GREEN BOOK POETRY
"Verbage"
written January 2001 while I was waiting for my car to get fixed. I remember sitting on the curb writing
I am truncated in the master plan builder, crazy zany wielder, super duper shielder. don't you dare underestimate the power I yield in this vanity shield, infuriating, peeled. You disassociate yourself from them, from earning the pen, from fountained when and clarivoient delight. Won't follow me down, so sinister clown, renewed and renowned, for better, letter or worse. Hey there on the tailpipe, a little bit whale like, your use of your verbage is sick.
well, this innuendo causes quite a crescendo when people and poverty mix.
bring forth a new judgement, a radical parchment a dilly a larchmont-the avenue that is. A shame this is wasted and so little of it tasted, the wine that we dine is so fine for a crime.
Oh boy! what a noise I supposed it needs more
rest to be best, to be better to be great!
sugar and shun break on my gums; eat at my tires and feed on my fires--
nothing to do, so I'll listen to you what a vulgar mistake it will make my arms sake in will whimper my pride and vanity inside; take my hands off the wheel and start to force me to feel, only so much to do just to get your life through, have a million missteps and still time to retrace. Go a million mis march and can always feel the stench of the strangest display as you get through your day.
Plus the cursive looks cool
like you learned it in school
at the hand of a bike and the spike
in your hands make your mind drivel
GRAND!
"Sitting"
February 2001, I wrote this while wandering around... nothing to do in L.A. (I was broke and unemployed)
I am sitting, sitting with a bug
on my knee, happy to be
sitting, here in the sun, won't it be
fun when you can join me?
at dawn, it sings, the years, it brings.
I am waiting, waiting for my life to start.
waiting for another part.
watching as the days chase by.
I am waiting, waiting in the noon day sun
listening as the birds have sung
their morning tunes.
and at dawn, it is, my life, is His.
I am searching, searching for something to do
wondering if it all comes through
why we do the things we do.
and at night, it's still, in time, I will
I am here, here to do my life's work best.
finishing this danged long test
praying for a day of rest.
and it's here for everyone to see.
can't you underestimate
things we learn yet can't debate
things we feel but can't relate
at all?
don't you dissolution now
feeling like a wasted town
turning a smile from a frown
again?
I am writing, writing with my bug
still near, flicking him there or here
still he sits with me no fear
to stay,
I am listening, for the words He has to
say, for the words to lead the way,
wake up to a sunny day.
again.
"Red Pen"
spring 2001. I found a red pen, while substitute teaching at marlborough school. the 7th graders in that class are now investment bankers:
Teacher! teacher! teacher's pen!
it's red ink magic power's zen.
who knew the flip could be so fun?
to hold the key,
the chosen one.
sitting at the desk again
tis my time now to clock it-- begin!
the coffee stains
the chalk marked hand
the mysterious white held in my fan
Oh teacher, teacher!
simple now
you still have much to learn somehow
the stillness of the clock work round
you'll stir it up again.
"5/13"
I wrote this in an acting workshop... I think
Is there time for me to whimper into oblivion?
I let them use it and the they use it.
My bible is there in the corner and it
smells like smoke
off by the wall the cascades of conversation
retreaded
like a wandering hobo
it's knick-knacks in it's slung sack.
I could have told you that before
I have been shy to jovial to pained to
brooding to quiet conspirator, and still
I am sitting here.
My brain doesn't move from my head
nor the pain it could bring in it's stead.
I have sat in the cafe of silent conversations, wordless innovations
and glares from left to right.
Seen the mute learn to dance
and the strong echo.
Fernando does his tango in the dark.
Fernando learns to read amidst the darkness.
the darkness tells his friend to stay
silent, and all the while
"the love song of j. alfred prufrock"
nimbly repeats itself in my head.
did I ever get the essence of that ?
"Spinning"
--All this talk of spinning and I'll
let it come to me.
what you think you're winning is
only what you see.
don't think that's you're sinning that's
the way it's going to be
we're free, we're free, we're free.
--never ending story don't
know how it's going to end.
now you say you're boring
only think that you're a friend
things get really gorey
is that what you want to send?
we're free, we're free, we're free.
--and here we are
at the end, beginning again
another scar
it fills in dotted lines
we've come so far
torturing the findings we mend
and it means war,
paying parking fines
--showing off the flurry I
know how it's going to feel
ripping, bye, gone, hurrying
doesn't seem to be as real
I miss you all inspiring
eats another crummy meal
we're free, we're free, we're free
--and we're free to be who we are
and we're free to become a star
and we're free to make up our
minds to get along
along, you're wrong
we fight, we might
get well, through hell
in time, we're fine
we go, we go, we go, we go, we go, ...
written January 2001 while I was waiting for my car to get fixed. I remember sitting on the curb writing
I am truncated in the master plan builder, crazy zany wielder, super duper shielder. don't you dare underestimate the power I yield in this vanity shield, infuriating, peeled. You disassociate yourself from them, from earning the pen, from fountained when and clarivoient delight. Won't follow me down, so sinister clown, renewed and renowned, for better, letter or worse. Hey there on the tailpipe, a little bit whale like, your use of your verbage is sick.
well, this innuendo causes quite a crescendo when people and poverty mix.
bring forth a new judgement, a radical parchment a dilly a larchmont-the avenue that is. A shame this is wasted and so little of it tasted, the wine that we dine is so fine for a crime.
Oh boy! what a noise I supposed it needs more
rest to be best, to be better to be great!
sugar and shun break on my gums; eat at my tires and feed on my fires--
nothing to do, so I'll listen to you what a vulgar mistake it will make my arms sake in will whimper my pride and vanity inside; take my hands off the wheel and start to force me to feel, only so much to do just to get your life through, have a million missteps and still time to retrace. Go a million mis march and can always feel the stench of the strangest display as you get through your day.
Plus the cursive looks cool
like you learned it in school
at the hand of a bike and the spike
in your hands make your mind drivel
GRAND!
"Sitting"
February 2001, I wrote this while wandering around... nothing to do in L.A. (I was broke and unemployed)
I am sitting, sitting with a bug
on my knee, happy to be
sitting, here in the sun, won't it be
fun when you can join me?
at dawn, it sings, the years, it brings.
I am waiting, waiting for my life to start.
waiting for another part.
watching as the days chase by.
I am waiting, waiting in the noon day sun
listening as the birds have sung
their morning tunes.
and at dawn, it is, my life, is His.
I am searching, searching for something to do
wondering if it all comes through
why we do the things we do.
and at night, it's still, in time, I will
I am here, here to do my life's work best.
finishing this danged long test
praying for a day of rest.
and it's here for everyone to see.
can't you underestimate
things we learn yet can't debate
things we feel but can't relate
at all?
don't you dissolution now
feeling like a wasted town
turning a smile from a frown
again?
I am writing, writing with my bug
still near, flicking him there or here
still he sits with me no fear
to stay,
I am listening, for the words He has to
say, for the words to lead the way,
wake up to a sunny day.
again.
"Red Pen"
spring 2001. I found a red pen, while substitute teaching at marlborough school. the 7th graders in that class are now investment bankers:
Teacher! teacher! teacher's pen!
it's red ink magic power's zen.
who knew the flip could be so fun?
to hold the key,
the chosen one.
sitting at the desk again
tis my time now to clock it-- begin!
the coffee stains
the chalk marked hand
the mysterious white held in my fan
Oh teacher, teacher!
simple now
you still have much to learn somehow
the stillness of the clock work round
you'll stir it up again.
"5/13"
I wrote this in an acting workshop... I think
Is there time for me to whimper into oblivion?
I let them use it and the they use it.
My bible is there in the corner and it
smells like smoke
off by the wall the cascades of conversation
retreaded
like a wandering hobo
it's knick-knacks in it's slung sack.
I could have told you that before
I have been shy to jovial to pained to
brooding to quiet conspirator, and still
I am sitting here.
My brain doesn't move from my head
nor the pain it could bring in it's stead.
I have sat in the cafe of silent conversations, wordless innovations
and glares from left to right.
Seen the mute learn to dance
and the strong echo.
Fernando does his tango in the dark.
Fernando learns to read amidst the darkness.
the darkness tells his friend to stay
silent, and all the while
"the love song of j. alfred prufrock"
nimbly repeats itself in my head.
did I ever get the essence of that ?
"Spinning"
--All this talk of spinning and I'll
let it come to me.
what you think you're winning is
only what you see.
don't think that's you're sinning that's
the way it's going to be
we're free, we're free, we're free.
--never ending story don't
know how it's going to end.
now you say you're boring
only think that you're a friend
things get really gorey
is that what you want to send?
we're free, we're free, we're free.
--and here we are
at the end, beginning again
another scar
it fills in dotted lines
we've come so far
torturing the findings we mend
and it means war,
paying parking fines
--showing off the flurry I
know how it's going to feel
ripping, bye, gone, hurrying
doesn't seem to be as real
I miss you all inspiring
eats another crummy meal
we're free, we're free, we're free
--and we're free to be who we are
and we're free to become a star
and we're free to make up our
minds to get along
along, you're wrong
we fight, we might
get well, through hell
in time, we're fine
we go, we go, we go, we go, we go, ...
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