11 Poems from these titles:

The Gypsy Mile
Biting Lightening, Bloody Mary
Let The Poets Come & Stop Me

Drowning The Gods

One day,
we will drown the Gods
that implement,
or even accept,
in their faith.
No, the Gods will not really drown,
but they will get our point.


drowning in demons, reaching for your devil

you must stop
battling all the little demons
while the devil himself sits calmly watching
can’t you see,
that the devil is just keeping you busy?
he knows you’ll never think of knocking him down
while you’re distracted
if you want to end it,
end it
if you want progress, make progress
stop wasting your productive years
battling those little demons
want blood?
slay the big guy
what the hell is it you want anyway?
let all those little demons just hang on you
while you move forward
move strong toward his chair
grab your devil by his neck
surprise him; knock him down
the little ones will jump off once they see that
flex every muscle
put your brow down
you can have anything you want


The Burning Fiddles Of Hell

the Devil doesn’t play a fiddle at all,
he has his own players, who play for him.
In Hell, fiddlers are hand picked
and respected.
They build, maintain and endlessly play
the burning fiddles of Hell.
If one player’s instrument breaks
or bow string burns,
the other players take over,
the intoxicating gypsy songs.
The Devil even has wine sent to them,
to keep them drunk, for it makes them play more aggressively.
And it has been said, he occasionally grins
and compliments and even acts friendly with
the fiddlers of Hell, for he does love their songs.
So to answer your question
there are better spots here in Hell.
They’re for the fiddlers,
but only fiddlers.
So play on
bad men


The Man With God

I came across a man in mid argument with God.
And even though God wouldn’t reveal anything to the man,
He, in all his greatness, looked worried at how well
prepared the man was.
I sat and watched the man and thought,
“I respect that”.


The Forever-Ignored Boy

“Why does my mother
ignore me?”
asked the Forever-Ignored Boy.
“Oh well, your mother is just a
scared little girl,”
replied God.
“Oh. Well then…why does my Father
not care to find me?”
The Forever-Ignored Boy looked to the ground
and with his
big toe
drew a swirl in the dirt,
then brought his eye brows down in thought,
trying to understand his
quiet life.
“Oh, your father, yes, see,
he is more scared
and more lost
then your mother,
spoke God sadly,
for He had been listening to both the boy’s mother’s
and father’s
cries for many years.
“Well then, what shall I do Lord?”
raised The Forever-Ignored Boy.
“What shall you do about what?”
God had answered this question many times with others.
“Well…when I grow up, I don’t want to be
lost or
like my mother or my father”,
spoke the Forever-Ignored Boy, a bit scared
to speak
so boldly
to God.
“Ah…well, let’s think…you have always been brave…
and you already know the way,
don’t you?”
God rested his arm over the boy’s shoulders and
brought him close.
answered the Forever-Ignored Boy
“I do”.


Voodoo Doll

I always said
that I
would never sit with a devil and make a voodoo doll,
but I did.
It’s quite small
and stupid.
I wish I never made the thing.


My Punishment

I was told,
that I was told,
not to speak the Lord’s name in vain.
But I had.
My light robe was carefully taken off
by younger angels, being instructed by a young adult female angel.
I was placed over an ivory altar
where my wrists were chained and my ankles the same.
I hadn’t learned yet how to control my wings,
So they twitched and shook.
I was visibly
But that was ignored.
Then, an older angel explained to me,
that I didn’t follow the rules of
The Book,
so I would receive a lash
from the whip he was showing me
for each time I blasphemed.
All the angels horse-shoed around me,
talking quietly like it was a cocktail party.
The whip was raised and the chatting stopped.
It got very quiet,
other than the soft questions whispered by the young angels.
Then it began.
The pain was more than I had ever felt in life,
my back opening and opening more.
And I screamed, a sound I’ve never hear myself make, low and deep.
I cried out more tears than I had ever shed.
The angles broke out in hymns.
The verses spoke of how, without evil and punishment,
there would be no good.
I vomited.
I bled.
I caught a glimpse of my mother.
She watched from my father’s arms, shaking violently.
My feathers
took to the air with each blow
and stuck to my face as they came down.
I choked on some
tasting my salty blood.
It seemed to go on forever,
I did curse a lot in my twenties.
When he was done
I lay sprawled
with labored breath,
my body, blood, and feathers.
The young angels were told to sit and write
about what they learned.
The others walked off.
I was left
to be in thought
of my sin.
And from that day on
my wings
no longer shake
or twitch.
They actually
have never
been opened.
They hang very low,
very still
and I speak no one’s name anymore.


I’m Beautiful

There are Japanese monks
who know precisely
is upon them.
They travel to a place of choice,
sit with their
legs crossed,
backs straight,
and write their death poem.
They then speak their last words;
absorb their death,
put out the light of this world,
light the lamp of the next
and journey on.

I prefer to choke
on my breathing tube,
tearing in a cubical; with purple curtains,
separated from another nameless dying man
lying on my bed sores,
atop my excrement,
with doctors I do not know,
crying more on the inside
than my tears can paint.


Bread, Water, & Wine for the Pain

When all the other angels were asleep
I used to dive down to Hell,
disguised as a shooting star.
I would search for my friends and family
and bring them
and wine
for the pain.
Some nights I could only make one journey,
while other nights I could make many.
It all depended on what the angels and demons
were up to that night.
But I got caught.
It was the night I made quite a few trips.
An angel drinking late by the gates
spotted me;
told God.
And He was furious.
The Devil even more so.
I was cast deep inside Hell for it,
until God felt my punishment fit.
But my father,
with the help of my love,
brings me
and wine
for the pain.
But I eat not
and I drink not,
no, not me,
not me who has Heaven to come.
I hand out my gifts.
For there are good people here too.


We Want The Red Head

“We want the red head!”
“We want the red head!”
The bar screamed alone

“We want the red head!”
“We want the red head!”
She felt, special, pretty and proud

“We want the red head!”
“We want the red head!”
Atop the table she took a bow

Then did a dip
Spun her dress and winked
Then eloquently sat back down


oh how she wears that little white dress

I want to dance with eleanor powell
I want to hold her hand as she spins that little white dress around me
I want to smell her hair as her waist turns in my hands
I want to make her smile, a lover’s smile
and feel her giggle
and feel her squeeze my arm
when she wants me to know she’s right there with me
I want to take two champagnes from the waiter’s tray
take her to the balcony on my arm
I want to see her eyes widen
and head tilt slightly back
as she looks up at me
as she falls for me
I want the moon to be big and white and magically – only light us
and the distant music from the band to be playing
our love song
I want to take her glass from her hand
set it down on the terrace
pull her close
tell her I love her
and will take her away
then kiss her
and with hints of lust
and feel her squeeze my arm once again
to let me know she’s right there with me
and for her to hug me with everything she’s got
squeeze me and bury her head in my chest
oh how I want to dance
with eleanor powell


My First Dinner in Heaven

I want Shepard and Banksy to paste the walls
Dali to arrange the furniture
Rockwell to prepare dinner
And Picaso to choose the wine

I want Van Gogh and O’Keefe to choose the flowers
Gould to play his piano
Edith Piaf to sing
And Ms. Audrey Hepburn to be my girl

I want Dr Suess and Gorey to trade stories
Jane Goodall to inspire us
Fred Astaire to teach us steppin’
And Arno Rafael Minkkinen to photograph us all

I want my mother and father to be kissing
All my old pets to be young and playing
My old teddy bear living
And all my heroes as proud as anything

I want to eat, drink and laugh with everyone
While Rembrant and Basquiat work together,
Drunk off hot wine, painting us all
At my first dinner in heaven

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