Sitdiary is back! I am so glad (I was worried for a minute there it would never return). I just spent $1,030 on a drum set, I am poor and very excited and happy. Anyway, on to what this is really about, poems! These are poems I wrote mostly for school, but I like them no less. Requiem of a Mafia Man Here with my face to the thunder, eyes black and charcoal, heart cold, head searing. Here with the lightening and stars at my back. Here where I slipped from the flesh garbage sack, my clothing my grave all the same. Here with my face to the thunder, eyes black. It was there that I heard, felt my neck crack. There, not here, I heard death nearing. Here with the lightning and stars at my back. Here, the path of “the bull,” “the tank,” “the axe,” all bodies, lifeless, float in blood smearing. Here with my face to the thunder, eyes black. Here where the rain tap dances on the trash bag, still floating, limp, like a damp rag. Here with the lightening and stars at my back. The brick falls from my leg, into the stack of weights, gravestones, like bodies, abound here with my face to the thunder eyes black. Here with the lightening and stars at my back. Old Man on the Back Porch The callous canker stood, bones cracking. His empty frame concealed his soul racking, his posture perfect as a prince, a king. That’s how the man stood, tall, straight, perhaps his only redeeming trait, so tall, seven feet, maybe eight. But his eyelids seam so crinkled. His frame once straight, seems wrinkled. He stands straight, but old. Those hands that point and scold, soon will sit straight and cold. He stands straight but old. Catholic Church Puts Confession Booths in Strip Joints The strippers within the scandal sheet look down in moderate bemusement. As the men beneath there sunken stage Step to the curtain to initiate adjustment. The father looks through the paneled frame at the eyes of the young lieutenant. How long my son asks the reverend, How long since then my dear lords tenant. I just want to get this off my chest Here in this place not at my next chore, I just want to get this off my chest Here before I go back there to war. It’s at a Deaf Boy’s Cry I Dream(tbr) I see the rain pitter patter on the pavement. The sizzle of the splashing sea against the rain Shant wake me, for my silently strepitous dreams Are near a quiet, surreal, enslavement. The harsh sonorities come and come again, And I see the sounds of so very many things. Down the docks toward senegal the screaming gulls call, Every word they say, I see, and know there is more, A silent slow tale they tell with their screams and shrieks For a boy that see's their spite, even though he's small. By and by, the siren sings, I see it off shore. Over the sea spray a man fishes as he speaks. Yet still the rain slithers down the drain as I dream, Silently it scathes the shingles of the store, Creeping, calamitously past the sign on the door. Rapping at the cold tinted windows right near me Yet still I sleep through the storm and the waves off shore In my minds eye, I still see the pleasantries of more. Drifting nearer the seashore where the solemn surf whispers Rousing secrets, splendid sea fairing survival stories salty and sweet. Echoing the sea, the stones and pebbles prattle breathily About their endless passage, surrounded by the ocean masters. Meaningless noise, insignificant sound, as the rain turns to sleet. Memories lie between us these Recollections are chewing through my iron resolve, these Memories are voices screaming from a shallow grave my mind, my hope, like teeth in soda, dissolve, and more and more and more I crave for Something shallow Something quick Something dead at the end of a stick A broken bird skull lies lifeless in my window where a magpie taps out a reverence. A cat howls in the bloody backyard meadow while my mind argues with my conscience. Waiting, for Something shallow Something quick Something broken at which wolves pick. you smell close and warm and vegetable fresh but if I get near you I only feel cold. and there’s nothing to you but your flesh your brain is rotting and spewing mold. and Something shallow Something quick Something creamy dark and thick. the rhythm of your calculated caressing lies is that of my diluted memory the mother howls and the child cries but that’s not the end of the story. for Something shallow and Something quick at their broken bones does lick. these Thoughts ricochet through my abandoned skull and tease me with their broken ballad but lust, my friend, is ne’er quite full and love is just it’s salad for lust is shallow lust is quick lust hits like a metal brick Untitled I without any particular grace. The thunder flows low and slow through the heavens. drawing back like the eternally bound to deep in the belly of the cloud. the lightning is quick to snap back with the flash that rekindles the light of day, but only briefly. I sit with my head cocked back on the rail of my brothers deck and let the rain tap dance on my ears. The thunder first drew me and the lightning brought my head back to look into the home of god. But it was here that the stars peaked through the ceiling of clouds. It was here that gods majesties sat, only briefly, side by side with one another. It was here that the clouds and the lightning made peace with the stars as they passed on their way to some other banishment. Some other world of warm rumblings and quiet slow wind. My whirling thoughts quieted as my eyes took in the sight of the steady stars, beside the fleeting lightning. "would it not be amazing to see a shooting star and lightning at the same time?" Only the thunder replies, a deep, slow song of affirmation. A requiem, as the last searing streak of lightning parts the sky, only to be followed by nothing. Only stars. Smile, Familiar Stranger, Above the Turning Wheels Drink my memories let them warm the rhythm in your ribcage they fill the void between us and are a mask of quiet here on this scuffling express where masks are all we see i still see you in colder times as i saw you many times before your whites kill the silence Smiles are as conversational as we need be Kiss the air with your teeth turn away only to avoid brown gazing contact this is a caramel orb waltz a sport made for two no four you are ambiguity intrigue but for a few miles familiar Tell me how this ends Snack on my memories as we weave our story in licorice and gold will you still know me in warmer times or will it be my memories memories that heat the soul like the scent of strong coffee that keep you warm