I’m Tired

“I’m tired, people. I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of hate. I’m tired of politics.

I’m tired of living behind an eyepatch because I need to protect my family.

I’m tired of aggressive misappropriations. I’m tired of zealots. I’m tired of ignorance leading the day. I’m tired of stupid people having really stupid opinions.

This world is going to hell & I don’t want to go for that ride.

We’ve backed ourselves into a corner & now we can only choose evil. It’s heartbreaking & stressful.

Those who know me know that I haven’t been myself lately.

This is a dark period for our society. We will not look back on this time fondly. There is a lot of pain out there.

If you do not condemn the hate, then you are accepting it. Love is not enough. It is not us & them. This is agendas. This is the media choosing what they want to tell the public to support their own ideals.

Take a moment to decide how you want to live your life.

I choose to not be part of any group. I do not represent anyone outside of myself. I am me. Judge me for my own actions.

I will do my best to honor you in the same fashion.”

I wrote this in the fall of 2016. We have changed nothing since then. We still are choosing political parties and special interest groups over our children and neighbors. What will it take for us to learn?

The Dispassionate Sunshine Emerges

The dispassionate sunshine emerges
Calling out my dulled & weary name
Feeling downtrodden so early in the morn
Slowly licked by the sun’s eternal flame

Stretching as I rise from my sheets
Needing reservoirs of coffee in times like this
Stark forms in prospective movement
Daylight meets love’s surefire kiss

A Cup Of Coffee Sounds Mighty Nice

A cup of coffee sounds mighty nice
Talking away hours in the sun
Warmth after this long cold winter
Experiences overall count as one

Coming times to start all over
No need to hesitate or soften your walk
Forced feelings fall a little short
Take time & measure when you talk

A friend is a friend forever
But be weary as not to injure
Broken hearts never quite heal
Through a loving soul will always endure

Disturbed Themes & Distant Thrombosis

Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis
A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea
Transcendental visitations
From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality

Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion
Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought
But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities
Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought

We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries
Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most
We maunder through our raging debates
Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts

Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve
Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query
Descending by the light of our candelabra
If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary

Trying To Conjure The Ghost

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She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire


I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind

Surviving By The Bright Light of Day

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Surviving by the bright light of day
Pouring coffee directly into my weary eyes
Can’t sleep at night since I must remain alert
Anxious; trying to hide my soul’s invisible cries

Gathering my wits to merely successfully exist
Waiting for the other shoe to drop & Hell to begin
Tired of cowering away in forgotten silence
Appearing strong since no one sees the enemy within

Sitting At The Windowsill

Sitting at the windowsill
Fingers stained by my ink
Face red & tranquilly humbled
Cold & tumbled; too frozen to think


The nights are dropping temps
I’ll need to do everything to keep warm
Though I’m unwrapping each layer
Eagerly embracing your gracious form


Life is a fine chance to love you
Trading kisses as I adjust your weary crown
Telling stories of our younger days
& the magic that happened in a little Arizona town

Image by Lou Blazquez from Pixabay

To My Beloved Friends

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To my beloved friends
Though we live in far off places
& may not have the honor
Of gracing each other’s faces

The sands of time are finite
& we have so many demands
On how we spend each grain
Whether I’m at sea or on dry land

Yet know, I keep you with me
Close to this weary heart
Gather in for a New Years’ toast
Opportunity for a fresh start

Cold Coffee & A Stash Of Lost Dreams

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Cold coffee & a stash of lost dreams
A distant memory of those rail yards
But we weren’t ourselves with honesty
Not the renegades or anything that hard


Images of what we might yet become
Grabbing self-regard before it fades
Destroying their notions of modernism
Returning to polka dotted shirts & dark shades


We all have our morbid skeletons
The vague semblance of a broken soul
But somewhere are the clues to the truth
Somewhere when lightning meets a weary, old skull

Disquieted Moments In The Afternoon

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Disquieted moments in the afternoon
These Springtime rays have a golden hour
Reflecting youth into my weary eyes
The reassuring notion of dreampower

Yet gone are the mornings we woke afresh
Our mortal flesh reeling down on Earth
Life; the thorn in the side of this existence
Internal fire requires our souls a wider berth

The slings & arrows shall never fully hinder
For love always eventually finds a way
Darkness cannot extinguish the sun
This truth discovered by the piercing light of day

Flaming Sauerkraut Stud Muffin

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Flaming sauerkraut stud muffin
A condensed version of radial glory
Knowing full well where life begins
The translucent strands of our story
Calculating Parisian jazz statistics
Veiled through the rummy, filtered grime
Distance equals an unfettered stump
When satisfaction measured in Lycra & time
Logbooks; surmounting the tepid schedule
All aboard the mourning run of the downtown train
Sunrise catching your weary eyes
Early summer rain prepositions our inaugural hurricane

 

 

 

*I was bogged down and couldn’t write so I just started writing nonsense until I was inspired to create something. It is what it is.

I’m Tired, Weary, Fatigued, However You Want To Call It

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I’m tired, weary, fatigued, however you want to call it
This world is tearing itself apart, with no end in sight
Neighbors can’t stand the appearance of each other
If we don’t swerve, we’re all going to face the fiery night
Reject hate, reject them, reject the world’s system
I don’t care if kindness long ago went out of fashion
Don’t accept your options, make your own way
We need return to art, return to love & compassion
‘They’ are anyone who’ll tell you we can’t survive
Without stooping down to unconscionable degrees
Rebel, refuse & reclaim enlightenment & love
Lead ourselves away from their dysfunctional societies
God reserves a place in Hell for those who spout hate
Whether you believe in Christ or what Buddha taught
Love doesn’t see the differences between us
We can do better; a peaceful way must be sought
Politicians are no more than door to door salesmen
Fraudulent purveyors of the American dreamscape
But we, the silent underground, emerging each day
Fed up with their vision, proof that heroes don’t wear capes

 

Image by Grae Dickason from Pixabay

Anaïs Nin

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“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anaïs Nin