JOURNAL POETRY

I could never stick to journaling, and would instead write poetry.  These are mostly from the summer of 2004

I

there is no money in the bank,
and no fortune of my mind,
there is no gold in my teeth
nor a championship on the line.


ah, the winter of a summertime's mid-morning.
oh! the decadence of wasted youth.
ugh! the grievings of my passion and the elements of the truth.


Oh! the thrill and the love of victory;
the smooth disaffection of defeat.
the pain on the couch of a watcher
the cool even presence of this seat.


there are no funds in my account
there is no mystery in my heart.
there is no journey in my soul
and I've no idea where to start.


II

are the policies and politics of madness somewhere in this
destiny defined?
am I a closet loser, in this closet of my life?
I seek and seek for solace
and but one door do I find.
I yearn and learn for victory
but victory is not mine.


III

If you were a fighter, what kind would you be?
me? I'm a warrior with my gait and swagger
full borne with my scars and warrings
What a time I have been concealed
under the tutelage of another's tent.
held, against my will, to my benefit.
I know not when they'll let me loose
I know not when.
Numbers, emotions, activities to learn
chosen but not choice.
I know not when my time will come
I know not when
I know not when.



IV

Summertime, Ah! the turning tumbling waste.
I need a vacation
I need a sensation
other than reproach.
Mid-day sun, I am the aggressor,
the sometime's confessor
of tidings that hold me back.


V

there is a pitter patter in the deep down of me.
there is a quiet reconing in the quiet parts.


I am not here to live my life adjacently,
I am not here to live my life apart from
the places and spaces I've long
known reserved for the anchor of my rear.


I do not wish to tip toe through the present
to whisper when my name is called.
I own up to a life triumphant
I speak to a generation on the walk.


Come! those who seek and are borne down
he who overcomes the suffereing will lay you rest.
I know King the King will save me
and I come at his precious behest.


"Hey, Hey"

I say that I'm  here, but I'm gone
I say that I'm free, but I'm really a pawn;
I say that I'm right, but I'm wrong
I say I'm just talking, but truly I'm singing a song.


Hey! how do you define what's clean?
Hey!  have you ever known the unseen?
Hey! what is it we say we do... 
to get through


You say it's opinion, but it's fact;
you say you're legit, yet you lack all tact;
you say that you're poor, but you're rich;
you say that she's nice, but really we know she's a --


Hey!  what road do you say you're on?
hey! and how do you tread it upon?
hey!  the songstress has finally revealed... 
she's more than she tries to appeal


and what is the difference anyway?
It's all in the subtle games we play
I wish it would all go away
and never return.


and what is the moral of this show?
it's all a useless to and fro
i think I'll hide my head
and never return,
and never return...