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Where No Ones Been

Where No Ones Been

When nothing seems to matter

And no one seems to care

Love leaves no trace

Autumn unfolds, naked and bare

What was it you said

As you turned and looked away

Come with me

Before we fall, and time fades away

Empty rooms

Empty space

No matter where I go

I always feel out of place

I know your scent

I know your skin

I know your touch

In those secret places where no one’s ever been

I swear I can hear your heart

I can taste your breath

If you’d only let me

I’d find you again between this life and death

Wherever you’d go

I’d follow you down

Through darkest of streets

Of the loneliest of deserted towns

Are you broken like me

Black and blue, painted sad

Letting go of all those little things

We could of had 

I know your scent

I know your skin

I know your touch

In secret places where no one’s ever been

Something

She was crying, crying so very hard, and it almost sounded the same as hysterical laughter——It was a sound steeped in deep emotions. Emotions are strange and uncontrollable but never wasted. She had the fading foundation of a woman who in her younger years was pretty, No, not pretty—-She had once been beautiful. She’s my Sad Autumn girl.
Getting older is rough, even more so for a woman. Losing ones attractiveness is a cruel trick of time. There’s no punch line, just laughter and tears——and we all live somewhere between the two?
Kindness is more attractive than beauty 
right there and then
I wanted to change my life
We all want to
We are all
Afraid to live
Afraid to die
some days leave us feeling like forever

Somedays will never be forgotten
somedays show us what we’re made of
It would take all my strength 
To beat back the darkness
When did it get to be so hard
Maybe nothing and no one changes
Or, maybe it’s only me who changes
I don’t really know anyone
Anymore

And no one knows me

I prefer it this way
I wanna figure it out
On my won
I miss everyone
Everything hurts
Nothings easy anymore
How do I carry on
I just want something
Something to hold on too
But something is so hard to find
I’m lost in the wonder of it all
and it makes me cry and laugh
living somewhere between the two

Twilight

Forever forgotten
an empty chair 
at silent dinner table
China ware frail
Showing tiny fractures

Pious Stained window
from the back pew
of a prayer worn church
contrition on aching knee’s 
Quiet sobbing in the dark
 
midnight cars meander
rolling by in the distance
aimless forlorn headlights

The lonely bark of a dog at 3:05 am
The measured ticking of a incessant clock
Flickering starlight 
from Dying stars
forgive-less moon
chasing Blind skies
Waiting on a tardy sun
birth of twilight 
Shadows cast from dim windows
across dark silent bedroom walls

Rain drops against window panes
endless November nights
They say the world spins
But I don’t know
What to believe 

We are given no reasons
Holy books and funny papers
Knowing, that there is, no-knowing
What’s reality, what’s illusion
What’s it matter
we all must walk through the fire
And we do our best
To carry on






Private Moment

I bet you been on the other side of this thing before, but never with me

take me up to your room, to all those secret places

Take me to where nothing else matters

Shut the light off so I can see you better

the streets are full of people who have dreamed of having you

but they will never see you the way I do

cause I’ve seen you in me, and me in you

and maybe thats love, or a private lie

gonna dream in fire, roll like thunder

live like a child, lost in the wonder

the way of love

the way of change

don’t take the risk

if you can’t take the pain

You’re my mirror and I’m your echo

the distance between us grows ever closer

I bet you been on the other side of this thing before

but never with me

water colors, roll down your cheeks

a portrait painted in tears

I’d trade it all, for a private moment with you

Let the sky fall

and castles crumble

love becomes the truth

when your pride is humbled

the way of love

the way of change

don’t take the risk

if you can’t take the pain

Soul Muscles

I wanted to be 
Understood
To be irreplaceable
But even the mightiest of loves
Is adrift between illusion and fantasy

The chasm too wide
The silence too deep

You wanted me to be whole
You wanted me to be confident
You wanted me to be stable
But I’m none of those things
I’m vulnerable, kind, sensitive
And there’s nothing worse then being gentle
In a world stilted on false bravado 

The world rewards 
Angry bitter people

Such people
Wear me out
Drain me
Suffocate me

I’d prefer my solitude

Ya see
To be a poet 
It requires that you have
Muscles in your soul

You told me to grow up
But I said why
The world’s full of fucked up grown ups

The road becomes too long
Time blurs
Love’s a vapor

I let it all go
I let you go
I was being dragged
So, I let it all go


Scoring Your Writing Prowess

Points will be deducted from your “wanna be a writer score” If—–

you wear a beatnik beret, you blather on in esoteric multi syllabic non-sensible rants, sip soy lattes, cosmopolitans or smoke a pipe, chain smoke or have a Marijuana Medical Card, sport a goatee or soul patch, you speak in metaphors no one understands, you’re a vegan, you attend or teach Haiku workshops, you always have a bottled water and smart phone within reach, you have a degree in English, Journalism or communications,  your favorite Beatle is Paul, You play golf, you have a cat named Zen.

Points will be added to your “wanna be a writer score” 

If—you’ve hoboed on a train, if you have a recipe for chili beans, beef stew or anything containing spam, you either have no cell phone and if you do, it’s a pay as you go with a cracked face plate and numbers that stick, your car stereo is worth more than you car, you dig jazz (add five points if you can play jazz),  Your favorite Beatle is John, You know how to shoot pool, You have a dog named Buddy.

The Phases Of Writing

1. Fame makes great writers drunks and madmen

2. Fame makes good writers self conscious and reclusive

3. Fame makes okay (commercial) writers rich and predicable 

  1. Anonymity makes horrible writers drunks and madmen.

Be advised, being a drunk and a madman does not make you a great 

writer—but sadly, it often comes with the territory, see rule #1 and #4.—

If you don’t find any of this shit helpful, then go live your life and write about what you hear, see and feel, then have a taco—-

Helpful Hint

“Try and make the pretty stuff sound sad and the sad stuff sound pretty—” V Uriz

Feel free to substitute your word of choice in place of the word “pretty”—depending on your mood—