For Lynn in Winter

The snows returned today, falling swiftly softly without sound
I stand here between the drifts, a holy sense that somehow surrounds
the silence is absolute as if the world has become hallowed ground
for it is Lynn in winter that I miss now like a fever in this white
memories of what once was fill me, the cold chill of seasonal night
where is my raven red haired lass out here amidst all this light?

The Age of reason is gone, now that ideologies are to be recast,
the tragedies of life, love, and loss- the fatal fallacy of dying to fast
I challenged it all, ignoring all understandings I shared with the past.
I am looking for the Lynn in winter, before it's too late, unforgiven
I am waiting for the moments of passion, the struggles to be striven
the fading smile, the reluctant denial, the desperate days driven.

The cold is all that I have come to accept, the chills are all I know,
like the ice that is found in my soul, the scented smell of fallen snow,
like the drops of tears turned to icicles frozen during the downward flow.
I must move or die, the lack of warmth freezing my utmost desires
the embers of love, the ashes of heartbreak, the death of our fires
I look for Lynn in winter, but she is gone along with all I admired.

This is what my life has come to...

This is what my life has come to, year after year....
taking my mother grocery shopping while discussing underwear.
Watching my fellow Americans with shopping carts come and go
with junk food and 8 packs of coke waddling and wading to and fro
arguing about politics even though they'll never vote anyway
spending credit on nothing that amounts to anything all day.

This is what my life has come to, week after week...
living alone, unable to find another woman, to whom I want to speak
no one who isn't married or in a relationship that is "serious"
this is modern romance, no talking, just texting, so delirious!
watching the lovers walk hand in hand, but only on the movie screen
Facebook status updates, it's complicated or somewhere vaguely in between.

This is what my life has come to day after long day...
writing out the same old poetry like I have nothing left to say.
Watching TV shows with relationships that I can only dream of
taking online quizzes, trolling dating websites, looking for love.
And sex doesn't even come into it anymore than I can look for porn
something has been lost and I don't even remember for what I should mourn.

This is what my life has come to hours after hour...
Well, it is time to go back to bed, right after a long cold shower.
I will drop down into sleep, after a prayer or two for my soul to keep.
Perhaps my Jane will stop me from the precipice, that lover's leap.
For when I do have to awaken, I will have to face another share
of taking my mother shopping, discussing our underwear!

Wyrds

Wynd thru spaces places races around me, can you see
sometymes I feel the age of rayne the situations of payne
the darkness falling soft movement like flying up the swell
a bubble of sound exposing out into waves around the vast
abyssssss-ness that fallacy of words the at you mind will
try to correct even as I write them wrong wat is real
is this how i want you to feel about the things that I am
tellin you to see feel falling faster than snow drifts sliding
down the mountains of dreams like the coasters drayning to
the seas of madness that are filled with the felling of rads
everythings that is bads -I find I can now scream the dreams that
crowd my bed gray mist sheets suffocating the blindness
of light suffocating the suggestions that life is not filled
with the strife of breathing underwater fog a clog in my
system ram bam cram the blockage bass beat retreat that's
neat now the cykle is done, am I complete?

Tennessee Krud

I got the Krud Blues

I won't be in today

just gonna stay outa the way

let every body know

that I am gonna be a no show

hope I get to feelin' better

as chipper as a irish setter

so staying home for a fews

cuase I gots the Tennessee blues.

All I wanted for Christmas...

All that I wanted was to be able to fall into sweet slumber some sleep
all that I wished for was to drift down deep and dream of sheep.
All that I found was the oppressive bleakness the sky so very gray
that Christmas came tromping by without a heyho or much else
to say.

All that I had hoped for was the love of family and those of friends
all that I got was the well wishing that this season always portends.
All that I received was my own mistaken perceptions of endless guilt
carefully laid brick by brick upon the house that misery has built.

All that I found was a morbid roaming sense of wakeful despair
Not that I really knew what I wanted, not that I should really care.
No snow has fallen on this last and all too silent of holy nights,
so many tears, so many fears, so many ways to sink to new heights.

This is when miracles can happen, when all hope seems lost, 
when the truth comes into the light, when you understand the cost.
If you are willing to face your own demons, admit your weakness, atone
All I wanted for Christmas was to feel less then all alone.

Aftermath

After the war, I went home except there was no house left.
When I asked about it, they shook their heads and said
"Where were you? If you had been here- this wouldn't
have happened."
I smell the ash, the looks of misunderstanding, not that
they would know why I couldn't have stayed nor why
now I know I shouldn't have come back home.
After the war, I went back to walk the roads of my youth
hoping to find something I had thought I lost but only to
find I had abandoned it as surely as I had given up any
hope that the loves and passions that consumed my
childhood would could remain as the winds blew away
what little is left of those memories.
After the war, I returned to what I had only believed that
I had known but discovered instead that I had always been
a stranger among the people who I would have called family
neighbors or friends. I feel the scorn of their collective pain
as I walk away without the answers that I had longed for
from my past.
After the war, just walk away from all that you thought you were
fighting and dying for, the future is not littered with the bodies of
past regret.
There are no winners in war, only the losers who have died,
those that survived, there are no solutions just the resolution
that we probably forgot what all the fighting was for.

Dalliance

A familiar sense of boredom permeates the afternoon laze from sunlight
filtering down through the blinds reaching out with dust moted strands
to tickle at my subconscience. Did I forget what I came in here for or
was there something more? More than whatever I came looking for.
Nonchalance, I pretend to not have dropped into a braindead state of
mindlessness followed by the ghosts of regret, neglect, hardly as
satisfying as anything that substantially sufficient I suspect.

Was I worth the trouble- for all the reasons that made him choose to
become absent from this picture that I hold now close to my heart
or maybe my soul, the echoes of outliving those who fill the spaces
between the furniture and plants, chances of collision coagulating like
my scattered thoughts trying to seperate the memories from the clot
that has become my past torn asunder from the agony that comes from
the silence filling the room, suffering in my self-imposed sense of doom.

Something niggles at the back of my thoughts like a strand of gray hair
turning silver in the breeze that causes a rush through the hall as if to
remind me to stop and then to recall that the feeling of loss drives me
to break from the melancholic daze that pushed me to my beleaguered
feet, now I have returned here in the warm delusions that surround me
with the visions promising the idea that the dreams that were once so
very sweet, like the touch of his hand on my cheek, I am again complete.