Happiness doesn't last forever

What happens next?
The fake smile’s exposed
What happens next?
Now the world knows your mind is taking painful blows
What happens next?
When the one thing that could heal any wound is dormant
What happens next?
The only medicine for your illness has lost its potency
What happens next?
Your train hasn’t been wrecked but obliterated
I’ll tell you what happens next
You get fucked over, that’s what happens next

apple blue skies

shade

lilac coated leaves

as they cradle

eggs
speckled with love

flutterby wings

whisper

as they beat the air

Spring is here

Spring is here

and the earth

draws

a

collective

b r e a t h

Still waiting for my next poem to arrive.

An April Photograph

Light and dark share the ambiance

crisp and cool raise the bumps

clean and fresh create fragrances

open and blossom color the spectrum

Brick and bar keep their guard

siren and somber sound in waves

labor and toil slump the postures

weed and decay fissure structure

Spring in St. Louis

revolution in reaction

We Real Cool

 

So, today I didn't have a poem in me, but I am certain there will be one tomorrow.  In lieu of my own poem, I thought I would post a poem I really enjoy.  The poem is by Gwendolyn Brooks.  It is just all that.

WE REAL COOL
THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We

Left school. We

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Here is a recording of Brooks introducing the poem and then her read of it (click play once the page opens).
The Pool Players.  Seven at the Golden Shovel.

Death They Didn't Deserve

Come and join the camp
Don’t stumble over money, everything is free
Free of individuality
Free haircuts
Free striped pajamas
Free gold stars
A number defines who you are
Suffer through wind, ice, and snow
If you die no one will know
Horror unable to be depicted
Veins dripping their thick liquid
Silent drops of crimson wet the mud below
It won’t be long
Soon they’ll all be gone
Thanks to the devil with the moustache

The number before me

The number before me
Monday
I rub my eyes, then again
Fuck!
My day is ruined
Self esteem crashing around me, suffocated by the number
Nothing feels right or fits right
The number is stuck in my own minds purgatory
Try to forget
All things off limits
Everything looks much more enticing than before
Tea
Tea
More tea
Head is spinning remembering what has brought this number into my life

Tuesday :)
It must have been the damn bloody marys

working

Jimmy does the shipping.

Darla does the digging.

Robbie does the loading.

Tricia does the checking.

All these "ings" are keeping us apart.

grandfather

War

Pacific

Loss

son without father

wife without husband

grandchildren without grandfather

what was lost cannot be found

If there is a god

and god created everything

who is the enemy?

Words about Jimmy and Darla:

Kindness

Sunshine

Pretty blue

Crafty

Sincere

Open arms

This was initially supposed to be about chocolate. But I guess it could be about a parent or whatever, if you're inclined to sappy interpretations...

When I was young you gave comfort

with gentle sweet sincerity

I would go to you in the night and

fall asleep beside you

finally convinced all was alright

I long for you in the worst of times

You're always there for the best of times

Long before my first broken heart

You taught me the meaning of love

Even when I am grown and have a family of my own

Part of me will still be that little girl back then

When you and I were the only ones who existed in the world

Never Becomes Easy

We’re falling down being torn apart
Can’t find the missing pieces to my broken heart
This thing called love it’s all a farce
Can’t mend the shards of this shattered heart
In a day my world fell down
All I could do was watch as it crashed around
This fragile mess that we’ve broken so many countless times before
Lays in fragments on the empty floor
I see your face, you seem surprised
Behind your eyes it’s all just lies
My mind is whirling a weeping I can’t keep in
Uncomfortable in my own skin
A tragic passion, let’s face the truth hand in hand
I can’t be with you through the end
Honey, it was a ticking time bomb anyway

What if

I step off the path

to walk on the grass

like I did

when I was young?

Would the dew still cling to my shoes?

Would the grass smell as sweet?

Would it feel as good?

soft substrate

cradling my feet

tomorrow

I will try

Song Of Our Reign

We march through forests of flame and frost

We reap the souls of the found and lost

We drain the strength of bone and brush

We leave behind only soot and mush

Over barren wastes and toxic plains

We flood the fields with acid rains

Brandishing iron and ice cold steel

We crack the whip on satan's heel

For we are the dead who rise in the night

Swigging beer and venom for the fight

We're Tricia and Robbie, you've heard our call

Ahead of chaos, misfortune, and destruction for all!

Ha!

day sun warm

we laugh

between breaths

sweet ass grass

I love this man

Went to the Pi for Pizza

Senator Obama went to the Pi for Pizza

Eating Pizza can make you President

by Jimmy Spinelli

Sleeping In

SLEEPING IN

The edges of your hair glow with sunlight
The smell of vanilla fills the short space between us
Dust dances through sunbeams shining across the room
I reach over you pulling your soft body close
My face pressed between your neck and shoulder
A whisper
I love you
I love you
I love you
Your eyes sparkle with the light of the morning
We two solitary things
Twisting turning loving
Making magical melodic movements
Testing the extent to which we can become one
We breathe each others breath
In time
In sync
In rhthym
We could hide forever here
Under the covers
Behind closed doors
Only a hint of the day through the curtains
We don't need the world
We have each other
Now
Right
Now

By: Pancho Madness

We're getting ready for National Poetry Month.  Would you like to join us?

March 14

Happy  Pi Day, 3.14!  Here is a picture I took of Jimmy's beer at the Pi (note pi on the back of the glass) in celebration of...well we don't really need a reason to celebrate we were just out having beers.  Anyway, I am posting today because...drumroll and all sorts of fanfare here...April is National Poetry Month.  I thought, if we all agreed, we could aim to compose a poem each day of the month of April.  Of course, that begs the question, "What is a poem?"  It can be anything you determine is a poem, a picture, free verse,  haiku, limerick, whatever.  What do you think?  Are you up to it?

THE BOY I SEE AIN'T THE MAN STARING BACK AT ME

THE BOY I SEE AIN'T THE MAN STARING BACK AT ME

The things I remember and miss

never seemed as serious as this

Which way to go

which road to take

choices are slow

they take time to make

The impulse is there

but there are reasons to wait

rashness beware

this contemplative state

And when I look to my reflection

the boy I expect to find

is replaced with consternation

by this weathered face of mine

Yet once upon a time

it seems so beyond belief

that when I was in my prime

I was a prince of Alief

My joints filled with rust

anchored to reality

no longer do I thrust

face first into destiny

no longer do I lust

for elusive anarchy

But I've lived a thousand times

and I'll live a thousand more

this life's just a slow rhyme

waiting at revolution's door

By: Pancho Madness

The Walk Out

The day you walked out she learned to cry
Just wanting to die, her voice ran dry
Reality never seemed so real
Get up off the ground
Honey, your knees are bleeding but they're not your wounds

He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens the book.

His hands are familiar and he has his mother's smile.

In our minds he is so strong and he does not fear the world but I only feel his humanity as he reads.

Like the voice of a god, his is the first voice I will hear when I wake and the last I will hear as I fall asleep.

His sons for many generations will have his voice and children will hear it even as the world fades away.

(Un)comfortably numb?

The flickering images from the screen project shadows on my face.
Their messages filter through my brain – settling uncomfortably on my heart.
7.0 magnitude earthquake hits Haiti – thousands feared dead;
Two dead following drive-by shooting;
Struggling homeowners not getting help fast enough;
Court documents reveal Sheri Coleman lived in fear of her husband;
Trooper’s partner laments lack of legal protection for gay couples;
Humane Society rescues 13 neglected horses.
“How sad”, I exclaim. “Why is the world this way?”
Winter weather is on its way again. It looks like we are in for snow.
“Jimmy, it’s going to be cold. You better bring a coat.”
Images flicker. The stories of life’s tragedies loosen their grip on my heart.
“Hey, what’s for dinner?”
Flicker, flicker. Fade to black.

Technology Uncensored (sorry)

Fuck technology, WAVE OF THE FUTURE, primadonna buttons stuck in their oh so sleek motions, power surges and failures the product of random asshole's afterthought, it works, it fails, we fix, it works, it fails, we fix, blah blah blah, life complicated by years of "progress", plans to send douchebags to Mars, hope their shuttle's more stable than my cellphone, this computer, our buildings' net connection, work's copy machine, and all the other task easers that crash time after time sucking the fun, honest, physical, and mental tasks that are, well anything nowadays, but we're moving forward, faster, stronger, more efficiently than before, ya my ass we are, it would be quicker for me to run screaming down Delmar engulfed in flames to the fire station and be doused in water there than try 911 on my umpteenth busted bullshit phone, ya if the "convenience" of 2010 is the WAVE OF THE FUTURE, fuck the future

---again, my apologies

Death of Innocence

My dear friend, Innnocence, has seen her day
She once lived and has ever so silently slipped away
Through the grasp of man she falls
Death unexplained
She crawled on all fours with not a thought
She grew to walk erect
Following her new found skills problem arises
What once was pure is now polluted
Cruel words, discouraging thoughts caused her bruises
Her ressurection may be seen
Not so few and far between
Each generation will see her face
Until the next time her death takes place