every morning i rise,
these old bones past their time.
i can smell the air of the wharfs,
and the trolleys with their chimes.

i have some trouble with the hills,
sloping in such varying degrees.
i try my best to keep going,
at my back keeping the breeze.

i've seen many presidents,
and fought in a couple of wars.
now i take morning walks,
and visit the endless stores.

there's something only this city,
is able to allay.
which is why i awake every day,
and walk down to The Bay.

The Siren

hark!, a mermaid,
there in the distance!
ride on harder,
she's in need of assistance!

oh!, her auburn hair,
gleaming in the sun,
captivating the crew,
whose hearts become undone.

a first love for us all,
a freshness in our breast,
this is where the joy begins
and where our sadness is laid to rest.

ahoy!, that maiden isn't fair!
she is a succubus, with unkempt hair!
on closer inspection, a beast is she!
casting us to doom - not setting us free!

because i only have myself
to put may faith in to,
the others do not understand,
the others just like you.

we all have problems -
shit we have to solve,
but mine are never ceasing,
like a kaleidoscope they evolve.

can't my life just stop,
for one blissful day?
with no expectations,
and no one to obey?

stop the endless cycle,
the maelstrom in my chest,
i don't want to live this way,
i don't want to be depressed.

all the answers i seek
become elucidated
in this stream of conscience state
where the wind is blowing through my ears
like a battle flag
on some countryside's ramparts
before a bloody battle ensues
and takes the lives of thousands of men
who i can not relate to.

quiet lonely midnights
radio emitting soft jazz
and low wattage bulbs
washing your bedroom
like the streetlamp
that beams on to the street below.

when the sun returns
it brings with it noises,
birds of the morning,
cars commuting to
their everyday prisons,
and a bright light
that penetrates you.

enter the day,
but await midnight,
where there is no noise
or violating light,
just silence and darkness
that envelops your world
and swallows your soul whole.

welcome to my memory
where there are no trees
or flowers or exotic beings
but simply harsh winds
and an unforgiving landscape.

this is a selective memory,
that i'm forced to dwell on
time and time again,
despite wishing to rid it
from my mind for eternity.

on the horizon is a lone figure,
a shadow against the blood red sky,
underneath a foreboding tree
that is bereft of lush green leaves
and leans to one side like a noose.

my insides have a way of crying,
where my stomach is a bloated bag
and my heart drops in to my intestines
as everything from my throat
all the way down to my hips
becomes a gigantic scrambled mess.

it is emotional pain that i cannot share,
except in a few select words and lines
that somehow find their way here
for eyes that even i am not aware,
and hearts i never knew existed.

invisible persons inspecting my soul
will not find treasure in this maze,
but will be doomed to explore it evermore,
always taking the wrong turns,
in this scrambled mess that is me.

why are you in my dreams,
having secret crushes on me,
and acting excited to see me?

why are you in my dreams,
and what are these emotions?
and what is my subconscious saying?

why are you in my dreams,
i shouldn't be dreaming of you,
you don't even like me in real life.

why are you in my dreams,
and why - in that state of being,
do i love you?

i hated a lot of things about high school,
from the popularity contests to the drama,
to the constant lack of a girlfriend,
to the daunting task of finding friends at lunch.

i hated how i never went to a school dance,
and knew as a freshman i wouldn't go to prom.
all my old friends grew away from me,
and towards drugs and alcohol.

i hated the overwhelming crushes i'd get,
and the fact that i never had confidence in myself.
i could never be myself there,
where expectation collides with reality.

then, on my graduation night,
walking down the rows of people,
all of which i knew,
and some of which were my friends,
i thought:

i kind of like high school,
and smiled.
if only that had happened
four years earlier.

it wasn't fair in that cul de sac,
because i was the only lefty,
and i always hit it in the trees.

no matter how hard i tried,
it always went the same way,
"stephen's up, move to the trees!"

that was years ago,
with people i don't even know now,
and who have gone a different direction in life.

i may be short-minded,
and i may be overly critical -
but atleast i know where i'm going to hit the ball.

atleast i know,
where i'm going in life.

away from wherever it is they're headed.

sunny days wear me out
with all the kids at the pool,
cookouts, baseball,
and the jingaling of the ice cream man.

i like rainy ones much more,
with all the gray clouds,
pitter, patter,
and no one making noise.

safe harbor is indoors,
and only a foolish child
would dare play in such weather
that would surely give you a cold.

i enjoy it while i can,
for tomorrow returns the jingaling.
i wonder if the ice cream man hates sunny days,
since he can't get that damn jingle out of his head.

WEBSTER calls it
a series of rhythmic and patterned bodily movements usually performed to music
please,
don't make me laugh.

what does WEBSTER know
about what dance truly is?
about the spiritual chakra
that acts as an ignition?

when's the last time you danced?
probably too long ago,
for fear of embarrassment or humiliation
or simply not knowing what to do, well

JUST MOVE!
what does WEBSTER know?
'patterned' my ass -
move your body with your mind,

and the natural dance will follow.
it can be to any song really -
so long as it stirs you inside,
shaking up your chakra.

The blood spills onto the floor
and clashes with the puddle of tears
that has already formed by their feet
in the shape of a dragon poised to fly
them all away from this horror,
this abomination that has no name
but still strikes fear in to their hearts
as though it were the devil itself
and wanted nothing more than to torture
and torment all who stood in its way,
regardless of their convictions
or prior acts of sin and malice
that were in all probability accidental
and careless by human nature
which is in and of itself a fickle thing
that bounces from one day being black
to one day being white like the sun
which if you stare at for too long
will cause you to become dizzy and faint
like those who have been crying for years.

Look at me,
I'm a ghost,
a whisper,
a fragment,
a memory probably forgotten,
a lone shoe whose lost its matching pair,
an ugly shirt you claim isn't yours,
a small name in the endless rolling credits that one person will see and read but later forget,
a flower that sprouts despite the odds,
I am.

The summer is unhealthy for a person such as me,
who is not acclimated to its harsh requirements.
Memories begin to float in with ease,
like the birds and insects that emerge with the weather.

Thoughts of loneliness and solitude
mingle with broken hearts
in a stew that boils and spits,
waiting to be cooled by the winter.

The overhaul of this emotion
is accompanied by blooming flowers,
family cookouts, and beach vacations.
But I see none of that.

My heart keeps tugging against fate,
against the future,
towards a path of the past that is gone,
and never to return again.

I think one day,
when I stop returning here,
my heart will abandon
the iron grip of the summer.

come ballroom dancing with me.
spend hours putting on makeup,
and more picking out the right dress,
while i try my best to look good,
or atleast as good as on our wedding night.

the tiled floors hazily reflecting dancers,
the ornate chandeliers showering us with glowing light,
and music playing that was made by men long dead.
won't you join me, even if neither of us can dance?
if only for a brief moment of romance at its pinnacle?

the facade we construct for the evening,
gives me a sense of satisfaction and glee.
i know when we return home, and undress,
and you wipe off your makeup and take off your jewelry,
you will still be the same woman,
that i just went ballroom dancing with.

many people i know are going to die soon,
the reaper inching closer like a summer's rain.
some have escaped a few times already,
but their reflexes and agility are diminishing.

after they die, more will follow suit,
until those closest to me are stripped away.
one by one i will lose all i've ever known,
until i am left with only myself.

thus, if i am to live alone,
i wish to remember those countless who've died
in a bright, positive light,
even if my memory begins to corrode.

the living become the dead,
and the dead become memories.
memories die with the passing of the living,
the only last link holding the dead to our world.

so while i'm living, and while you are too,
shall we do our best to remember the dead?
it is their only form of existence in the world,
for once thoughts of them are gone, they disappear forever.

spain looks like a lot of fun,
i presume about as much as italy was.
that trip where i made friends for a week,
with people i wouldn't talk to ever again
for we were far too different
to exchange words at school.
but you are different,
and you will be quiet for a time,
before your curiosity likely takes hold,
and another chapter ends,
while another begins.

i place confidence in you,
along with a few other things,
for while this is entirely speculation,
i'd like to think of you still
as a guiding inspiration for me,
as well as my poetic mind,
for no matter how many thousands
upon thousands of miles away you are
you will eternally hold a small place in my mind,
and - perhaps surprisingly - an even smaller one in my heart.

paris france, lost in the woods, and 8am computer programming

i remember the soap bubbles
on the screens of the computers
and the one friend i always had
in every computer class i took

i remember yearbook signing day
feeling so alone and left out
because i couldn't ask the simplest of things
not even to some of my friends

at a baseball park many years ago
my teammates and i made fun of you
but i can see now you're a fine man
and that you were then, too

i'm particularly upset at you
the ex i never had
for blowing me off my sensitive perch
down to the rocky terrain

you gave me a hope i'd never known
one that perhaps went to my head
and inflated me to uncharted heights
of doubtful expectations

my life is the same
it hasn't changed pace that much
in many ways i'm still stuck on yearbook day
with no one to talk to, waiting for the lonely summer