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September 2010

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Support a Deserving Artist - Why not buy a T-shirt?

For those of you who don't know, I am also a designer by trade. I have a number of T-shirt designs for sale through Cafe Press. These are largely pertaining to the Martial Arts or Fitness.

It would mean the world to me if you would be so kind as to click on the image above to visit my humble shop and take a look. (This link will open in a new window).

Awake at 3 AM

Awake at 3 AM and the clock
flashes the time to my conscience.
Toss and turn on the uneven bed
fix the covers, sheets and pillows
listen to the grinding of your neck
in blue midnite impatience
there is no grace in insomnia
only deadpan fatigue, a soul
leaking slowly from the corners of your eyes
I bounce my leg, for lack of a tail,
think happy thoughts, deepen
my breathing, pray for peace of mind,
for once, for a good night’s sleep
and find that this doesn’t work either.
The dog barking and that asshole
slams his car door again,
the furnace kicks in fits and blows air in,
the ticking clock is a pounding drum and
my neck is sore from the pillows.
I bury my thoughts in a basket of
dirty laundry, the room is a mess
and my life is no better
the light in the other room is still on
and the tape in my mind replays over and
over
and the time ticks by again at 3:30 AM.
I’m waiting for the music to begin
for the song sung by valkyrin and
choirs of angels, a heavenly lullaby
a kiss on the eyelids and softly tucked in.

Labor Sons

And I dream
in those quiet times
of friends past
and faces lost
words spoken, or not,
of clasping hands
and weary eyes.

I dream of lovely agonies
and careless minutes
strewn, about
grinning stupidly
at the humdrum
of daily shuffle
and passing time.

Labor sons, we trusted
the clock, plodding
and plotting to overcome it,
the week, the day
the hour, the damned
Banker’s hour
and the shallow dollar.
The Butcher’s week.

Pockets pleading and
shoulders tight, the way
was to not-think
to think of anything
somewhere else
and bide, silently bide
we chewed our tasteless
food with the same
mechanical efficiency.

And I love you with your crooked teeth.

Your hand touches mine
we turn to face each other
on the pillow
looking down
your eyes dance darkly
through your lazy bangs
watching my hands
our fingers entwine
and the corners of your mouth
turn upward just slightly
I touch your hair
black as kitten fur, and as soft
the room, cast vermillion,
gold and apple green
dappled in sunlight,
my heart is a violet sponge
we kiss lightly and breathlessly
enter the same dream.

The Drawing Board

The Drawing Board

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Support a Deserving Artist - Why not buy a T-shirt?