize won adventuring
through silk road markets,
and you will find yourself wanting.

What love is not

I once believed I could fall in love with anyone

Practiced it,

Perfected it,

Found myself directionless

For each new scent was the next I would follow

And when bested by insecurity,

always a new love tomorrow.

Hermenegildo Thurgood (August 09)

Most would find it to be the most ironic twist of fate, a doom beyond the norm, a man and natural made calamity. But Hermenegildo Thurgood (Hermes for short) could only laugh, for his predicament was in his eyes entirely self created.

Some years back Hermes had the bright idea to share his body with the needy of the world. Recent advances in medicine had allowed him to donate all the secondary body parts to which he was no doubt accustomed to using but which in existence seemed redundant and greedy to him to retain, as if a second arm were a thing to spare, he spared them. The entirety of his left leg, left testicle, a portion of his liver, a portion of small intestine, 1 kidney, 1 lung, the entirety of his left arm removed at the shoulder, one ear complete with all the hearing components needed, one eye, and perhaps most absurdly one half of his remaining teeth. This last donation even bothered the medical professionals in that it was absolutely unnecessary due to the prominence of false teeth in the world. The other gifts the surgeons took willingly for there was a shortage and a war going on and if the organs and parts were given willingly then no one could complain about the ethics for it was a hard time… everyone had to make do without. To top this Hermes told several of the doctors who had seemed more reluctant that he was dying of some rare disease that none of them bothered to look up but which magically did not affect the coveted areas of his body.

This was the reason Hermes laughed.

For he had spent very little time in this newly adjusted body, and light as it was the strain of adjusting had put a damper on his brain. The doctors had said he had had a stroke sometime the evening before. The paralysis appeared to run lengthwise down the right side of his body, the only side of his body.
Most men would cry.
Hermes laughed.


******************************************
I woke up thinking about this.

I tried to write a poem, but no poem would come
so I remained in bed lusting after one
and as the language of sex replaced the language of love
I realized that words were a little less fun
than our vision of them.

Advice to the New (July 2009)

Like in all relationships or with all
People, you must find a shared language
A common perspective

Otherwise he will approach
Given his circumstances, his
Motivations and assumptions

As will you

And find a barrier where
Your words meet

Eyes and tone
Grins and giggles
Gestures and the unspoken

Will collide

Perhaps creating divisions where
Bridges were meant to be

Misunderstandings
Become tragedies

Missed connections
Disparities

Regret and confusion

Resentment
Guilt, shame
and temptation.



***************************
Spacing will be screwed up just for you!

when will you come home

Why have you not yet come home to me?
I assume you share these daydream “memories” that feel so real but must be fantasies, that must be reflections of our time spent in dreams, that must be reflections of our time spent in alternative realities, where we are not far apart but running our fingers through each other’s hair, and wondering where our other hand should go, knowing full well the other wouldn’t mind, but perhaps waiting to be invited again, each new caress from you is heaven’s gate opening, a warmth in my heart that comes from you sharing, an expansion of love that comes from your caring, enough to command me to make us one body, and it feeling so natural I wonder what could ever call me to take my own shape again, and what keeps you from finding me, here I am, waiting unable to do anything fulfilling with my other hand.


***********************************************************
I had to go and make this one awkward.

Trouble Sleeping

There are nights when I want to stay up forever.
this might be one of them,

I laid in bed fantasizing, each new vision
excited me more for life than the last

this was how I met you
stories not shared with the children,

this was our vacation,
events not captured on camera

this was the story you wrote me
how ensnared, I was, waiting for the next chapter

this was how I kept you
how grateful I was for that

this is how I remember you
on nights like these, my memories never seem to let up.

I wonder how many words I will use to describe us,
How many battlefields created and on display,
How many body parts torn asunder,
How many emotions spilt to waste away

Yet are we not entangled still
With your word, my mood can change as well
With your smile my stomach stills
With your hug my day is brightened

They still describe us,
Us as in inseparable, though separate we’ve been
They still note our calm demeanor
And awe at each comforted gesture

And don’t the phone calls mimic their words?
Aren’t we better off in concert
Though with claws we sometimes grasp
Do we not still hold each other’s hearts together?

Concerted Concerns

Mostly I find this outfit suitable

I wonder if I could count down the number of sneezes
till this cold is gone. And if its allergies, till this body is.

My nose winces
the smell of metals and chemical burns
expired medicine lathered on my skin.

I read a book today
That told me to go find a mentor
Go find a community, go live my learning
I haven’t found my way past the door yet

My finger tips remember the orange they peeled
My front teeth remember the first bite
My mind recalls the shock
My eyes envision a thousand
More, dry oranges?

I’m waiting for your car to arrive,
2 hours and counting, but right now I’ll bet its sitting in your drive way
Warming in the sun, I wonder if it gets bored with the scenery,
If it notices the changing petals,
if it pants in an exhausted way
All the exhaust away

Romeo Spends His Time Alone

In all the stories and fairy tales they never mention the impact on the body when star crossed lovers collide. Longing and distance bring distaste and aches, but each caress is supposed to be like coming home,
and the fleeting moments send shivers down the spine,
and the anticipation brings butterflies which flutter like fairies,
whimsically dancing.

Not knots, not panic, not the dizziness of being at sea in a storm,
not the thought disruption of that truly awful seas sickness.
and it leaves me wondering
shouldn't one have to forsake the land to feel this

If I had met you in India I could have blamed it on the food, the weather, the water, the heat, the mosquitoes which carry that queasiness to land from the sea, and make the noblest and strongest of men plead for casual caress.
Comfort my needs.

Though my stomach is weak, I've rarely experienced such upset.
Makes me wonder if we are truly meant,
or if my stomach is telling my heart and mind to repent.
Let the tides be the judge.

Divine Intervention (Summer 2009)

The other day in my haste
and ecstasy, I proclaimed in my car
or rather thought loudly
That such potential was overwhelming
excited, I listed the hypothetical
possibilities, a list that seemed
to grow with time
and that time, pushed
out the thought in the back of
my mind, the one that said the
list of your humility and desire
to help ought to be longer.
and for this I was dealt, a
death blow, or so it seemed
the morning after found me
on my knees (in front of a toilet)
leaving me with nothing grand to ponder or praise
and nothing (except regret) in my stomach

4 poem/ideas from the coffee shops (May 2, 09)

Avidity

Bri told me to be fickle
to move on, on a whim, when
things got too close, too tough
or just boring

I spent the day getting to
know you through a book you
read once, that was the only
hint I got and I consumed it
willfully interested, excited
My desire barely waning.

My report was brief
Yours was too. Stressed and sick,
simply "I'll see you tomorrow."
Clearly though my life seemed
on hold (even though it wasn't)
Yours was not (and it wasn't).

Your City

There is a picture of a city on the wall.
Though I don't think its my city, maybe its yours.
There is a river or harbor
perhaps you ferried across one day as a child with your
father, perhaps your strolled along
the banks as a teen with your friends, each daring another
to do dumb exciting things, dangerous exciting things. Perhaps
as a young adult, your lover took you there, kissed you
there, took you there.
Your hair probably smelled like the water all damp with the wind's embrace and exuberance.
The picture is all olive and brownish gray
not quite the color of your skin and hair
but close
-and the highlights of turquoise?
They are 150 percent entirely the half second dazzle
in your eyes, the one that escapes so quickly
camouflaged in the grays of the city.


Nine

I'm in a coffee shop full of men
their heads
like mine
bent over work, books and laptop computers.
Yet eager to jerk in the direction of a
passing blond
(Her arm firmly entangled with the
man she walked by with)
Their disappointment is so settled and steady
that you can hardly see a change
as if a life time of side glances
from women walking by is all they
had ever attracted
relaxed in our despair, the similarities
are hard to find
8 hunchbacked men
and I, make nine.

Lake Street Divide

Somehow over the border
lies crime and frustration
danger, impatience
I wonder what besides the highway that passes above
paints the divide,
it couldn't be as simple as the foreign lettered signs
for despite the increase they lie on both sides.
Couldn't be a lack of homes for they are
numerous and plenty seem to be to spare
[Locked up with signs that say "Foreclosed"
I wonder which frangrance hits the heart first
the smell of disrepair and vacancy or
that of despair at being forced to leave]
Businesses seem to thrive,
community centers and parks full.
Yet every night there seems to be no moment left dull,
flashing lights bounce from wall to wall
like a discotheque minus the ball and dancing.
No sirens despite the alarm
(I assume its too much to remind them of their constant presence
without seeming to do harm)
What is this invisible wall
besides the 15 extra police cars that seem constantly on call?

Mentor (April 2009)

I guy once tried to teach me how to eat pussy

Something about making a person just slightly uncomfortable,

…sweeping them off their feet, then diving right in

and I wonder,

Does this make him a mentor?

If I had been less embarrassed

and more able to pay attention

I am sure I would be a stronger person today.

Instead my red face died in laughter,

tried in laughter to say I’m young and unready

But I did learn from him.

A giant intimidating, man among men, bar fights and sexcapades

Yet an artist, a potter

his trade, his love distanced

Had I met a man so lonely and less able to express it? Yet when he told me, how much he missed me, in embarrassed undertones but direct, my heart sank.

Sexist jokes and other forms of willful ignorance and other forms of forced disrespect to show who was in and who was not

Don’t dare compare to lonely strangers embracing, regardless of your political correctness.

Putting trust in a strangers’ purchase of “fruit punch”

that turns out to be fruit punch,

because he wants you to tag along…

somehow turns creepy back alley bars, pimps, prostitutes and drug dealers

into shared possibilities to acknowledge

all people are worthy.

… Something about making a person just slightly uncomfortable,

sweeping them off their feet, then diving right in.

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This will have spacing issues.