collab

Thursday, March 16, 2017

JAY WALKING ACROSS THE AUTOBAHN












Jay Walking Across the Autobahn



If I had known where this was all going to end up
I never would have taken this trip
No, that's not right, I take that back
I had no choice in the matter
I was born with a suitcase in my hand
A wad of dirty hundred dollars bills
And a longing for something I've never known, 
Let alone found.

There was a tiny seed germinating in my heart
Weed or flower, who knows? (I have no wisdom)
Beauty or ugliness, who can tell? (I have no sight)
Not the sight of a wise man or the wisdom of the blind
But extra-sensory perception that comes from misuse.

They say that God protects the innocent and the fool
(Some say the alcoholic and the atheist)
It's been my sad experience to learn 
That the inebriated fall all the same on broken glass
But do not know until much later, how torn and broken
That they have been all along
But I am not a drunkard.

I did not believe in God
For twelve minutes in the hot July sun
One long Monday morning in the sixteenth year of my life
I did not believe in anything because I had been damaged
And all the faith had been grabbed out of my heart
And sent off down a raging river that issued from my own eyes;
For twelve minutes I was an atheist.

Being alone in the universe without a creator
Is the loneliest feeling you can ever have
There was no one to rail at, no one to cry to
No one to blame for everything and nothing
And no one to beg for mercy 
When I had come to the end of myself;
Therefore,  I am not an atheist.

There was love there in the desert
Here and there, an oasis or two
Shade from the heat as I wandered like Ishmael and Hagar
Wondering what I had done besides being born
At the wrong time to the wrong people
But love, like everything, is fleeting
And slipped like sand through my fingers.

Did you ever have a song stuck in your head
That just keeps playing over and over and over?
Well, that's my life, my memories, few as they are
They play in my gray cells like tiny transistor radios
Crackling with static and intermittent signals
That never come in quite strong enough to identify.

I have blisters on my feet from walking,
Blisters on my hands from carrying this luggage,
Blisters on my heart from being burned so many damned times
That soon the scar tissue will be five inches thick and impenetrable
But I can't seem to stop walking
They won't let me
And I won't let them let me.

I saw a crazy man once;
He didn't see me, I don't think
But I watched him for a good half hour
Out in the middle of the freeway in America
Batting at birds that were not there
And talking to people that did not talk back
I was fascinated by the conversation
And only grew afraid when I saw an angel
Take his arm and escort him to the curb.

I think I might have an angel
Otherwise, why am I still here?
I've fallen off of mountains and washed up on to seashores
Been hit by trains and hurricanes
Still clutching my battered suitcase,
Still breathing through the sea weed, my heart still pounding,
Long after the world had given me up for dead.

I don't even remember why I started writing this now
I have no one to mail it to
There's no post office box waiting somewhere
For someone to turn the key in
And exclaim, Hey, look! A letter!
There's no reason to start a diary now
Here at the end of my life.

But still, I feel the need
To record my thoughts
As I stand here at the side of the road
Watching cars go whizzing by at 125 mph
It's almost exhilarating to feel that wind in my face, my hair
I think I could almost feel happy.

When I finish writing this, I'll put it in my suitcase
With the other little things that mean nothing to no one
The bit of fish net and blue glass,
The song that the sailor wrote, the red autumn leaf,
The feather that fell from the sky, the dream I tried to paint,
The coat with no sleeves and the bottle from Paris.

It's been a long, strange trip indeed, around the world
I started out alone and that's how I'll end
My pockets are still full of money, for I never needed any
(You cannot buy what I desire)
I'm no older than I was and no younger than I wish to be
And if I am wiser, it's because I've learned
That what I'm looking for cannot be found here.

I touch the items in my luggage one last time
To thank them for accompanying me
We have shared many things, these treasures and I
(And not all of them terrifying)
If inanimate objects can feel anything,
I'm sure they feel my gratitude and devotion
And having done that, I square my shoulders,
Get a firm grip on the ragged, black suitcase
And step into the road.




                  













©by Voo
March 7, 09
1:45 a.m.



I WAS BORN WITH WINGS




I Was Born With Wings



I was born with wings that were clipped from my young shoulders
After running wild and free on this grim earth
After two or three years of flying and living
Innocent and unconcerned with terrestial things and human pain
The loss of my wings brought me anguish
And sorrow and heartache and terror
That would shadow me the rest of my life
And never let me know that taste of freedom again
Feet cannot be compared to wings
Feet can only run, they cannot soar
They cannot take you high above the clouds
Of despair and over and beyond the awful things
That wait in darkness to grasp your soul
Feet cannot outrun the thing that runs behind you
Or crawls below you or slinks in front of you
But wings! Wings can lift you up and away
To heights untouched by life's tragedies and hell's demons
Wingless now, I can only run and run and run
Run toward Heaven, where I've been told 
My wings are waiting for me.





©by Voo
Feb 12, 2005 
2:30 p.m.



WINGLESS HORSES


















wingless horses



and we were like wingless horses
running across the sky
pounding hooves like rolling thunder
fleeing from the clouds that cry

you and I, so much in love
you and I, so much in hate
you and I, too young to carry
all that worry, woe and weight

we didn’t know what we didn’t know
we didn’t see what we couldn’t see
our hearts would look for hidden treasures
found only inside you and me

days when love would pass like strangers
nights when dreams would burn to ash
weeks when life would slice our fingers
as it hurried by so fast

and then it slowed and then it stopped
and then it drowned in pouring rain
and then it died of great neglect
and then it came to life again

great breaking hearts inside our breasts
grew stronger with each pain and tear
no separation put asunder
the union of our love and fear

you and I, we fought like lions
you and I, we sang like birds
you and I, we killed each other
with our passion and our words

but we rose up like wingless horses
that didn’t know they couldn’t fly
and raced the winds that blew against us
let them raise us up so high

until we reached the pinnacle
until we left the lowest depths
leaving madness far behind us
and sang to love with our last breaths.





















©by Voo
Aug 6, 2012
2:00 a.m.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

WRITING ORIGINAL



Writing Original

by ©Voo  (yeah, right!)



Summertime
and the living is easy....

No, wait!
That's  been done!
What am I thinking?

To be ! or not to be !
That is the.....

??????
What the hell??

Sorry, Will, old boy
Don't roll over in your grave
(I mean't no harm.)

She walks in beauty
Like the night....

Damn!
Damn!
Damn!
This is not going well.

Start again, shall we?
Ready, set, type!
Ahem!

Whenas in silks
My Julia goes......
OMG!

She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless climes and......
Heaven, help me!!!

Come live with me and be my love!
And we will all the pleasures prove
O, for the love of........!

When, in disgrace
With fortune and men's eyes
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments.....
(Yeah, yeah, that sounds good!)

What!!!!?????
What do you mean?????!!!!!!
Oh.
What about this, then?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night
Surely..... not!!!

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately....... 
Ancient!?   How ancient !!???

Old MacDonald had a farm
E I E I O!!!!!!
Whose woods these are I think I know

No?

Frost, you say?
As in David?
Robert?
Mother Who????
Blast it all!!!!!

Alright, one more time
One last, last time......
ONE FINAL, INSPIRED TIME.....

What if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to a summer's lie
There!

Good heaven's, man!!!!!!
Are there no bubbles left to be unburst????

This can only mean one thing!!!!!!
All the good stuff.........
Has already been written!!!!!!!

Curses!!!!

Yesterday......
All my troubles seemed
So far away
Now it looks as though.......

?   ???????????  The What???

Forget it!
I give up!

Here, take my pen, my paper,
My typewriter, my keyboard, my Blackberry
The dust on the window
The sand on the shore.........
I shall write

No

More.

Again.

Forever.

oh, wait!

A masterpiece
Just formed in my head.....
Oh, joy! Oh, rapture!

Wait for it.....
Wait.....

Ahhh!

And the word erupted sculpted and transfused
Confused in it's infancy of ink.......

What?!   Oh, give me a break!!!
You mean a Machine wrote this?!
A Word Machine??!

Well, that's it, then........



SIGH


*** last lines written by my buddy Jimmy, the Word Machinist. Lines so good I had to steal them.****


and
thanks to Shakespeare,
Herrick,
e.e. cummings,
Frost,
Paul McCartney 
and 
all 
the 
other
great
classic
poets
whose
works
shamelessly
borrowed
here.............


SIGH




THE TRUNK






The Trunk

Unbuttoned buttons
Falling out of an old trunk
Stuffed with mildewed lace
And blue ribbons barely
Holding together ancient love letters
Browned with age and turning to dust
At a touch.
There, a faded photograph lies
'Neath cobwebby frames and old air
Remnants of a life long dead,
A love still living in a distant past.
I hear the sweetness of a tiny bit of violin,
Muffled girlish laughter,
Shoes with elaborate bows dancing dainty steps
As the face in the photograph looks down
From his towering height into shining blue eyes.
A pocket watch with exquisite chain of gold
A lock of auburn hair inside a locket
A pressed flower so old, I cannot tell what it had been
A book of Keats, it's sanctuary........
And a prayer book with a scribbled prayer in spidery hand
"Please, please, please, dear Lord
Let this be the night he asks me!"
Underneath a wedding veil, a Bible with crumbling cover
Inside, the marriage recorded for all the world to see
Oh, happy, happy day! She has written in bold letters
And I feel the joy and smile at her rejoicing.
In a brocaded box, a baby's tooth, a curl tied with thread
A christening dress, what used to be a doll
With reverent hands I pull the items towards me
Breathe in the musty memories they eminate
And gently place them back inside the trunk.
In the corner, stuck inside a seam, I see a picture
Creased and faded almost into non existence
The woman's blue eyes, still shining, still full of love
Sitting in a rocking chair, holding a doll 
As though it was her sole salvation.
No gown of yellow adorned her frame
And I could not hear the violin's tender trill
But I knew that it was her
And for a moment, it flashed into my mind
That she could see me seeing her
See me holding the remnants of her life
Celebrating her little victories
And great, great losses
Now silently announced by the ugly black dress
And by an unspeakable sorrow on a yet young face.
"I'm so sorry." I whisper 
And close the trunk in slow retreat
Passing an ancient mirror standing like a portal
To another world in that dusty, forgotten attic,
I catch a glimpse of my own face surrounded by untidy curls
With similar eyes and inherited sadnesses
It is her face there staring back at me
"It is our face." I think and touch my rounded belly
With a new mother's hands
Perhaps, it'll be her face, too. And I'll bring her here
To see where she came from, how strong the genes imparted
How thick the blood, how deep the love that survives the sorrow
Down through the ages 
And imprinted on the cherished things she touched
Almost disintegrated now
But living still
Inside that dusty trunk.


by Voo
© May 14, 07 3 p.m.