Wednesday, December 30, 2009

The Path of Least Resistance, Part I

Through post-adolescent fear, we marched forward as involuntary draftees in collegiate armies full of promise and uncertainty.
Four years of hard labor, sex, drugs, and alcohol sweating through our consciences, peptic ulcer anxieties.
Torn between duty and pheremonic ecstasies we burned the midnight oil and partied 'til grey twilight of the dawn.
Bobbing for forbidden apples, peer pressure holding our hazed faces below the surface until the point of erotic asphyxia.
Semi-conscious realization in the glow of bare basement incandescent lights six feet under beer stained floorboards.
The hideous scent of vomit, piss, and beer drumming out the beauty of innocence lost in the maddening pace of competitive debauchery.
Neither the greatest generation, nor me generation, not baby boom, no gen x, gen y. Generation Nothing.
Greatest wonders were we who got up in the morning and continued to ambush our cache of talent and brain cells, day in day out.
Holding the rudder to the wind for the course of double-vision compasses maintaining headings true.
We meddled with duty and destiny carrying onward in mediocrity to the finish line still proud in the face of spite.
Shadows of the Great Depression looming over us like specters in the night spearing voices of shame into our psyches.
We dodged anti-establishment banter, flower power warriors hurling martyred ideology down our throats so we may taste the shame.
Thrusting rock'n'roll into our ears like fingers we chanted loudly over dark reason hoping for a brighter way.
My generation of fence walkers, teetering above the jaws of yesteryears never knowing which way the wind blows.
So pour another drink of c'est la vie, forget the moral battles, grab the token laureate and join the corporate ranks....

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Ambush, Hideous, Meddle

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

The Grave Robber

Grave Robber (1 of 3)

Though lean and lithe and sinewy
He toils earth and stone with ease
Slipping through the dark of night
To feed his begger's appetite
His occupation would some offend
Disturbing any human's end
Divining with his crooked spade
Sniffing gentry freshly laid
Tripping lilies in the gloom
He raids the poshly relished tomb
From the grave rise auntie's pearls
Or the pocket watch of master Earl
What value can a dead man claim?
When ash to ash be one and same?
The labor done whence dawn has come
Another honest workday done

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Grave, Lithe, Offend


Image and artwork courtesy of J.M.J. Wikholm. Visit him at flikr


the space is empty yet they wail
if walls could talk they'd tell the tale
when childhood ends, the demons hail
and fall upon us tooth and nail
within this room, a spirit’s jail....


Image courtesy of Seed 2 Sickle Studio.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

The Essence of Woman

She sumptuously fondled his ball
Inviting his kick and thrust
Then thwarting his passion play
By removing his target of lust

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Fondle, Kick, Sumptuous

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

In Spite of the Obvious: Thanksgiving

Give of yourself in spite of the obvious. Thanksgiving: The Obvious. The obvious is ritual. Old Pilgrim legend embraced in Rockwell dining rooms, domestic American poultry divied up by the Cleaver's cleaver. Candied yams and merriment and please pass the cranberry sauce. Embrace ourselves in glorious grateful perfection. Not.

Offer our gratitudes and share in the bounty, yes. But why must we partake in the charade? We are family, in all of our truly obvious imperfections. We trade the country mile for jet planes and interstates. Weary are the travelers. And more the traveler are we on this particular holiday. We are tired on arrival. Full of rest-stop stress and strain. Come in! Sit down! You've only spent the last five hours on your ass.

No need to pretend all is well in your life, any more then I should mine. This year, Uncle Albert got laid off. Aunt Ida has cancer. Cousin Elvin came out of the closet. We are all disenfranchised in one form or another. But the truth is, we woke up this morning and, by God, there is a shit-load of food on my table! I've got beer in the fridge, wine, whiskey, there's wood for the fire. We have plenty to inbibe, and not just the spirits. I expect some laughter, so loosen up! The only impression to be made here is how much of YOU you leave behind. That, and maybe an impression of Sarah Palin or two.

Happy Thanksgivin'! *wink wink*

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Give, Obvious, Thanks

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Creative Beauty

Creative beauty
Channels from the heart
Hastens humanity
From souls gaurded
Exposing self to elements
Bare to onlooking eyes
Shameless expression
Answers implicit,
To universal questions
Who we are
Why we are here
What will happen
The beginning
The end
Headlong into oblivion
A rubbernecker's banquet
Cornucopia of tragedy
Comedy, drama, and horror
We, the open book
Needing to spill forth
The stories of life
Within one
Among all
We share

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Little Saigon

The Viet down in Chelsea try to make their means. In the neon sparkled mist of Atlantic City's broken dreams. They scramble in the shadows of the casinos' gilded faux. Breathing life into a ward who's bones began to show. Lan secured a loan to lease a shop on Arctic Ave. To open up a restaurant he would give up all he had. The Vietnamese will lend a hand, as they're loyal to their own. They propped up Lan and cheered him on as he opened Little Saigon.

We can light the flame for every Little Saigon
Call it Ho Chi Minh by the Viet Cong
In the end, it's just an American song
For every broken dream here in Little Saigon

Lan would work the kitchen, his sister Mai would tend the floor. Mai was just sixteen with a face to be adored. The scent of lemongrass and basil and the warmth of sweet Mai's glow. Kept the customer's returning to a place where they were known. But like every ghetto mom-and-pop, there was more to pay than rent. Refuse to pay the gangbangers there may be an accident. The BTK from Chinatown were ruthless and obscene. They raped and killed his sister, Mai, when Lan would not come clean.

We can light the flame for every Little Saigon
Call it Ho Chi Minh by the Viet Cong
In the end, it's just an American song
For every broken dream here in Little Saigon

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Accident, Loyal, Obscene

Notes: This is a fictional ballad loosely based on real places. Little Saigon is a Vietnamese restaurant in the Chelsea section of Atlantic City, New Jersey. The setting of this pleasant establishment and the gentrifying neighborhood it resides were the inspiration for the story. The blight of gang violence in Asian communities in America is widespread and often underreported due to the cultural distrust of government in general by these communities. The BTK (Born to Kill) is a Vietnamese gang formed as an offshoot of Chinese gangs in New York's Chinatown. They were known to be extremely violent. While Atlantic City has been a magnet for mob activity of all kinds, any presence of BTK there is unknown to me.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Deep Ether

From the song, Requiem (One Way Home), a soul returns to whence it came.

"You live your life always fearing the end, but the end is the beginning, like a trusted friend
Back to the ether where we started from, our souls are in motion like the light of the sun"

Deep ether
Ancient swamp of souls
Clutching for the soular wind
Capture my sails and bring me forth
Once again into the spectrum of the living
Our white light in bloom through the prism of birth

Listen to "Deep Ether" here, if not in blogspot

Monday, November 9, 2009

Departing Alice

Departed is the love we used to share
That love was blinding
Never minding
The habits brought to bear

Consumed in you, my every day
Our carnal knowing
Ever showing
Our affections on display

We trade the glow for tolerance
Less love unending
Mere pretending
A tango-istic dance

Irritation is your very sigh
A sound like wheezing
Heart is freezing
Left wanting you to die

So raise a toast, to our precious love
The wine is malice
Dearest Alice
Depart for Heaven up above….

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Longest Night

Virgin frost
Meets the dawn
No slave to Karma,
The sun
Obey Lord Gravity
And axis atilt
Waning daylight cause
The stem to lilt
Wither and whuther
Autumn leaves
The arc of the sun
Falls to its knees
Repealing its warmth
To the evening sky
Driving fleet afoot
And winged to fly

Gnashing tooth upon the lingering bounty
The breathing ones sup
'Fore the sleep of the longest night

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Karma, Obey, Wither

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


Insecurity incubates behind the glow of vanity

Fueling the nightmare of the ruse

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Incubate, Nightmare, Vanity

Friday, October 2, 2009

Song for Brad

Thoughts and prayers for Brad.

Here's a song his father, Bob, wrote for him and his sib's, "The Kids' Song" .

Embrace the love and heal. Quell the anger, justice will be served.



Thursday, October 1, 2009


Bloody coincidence this word, "crime".
I awoke to the very real news that
my cousins 19 year old son was shot.
Once in the neck, once in the shoulder.
The latter wedged in his spine.

Be careful of who your "friends" are. And even more what you say. Brad made the simple mistake of making a Facebook update. A note that had a "friend" believe he had several hundred dollars cash on hand. And so his "friend" shows up with 2 other thugs and a loaded hand gun. Broke through the front door and demanded he hand them the money. Demand not met, bullets fired. Life on a thread. Sick fucking world we live in....

One Word, Crime. Please send prayers for Brad and his family.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Though it may appear that I have vanished, I shall fracture the blogospherical noise-floor with the sounds of Silence...

Silence is the deaf man’s call
The forest tree before it falls
It separates us one from all
An imp inside a tower wall

Drifting dense as morning fog
It casts its dew upon the log
Shrouds the meadow and the bog
A shrinking tail of polliwog

Silence is a muted choice
Sunlight warms the shroud and hoists
A founding wall upon the joist
And so from heaven, find our voice

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Fracture, Noise, Vanish

Friday, August 7, 2009

Call Me Son

So this Sunday Scribblings - New, is for Laini, is for expecting a baby. Congratulations and best wishes, Laini! My offering for new is in keeping with new life. I wrote this song ten years ago. It was written for my son a few weeks after he was born. I wrote it from his perspective, or at least how I imagined it. While he was "in utero" I would talk to him. Of course, to the casual observer I was talking to my wife's stomach. He would get a bit excited and kick and move (which probably explains why he is now a drummer!).

This had me wondering what it must be like to be him at that moment and subsequently joining the rest of us in our cold harsh world. That is the point of reference in the song.

I'm just an alien in this world
I know not where I come from, nor why I'm here
You are somehow not a stranger to me
You are a voice in this darkness I call home

I was dreaming conscious when I came
I have been waking slowly since that day
Although my eyes were open I just now start to see
You call me Ian Michael and that is who I'll be

I heard someone call me Son
I know I am not the only one

You are more than just a man to me
For I will call you father if you should choose to be
We are more than actors in this scene
You must be my teacher of what life means

I heard someone call me Son
I know I am not the only one
Call me son….

Call Me Son, should auto-play via the player below. If you are not reading from Blogspot, you can click the link in the previous sentence.


Wednesday, August 5, 2009

A Summer Moon

Summer's highest moon is nigh
Accentuate a shadow sky
Glamour lights the lions den
Balance pitch to Us and Them

-- Post From My iPhone

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Accentuate, Glamour, Pitch

Notes: "Us and Them", courtesy of Pink Floyd. (Click the link in the stanza).

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

One Word: Humid

In the humid apex of summer we languish
Taking days in stride, pacing ourselves
From shaded vantages we sense the rotating cicadian drone
The undercurrent of life shifting compost in the dew

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


Major Drumthwacket
Cradled his snare
In perfect cadence with
Princetonian air

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Cradle, Perfect, Snare

Thursday, July 16, 2009


Give me a hole in the sky
For the light to pass through

-- Post From My iPhone

One Word: Palm

In the palm of my hand
Memories of places I've been
Like the small of your back
The nape of your neck
And I can feel it
Like it was yesterday

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Requiem (One Way Home)

Words, toys of the mind, the building blocks of consciousness. Consciousness, the essence of humanity. Humans not only know the space around them, but understand their space in time. The placement of memories one after another, defining us as individuals. We define ourselves by our memories. We all have heard the phrase, "life passed before his eyes", in a potentially dying moment. People who have died on the operating table, to be revived, almost unanimously speak of being out of body, and heading to the light. We all question where we go when we die. I remember being in the hospital with an aunt who was dying of cancer. She let go after my mother whispered in her ear that everything was ok, and she could let go. And so she did. And I distinctly felt her around me, and then looking down on me. I will never forget it. I believe, we all go back. Back to the ether, from where we came. Only one way home.

This should auto play. If you're reading this outside of blogspot, you can listen here, "Requiem".

Requiem (One Way Home)

Part I: Departure

spoken - I think it's time. Honey, Honey, hey I'm right here. I just want you to know it's ok, you can let go now. Everything is ok. I love you.

Part II: One Way Home

There’s only one way, there’s only one way home

There’s only one way home at the end of the day.

Do you remember the beginning of time to the earliest thoughts running through your mind
Now play it all back, life before your eyes, while you stare at the light like the sun in the sky

Do you feel it calling out your name, like nothing heard before, but it feels the same
Like the voice of your mother calling through the womb, the voice of an angel crying through the gloom

You live your life always fearing the end, but the end is the beginning, like a trusted friend
Back to the ether where we started from, our souls are in motion like the light of the sun

I’ve been gone so long I can’t find my home

I’ve been gone so long I can’t find my way, the fog is rolling in at the end of the day
I can feel the room start to fall away, as I am floating above where my body lay

There’s only one way only one way home only one way only one way home….

Part III: In the end, the beginning

Notes: This song has been evolving for two years now. Starting out as a simple guitar loop, minor seventh. Evoking for me, early Pink Floyd. A repeated refrain, "one way home". I wanted to add a down-beat rhythm, and finally did this past winter. I began to add a singing melody answering the refrain, but nothing seemed to work. I had a flash of an idea one evening that I should rap the lyric. This is something I've never tried. The final part, tumbling through space, I decided to add an old family tape recording. Of me, at three years, singing my first song, "Hocka-dee-dar".

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Toys of the Mind

Toys of the mind
Grasp as colored blocks
Arrange in stacks and lines
Building walls of thought
One generation upon the other
Drawing id from muck and mire
Holding ego ever higher
We keepers of the holy fire
Perilous flight of our desire

Iron Horse

This prompt from my friend, murat11: Radiant screed. After the gold rush.

The Iron Horse
Anxious at the western gate
Snorting and heaving radiant
Waves of attackers
Upon unwitting enemies
Clinging to the truer earth
The eternally desperate escaping
To the promise of alchemy's lie
Steel wheels screed and slipped
Hoofing from the station
Mobilizing fate from its lockstep course
With world order
Summoning continental shifts in time
Folding oceans of change upon the land
Washing the rooted and still
Forever westward to the future

Thursday, June 25, 2009

One Word: Surf

One Word

Toes in surf, I drink from my canteen. Margarita if you must ask. Nothing like cool and salty when you're in a sweat. Time to dive in! Cheers!

One Word: Event

One Word

In the event that someone reads this message. Please tell my family I love them.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

The Edge of Night

Wicked is the blues.  Gospel's Judas, disciples of the same vein.  Rhythmic, soulful undercurrents, they stand upon the same tenents.  One begging to be lifted upward, the other being pulled below.  Arresting is the empathy of the blues.  The pressing weight of life.  The simple diversions of carnal pleasure and mirth.  By day we carry the stone, sharing in the festival of music upon the edge of night.

"The Edge of Night" 

On the edge of night I can see your light come shining through
On the edge of day well I can see the darkness in your eyes
Ain't no hiding from your disguise

In the light of day your soul is sleeping like the grizzly's winter way
In the light of day you wear the face of a clown on circus day
The truth is hiding behind your eyes

The feeling comes when the sun goes down 
And the music of your soul comes around
There is nothing but you in the way and don't say
That you can't let go of the feelings inside
'cause the music must come from your soul in some way

When darkness falls you break the walls you mended all day long 
When darkness covers all you bask your naked soul in warmth of song
The truth of passion can't be wrong

On the edge of night you spread your spirit wings and rise in flight
On the edge of day you come to roost from the heights of open sky
Take the time to stop and wonder why

The feeling comes when the sun goes down 
And the music of your soul comes around
There is nothing but you in the way and don't say
That you can't let go of the feelings inside
'cause the music must come from your soul in some way

Three Word Wednesday offered these:  Arresting, Rhythmic, Wicked.

The Edge of Night - as performed at the Winedale Tavern, Dallas, Texas, February 1996

Monday, June 1, 2009

Officer Ed

Well they said that Ed was a neighborhood guy
He never walked by without saying “Hi”
Just a township cop on the Jersey Shore
He won’t be making his rounds no more

Seems this soldier of justice in this murderous age
Was blinded by fate and the fire of rage
He packed up his sidearm and his pump action shot
And decided to fix what the courts would not

Well it’s the final drive of Officer Ed
Only God knows the demons he had in his head
By the time he was done there were six people dead
Including the life of Officer Ed

Eddie’s chief of police was the last in the news
But the chief ran to safety deep in the woods 
The streets were crawling with a hundred-plus blues
As New Jersey’s finest searched for one of their hue

Well it’s the final drive of Officer Ed
Only God knows the demons he had in his head
By the time he was done there were six people dead
Including the life of Officer Ed
The last bullet he fired was in his own head....

Sunday Scribblings #165, Covert.  This weekend grabbed my bull by both horns.  I came up for air last night but was running on fumes.  Covert could not connect to synapse.  Until my brain sparked into action on this morn'.  Officer Ed is a song I wrote a few years back.  Based on a true story about a New Jersey policeman who went on a killing rampage (read here).  No multi-media today, I never recorded it.  In fact I haven't thought about it in years.  But imagine a driving mid-tempo rocker delivered with the fire and gravel of The Boss, Bruce Springsteen - patron saint of New Jersey.  (If I do record this and you would like to hear it, be sure to have the comments emailed to you.  I will update this post if/when  I have something to share)   


Sunday, May 31, 2009

Wind Chimes

Wind chimes in the key of G
Thoughts arrive in privacy
Tobacco smolders with the sun
Ponder one more weekend done

-- Post From My iPhone

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Gotham Dawn

Embrace the monotonous hum of the commute
Myriad sleepwalkers shuffle in programmed
Pathways through tunnels like ants
Immersed in a sea of humanity 
Clinging to the isolation of 
The morning news or the cocoon of tune
Or the private confines of eyelids
With timid glances tired eyes, like mine
Shift the imagination into faux conversation
Steely screech and the pull of inertia
Awaken zombies into action
Stair climbing turnstile twists 
We increment and ascend into 
The dreary dampness of the city
Dodging umbrellas and briefcases
Footworn curbs of granite channel streams
Of gray matter over-coursing seams
Of penny loafers adding froggy croaks
Of footsteps to the cacophony
Of urban happenings
Progress is trading hunter instincts
For the bullfighters ballet
Forever sidestepping yellow braman beasts
In a Gotham dawn

Three Word Wednesday offered these:  Dreary, Embrace, Timid.  You should be listening an auto-play reading production, "Gotham Dawn", from the JMike Inferno player, you can fast forward if required.  If you are not reading this in blogspot you can listen here, "Gotham Dawn"

To download these readings click on the widget below.