Tuesday, April 15, 2014
My Wish for You
My wish for you today, is to have your life change in some dramatic way. Not that I wish any heartache into your world, but by losing that which you think is important, sometimes you find out what really matters. These are the five universal regrets of the dying: "Number one: I wish I hadn't worked so hard. Number two: I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends. Number three: I wish I had let myself be happier. Number four: I wish I'd had the courage to express my true self. And number five: I wish I'd lived a life true to my dreams, instead of what others expected of me."....I wish you would embrace these truths before you are on your death bed so that you have the time to live them....for me it was an injury that would change everything, for others, perhaps super storm Sandy having wiped out their world. I have gone back to my roots, I have reclaimed my friends and even made new ones. I have welcomed me back and will no longer live for others, I will no longer be who others think I should be, I have searched for the truths other people tried to hide from me and i have learned first-hand the terrible price of waiting too long. There isn't always another day. I have learned not to listen to fairy tales but to believe in myself and to know that in the end, there are no second chances. There is no better life than this one. Live for the moment. No regrets. ~MCM 2012
Shades of green.
.............Shades of green...........
Sometimes I try to tell you things you need to know
My mind locked as a prison, cold steel bars I can't let go
Open bloody wounds, White knuckles holding tight,
Stay awake or demons might clutch me in the night.
This little girl you let go
This child loved you so
only half of me, Still can't find the other missing pieces
searching all my life, grains of sand upon dark beaches.
Slipping through my fingers, dreams always seem to chase
Forever waking up as I'm about to know your face
they say you were a good man
But I'll never really understand
Concrete blood stained canvas, Monkey bars, chalk outline
got all the greyscale photos, But that never made you mine
I never sought possessions, Never fought with juried reason
In my critics mind so simple, Forever dead, a man, a season.
~©MCM 2014
Sometimes I try to tell you things you need to know
My mind locked as a prison, cold steel bars I can't let go
Open bloody wounds, White knuckles holding tight,
Stay awake or demons might clutch me in the night.
This little girl you let go
This child loved you so
only half of me, Still can't find the other missing pieces
searching all my life, grains of sand upon dark beaches.
Slipping through my fingers, dreams always seem to chase
Forever waking up as I'm about to know your face
they say you were a good man
But I'll never really understand
Concrete blood stained canvas, Monkey bars, chalk outline
got all the greyscale photos, But that never made you mine
I never sought possessions, Never fought with juried reason
In my critics mind so simple, Forever dead, a man, a season.
~©MCM 2014
Ruminations on a Cold Winter's Night
Ruminations on a Cold Winter's Night.....
The wind is whistling, whipping through the forsaken naked trees and as they do their frigid dance, the trees a' moaning. The ice encapsulated trunks are crackling like cat-o-nine-
tail whips and the ice laden branches let go of their encrustations, sounding like a million shattered shards of candy glass stabbing the frozen mantle below. Tis the dead of winter, no smell of spring in dreams tonight.
~MCM 2014
The wind is whistling, whipping through the forsaken naked trees and as they do their frigid dance, the trees a' moaning. The ice encapsulated trunks are crackling like cat-o-nine-
tail whips and the ice laden branches let go of their encrustations, sounding like a million shattered shards of candy glass stabbing the frozen mantle below. Tis the dead of winter, no smell of spring in dreams tonight.
~MCM 2014
Born and Bred
Born and Bred
This city, girl, will eat you up and spit you out for breakfast
Making you wish you never dared step foot on bedrock
A town that doesn't want to know your name
Or care one damn bit where you cut your teeth
It's the music of the trains as they go clacking by
It's the hot breath of the steam vent dragons
And don't be askin' for a map to the stars
They walk over the bums and put change in the cups
Just like everyone else who then pretends not to see
Easing their conscience, spending even more for a coffee
It's the nannies pickin' up the school kids in yellow taxis
It's gambling and chickens hanging down in Chinatown
So easy getting around the joint if you just remember
The aves run north and south and the streets go across
Except for the village maze, always worth getting lost in
the real foods on second ave and under all the bridges
It's the Wall Street thieves in their Brooks Brothers suits
It's the shows going on every night up on broadway.
City so jaded no one dreams anymore cept'n cabbies
Paying a mortgage to rent a million dollar medallion
Of Course they're rippin' you off, comes free with the ride
Just the name of the game, ain't no Cash Cab for you.
It's the marijuana delivery boys on messenger bikes
It's the carriage horses dropping dead, still shackled
Skyscrapers, brownstones and a gentrified lower east side
A punk ass freedom tower cause they didn't have the balls
To build something taller and better, a fuck you to the past
A bull runs up broadway and Billy Joel's in the Garden
It's the canyon of heroes, clubland meat packing district
It's Trinity graveyard and B-ball in the fenced courts
He reminds us, theres a big red nuclear target on our backs
Yes, we know Mr President, we've seen the planes
And the grey ghosts of the living streaming over bridges
While children waited for their parents to come home
It's the biggest, the baddest, the rudest, the nameless
It's Battery landfill and perilous cranes swinging overhead
So girl, you just put your head down and your collar up
And walk with all you've got against the wind, pushin'
Cause if you slow the pace they'll walk right through you
And some street artist will use your blood as his paint.
©MCM~2014
This city, girl, will eat you up and spit you out for breakfast
Making you wish you never dared step foot on bedrock
A town that doesn't want to know your name
Or care one damn bit where you cut your teeth
It's the music of the trains as they go clacking by
It's the hot breath of the steam vent dragons
And don't be askin' for a map to the stars
They walk over the bums and put change in the cups
Just like everyone else who then pretends not to see
Easing their conscience, spending even more for a coffee
It's the nannies pickin' up the school kids in yellow taxis
It's gambling and chickens hanging down in Chinatown
So easy getting around the joint if you just remember
The aves run north and south and the streets go across
Except for the village maze, always worth getting lost in
the real foods on second ave and under all the bridges
It's the Wall Street thieves in their Brooks Brothers suits
It's the shows going on every night up on broadway.
City so jaded no one dreams anymore cept'n cabbies
Paying a mortgage to rent a million dollar medallion
Of Course they're rippin' you off, comes free with the ride
Just the name of the game, ain't no Cash Cab for you.
It's the marijuana delivery boys on messenger bikes
It's the carriage horses dropping dead, still shackled
Skyscrapers, brownstones and a gentrified lower east side
A punk ass freedom tower cause they didn't have the balls
To build something taller and better, a fuck you to the past
A bull runs up broadway and Billy Joel's in the Garden
It's the canyon of heroes, clubland meat packing district
It's Trinity graveyard and B-ball in the fenced courts
He reminds us, theres a big red nuclear target on our backs
Yes, we know Mr President, we've seen the planes
And the grey ghosts of the living streaming over bridges
While children waited for their parents to come home
It's the biggest, the baddest, the rudest, the nameless
It's Battery landfill and perilous cranes swinging overhead
So girl, you just put your head down and your collar up
And walk with all you've got against the wind, pushin'
Cause if you slow the pace they'll walk right through you
And some street artist will use your blood as his paint.
©MCM~2014
A Season of Erotica
On her knees as her hand goes up to to brush the hair back from her eyes, eyes shyly looking down, and away, a hint of a smile as if embarrassed to have been caught. Sweat glistens on the upper lip, mouth slightly agape, as she whispers ever so softly, encouraging, imploring, lovingly. She uses the back of her hand to gently caress and nuzzle, while the other hand in rhythm pets the delicate petals. Just a few fingers seek it's yielding quarry. A deep earthy scent fills her lungs and she breathes fully and eagerly, again and again, tasting the heady aroma of spring on her tongue. The daffodils are awakening and she is in her glory. ~MCM ©2014
No requiem
No Requiem
If poetry is dead, I never received that call in the middle of the night. There was no death notice or obituary, no viewing, no remembrances or memorials, no online memory book. No final words, no gasps or rattles, no hand holding, no I love yous. There was no service or eulogy, bagpipers or dirges. No wailing widows dressed in black, no ushers, pallbearers, no undertakers or gravediggers. No embalming fluid, teardrops or whiskey spilled. There was no immediate family, no dear old friends, out-of-town relatives or mistresses discreet behind the veil. There were no flowers sent, no casseroles, cold cut platters and no fruit baskets. No mourning coats, burial outfits or polished shoes. No hearses or limos, rides past the houses or cars with headlights on. No muffled laughter, wracking sobs or offered condolences. There was no death certificate, official cause of death or coroners inquest. No shovels of earth, or dust to dust, no roses at the gravesite. No cleaning out of closets, no passing downs of antiques, no last will and testament. I remain unconvinced, I write. ~MCM ©2014
If poetry is dead, I never received that call in the middle of the night. There was no death notice or obituary, no viewing, no remembrances or memorials, no online memory book. No final words, no gasps or rattles, no hand holding, no I love yous. There was no service or eulogy, bagpipers or dirges. No wailing widows dressed in black, no ushers, pallbearers, no undertakers or gravediggers. No embalming fluid, teardrops or whiskey spilled. There was no immediate family, no dear old friends, out-of-town relatives or mistresses discreet behind the veil. There were no flowers sent, no casseroles, cold cut platters and no fruit baskets. No mourning coats, burial outfits or polished shoes. No hearses or limos, rides past the houses or cars with headlights on. No muffled laughter, wracking sobs or offered condolences. There was no death certificate, official cause of death or coroners inquest. No shovels of earth, or dust to dust, no roses at the gravesite. No cleaning out of closets, no passing downs of antiques, no last will and testament. I remain unconvinced, I write. ~MCM ©2014
Tree
Tree
I heard the shotgun crack of the tree splinter and the cascade of boughs as it took down the smaller trees in its path, felt the solid thud as it met hard-packed earth. No amount of moss could cushion the towering plummet. It did not die a silent death, but moaned and groaned, twisted in its death dance and paid no heed to whether anyone was there to hear it or not. For just one moment the world was silent as if mute of shock, everything ceasing to take in the profundity. Inordinate stillness. Eventually the scurrying resumed, the small birds chirped and the large ones cawed, each going about their own living business. It was the tree your grandfathers grandfather planted and it had seen much. A tree whose roots encamped on the slight hillside to stay the mud from flowing to the orchard, keeping the planting lands plantable. It was a sentinel guard for the homestead a quarter mile away, just one in a row of soldiers chosen for its heartiness. It knew the secrets and traditions, the injustices and the triumphs, never once giving over to betrayal. It stood watching, each year getting taller, broader, the scope of its vision vaster, till it was royalty among bark-laden behemoths. And to what end? To lay broken, just the diagonal side of the triangle where earth meets trunk, meets bole. Forest botany giving way to rotting geometry among the moist ferns of the overgrown acreage. In time to become detritus, after the insects had devoured the fibers and left their own crispy carcasses mixed in with the loam. Yes, it was a tree, a mighty tree, a warrior whose end had come only to nourish the underbrush. And with it's passing the sun shone down brightly on parts where no light had reached for many, many years. A photoerotic process which breathed life where darkness had only dwelled. And the rain fed the spongy moss. Absurd to become such rich fertilizer for a field that no one would ever plow again. The wind howled and the rusty For Sale sign buckled.~MCM ©2014
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)