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Howling Madly
Inkstains
One by one words fall From shaking fingers Inkstained by memories unsaid Written in a fading hand Unaware the pen has run out Scribbled on the back of envelopes Til the space is gone and the words remain Always the words remain Tattooed on the soul Inkstained memories burning with unlit passions And half contained madness Just trying to bleed through Until even your eyes are inkstained red From liquid tears splattering on the floor Leaving tearmark tragedies |
Howling Madly
Ghosts
I watch the mirror Expecting to see the ghosts of myself Each a little different Each still the same Grading me on the man I am becoming Each haunting with the girl, the boy, the changeling I was I watch expecting a glimmer of a different face But they are all me They are in my eyes Laughing and crying Watching the world as it changes around us |
I am not the road traveler
I am no Kerouac Though I know his ghost I am the mad eyed poet Forever lost Howling to a universe That does not know how to listen Banging my head against a wall of bureacracy Too scared to find the door I am not the underpaid overworked poor I am the man who lives on goverment checks And air A whole lot of air I am not the wandering lover I am the midnight whisper in the air The howl of ghost wolves on the wind The secret that only the stars know And only the moon will ever tell |
I have subscribed to this....You ARE very Kerouackian!! <smile>
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Burn, Burn, Burn
I know not what else to do I laugh at my own incompetence Delighting in my striking madness Dripping ink on pages typed by a typewriter Older then me by 50 years I listen to the sound the keys make Tap,,,tap,,,tap... ching Page after page after page Meaningless letters Go back through and correct With bitten up pencil And that G-d damned leaking pen Fingers stained with progress Or is it defeat Murdering innocent words Give up put it away in closet Use computer for a while then there's delete Don't change it now post direct Only form of courage is hitting send And even then it's mostly madness But madness given form Given breath though little depth No crime in being shallow As long as you admit Now where did I put that G-d damn leaking pen It's time to bang on the typewriter again |
I watch it drip
It's all I can smell Even the antiseptic doesn't overpower it It's a crimson that is beautiful I stare at it knowing it will stain Oh well that's what peroxide is for I lay back and turn on music Just a couple of hours I can handle it Just a couple of hours Glance at the clock Only 15 minutes done G-d I hate being confined like this If you call me princess one more time No I do not have a girlfriend yet Even if I did I wouldn't tell you Swallow down the near involuntary snarl of frustration Smile glance at clock Why the hell did I forget my computer Try to ignore the beeps Try to ignore the moans Try to ignore the smell Med time oh joy Nausea for another day Glance at clock Only 10 minutes left Okay I can handle that Pull the needles Damn but this always hurts But I've had worse Tape me up Leave trying to ignore small talk Oh it's finally light Thank G-d I have a full day off Then I go back To ignore the copper scented hell again |
Sit on the shore
Water lapping at my feet Watching the wind change the water Lay back palm fronds whispering Close eyes Ignore the call of gulls Nap a bit Get up stretch run Splashing in the water Dry off and leave Just another day in paradise |
Rain
Drip...drip...drip Falling down from sobbing heavens Crying for a world that knows not how to grieve Drip...drip...drip Splattering on the sidewalk Tearstains of the earth Drip...drip...drip Endless suffering pain |
Howling Madly
Hey Mr. Kerouac
Got a question for you Did you know what would happen? All because of that book you wrote before 1952 Did you ever guess you'd be the voice of a crowd? Did you know that your screams would be so loud? Hey Mr. Ginsberg I really loved Howl I loved the passion the pain the... Just wow Could you of guessed You'd bring the red stamps down Or were you really just writing to make a sound Hey Mr. Burroughs We haven't yet met Your voice isn't as loud as those other guys yet I know we've got some shit in common Maybe tomorrow I'll find you Forgotten mustering in the stacks And then a friendship for the ages perhaps Beatnics Beat Sound Repitition Unscripted Prose Different voices Screaming Words Painting Pictures Making sure we all were not lost The American Voice given sound |
Tearstained tragedies
Bitter with hurt and memories Falling onto unforgiving pavement Where they spread finding cracks From madness induced rage Slamming down a sledge hammer of heartache Mixing with inkstains from memories There they lay staining the blood of our souls Made real |
I have a stack of vintage photographs
What used to be called french postcards Naughty women in black and white and sepia Heavenly creatures with sultry curves and dead eyes Did those old pictureboxes truly take their souls? Trapped on paper and tin Held there as they fade Until only crumbles of paper and dusty ink last In the cigar box under my bed |
If words were like raindrops
Noah's flood would only half approach The untamed longing in my heart To please my gentle lover She who whispers in tender carresses Inspiration Yet I drown sometimes when cruel mistress she becomes Trying to swallow around words Being torn to shreds by emotion I cannot convey Until I lie in broken sharded sanity Weeping ink and sobbing sonnets A broken battered beloved Yet still I shall crawl On hand and knee to worship at her feet For she is inspiration My muse who stands hidden A ghost in my shadow Brave daughter of memory thy name is Calliope |
I love "weeping ink and sobbing sonnets"......
Lovely! |
I am madness
A screaming soulborn lost boy Genderfucking anarchist with wild eyes I hide it Carefully conceal it With gentlemanly ways and dark glasses With expressive hands and 1930s grace I am the son of my grandfather The laughing trickster running from growing up But desperately wanting to grow old Saving pennies in a jar For a life I think I'll never live But embracing the worse of Pandora's curses I hope |
Mr Wilde just so you know
You still make young men feel Untethered by the limitations of rigid societal obligation You tell us we lay in the gutter But you implore to stare at the stars Well in paltry words and feeble phrases I reach grasping at ink dark eternity Where crystalline brilliance twinkles Fighting impending madness by embracing it And laughing in my shallowness Still your words delight Pervasive comprehensible dribble But deliciously decadent in thought Let me hide my paintings so I may live forever Wrapped up in a serenity of words |
I write in the shower
At 3 in the morning Because I can't sleep Little kids markers that wipe off the wall That bleed from the spray coming off me Sometimes I wear my clothes Family doesn't ask anymore Quite frankly don't want to know It's hard to explain but it's nice A way to let out angry jumble Wash it down the drain Works better then scribbling on envelopes With a pen run dry |
Quote:
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I’m screaming raging in the night
Laughing in the maddening delight Searching for ectasy down a bottle Breaking down insanity on typewriter keys Sitting in the buggy humid hell In boxers and Converse Chest bound old school Speedtyping oblivion I am a trans queer madman Lost in my own mind |
I am no poet
I am a fire eyed fraud Who taps at letters Rambling mumbling Incompetent Nothing I create Is Shakespeare So I can not be a monkey with a typewriter No I am ruled by emotion So in the world of Wilde all I make is bad poetry I have no sense of form No concept of structure I have never had a conversation with a comma I am a grammatical anarchist I am no poet I simply sit down at a typewriter and bleed So maybe Papa would say I'm a writer |
My imagination is in a box
It sits on a shelf beside my heart in its cage It has a lock on it But it breaks often and escapes Then it roams doodling on the walls In a magic marker that won’t scrub off It makes funny faces at me Trying to get a response Some days I ignore it as it babbles Incoherent in the back of my mind Others I embrace it and we laugh like jackals Dancing about like we dwealt in Bedlam And sing out the troubles of the world For the vorpal blade to slay |
He sits upon a cardboard throne
A king in a broken home His roof a bridge His fanfare the roaring of the trucks He used to lounge feet up With his buddies beside a jewel green forest Now his only jester is a bottle Wrapped in brown paper He begs for coins Lost in memories Sometimes someone buys him a meal He thanks them But he'd rather drink Numb the pain Make life bearable What life there is left |
Am typewriter boy
In laptop world Reinking ribbons Staining my hands Speedtyping in midnight hours Smelling of sweat and correction fluid Drinking down inspiration Sitting with a single desklamp shining on keys Living in the shadows Cursing for forgetting to advance paper Going back with red pen and bitten pencil Making the edits Sit it in a box and let dust gather Before going back again for retype In the midnight hours Drinking down inspiration Eating my own words |
Falling off the couch
From lack of sleep Staring at the carpet Far too close up Writing down halfbrain thoughts And realizing everything I own Inkstained Have I fallen down the rabbithole Or have I climbed out |
Armor
Straight jacket comfort Conceal and protect Shifting with movement Barely breathing Heat Warm fevered touch against skin Raw Sweat Hugging me too tight Safety Makes me less and more Pain Temporary Survival Armor Against ignorance |
Dark shadows trace my walls
Childhood monsters big and small I watch them move from the floor I'm just too tired to fight them anymore The big bad wolf was never scary It was the good fairies They changed you made you sweet and mild Made you a beautiful oh so tasty child Sinister in their good intent Who goes to hell They can all get bent So I lay upon the floor And wonder if I can take childhood terror anymore I don't want to be Rose Red or Snow White Nor a prince instead they all lose their fights I'd rather be some poor unknown farm boy Who becomes the dread Pirate Roberts At least Wesley got to win Buttercup's delight |
Tumble
Tumble Tumble Down Down Down Falling graceless to the ground Stand back up Salute the sun Smile my friend The day is done |
Lick
Salt sting broken flesh Copper pennies on my tongue Purr in contentment Calm and centered Little aches let me know I am alive I am bound by invisible chains I am a tiger with new stripes |
I want to lick the salt off your skin
as if you were some delicious lollypop or a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day you refresh me my dream lover I don't even know your name your femininity is intoxicating you are so at ease in your own skin you make me smile you give me what I need the passions I try to resist until they boil up I delight in your phantom touches that leave me waking in desperate need of a shower and a fuck I head to the shower can't have everything we want all the time then I compose luststruck memories to read later when the dreams run cold in my nights you give me all I could ask and more |
Never before
Have I felt So calm at peace within myself I know not how Except your words Have made me know what I would Opinions are just that People's words mean only what we make them All they are mosquitoes Buzzing in our ears And with proper care their bite will irritate not sicken I am tired of being sickened by pests thanks m.n. and p |
Street lamp silhouettes shadow the sidewalk
Traced with chalk by childlike hearts Laughing in madness brought by releasing pent up innocence Embracing the little child who hides inside Play with chalk Hopscotch and jump rope Tell a teddy bear your dreams Sniffle at the monsters under the bed in the closet A scary place to be Be brave with a broken stick sword And broomstick steed You are a knight in tinfoil armor Stronger then any forged steel by your belief We should all still play make believe |
I carress you
My fingertips tracing your curves Loving the sounds you make for me I smile and inhale Heady with your scent You work so hard to help me I stroke you Calling out the best of us both I praise you Until it is late in the night and we are both exhausted I curse you When you run dry of essense at awkward moments I worship you My midnight mistress I fear for the day you fail me For how will I be a typewriter boy without you You are my beauty My battered ancient goddess of print My Typewriter Lover |
Smelling of stale cigarettes and despair
Whiskey label somehow permanently adhered into front Scribbles in margins Stains of ink and graphite smudges Humorless remarks Not a study copy but a work of desperate madness Blood on the edges from paper cuts Can almost hear the hiss of a curse as the pages flip Discard it discard it discard it Yet still it circulates Like a battered 1938 penny Worn by time and rubbed smooth by nervous fingers Read it lost as much in margin additions as original text Is this what madness looks like Or is this what inspiration becomes |
Fingertips stained with ink from broken ballpoint pen
A mess of blue black on the desk I want to paint swirls on the decades old calendar But no that's childish I am childish So I scrawl spirals until the ink dries I scrub at my hands until only ghosts of ink remain Like some cleaned up Celtic warrior Is it so wrong I want to drag the ink across my skin Painting the designs of the gods of battle To go off and face grocery store fascists And green market madmen I close my eyes and simply breathe |
My tongue flicks out
Salty sweat clinging to my upper lip Fear and shame in the drops I push the door open It is 90 degrees out And I wear combat boots For am I not going to war Jeans splattered with mud and flecks of rusty blood Torn out at the knees from rough asphalt Heavy leather studded belt A backup defense And layers Layers to hide that I am not what I seem Layers to be armor Body armor misery On top is heavy hooded sweatshirt Everyone knows my secret The teachers scream it everyday Except for a few that see the desperation in my eyes And say my last name instead That's safe enough But after school and in halls I am freak Faggot Flaming Fairy Queer Those who yell it most I see it in their eyes Disgust...at themselves Because they like what they see So I take it Don't go to the locker when anyone is about Don't want locker door bruises From heads bashed into door so fast Broke two pairs of glasses last year Finish the day walk out They wait till I am off the grounds and halfway home Lay in wait to beat me up After a while I give as good as I get No one will ever admit they are beat up by a girl I wish they'd say I was who broke their nose Least then they'd accept I am not a girl Go home bruised and bloody Nurse the hurts Grin around the pain Mom says we can find another school Dad doesn't even know too lost in his own pain I just shake my head A day at a time armored and ready to go Because at least in this school I know who to punch And who to simply smile at Because I am a teenage freak who is happy no longer being meek -A memory of teenage angst |
Am I mad
Is this hell that I reside A horrible torturous suffering Meant for some past life self Am I dieing We are all dieing some faster then others Most days I feel as if I am dieing by inches Am I screaming I can't hear myself but I know I should be Yet no sound ever ever escapes Am I drowning In life in death in hell If I am do I go to heaven Does the hurt ever stop? |
There is a mad symmetry
In the way the words fall across the page As the click,click,click of keys rings in silence But for the melting of the ice in the glass on desktop And the sound of the cat's soft snores on the bookshelf Occasionally mosquito buzz near half deaf ears Advance the page a steady rhythm builds Tap, tap, tap Finish page Scratching pen correcting typos toofast forgot the spaec Dyslexic mind doesn't catch all the misspells Will find them later when brain less fuzzy click, click, click nother page beneath the keys scratch scratch scratch like the leaves in the breeze |
Hot sweaty therapy
We have fucking Therapy Urge to be seen as who we are You on my cock Happy fagboi Seen as beautiful handsome boy Willing to bottom for me Therapy session on the floor You call me handsome hot hard hunk You've had surgery I have not But you don't treat me like a freak You bite and scratch We walk away bruised and at peace Therapy hookup I've got your number until next year |
You are a warrior
Painted up old school in blue whirls to a god you do not name You smile as I pull off your shirt I trace my fingers over your sweat slicked skin Worshiping a god I do not name I smile as I lick the scar roughened skin You look at me eyes gone passion dark There is a heat rising from us We are transforming In each others eyes we are warriors |
You fell asleep
Your stamina impressive but still even angels must sleep And you lay a beautiful renaissance sculpture Tangled in the sheets Your lashes dark upon your cheeks Your skin is still flushed from passion I simply sit drinking whisky and watching you Tracing the lines of your body You are a delight But I covet your body in only a semisexual way No I admire the way you have worked Like a sculptor to get the form And I wonder if I shall ever be that beautiful Or if I am simply a convenience |
I curse you Sal Paradise
For being the man I am not I am a wanderer of words But not roads Though often I have dreamed Of simply walking away And making a go of being a mad backpack madman making my way to Mexico City I want to meet my Dean And live dancing in glorious insanity with him Instead of trailing along behind Simply digging his wild beat songs Or perhaps I curse you Ray Smith For the beauty you find in the calmness of madness Of your night on the beach and your bed under the roses I want a Japhy with wild Oregon happiness And learn to fly down mountains after climbing up them on my knees I wish to sit calmly watching for fire and dreaming of old men who are seeking enlightenment If only I had been born 50 years earlier Perhaps then I could been a mad cat without seeming insane |
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