Monthly Archives: January 2015

yeah, i’m the conduit

i am waiting for a flash of brilliance to pregnant my mind with metaphors.
I am waiting for imagery to cloud my mind.
i am waiting for genius to strike and make things happen.
i am waiting for an inspired envy to steal someone else’s idea and make it my own.
i am waiting for something to rant about and call it poetry.
i am waiting for this false bravado to get all worked up and be poetic.
i am waiting for this clinging naivety to speak of a dream – covered scream.
i am waiting for this throbbing desperation to manifest the poet in me.
i am waiting for this hope, masked and ready to defy rules in poetry writing if there are still such rules that apply.
i am waiting for visions left not maimed by stillness.
i am waiting for despair to make its presence felt.
i am waiting for boredom to possess some appeal and impress me.
i am waiting for a heartache that’s not quick and easy to understand and accept.
i am waiting for my thirty six year old emptiness to echo my teenage angst.
i am waiting for my aging private turmoil to channel my turbulent years way past down the line.
i am waiting for obscurity to reappear and show its ugly face once more.
i am waiting for ghosts to invoke the creative spirits.
i am waiting for a life reimagined.
spare me the cold embrace of age, the comfort of love,
i am not waiting for that.
i prefer to recall the troubles of my long, lost self and nail it down to paper.
and where are the muses when you needed them ?
all bled out and dry like some barren desert ;
know that my death scars’ healing has begun.
know that to milk desperation is no piece of cake.
know that first thought, best thought never made things easy.
know that channeling words is not just a walk in the park,
i tell you —–

you wait for it.


1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

the poet writing about himself from an egotistical point of view in response to a call for submission

he’d written poetry
& kept it
to himself
but the last two years
had been great,
he said —
a tribute to Bukowski
a book for benefit for Haiyan victims
a couple of poems
here and there
The Quirk,
Empty Mirror,
Mad Swirl,
Boston Poetry Mag,
Screech Owl,
Hash N’ Pumpkins,
Walking Is Still Honest,
Midnight Lane Boutique.

but the
is not as
as it should
be looking
at it from a
bird’s eye view,
when you’re
lying down on
a foam with
Throne Of
Atlantis playing
on the laptop
3x already
during the
first half
of the day
& junk foods
all over

& knowing
that all
the while,
he’s been
for the
past 2 wks
& about
to face
the fact
that he must
go back to
point of origin
as the
law say,
thus, leaving
his wife
& starting
again from

he stood up
& went outside
for a cigarette
& let out
smoke rings
from the
6th floor ;
on fire means
doing great
& cannot
be stopped.
a sly grin
next to a
deep sigh
then things
made sense
to him.

Leave a comment

Filed under Call for submission, lowbrow poetry

Brain Tumor Diagnosis….

help for brother ray
go to

Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

Hi Friends and Fans of Ray! This is his wife, Rhian Ferrer….
Tuesday morning I found Ray in bed having a seizure (he has never had one before) I brought him to the hospital and he is stable but has a massive baseball sized tumor in/on his brain.  He will be undergoing surgeries, radiation and chemo therapy in the upcoming months.  

I have set up a Go Fund Me page for Ray.

Here is the link.

Please share and be sure to check out the links on the page, including the Etsy link where you can get get great art prints of his that will also help contribute!

From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you and our family thanks you. He holds his fans in such high regards and will be updating everyone as things progress.

View original post

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Donald Duck with a gun

dylan thendylan now

“ I would dance with you, Maria, but my hands are on fire.”

this was 1965 —

he went on to released
albums after albums
w/ a
different type of sound.

today :
36 studio albums
48 singles
68 years of age
no signs
of slowing down ;

you know,
those hands
be burning
if he
to have
the same pipes
& can play
like he did
Pretty Peggy ‘O.


Filed under Bob Dylan

song to the departed

” too many late nights and you don’t go to heaven “

fixin’ to die
is all
i hear ;

O mother
forgive me
of my

Leave a comment

Filed under Drug Poem

in the bar

in the bar

moanin’ at midnight
poetry w/ street cred @

Leave a comment

Filed under lowbrow poetry, Midnight Lane Boutique, Prostitution

the madcap is out in the open

the madcap is out in the open

moanin’ at midnight
poetry w/ street cred @

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized