. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, November 30, 2010


An old love poem from the youthful heart of yesteryear (I rhymed a lot more in those days)...

Is my love ever questioned?
Or is there sometimes doubt?
I’m slow with words sometimes.
Sometimes they don’t come out.

My “love you’s” aren’t that loud.

And often not enough.
Hugs can weaken sometimes.
Sometimes time together’s tough.

Don’t judge me on that strength.

Look past a muttered line.
Don’t fault me unsaid verses,
Forgotten time to time.

Words are sometimes weaker

Than a pumping heart inside.
It’s certainly not for love’s sake
That love seems to sometimes hide.

Time with you is precious.

Not always apparently so.
My “thank you’s” need some practice.
My gratitude’s too slow.

I love you in my silence.

Uttered words are sometimes cheap.
My actions and my mouth
Can sometimes seem asleep.

But my heart is ever awake.

From there you’re never away.
That’s something to never doubt.
No matter what my words will say.


Monday, November 22, 2010

To The Sea

This is a poem about the voice in the waves, calling from the horizon where the sun is setting. This is a poem about madness - madness and tragedy - which resides in every great sailor.

To the sea
Because it is infinite loneliness
Because it is made of the tears of the thousand broken hearts
Because it does not forgive
Because it will hate me for all the right reasons

To the sea

Because I can leave the land
And all that reminds me of everything I’ve lost

To the sea

Because screaming does nothing in those bottomless depths
Because drowning hurts – in sorrow as in water
Because melancholy ghosts walk along the waves and beckon me overboard
Because the price of my existence is really quite minimal there
And it is expected that one day I might not make it back

To the sea

Where everything is washed away
Where a sky of loose diamonds falls heavy on the water black like some old men
Where insanity tastes like salt
Where thoughts eventually die, or become numb, or become too loud to hear
Where the past is clearly astern afloat in the frothy wake of your passing shadow

To the sea

To the sea
To the sea I will go
Without fail
Because it will always have me


Friday, November 12, 2010

In My Bedroom Lonely

Such strange things come out of lonely bedrooms, late at night, in the solitude of an empty house, a cold bed...

You stand there as cold as they come,
Life dripped dry from the corners of your blue lips,
A chin-high high dive act of mismatched abandon,
To pool like dried wax in the soft solar flare dimples of your bare tits.

You see me coming in the rain,

Old lady heavy drops bearing children in explosions on my shoulders,
Heaven’s beetle stallions riding down hard the muddy Earth,
Ping panging on the tin roof erases everything I ever told her.

I am now only moments away,

Flying down the long avenues from where perched my father first,
The taste of orange juice and spoiled vodka feral in his throat,
My hands covered in salty blood but still I could not let go.

You took your skirt off at dinner,

Told me to eat my way up your pale legs like that,
Your cheek stung my hand and your lips swelled,
And in all your glowing flesh you knew we could never go back.


Sunday, November 7, 2010

Facing the Hunter

Sir George, Elliot, Bruce Lee and that boy from The Waterhorse have all had to face dragons in their day. I am no exception.

A dragon of blue scales and sharp horns
spoke to me saying,
"Why didn't we do what we could have done
and why do men hide their hearts?"
He belched fire of liquid heat and
swung his thorny tail,
his kingdom of pale rocks adorned with
the sweat of the earth shook,
a tremble in its bones.

My knees were overly large and cumbersome,
my chest too proud,
I swallowed the last ounce of taste in my mouth,
braced my battered limbs against a shield of
beaten metal and dried paint,
"This is the very root of man's being and
so is the last place his courage allows him to look."

"Then I shall hunt him,
devour the ones he loves and
bury deep the bones of his children!"

Dragon, Dragon,
burden of my soul,
your lonely crimson eye the thing I fear,
that which is bright and looks far,
the memories of your evil my forefathers bore,
your mighty wings heavy with their blood,
your blood,
O' Dragon,
listen to my heart,
the pace of my skin so yellow under this heavy garment,
you bring me death,
death and the afterlife,
the shape of mine and all that is unsaid,
run you through,
run you through, Dragon,
O' Dragon.

When I threw the blade of my hard sword into his belly
it cut him like a cancer,
the dust of the cave floor raced before him
on the wave of his dying weight,
crashing mass of blue scales and sharp horns,
I said to him in the loss of my life,
"You shall live no more."


Monday, November 1, 2010

The Final Sad Poem for Woodrow Lone

These days you can't butter the bread without thinking of ol' Woodrow and not coughing up a tear. May God have mercy on his poor, poor tender soul.

Woodrow Lone
Crept the night and filled
The empty cracks with dead men's thoughts
Only asking once for
What he got
Alone on a moonless shore where the washing
Of the waves burned in his skull
Like the wedding day
Her wedding day
Alone and no one came to the stilled sounds
Of the bells hands-distant from
An alter boy’s thin touch
Tingling in the ears of late risers
Left to slumber and forget why they hadn’t come.

Woodrow Lone
Came the darkness that
Recognized in his soul no starry home
Left standing for someone
To take his place
His pride washed coarsely from his cheeks
By foot printless sand owned
Fetus to the full tide
A line of grey bones on the
Waterfront marked here and there for
No one’s reward
To count pointless prospects
Conversations damned and dried deemed
Once to have happened a thousand times if not for her.

Woodrow Lone
So it is he danced forgotten steps leaving
Salty imprints to burn in
The rising ocean sun a glance beyond the water’s edge
He felt his shackles with the hands they bound
Tight the coral stung
A lash found favored flight with
A gull and the spray carried on a windy
Perspective backbone-glances he couldn’t grasp
Could only wait
The bells stilled and the waves rang holy holy truth
Trespassing his fading heart
He heard her name
So common a name that immediately he thought it was his.