Animals outside my door
fightin' o'er the scraps of new girls on the floor.
Chicks born near a lion's den
and as the battle rages, i'm alone inside again.
So much inside me with nowhere to go
so much inside me with no one who knows
If you don't want it, good luck to the wolf
who'll gobble you up and widen the gulf.
Time passes much to quick
though i've got as much as you
one day we al look back
and wonder where time went to
Don't waste your time with hyenas.
Their look is death, their intentions meaner.
unconcerned with all but their deepest urge
for satisfaction, the countryside they'll purge.
You have the choice of who you want to be
the decision is up to you, not me.
But life is mine, the world is my backyard
Don't search too long. Don't look too hard.
I can give freedom at the same time i give love
tell you things of beauty 'neath the sky above
songs of peace -- poetry
everything which is me
All this and more is yours if you choose
or stored until later if you refuse
I can't stop you from having the blues
so don't come for help once you'be been abused.
Though I've never turned 'round on a pretty face
(they can push me and shove me all over the place),
I'm subject to the moods of the whole human race
from the dance of euphoria to the dregs of disgrace.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Monday, June 07, 2004
Sunday, June 06, 2004
Snow flakes
the snow flakes . . .
racing hectically to the ground
only to find that they've lost all identity.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
racing hectically to the ground
only to find that they've lost all identity.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
I'm in love . . .
I'm in love with my stereo
It puts me in the mood I choose
It drowns out my thoughts
And repaints my blues
I'm in love with my motorcycle
It flies me where I want to go
It gives me something to concentrate on
Easing my brain when I feel psycho
I'm in love with speed,
It erases the clutter within.
The faster the better
To let my thoughts reform again.
I'm in love with my fountain pen,
Flowing my soul onto the page.
The only true connection 'tween me and you.
My inner soul knows no age.
I'm in love with you,
Whoever you are.
I only wish you could see
Someday I'm going far.
from The secret lives of Fibber McGee
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
It puts me in the mood I choose
It drowns out my thoughts
And repaints my blues
I'm in love with my motorcycle
It flies me where I want to go
It gives me something to concentrate on
Easing my brain when I feel psycho
I'm in love with speed,
It erases the clutter within.
The faster the better
To let my thoughts reform again.
I'm in love with my fountain pen,
Flowing my soul onto the page.
The only true connection 'tween me and you.
My inner soul knows no age.
I'm in love with you,
Whoever you are.
I only wish you could see
Someday I'm going far.
from The secret lives of Fibber McGee
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Curse of the Gemini
It's hard on me
to have been giving all along.
I wanted to see
if your love for me was strong.
And what I feel now is hurt.
Guess I'm not worth the effort.
You kept it to yourself
as you watched me walk away.
And what else can my thoughts be
Except that it was just me
Who was keeping us together!
It's over, probably for the better.
I'm sure I'm wrong / I'm sure I'm right.
My soul will never win this fight.
You'll see me smile / You'll hear me sigh.
It's the curse of the Gemini.
from The secret lives of Fibber McGee
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
to have been giving all along.
I wanted to see
if your love for me was strong.
And what I feel now is hurt.
Guess I'm not worth the effort.
You kept it to yourself
as you watched me walk away.
And what else can my thoughts be
Except that it was just me
Who was keeping us together!
It's over, probably for the better.
I'm sure I'm wrong / I'm sure I'm right.
My soul will never win this fight.
You'll see me smile / You'll hear me sigh.
It's the curse of the Gemini.
from The secret lives of Fibber McGee
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Saturday, June 05, 2004
I'd rather be . . .
I'd rather be just me, alone
Rattlin' 'round an empty home
Controlling why and where and when
You'd be invited 'round, as friend.
And if I chose to paddle west
You'd only be along as guest
And so much happier I would be
controlling my own destiny.
Rattlin' 'round an empty home
Controlling why and where and when
You'd be invited 'round, as friend.
And if I chose to paddle west
You'd only be along as guest
And so much happier I would be
controlling my own destiny.
A Woe to Be
A woe to be
alone, with me.
No one here but I.
To long for love,
to touch be touched,
While living out a lie.
A flame that sparks
then sputters out
A heart as dark as night.
Reaching out
for hands to hold
And yet no wings for flight.
alone, with me.
No one here but I.
To long for love,
to touch be touched,
While living out a lie.
A flame that sparks
then sputters out
A heart as dark as night.
Reaching out
for hands to hold
And yet no wings for flight.
ME
The forms, the patterns, the images . . .
a million tiny pieces which can't
all fit together at the same time.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
a million tiny pieces which can't
all fit together at the same time.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
The Mike within
I will never have a girl.
It's something in the way I think.
All alone in the world,
I could probably use a shrink.
But I won't go.
I already know
that it's me;
It's in my chemistry.
Once accepted,
I'm anticepted.
I'll survive;
Remain alive.
I'm taken wrong everyday
I guess somebody wants it that way
And though I won't fight it
I never invite it
Nobody knows what I'm like
They only see the outer Mike
You will never begin
To see the Mike within.
from The secret lives of Fibber McGee
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
It's something in the way I think.
All alone in the world,
I could probably use a shrink.
But I won't go.
I already know
that it's me;
It's in my chemistry.
Once accepted,
I'm anticepted.
I'll survive;
Remain alive.
I'm taken wrong everyday
I guess somebody wants it that way
And though I won't fight it
I never invite it
Nobody knows what I'm like
They only see the outer Mike
You will never begin
To see the Mike within.
from The secret lives of Fibber McGee
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Questioning Infinity
Why am I confronted with infinity?
Am I supposed to make sense of it?
Or just let it rattle around in my mind?
Could it be I no longer function rationally?
That the world I view is seen through prismatic eyers?
Disorientation confronts me, stifles me.
There is no reflected image in the mirror.
Will someone ever stand beside me?
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Am I supposed to make sense of it?
Or just let it rattle around in my mind?
Could it be I no longer function rationally?
That the world I view is seen through prismatic eyers?
Disorientation confronts me, stifles me.
There is no reflected image in the mirror.
Will someone ever stand beside me?
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Friday, June 04, 2004
Driving home after a day with you
Fire in the mirror,
the sunset paints the roadside red
Dylon's in my jukebox, playin'
I keep forging on a head.
Snowwind has my fingers freezin'
the heating unit has gone dead.
I grip the cold, biting steering wheel.
Visions of a night in bed.
As I unwind the twisted road
frostheaves jar my pearly whites
Dreamin' of the western sunshine
through long, cold days and lonely nights
In all-consuming wish for warmth
I fail to notice wondrous sights
As dusk burns the country to ashen-grey
Come down to earth, turn on my headlights.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
the sunset paints the roadside red
Dylon's in my jukebox, playin'
I keep forging on a head.
Snowwind has my fingers freezin'
the heating unit has gone dead.
I grip the cold, biting steering wheel.
Visions of a night in bed.
As I unwind the twisted road
frostheaves jar my pearly whites
Dreamin' of the western sunshine
through long, cold days and lonely nights
In all-consuming wish for warmth
I fail to notice wondrous sights
As dusk burns the country to ashen-grey
Come down to earth, turn on my headlights.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Night fall
A crystal moon set in a cornflower blue sky
which darkens to indigo as night falls.
The brightest star ventures forth,
then another, and another,
in the order in which they appear every night.
Soon Orion's familiar form is watching
over the small, New-England community.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
This poem follows "Driving home after a day with you" in my journal and may actually be the ending to that poem, although it was written in a darker pen and stands on its own.
which darkens to indigo as night falls.
The brightest star ventures forth,
then another, and another,
in the order in which they appear every night.
Soon Orion's familiar form is watching
over the small, New-England community.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
This poem follows "Driving home after a day with you" in my journal and may actually be the ending to that poem, although it was written in a darker pen and stands on its own.
Not Noise
The fluorescent light sings like a cricket
from some dank corner of a cellar.
And perhaps it is calling me into its den;
It is to me, after all, sound and not noise,
though to some it comes across as irritating static.
A train passes like the climax of a great symphony,
reverberating through the perfect acoustics of a clear, winter eve.
Each note executed in random perfection,
warming my weary spirit with the grace of a song.
It is to me, after all, music and not noise,
though to some it comes across as a bothersome interruption.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
from some dank corner of a cellar.
And perhaps it is calling me into its den;
It is to me, after all, sound and not noise,
though to some it comes across as irritating static.
A train passes like the climax of a great symphony,
reverberating through the perfect acoustics of a clear, winter eve.
Each note executed in random perfection,
warming my weary spirit with the grace of a song.
It is to me, after all, music and not noise,
though to some it comes across as a bothersome interruption.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)