Poems

I Have Seen The Best Minds Of My Generation Destroyed By Madness

Too many people stomping around—
fractured herds mucking the rivers,
shitting the highways,
killing the grass.
They think they know when they don’t.

They rode lame in a hot race and wept when their HellCat lost.
Now they cry from twit-faces in their concrete castles filled with Eisenhower plastic,
drowning their DTs in anger
and lamenting that their cultivated habits didn’t make them rich.

Money for the populace is the reason Owners obsess over property and selfhood.
They muck the rivers,
shit the highways,
kill the grass,
and count their dollars made of starvation, suicide, failure, death—
Illusion.

Dusty professors moan that I speak Ginsberg—
tragedy reduced to numbers big as vagina
while the world riots to muck the rivers…
eating the life from their own butchered bodies
and lamenting that their cultivated habits still don’t make them rich.

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Photos, Writing

Come and Visit

The other day I found a treasure of old photos, some of my old blog posts I’d saved on Microsoft Word, and a plethora of unfinished poetry. Since then, I’ve been rescuing my blog posts and adding them to my site. As many of you know, I deleted those old posts years ago and I’ve regretted it. Not everything from those files is well written—I wince a lot when I read my old stuff—but it’s all a record of who I was and the growth and changes I’ve gone through.

I think I miss most the comments from my followers. Those are gone forever.

Anyway, I’ve been plugging those holes, rebuilding the past. Lots of old poems, art and photographs to look at. And more on the way.

So stop by, leave comments at my About page, and don’t be a stranger.

I’ll end now with a sunset photo at a lake near my home. A perfect place to collect my thoughts and find peace.

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Poems

When I Came With You (Revisited)

It was here one night
among white blossoms and junipers
that we lay touching
while the rest of the world
snored in their small beds

We breathed frost words to breezes on branches
breathing deeply in the deep woods
with no earthly destination
hidden behind the pulse of dawn
throbbing on a trigger’s touch

You were delicate incense I lit alone

In silence
my fingers found the sweep of stars on bare skin—
a house-warmth murmur of Christmas gold when you breathed

You were a bird
whose only cry came in color in the company of starlight
whistling up the violets
in a garden wilderness of dawn’s yellow daylight
flowering into streaming pinks
and fleshed with rose petals when I came with you

Photo Credit:
 Meireles Neto

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Poems

The Poet

The boy who lost his mother gnarled like a bear—
tough bear he

But away from the bestial
he had softness in his eyes—
they laughed even when he and his words were sharp
and sometimes ambiguous

He showed the plumpness of his belly to his closest friends
and grunted like a pig and poet
laughing behind his scars
with eagerness to taste color from afar

He took from the sunglow like an artist hunched at his easel
and painted everyone—
even the ones who had no power to imagine

He painted deaf-mutes with love that ran down his breast
ripping chords from the constellations
and opening creation’s ingenious blindness
to music that volleyed beyond his art that transcended ages
and volleys still
in us all

Photo Credit:
 John Lennon

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Art

Farm Sky Painting

Forgive my excitement if it seems like I’m bragging, but I’m excited right now with my latest accomplishment. I love it when a painting I do ends up well. That doesn’t happen often. But I stayed focused all the way. I’m sure it was because of my huge crush on skies and farms and gorgeous sunsets.

Two views. Enjoy.

Poems

Car Hysteria (Seduction Revisited)

Earlier today
shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men
with sleek
fast
brand-new cars
that rubbed and kissed their trousers
and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness

Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats
where stale memories surfaced and breathed new air
striking deals in brown cubicles
under the breath of fresh coffee

What she feared most
kicked and scratched
and wanted to grow big enough to crawl
from the backseat of a yellow Pantera
and seduce her all over again
while her husband and she waited
for his father to sign the lease
as wordy as Shakespeare but lacking any color

She stayed away from the thing of her past
that once bit her crotch for the taste of her sex

Some memories are the turmoil
of a soul knotted like hair in vomit
where forlornness and tumultuousness sting

Photo Credits:
 Tiko Giorgadze
 Matt Glm

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Art

Elsie Gee Cartoons

I took a “Drawing Cartoons” class when I was a kid because I used to draw them in my school notebooks when I was supposed to be paying attention to my teachers. I was a big daydreamer. Luckily, ADD wasn’t a big social issue then, so I was able to adjust on my own without Big Pharma drugging the life out of me.

Still, habits can be hard to break. I doodled in my college notebooks, too.

Elsie Gee was a character born in my college notebooks, a spirited girl who got her name from my initials LCG. I copied the drawing style of one of my art teachers because I’m terrible drawing hands. His philosophy was “Keep It Simple.” It worked.

The three panels here are my favorites. They reveal the young woman I was… and my dependency on tracing paper, lol!

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