Archive for the ‘My Inner Bukowski’ Category

Love songs and relevance

January 12, 2014

lv

 

She made love songs relevant again. For the first time in more than 10 years.

 

Ours was a love story with a very defined soundtrack.

 

And now.

 

Songs that once filled me and made me float are a heavy weight tied around my ankle.

 

Songs I love that I can never listen to again without mourning.

 

But she made love songs relevant again.

 

And someday, I will find a new song, as relevant as the past.

 

Because kitchens were made for a slow dance.

 

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Be Thy Name

December 3, 2013

nxt

 

The stones, the sticks.

 

The arrows. The slings.

 

Outrageous.

 

Fortune.

 

Be thy name.

 

And I shall sing once more.

fmm2

An Eloquent Regret

October 25, 2013

rs

I wish my words were stronger

I wish yours were for me

I wish you’d held on longer

And I wish I’d set you free

But wishes are just poetry

An eloquent regret

And the future is unwritten,

Another past to happen yet

mtchmid

We all lose.

September 29, 2013

rs

I don’t write love songs.

The world has enough of those.

I do write about love, but only in the perspective of loss.

Because that’s universal.

We all lose.

But not everyone loves.

cliche

This isn’t you.

September 20, 2013

rs

Ambiguous little words.

Closed to accomplice, open to interpretation.

Lost in vanity.

Vague messages on a grander scale.

Born after one passing, left in another wake altogether.

This isn’t you.

This is an altogether different song.

This is me.

And my ambiguous little words.

Often overheard, rarely understood.

newestrings2

Do You Remember…?

September 18, 2013

rs

Do you remember?

How it felt?

I do.

Every inch.

Every drop of sweat.

Every scrunched eyebrow, moan, curse and scream.

I remember it all.

And I remember why it mattered.

These are but moments, rife for nostalgia.

But I remember, nonetheless.

newestrings2

snow

August 24, 2013

rogue

Once upon a time, the broadcast day ended.

Once upon a time, we could sleep without talking.

Snow is just a season’s mark now.

Sleep is but a mode.

Our world.

So immersed.

So immediate.

So apparent.

Living, breathing, pulsating snapshots of a past we cannot ignore—

A present so lost in posture and presentation.

The future, merely a meme.

Moments of solace in assumption

Until our world comes back around again.

We can try to hide—

Try to pull the covers up over our head…

But we talk in our sleep.

Always there.

Always on.

Our world.

So accessible.

So obvious.

So inadvertently tragic.

tv

I Dunno

August 14, 2013

rs

It came on by mistake.

I thought I had deleted it.

but for the first time since,

I let it play—

I let it go.

And for the first time since,

I dunno…

I remembered how I felt the first time I heard it.

newestrings2

It doesn’t change a thing, because we do indeed know.

But I smiled anyway.

For the past.

I smiled for the hope.

For the chances taken.

It changes nothing.

But I smiled nonetheless.

smoke

the wolf and the rose

July 24, 2013

smoke

A rose is just a cactus sitting in disguise.

A song that wasn’t written but waiting for reprise.

Like a wolf is just a dog with bigger, sharper teeth,

a rose is just the thorns waiting underneath.

newestrings2

This is Independence Day.

July 7, 2013

rs

 

The parade still passes by.

Families still walk past.

Folding chairs, little American flags, open containers.

The sidewalk bleeds into the street, a pedestrian anarchy.

Dogs announce their arrival and departure, as they pass.

Alone on the steps, drinking, smoking, longing.

The fireworks will happen, if I look up.

This is Independence day.

Even though we are…

May 13, 2013

rogue

We are but delicate flowers made of candy, subject to the temperament and circumstance of that which we cannot begin to understand through notion.

Through our personal commotion.

mtchmid

We are slaves not only to ourselves—to our personal demons, but the winged creatures that circle the head of everyone around us. We are not special.

Even though we are.

 chp

Rain

April 26, 2013

rn3

Sometimes, a gentle rain can be my muse.

The sound—as it hits the roof of my car, silently drawing tear stained trails down the windows. The low thunder pushing the normal sounds of the city far below, turning the world outside into a silent movie.

Sometimes, a gentle rain is all I need for that moment to arrive.

rn2

I was beating my head against a wall this morning, failing at every attempt at wit or aspiration in my words. Distractions didn’t help, they simply lived up to their name.

So I stepped out into the rain.

I neither lingered nor ran. I simply lit a cigarette and walked to my car, with sky speckled glasses.

I wasn’t in search of a warm, dry refuge.

I was in search of my muse.

A tangle of smoke, a tear drop of rain and perhaps a small spark that I might turn into a fire.

Inspiration comes from anywhere, if you let it.

fndlygrphc-Recovered

Did you feel that…?

April 9, 2013

pollbk

Did you feel that?

Did you feel it sweep through you like a phantom orgasm, leaving you breathless and high?

I did.

Like a breeze floating by carrying fragrances long forgotten, a feeling normally reserved for children and optimists.

Did you feel it?

I did.

smoke

Applause

December 12, 2012

When my time comes, I don’t want a moment of silence.

 

I want a round of applause.

 

Not because I’m gone.

 

But for what I did while alive.

Half.

October 7, 2011

Half.

Half a tank of gas, half a roll of toilet paper.

Half his life, half the man he used to be.

Half the house, half the dogs…

Half a mind to throw in the towel,

Half the money to even buy a vowel.

Half a world away,

Perhaps the half that got away.

No better half, just half.

Looking.

To be whole.

Deliver Me

June 30, 2011

How sweet the sound of broken hallelujah, how strong the howl of man…

this weary soul is not worth saving, but I do the best I can…

I hate my wrinkles, my skin and bones, I hate my weary face,
It’s always staring back at me, it whispers sweet disgrace…

how soft the breath of sweet temptation, how shallow is the grave
How quickly we expect salvation, though we haven’t earned the save

I’m a hurricane, a wrecking ball a monster in my skin
A demon with a halo, a punchbowl spiked with gin

Doubt me all you want I’m only who I am…

Testify against me, I might just take a stand.

I can’t predict the future, nor make it go away…
I can’t control tomorrow, so I’ll focus on today