Wraith

These were originally intended as song lyrics, but they serve a much better purpose as poetry. (That and I can’t write a song worth a damn.)

Tags: lyrics, Poetry, songs

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I was encouraged by a friend of mine to take up song-writing. While I can’t say I’m a musician by any stretch, music does run in my family. For example brother has honed his piano skills with the help of that ol’ gene.

Mine…well…let’s just say that particular helix is underdeveloped. Or in a state of hibernation.

Said friend told me to come up with lyrics and the basic melody, and he’d help me flesh out the rest.

When I was at work one day, I got a tune in my head. The following day, I jotted the lyrics down. Took about an hour. Day after, I revised the lyrics after getting a few pointers.

Thanksgiving Day? I mooched my mother’s piano to practice the melody. My brother and cousin sat watching my kindergarten-line attempts to flesh it out. Snickering.

They were right to do so. The tune - while pretty - sounded off with the lyrics. Plus, I had a nudging sense of doubt. A day later, I realized what was bothering me.

The melody I thought I devised for the piece was to the tune of VNV Nation’s “Beloved”.

Beautiful song, but not my song.

Ugh.

So, back to the drawing board, I go. However, here are the lyrics for your viewing pleasure. I like how they turned out for the most part.

Hrm…maybe it’ll work as simple poetry.

Damn, still thinking out loud.

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The road I took to sign my fate,

It bleeds away like a leech.

Looking on but I can’t see straight,

Peace of mind seems out of reach.

I try to focus.

Nothing to see.

Siren chorus.

Something guiding me.

Where are you, my diligence?

I misplaced you long before.

Coupled with my countenance,

Show this coward to the door.

I long for silence.

Deafen the screams.

Verbal violence.

Tear me at the seams!

(1st Chorus)

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Something’s wrong with everything

When all my dreams subside.

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Longing for my belonging,

I still have my pride.

(End 1st Chorus)

Walking with a steady pace,

Head held high, resolve exposed.

My path defined, I will embrace.

Cancer-thoughts will be disposed.

Shun the masses.

Listen to me.

Favored passes.

Apples from the tree

(2nd Chorus)

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Waking to awakening,

This I will abide.

Who am I to hide?

To hide.

Savor precious severing,

I renew my stride.

(End 2nd Chorus)

(Repeat of 1st Chorus, Higher Octive)

Tags: lyrics, Poetry, song

My Trip to Ireland…In Limerick Form

In early 2006 I went on a vacation to Ireland. Several people - mainly relatives - wanted a detailed play-by-play of my adventures. I promise I would concoct something, but no matter how many times I tried, the task seemed too daunting.

So, I took the easy way out.

I put it to poetry.

Sorta.

MARCH 3RD:

I got off work at seven in the morn.
In two hours, I would be heaven borne.
I could not find sleep,
Where were those damn sheep?
I sat in my small seat forlorn.

My derriere started to give way
Due to my fifteen-hour day.
With all of that sitting
One felt like shitting,
But on a plane toilet, I will not lay.

MARCH 4th:

Dublin is a really odd town,
Where tourists flock on the ground.
If you’re tired as hell,
You will not fair well,
And seek to be homeward bound.

Thank God for the drink that is stout,
It alleviated my continuous pout.
The tour of Guinness
Got rid of my grimace.
Now I’m stumbling around like a lout.

MARCH 5th:

I gallivanted around Dublin City,
No longer feeling quite so shitty.
I hopped on a few tours,
And avoided the lures,
Of pubs that looked far too gritty.

Since I have no internal compass,
I got lost in the Temple Bar fuss.
As if spotting rare jewelry,
I stumbled upon a brewery,
And donned my crafted beer truss.

MARCH 6th:

Ah, the wonderful city that is Cork,
Irish-ness I could eat with a fork!
Now free of Dublin,
My trip could begin.
And finances, I would not bork.

I sampled a stout they call Beamish,
Not once did I feel a bit squeamish.
It went down quite smooth.
A thirst, it did soothe.
In contrast of Guinness’ ream-ish.

MARCH 7th:

Before you, my highlights of the day:
A butter museum, a gaol, wa-hay!
I got lost but felt swell,
Saw the Franciscan Well;
A microbrewery I found on the way.

A small note ’bout how the Irish break fast,
Pudding, eggs, and rashers at long last!
Oh, the food I did try,
Brings a tear to me eye,
How I wish the time had not passed!

A quick anecdote about my time in Cork, one that would be quite difficult to put in limerick form. I went to a church called St. Anne’s and rang the bell. However, to ring the bell, one has to go up a very narrow flight of stairs…in a small tower. I did so.

After pulling the ropes and hearing the loud chimes, I figured “what the hell,” I’d continue up the rest of it. The view of Cork from the top of the tower was breathtaking. Pictures were taken, but getting back down was a chore.

A flock of green-clad schoolgirls herded their way up the tower stairs, blocking my egress. When I finally made it down, the doorman looked at me oddly. I nodded in return.

“Enjoy the sites?” he asked.

“Yeah, but getting back down was tough,” I said. “My path was blocked by schoolgirls.”

“Oh, so you were in your element, eh?” he replied, giving me a knowing grin.

“Oh, nononono! To young! To young!” I countered frantically.

“Suuure, they are.”

Mind you, this conversation happened in the MIDDLE OF A CHURCH!

End of anecdote.

MARCH 8th:

Killarney was my third destination,
And a product of my procrastination.
I was in a bit of a bind,
For tours, I couldn’t find
To a castle in another part of the nation.

I visited a tower house called Ross,
I must admit I was at a bit of a loss.
My tour guide was British,
And I was quite skittish.
She was hot, and my heart turned to sauce.

March 9th:

I took a tour of the grand Ring of Kerry,
And our tour bus had a guest oh-so-merry!
A dog had stowed away,
In the back seat at play,
And away from sheep, him, I did ferry.

March 10th:

I made it to that damn castle in Blarney,
Three full hours away from Killarney.
I kissed that damn stone,
Upside down with a groan,
And my bus ticket fell out of my harnie*

* Made-up word for harness actually a jacket pocket. Couldn’t find anything that rhymed with Killarney.

The rest of my trip was a bit of a blaze;
Galway, the Midlands, Dublin in a haze.
I visited relatives,
And no superlatives
Will be made of my joy for those days.

Tags: Ireland, limerick, naughty, Poetry, vacation

Ode to Kiwis

ODE TO KIWIS

Albeit fruit or flightless bird,

Scant larger than a turd,

Whether brightly orange or spritely yellow,

A citrus snack or feathered fellow,

Both bring joy at different turns-

Quenched cuteness anyone yearns.

How one could wish for - in their hand -

A little friend not quite so bland.

In the interim I’ll settle on this,

A plushie muskrat for short-lived bliss.

Tags: bird, fruit, kiwi, Poetry

An Ode to Geek Chicks

AN ODE TO GEEK CHICKS

There exists in rare doses,
Those cut from an ornate fabric so priceless,
That to utter the name or title
Would barely cover the grace.

Women etched from the finest marble
Who know what it means to speak
In a language invented
From the mind of a novelist.

Feminine figures fused with scholars
Who drink from a chalice reserved
For those oft considered
Outcasts of the norm.

Girls that change roles,
Estrogen in combat,
To the mind’s eye
Nothing dares meet its grandeur.

One who can outwit
A fictional creature
With nary a sweat as the
Die is cast in their favor.

Maidens of the stars
Who dream in novas
As vessels take flight
For parts unknown in the vast.

Virtual combatants swathed
In clothes reserved for men,
Spectacles donned
And opposable thumbs ready.

Oh, so rare a breed
To the public eye, yet
Existing and thriving
Beyond me…still shrouded.

Tags: geek, ode, Poetry, Women

Ode to Beer

ODE TO BEER

They call you nectar,
Nectar of the Gods,
Bringer of joy
And sorrow in
Equal turn.

They call you beverage,
Alcoholic beverage,
Liquid courage
Or chemistry in
Equal measure.

They call you evil,
Evilest of vices,
Killer of minds
And bodies in
Equal Time.

They call you center,
Center of the party,
Necessital
And pivotal in
Equal doses.

I call you delicacy,
Delicacy for the writer.
Wine’s bitter and dry
Palate is never
Your equal.

Tags: beer, good, Poetry

Illusory

ILLUSORY

Irradiant,
Upon the shoreline
Before the rise
Of the sun.
Who goes there?

Incandescent,
Upon the streets
Before the noon glow
Of the sky.
Whom do I see?

Iridescent,
Upon reeds of grass
Before the afternoon fade
Of overcast clouds.
Who is she?

Illuminated,
Upon the foliage
Before stars take reign
Of the darkened shroud.
Why is she here?

Illusory,
Upon the mind
Before sleep grabs hold
Of the weary-eyed man.
Was she even real?

Tags: phantom, Poetry, Women

Gynophobia

GYNOPHOBIA

Drenched in sweat
As she approaches.
A gulp…
A yelp…
A whimper…

Silence exits the maw
As she twirls hair strands.
A blink…
A twitch…
A mumble…

Words form in the mind,
But no verbal palate constructs.
A shake…
A tick…
A quiver…

She gives the motion for
“Come hither” with one lithe finger.
A trip…
A step…
A stumble…

I make a B-line for the bathroom
Head down, eyes ahead, pace quick.
A sigh…
A curse…
A what-if…

Tags: fear, Poetry, scary, Women

Ahasverus

AHASVERUS

My heart,
It threatens to stop.
Why now?
It can’t be now!
Mustn’t forget my path.
And I have only
Begun.

The streets
Are dark and empty.
Should I wait?
I can’t see!
Can’t hear either.
And I don’t have
Much time.

The stars,
They said follow them.
Should I still?
They led me back!
Need to keep moving.
This road should end
Soon enough.

Oh Jerusalem,
To see you again.
Has it been so long?
How long it’s been!
Wished never to return.
A thousand years have
Passed me by.

My skin
Is shedding, farewell to-
Who am I?
This is mine!
Hands are blood-caked.
I’m young, unwounded, but
This old flesh…

Tags: Jew, Poetry, Wandering

Tea Thyme

TEA THYME

Caffeine for

The morning’s advent,

Awakening to all

That awaits.

Echinacea for

The noontime cycle,

Averting ailments

That hinder.

Ginkgo for

The midday spirit,

Awareness of all

That entails

Ginseng for

The evening mood,

Awash of somberness

That did passed.

Chamomile for

The day’s zenith,

Alleviation of all

That transpired.

Tags: My Other Work, Poetry