everything is broken

everything is broken.
everything is the same.
everything fits into the same box.
same cookie cutter.
same mold.

and the cycle continues.

what will we do?

are our tongues stuck to the roofs of our mouths?
are our pens not pressed firmly enough on the paper?
are our fingers merely striking the same keys over an over?

right now a crayon box is spilled out in front of me and my instincts say to pick them up and put them back in the box...

but my gut tells me something different.

there is a circle on the canvas and i'm tempted to color outside the lines
but that's not enough. the canvas is still the canvas.

break. melt. rub. smash. peel. mesh. rip. rebel.

never been thought of. never been tried. make new art.

there is no canvas. only chaos.

happiness

happiness is a warm gun
the number one
or the setting sun

those $40 dollar jeans
a way to a means
the innocence of teens

your fav. television show
the seeds that we sow
a candles glow

that billboard muse
the things that we use
the delta blues

watching things grow
nostalgic radio
green light 'go'

purported rebellion
mug shots of felons
that 'one in a million'

a hip hop lyric
a writer that's satyric
a groove atmospheric

happiness is a warm gun
a fortunate son
a rhyme that's done

sing to me a melody: of ticking clocks and ocean spray...

[just some thoughts after spending a week sitting on the shoreline of the Atlantic. written about a month ago]

[p.s. i'm certainly no poet... this was just free expression]






the waves come and go. come and go.
with the consistency of a clock ticking.
only the tides precede countable time…
the ticking of clocks.
the passing of second hands and the like.

seashells roll. broken and chiseled and colorful.
what stories do they tell?
where have they been? how were they broken?
finding the needle in the haystack - that select one…
that is the game for the searcher.

the rain drops fall down - but when in the water - you don't feel them.
it's as if the ocean spray is cooling your head.
with consistency and trajectory.
whipping winds appear fierce but are gentle at heart.
something beautiful is on the horizon.

at dusk - just before giving up on the day
it appeared. bright and shining.
casting silhouettes and shadows
the western sunset; broken through
what was grey now full of life.

a long walk along the incoming waters.
warm to the feet. pleasantly mild.
footprints along the shore line.
every seven seconds, it covers the sand like a blanket.
growing bigger. pushing forward.

every moment is new. fresh to the senses.
an ocean morning, noon and night.
it comes and goes, comes and goes
and if you're not careful, you'll miss its point.
soak it up. soak it in. you'll regret it later when it's gone.