Back Streets

The streets are cold, wet, and unforgiving.

The suffering eyes of no named men

Stare up at the passive walker listening

To the rhythm of his footsteps.

One working girl works the married man

Behind the trash and the wire fence

Between the crumbling slums.

The moon seems as frail as a Robin’s bone,

If the walker caught it, it would break

And crumble and be taken in the passing

Trail of unclean air.

Glitterati

Like a deplorable trail of smoke

From the final cigarette of a bum

Who had it all and then lost it all,

You fade into the air and are forgotten.

 

Your body falls through shadows

Like hollow bones in a grave,

But you are lost, drunk and unfeeling

And you let the ether claim you.

 

Then like a lover expectant

Lying on an unmade bed with red sheets,

You try to sleep but your mind is in oil

And your eyes see angels.

 

You never woke, you never slept.

Like a cut out headline you imprint then decay,

Leaving only remnants of a burnt page

Dancing in the lost space of a man’s mind.

 

Champagne, no name, never to age,

Your eyes say they have seen it all

But you shiver at the sight of the poor

And your feet bleed as you dance.

 

Do not fool with the glitterati of the city.

City Walk

I can walk sentimental streets

Without being ashamed of my smile,

Yes, I can walk with pride

At my being, at my being alive.

The marriage of the breeze with

The perfumes of flowers growing

In between concrete scars

And the gasoline from passing cars

Lingers thoughtlessly in the air.

Still I look down at my steps

Going forward, never missing a beat.

I am in the city now, and it is full,

It never feels constrictive or contrived

No matter how many ads plague the skyline

They are just part of the feature.

My sentimental street is another river to the sea,

A free and open society.

 

*Feedback would be cool!

Music

Would you improvise with me?

It could be a simple symphony,

A cacophony of stars in melted blue,

Swirling winds and moonlight too,

Shades of night, a pallet in our hands

Complex melodies like falling grains of sand,

Thick like smoke, will you hold this tune?

That weaves around the lonely room,

Fingers deep in a cascade of champagne

Waterfall, bright, diamond cold rain.

Would your piano play classical?

Or would it fall into the fantastical,

On its knees into a dream that we both feel

One we could keep but never make real,

Is that not what music is for?

An ephemeral, erotic, opening of the dawn,

Why the feminine notes float I do not know

But I know they cause no ripples to grow

And spread over your silver trading rivers,

Ships, golden as a waltz, send shivers

Down the wire spines that move as we move

In this inferno, this ballroom of truth.

I hold the notion that it is quiet now,

Listen with me, silently, it is quiet now.

Golden Hearted Angel

Golden hearted angel I hear your voice

Never still, always reverberating and ringing.

Golden hearted angel I know that you’re singing

You are ageless, forever in a memory.

 

Heaven knows we all wish you were here,

But we have your words and your songs.

Golden hearted angel you will never be gone,

We have you locked in an eternal melody.

 

R.I.P Chris Cornell

Autumn Woods

Those heavy hours that linger

On the rivers of autumns veins

Grow colder and more silent

As woods see wind and rain.

 

Bells call upon the night birds

To take for themselves a sky

Now stained with ink and stars.

Too soon comes the hollow night.

 

Now those free and ancient woods

Once the realm of life newly grown,

Harbours only spirits caught

In the final throws of death alone.

The Sea

Sunlight does not reach these Caverns

Open like the mouths of stagnant hell.

They grow darker as you drift on down

Slowly in the balance of gentle death.

 

Like a feather in a ray of moonlight

You no longer cling to a beating heart.

Instead, between the black and the waves,

You drift before the stars fade away.

 

Your hands reach for the silver moon

Rays reaching out to you like pale arms.

But it is too weak to hold on to you

And they retreat into the oncoming dawn.

 

So, silently, you fall into the open dark

Still and cold but free to hope,

You will be lifted by loving hands to the sky,

The stars grow closer as you finally die.