Saturday, March 03, 2018

A LATE NIGHT RAMBLING - A RANDOM POEM

A LATE NIGHT RAMBLING - A RANDOM POEM



Sitting on the corner,
A dirty street,
Lies burned into the TV screen
Called the evening news.
Five shot dead;
Sad smiling face,
Children of the street,
Homeless,
Sad smiling bright face,
News man shuffles his white sheets of paper,
Two more dead,
Tragic,
Heroic deeds by someone's sister,
Brother,
Who knows,
On to the weather,
Sunshine in rich,
The poor get rain,
It seemingly is the rage



I decide to erase my brain,
Start over,
Reboot the ignorance,
Watch the moon explode into space,
Rejection, that word sprayed across my face,
Communists smoking marijuana, 1983,
Before the senile oafs we call Senators made it such a craze.
Corporate rape,
Rage,
Eating eggs off buttered toast,
Now, don't give a shit,
1998,
It all changes,
Does it?
Fuck it,
There's a train,
A train for change?
No one knows,
Nor do they care,
It's the new craze,
Jump on board,
Jump in front of.
Beating of the drum,
In rhythm with the brain,
Thump,
Thump,
Drum,
Dump.
Dumb
The pump don't work,
Somebody stole the handle,
The key use to be under that rock,
But damn if they didn't take that too!

When it pisses,
We call it rain,
OH happy day,
The flowers say,
It finally begins to,
What the shit is this?

Hero in the streets,
An angry fix there,
Walter killed himself,
A day before he turned 25.
A rainy day indeed,
The sheets,
Bloody and torn,
Ripped,
Riped?
Blood clinging to the wall,
Should have hanged himself,
Mother is in denial,
Father does not weep,
Sister ran away from home.
Can't sleep,
Too damn many waves,
Trains,
Screaming through my brain.

Whispers in the night,
Weeps,
Tears,
Bottles poured into mouth,
Vomit out the pain.
Senses dulled,
Removed from any sense of reality,
Shame that next day!

Cast out the demons,
The preacher preaches,
Rotten peaches,
Smelling like dead babies in a steaming jungle,
Screams in erotica,
Cast out visions of orgasmic death scenes
On that TV,
Mother lies,
Father lies,
Whole families lie in wait,
A crystal blank face,
Drink to kill that pain
To feel nothing but a breeze of a fly's wings.
Insanity?
Better to be insane
Than right with the sane mob,
Killing all the differences.

Sing,
To herald the light,
To banish that darkness,
Outside,
Scream,
End scene.
FADE TO BLACK



Friday, March 02, 2018

THE HOMELESS GUIDE TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN - Chapter one

 THE HOMELESS GUIDE TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

Video - Johnny Cash - Hurt

Dedicated to open fields and open beers, and a girl we shall call Martha!


Note to the dear reader(s) - Back in the summer of 2017, I, your dear author, spent a little over a month homeless.

I was pretty damn lucky, had some friends who let me crash at their place when I first lost my dearly departed parents' house to the big bad wolf (or state, matters who tells the story - a long story deserving its own book and movie starring Tom Cruise as me!!!)

The windows were the air, the floor was the soft grass(weeds) under a roof of a large tree's branches covering my head in a place I called Camp Bob.

It was a good place to lay down a tarp on the ground, to lie there and stare up into the night sky, watching the stars do their dance as I drank a few beers I had bought from the grocery store I worked at as a cashier.

Yes, my dead reader, I had a job, it paid enough for a life of beer, chicken and donuts.

Luckily, this was in the summer, little rain and very few fellow "campers" (besides myself, there was not a soul at the small park I called home).

I was a king in a land of tall weeds and deranged geese who guarded me from the bogey man who lurked at 3 in the morning, howling wildly and snarling at my guardians.

I started a journal, as I sat at the steel picnic tables scattered through the area.

And maybe someday, I will try to finish this "guide" to not just the homeless life, but my life in general.

In this section of my life, I learned that even as a homeless grocery store cashier, I wasn't even close to the lowest pits of Hell, there were others worse off than me; families with small children wandering the streets looking for shelter, a bit of food.

Folks who mere weeks ago had a home, a roof over their head, like me, who had just hit a huge bump in the road.

There are resources out there for folks but there are many folks in that situation I found myself in and not enough resources to go around.

Contrary to popular belief, the land of milk and honey just doesn't have enough honey let alone milk so there are long, almost to infinity waiting lists.

I bought some food for people, I was lucky I could do that; give a shirt out of my backpack so a person would have something to wear; even helped a man find work and get back to higher ground before the flood of despair drowned him.

I guess things happen for a reason; today I found myself at a higher level, but I will always remember, we are all just one step away from falling from our place, to land under a tree.

Enjoy!

A NOTE FROM AUGUST 2ND, 2017 as written in the original "Black Book"


Dear reader, my loyal friend, it is August 2nd, a lovely Wednesday.

I was going to make this a diary of sort; daily musings of my life's little adventure but I slacked a bit.

Someday, I'll settle into my chair and type from memory the thoughts.

The first three chapters of this thing called the Homeless Life are jotted down as they happened, life in camp, the darkness my friend, my pen that sword to keep me sane.

I may end up and fill in the pieces later; such as meeting Jesus who was on a quest to find and retrieve his stolen guitar.

It was stolen in Utah from his broken down van.

It made its way to a pawn shop in Billings, Montana

Jesus sold water to dumb tourists to get the money to buy a bus ticket to the bus terminal in Butte, Montana where I got to meet him and to become a character in my book, a figure in my memories!

~CHAPTER ONE~

Dear reader,

You may be asking yourself,

"How do I become homeless? It sounds fun, like camping, except no mountain streams and the beer is warm!"

And boy would you be correct!!!

I am currently homeless.

I have a job but find myself without a roof.

Who needs a roof?

Or a bed?

Or a toilet or shower?

The world; oh dear lovely world, is your toilet.

Or, if you shy, there are always public restrooms.

Public restrooms are a god send to the homeless.

You need to take a poop.

They can also double as a makeshift wash station.

The dollar store is also a homeless person's best friend.

Every thing is one dollar.

You can easily pan handle a few bucks.

Tell people your car broke down and you need a new kidney or your children will die over in Iraq.

No, you don't need to have kids.

Adopt some.

Welcome to the world of being homeless.

I went to the dollar store and bought a cheap tarp for ground cover.

I learned quickly that the ground is cold and hard.

Icky bugs crawl on the ground.

At some point in your first days outside, you'll hit a point where you'll collapse, right there on the ground.

(Added note by the author - my collapse point was three days.  72 hours of no sleep, going to work for 8 hours a day as a cashier, made me into a delusional poet.)

You'll wake up with a worm crawling out of your nose.

Then, my friends, you'll care.

Nothing says "I'm f*cking homeless!!" than laying there at 2:30 in the morning fearing the boogeyman is out to get you.

Don't worry, there's nothing to worry about except being raped, murdered and/or being eaten.

Piece o cake! 

Monday, February 26, 2018

FOR MOTHER LAND: "We deeply regret to inform you." - A POEM

FOR MOTHER LAND: "We deeply regret to inform you..." - A POEM

A little girl is walking down the street,
A bitter memory,
Tomorrow shall be better,
Just wait and see,
But sadly,
Tomorrow,
It is said,
Never comes.

Into madness,
We saw ourselves go,
Propelled there by our might,
Our own will,
Our eyes held closed,
Against the blinding of the light,
Bombs bursting in air,
This was not heroics,
A good boys' gift to their motherland,
We were surviving,
Kill,
Or be kill,
No master plan to conquer the world,
But that which to survive another day,
To see our mothers,
Our fathers,
Our lovely wives,
Our children,
Who wish to grow up and become soldiers,
To fight for that great cause,
That cause,
How I wish I had not heard the bugle call.

If we were greater men,
To those at home,
Called lesser men,
We would have left,
Gone back to that safety,
We left behind,
To that simple life,
To our families,
Our homes,
To our lives,
So simple,
So easy,
Raise our children,
To see them have their own children

But alas,
We did not,

We went screaming,
FOR MOTHER LAND!!!
To our last breath,
Some of us,
Never opening their eyes again,
Not to see the rising of the sun,
To that new day,
To sip black coffee,
To feel the bite of a cold, clear day,
The warmth of that which we call love,
To keep us from the shivering winds.

There we stood,
Shivering in cold,
Our blood,
Rivers on the icy plains.
We heard the bombs,
Dive,
Cover,
Fire,
Kill,
Death to that enemy across the way,
His own mind screaming,
Run,
Far away,
To that which does not kill us,
To be alive,
Cowards,
Fake,
Not worth that patch sewed upon our shoulders,
Elite,
Defenders,
Those others,
We spit,
We fire,
We kill,
They return,
To kill,
To defend,
And we keep,
Still,
Pressed against the ground,
Our eyes mere slit,
Our hands,
Our fingers,
The deliverer of that sweet tool of death.

We marched forward,
Through the hurling of the rain,
The sleet,
Our hands,
Our bodies,
Dearly,
We did not speak,
We marched forward,
Our thoughts our own,
But we all thought the same,
How easily it would be,
To never have heard that call to arms.

We dare not say that mere thought,
To be a traitor,
To that great cause,
To not hear the trumpet blare,
To feel the pounding of the drums,
To know the brimming pride,
Of our elders as we passed by,
In parade,
"Off to war! To fight a glorious fight!"
They cheered,
They rallied,
We did not want to disappoint,
Even when we came back,
In a box,
Our flag,
Covering our vessels,
Their pride covered in tears.

"They died for us!"
The headlines would read,
"For us!"
"For the Mother Land!"
Mother tears,
Screams,
Pounding of their fist,
The news fresh in their ears,
A letter,
"We deeply regret to inform you..."

The war machine keeps rushing,
Never ending,
A new generation,
A new generation,
We deeply regret to inform you...



Sunday, February 25, 2018

INFORMED INSANITY - A POEM TO READ IN A CLOSET WHILE THE DEVIL STEALS YOUR BUILDING BLOCKS

INFORMED INSANITY - A POEM TO READ IN A CLOSET WHILE THE DEVIL STEALS YOUR BUILDING BLOCKS


Worm wood,
 Drifting distant minds,
Left to the corner, sleeping in a pile of leaves,
Whispering loves across the lines,
In rapture,
In sleaze,
Ease?
O to see,
That sea,
Across the line,
In a time,
Ripples in the cosmic lake.

Tome,
A word involved in a battle,
Witless mimes?
We could not see without our eyes,
To not hear the boisterous voices,
In a shaded room,
A nurse comes in,
Can she take my pulse?
Can she?
She can!

Oh madness,
That sadness in my mind,
To dream of insane,
To day, to week, to whatever the hell it is.

I wish to scream,
But no mouth do I have,
I wish to see,
But no eyes do I have

In time,
The distance decreases,
To a better,
More horrid place,
Random drawings,
On the desk,
Drawn in red,
Blood,
Shit,
Drool,
Whatever it is.

I was cursed,
Before I was birth,
Followers inside my brain,
Digging out the memories,
Too horrible to remember,
To know what is not known,
To see what should not be seen,
To say goodnight one last time,
In Heaven's name,
Cursing the stars,
The darkness,
To sleep,
To not wake,
Trying to wake up from this nightmare,
Is this a dream?
Or is this reality?

Never sure,
Where am I,
In reference to time and space.

Lights,
Darkness,
Break apart,
This is not living,
This is just existing,
Onward,
Downward,
Someone just threw me a shovel and said dig.

The voices in my head,
To scream,
To feel that pain,
To be released,
From this misery.

Darkness does cover my eyes,
To unsee,
To fall asleep,
Fresh misery,
A bullet,
Screaming through my brain,
To end this nightmare,
This life,
Not worth a nickel,
Not worth the price of a pin.


ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD --- Fiction

Slack jaw, middle of a suicide, in that part of town, poor man's place to die, to be found, gun by the side, clenched in his hand, bottl...