Thursday, December 14, 2006

Break it Down

If this is the afterglow of a summer’s eve of a setting sun,
The glare in the west blinds the both of us.
If I knew the way out of here, I’d grab a rocket, ride a comet’s tail,
The fastest way back to you.
But all I see is the aftermath with shattered promises like broken glass,
That’s cut the both of us clean on through.

The night has burnt out tomorrow’s sun,
The things you said we both now have become,
So this is the time we break it, break it down.
This is the time we break it, break it down.

If this is the aftermath of a hurricane that’s swept on through
As exhaustion takes both me and you,
If only a boat would find us here before undertow tires weary bones,
Where we’ll sleep with octopus and glowing fish.
But these waters are uncharted, barren under unknown stars,
And I’ve never been so out of breath with you.

The night has burnt out tomorrow’s sun,
The things you said we both now have become,
So this is the time we break it, break it down.
This is the time we break it, break it down.

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Sunday, November 19, 2006

Celebrity: Tom Cruise & Katie Holmes

I write a lot on celebrity excess and the vapid 'news' shows devoted to exposing the latest gossip. While this video doesn't qualify as poetry, it does poke fun at that issue, by showing what such a show would be like if the correspondents were talking birds.

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Thursday, November 16, 2006

Where You Been Hiding?

Down rabbit holes, in oaken wardrobes,
Prism cuts rainbow to take us, take us away.
Above the clouds, behind swirling shrouds,
A worm hole spirals to take us, take us away.

Under rock and dirt, to cavern concerts,
A whispered password takes us, takes us away.
Into black holes, and heavenly souls,
A rocket lifts off to take us, take us away.

A secret passage takes us away.
A twirling tornado will take us away.
A time machine to take us away.
Yellow submarine takes us away
A rift in space will take us away.
Rainbow refracts to take us away.


Notes:
Lyrics to a song I'm working on for my band Ours To Destroy.

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Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The Promised Land

So this is the promised land,
Where fire sears the sky at dusk
And shooting stars impend of doom.

So this is the land where milk and honey
Flow red to rage, as a storm ripping thunder
That surfs to your ears on rolling waves.

From here, in the most promised fields,
A wind howls ice that chills to the bone,
And all that's growing, heroic or craven,
Freezes, dead blue cold.

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Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Poetry? Why Now?

There's never been a better time for poetry:
  • Paris has fallen;
  • Anal bleaching is a respected trade;
  • Collagen and implants are an accepted gift for your daughter; and
  • Us, Now, Them, People.
Next (if they don't already exist) Them, They, Know...Skin Deep.

What is wrong with being serious on occasion? Debate? Thought?

Why does everyone hide behind a veil of insincerity?

The cynic in me wants to answer that last question: people don't want to think, if you make it low brow people listen. Election ads come to mind - attack the character of the candidate with outright lies and avoid all sincere discussion of the issues that actually matter.

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