Irish blood, English heart, is what I'm made of.

I am not.

Easily,
gently persuaded
into the gray diameter
of this perfectly
silent gun. Obviously,
certainly tempted
to the door left ajar,
watching God cleaning
blood from
His hands.

Subsequently, eloquently
inclined to pander
to the sweet fissure
between my eyes. Known, renowned
as the gentle, soft
creature of graces
and soft fingertips.


I am not the certain, sure-footed
that stands with pride
eager to greet the sun with
a smile,
tugging on the edges of a cloud;
hoping to share a story
of gradeur and love.

- JPM

Testing...

This is how I dream of my future with Winter....

Each Coming Night

Will you say when I’m gone away
"My lover came to me and we'd lay
In rooms unfamiliar but until now"

Will you say to them when I’m gone
"I loved your son for his steady arms
We both learned to cradle then live without"

Will you say when I’m gone away
'Your father’s body was judgement day
We both dove and rose to the riverside"

Will you say to me when I’m gone
"Your face has faded but lingers on
Because light strikes a deal with each coming night"

- Samuel Beam

A Story


Abelard, his eyes are mine,
with you in view;
my Eloise.

The tears that fall so slow,
from eye to dimpled chin
my Eloise.

Flower, do not be lonely,
and I will be your shadow.
Let my poetry be your air,
sit upon my lap;
let my kisses run through your air.

The tears that fall so quick,
from eye to flushed throat
are mine.

I was never Abelard yet
I loved you;
my Eloise

I don't know who is back in NC
and for how long but I did want to
spend some time with all of you
or if we can't get together as a
massive group, then individually.

There was something else I wanted
to say,
but I think it drifted off into
the back of my mind,
and as an act of kindess,
was murdered by my brain stem.


Somber.

What will you say when he is gone?

I am pulled apart by iron,
under the shade of this sycamore tree.
Falling down and down
Into the gray smoke of this afternoon.

And this moment, soon forgotten,
Leaves me with the fragrance of carried wind.
The guitar lies against the shade,
The reverb of regret strong inside its belly.

My beard is shaved by minutes,
Hours devour remnants of my shirt.
She sighs against the fragrance of carried wind,
Spilling the last of her wine.

Though I gave her everything,
It is forgotten in this moment, this wine.
The tree pulls down like a mother,
Covering the shade of this dying man.

- JM

Inside of Mama’s Hand

Mama died with the
Leaf in her hand, with the
Leaf in her hand.

The tree of the leaf died in the summer
Before. Died in the summer
Before.

The Indian summer dies each year
With the knife of the fall.
With the knife of the fall.

The fall meets the cold
Of the winters deep love.
The fall meets the cold
Of the winters deep love.

Love died inside of Mama’s
Hand.
Inside of Mama’s hand.

- JM

So,
the poem a day plan hit a snag.
I know.


Mostly it had to do with some visitors
from out of town over the weekend and
the preperations made for them. Not
that I'm making an excuse, because I have
a poem or two in the back of my brain.
I should be able to come up with one
today, I hope.


Oh, and Charlotte dear, you're a Yankee.

Rhodes


A Colossus once stood here,
legs spanning the length of
a fierce river that reflected
light up into his dull
face of granite.

Moist ivy spanned, with green fingers,
the bulge of his calves,
straining to hold the sky
with two hands worn by rain,
wind and time.

His life and poem were shadows etched
by sundials and voices, carrying
his legend like rose petals on
a softly dying
summer wind.

A Colossus once stood here,
when the river was more than
a trickle and a poem meant
more than scribbled ink
fading into dust.

- JM

Dance


The cool movement of legs
among legs,
nimble with the sluggish
bass and clapping
snares. Bodies
a-
round
bodies.

Neon-ed sweat mixing
with stale, sweet,
perfume-tongues.
Breathing in time
and
sl
owing
smiles.

Cascade in sound
tumbling into
arms around
hips
su
cked
on the night air.

- JM

Gautama

Gautama,
as the sunlight laid dancing shadows
from the leaves of a bodi tree,
where did your thoughts drift?

In the purple stretch of time
as the sun froze the sky with
a listless mouth,
could your breathing be heard?
Did you speak to the suffering?

Gautama,
when night took her mouth away from day
and collapsed off into the ether,
what did your heart say?

As you faded out of this life
did you belive that you were
the author of your own disease?
Did desire fall from your lips?

Buddha,
As you plunge from soul to soul
along a spindle of time,
does your laughter fade out,
or echo off of the bodi tree
where you became more
than a man?

- JM

I think I just might start my poem a day program
that I did a few years back.
I remember how it kept my brain active,
always searching for some vantage point on the
mundane and ordinary. Other times these fantastic
pictures would fill my mind, as if I ran into some
sort of electromagnetic field and I was having the
equivalent of a visual seizure.

I still try to collect phrases in my head.
Those lost lines to poems that I try to find
homes for. "Give a line a poem" akin to
"give a kid a coat".

Maybe later today I'll compile
some of those lines.

(I've a great love to write of!)

...but Diane's post on tattoos got my mind working again.

I've been seriously thinking about 2 seperate tattoos for a few weeks now
and would like to share.

The first tattoo would start at my shoulder (on my left arm) and spiral down.
It would be the first, oh, 12 digits of pi with the symbol for it superimposed behind,
like a shadow. I've got this really interesting cartoony-looking image in my head of
overstuffed numbers with steel edges and a metallic sheen that get progressively smaller
as they trail down my arm until they become an ellipse.

The second tattoo is similar to the first but would trail along my right arm in the same manner.
This time, though, the digits would be of e (of the natural log variety).

Heck, I'm thinking of mixing it up with the square root of -1 on the nape of my neck.

Man, I wish I could draw!

(By the way, the end of this semester is drawing near and I think I'm going to lose my mind.)

See subject line.

Woah...vicodin makes me very dizzy.

Why am I using vicodin? Well, I have an abcess.
Which means tomorrow i'll be having a root canal.
Now now, I know all of you want to trade spaced with
me now but I'm sorry,
you'll just have to wait for your own turn!

This is what I get for not going to the dentist
(even with a busted filling) for 2 years.

Ok...the vicodin is kicking in worse...I should go.

Before livejournal wigged out
and lost my entry,
i had a great set of thoughts lined
up. Now,
like so much dust they have been
taken by the wind and scattered.

Here's the jist:

1) Bush won. I'm not really happy about it,
but I voted for the man I thought was the best
for the job. No regrets here.

2) Good discussion (suprisingly) has taken place
over the last few days about the election. Although
it shouldn't be suprising considering the source. Thanks Obi.

3) I'm going to pray for W. He's going to need all the prayer he can get.
Like him, love him, or hate him, he's the President and needs guidance.

4) Buzzzz. Click.

"The sky is like a dome
of black metal flake
and stars bleed together
in phosphorescent lakes.
Then dead black disks fly
silently overhead.
It's fucking beautiful
is what it is."

- The Dismemberment Plan

Malaise shifted like cold
feet under a gray blanket.
The morning curled underneath
the remaining sheets,
leaving orange-pink glows
on my eyelids.

Awake.


The shower signs wet messages
onto my back;
You are running late.
A high of 72.
Breakfast is cold, stale,
a straining of teeth
under the same pale eyes.

Drive.

Attention is a deaf mute
selling newspapers today.
I don't buy, just read the headline;
You are running late.
A high of 72.

Work.

Winter did well on her GRE's. Uber-well. w00t.

I have Interpol's latest release. Yay.

My computer is randomly shutting off due to an apparent overheating situation. Boo.

I've been offered a part-time position at the local community college teaching night classes. *shrug*

Shaun of the Dead is damn funny. w00t again.

Wow, tonight was fun.

The gang and I went up the street to play Laser Storm.
We had a blast!

We got a special deal called "midnight madness" which
allowed us to play from 9 to 12. Turns out that some kids
were also playing there. We got to play against them/destroy them
and all their future hopes.

I've never been called a fag or been given the finger so many times.
After I shot one of them he tried to sword fight me with his gun. One
future serial killer kept barking orders and everyone else and proclaiming
at the end of the Beastie Boys song Fight For Your Right to Party,
"That's a song for rednecks!!!!"
Phenomenal.

But really, it was fun. And although I didn't rank 1st every time,
I did kick ass with my accuracy. Oh yeah.