Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

August 15, 2012



In the upper peninsula of Michigan
blustery State Road 2 you must go.
It’s quite common to drive over
deep blood in snow/ dead buck or  doe./
Just as felines must fall & fill gutters
South of there, all over./
deep blood in the snow./
With the people of upper Michigan
it’s quite common  they’ll drag & drape over
& tie up their meat
off the back of their battered trucks
and freight it home to their freezers
for later./

Here in Southwest Florida
on the way to work
it’s uncommon…
(I called out  “Oh My God!”)
it’s uncommon to drive over…
(I killed  an alligator)
I was light on sleep and late for work/
All in a dream’s dread,  in my headlights,
I called out  “Oh my God!”

Still, Later, When I left working, dark and yet dawning
(I had  left It for the taking.  &  It was gone.)
Still were spilled  shadows. most  it was gone.

Lost. home, what would save me?
milk cream & alcohol
Nor Down on my knees
under some Art on a wall;
Oils had spilled on an
empty space clean/
I know this all is from All.
(I called in “oh my god”)

stains for a dream






(from 3 yrs ago, true story)

June 4, 2011


Filed under: poetry, prose — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:08 am

Sweeter than the precious tiny

Melodic Asian lilt,

That  child-waitress,

Specific  question  still

Asked periodically at our table,

(she has

 cool bangs & hornrimmed glasses)

&   “Hot tea?”

She surely should be in school

But she’s all the family business has

To talk to the customers

In their native language.

“Hot  tea?”  Forever memorable.

Sweeter than that

When you  thankfully  then

Lean closer again

In yr. achingly fetching


(yr. bangs  cooler)

I watch yr. lips  & hear

“Tea,  Dear?”

December 1, 2010


So nervously casual unwrapped/enrapt

So near a naked half turn onto eye you

We lay fastened on grand pianos

Braying asses assuredly elegant

                               in perfecting predawn light


A quiet gust came up

Only the smallest leaves take swirl

On paths  in moon


Aligning our times

We  counted  skies

We  chimed  in


November 25, 2010



Agonizingly,  A  friend, and wise king,  He

Begged  for  his  life.

I woke  &  witnessed his naked strife.

As softly he spoke out his pleas,

Softer, I called my  ”All Mercy”.



If only,  as when our women grieve,

I should wear a veil, head bent.

I would shield  my  damning  grief,

And all my disillusionments.

February 21, 2010

“In Held Twas In I”, lyrics Keith Reid/Gary Brooker/Procol Harum

Filed under: music, poetry, rhyme — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 6:56 am

would just Have to be included in my imaginary list of  300 favorite songs (“it might be read,nothing’s better left unsaid”)


“Glimpses of Nirvana”

In the darkness of the night, only occasionally relieved by glimpses of
nirvana as seen through other people’s windows, wallowing in a morass of
self-despair made only more painful by the knowledge that all I am is of my
own making. When everything around me, even the kitchen ceiling, has
collapsed and crumbled without warning. And I am left, standing in the eye
of a well looking up and wondering why and wherefore. At a time like this,
which exists maybe only for me, but is nonetheless real, if I could
communicate, and in the telling and the bearing of my soul anything is
gained, even though the words which I use are pretentious and make you
cringe with embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim who asked for
an audience with the Dalai Lama. He was told he must first spend five
years (in) contemplation. After the five years, he was ushered into the
Dalai Lama’s presence, who said, “Well, my son, what do you wish to know?”
So the pilgrim said, “I wish to know the meaning of life, father.” And so
the Dalai Lama smiled and said, “Well my son, life is like a beanstalk,
isn’t it?”

Held close by that which some despise
Which some call fate, and others lies
And somewhat small for one so tall
A doubting Thomas? Who would be?
It’s written plain for all to see
For one who I am with no more
It’s hard at times, it’s awful wrong

They say that Jesus healed the sick and helped the poor
And those unsure believed his eyes – a strange disguise
Still write it down, it might be read
Nothing’s better left unsaid
Only sometimes, still no doubt
It’s hard to say, it all works out

“‘Twas Tea-Time at the Circus”

‘Twas tea-time at the circus
King Jimmy, he was there
Through hoops he skipped, highwires he tripped
And all the while the glare
Of the aching, baking spotlight
Beat down upon his cloak
And though the crowd clapped furiously
They could not see the joke

‘Twas tea-time at the circus
Though some might not agree
As jugglers danced and horses pranced
And clowns clowned endlessly
>From trunk to tail, the elephants
Quite silent, never spoke
And though the crowd clapped desperately
They could not see the joke

“The Autumn of My Madness”

In the autumn of my madness
When my hair is turning grey
For the milk has finally curdled
And I’ve nothing left to say
When all my thoughts are spoken
(Save my last departing verse)
Bring all my friends unto me
And I’ll strangle them with words

In the autumn of my madness
Which in coming won’t be long
For the nights are now much darker
And the daylight’s not so strong
And the things which I believed in
Are no longer quite enough
For the knowing is much harder
And the going’s getting rough

“Look to Your Soul”

I know if I’d been wiser
This would never have occurred
But I wallowed in my blindness
So it’s plain that I deserve
For the sin of self-indulgence
When the truth was read quite clear
I must spend my life amongst the dead
Who spend their lives in fear
Of a death that they’re not sure of
Of a life they can’t control
It’s all so simple really,
If you just look to your soul

Some say that I’m a wise man
Some think that I’m a fool
It doesn’t matter either way
I’ll be a wise man soon
For the lesson lies in learning
And by teaching, I’ll be taught
For there’s nothing hidden anywhere
It’s all there to be sought
And so if you know anything
Look closely at the time
For others who remain untrue
And won’t commit that crime, yeah…

It’s all so simple, really,
If you’ll just look to your soul

February 9, 2010


I heard some guy say

that he was more in debt

than an honest man could pay.


I bet I don’t check my check book but

My needs are nameless

And exceed;

 what a deceitful man might utter,

 what a sweet woman might offer,

 even all a clever man can never call.


I’ll ache,  Cah  Rist! icy bone fingers,

I’ll arch-stretch wide and hard, outward to  outsides.

To outsides,  otherwises,  outreaching,

beseeching, imploring.

Discretely exploring

the notion

the ocean

of need

January 10, 2010

“Is This It?”

“Is this It?”
I’ve always kept this away
asleep before this one feeling
can fuck w/me alone  (eyes on the ceiling)
I’ve kept it at bay
with whiskey, & the fantasy of Art
I’ve consistantly insisted on
not being too damn smart
Illusion and delusion and confusion
for a start
It’s not all how you look at it
it’s how you don’t,
don’t ask
“Is this It?”

August 24, 2009


Eyes out to recognize passion:

It’s flatbacked against a dark wall

in the basement, burrowing deeper into sad shadow.

I’d bet it’s hiding some, a child’s cruel game.

When people see they’re empty

They write in to newspapers & ask real advice,

exposing & espousing about

“spicing up”  their  lovelives.

Girls & boys buying new nightclothes,

sex-scents, and other eaus,

bought to butter up their battered beaus,

enhancing  romance drugs

from teevee, junk mail,

and toys that are tools

for fixing whats failed.


There’s always  something new,

someone new/ anything new.

Venture steps forward

away from the old?

Nature’s warmblooded creatures

home in on settleings less cold.






midnight chord

“life is like a stage, I guess

love is stages of undress”



side effects may include

-absently staring into space (not time)

-walking into walls

-walking through walls

-delusions (the good kind)

-A cute optimism

-serious loss of scepticism, doubt, & Down.

-control issues

-Fact, being better than it seems

-a packed pocketful of dreams

-spells of snow angels

-pretty picturewindows in a bomb shelter

-There’s a bird on a word

-There’s a drunk in a midnight chord

-we all scream.. for vanishing cream

-Alas, Atlas, tonight at least…
-don’t operate heavy machinery

-Blue Skies

catalist: Ricki Lee, Sunni,Gillian Kidd Osborne

August 19, 2009

Filed under: poetry, prose — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 12:00 pm

pray, tell

There’s a pretty way to spell out

                                  my long sentence.

If random luck holds out perhaps

The power, like lightening

                                 stabbing down my stance,

I’ll light up  dark dancing

X rayed in a cartoon.

Man, I’ll be lit up like a mantle

                                      in a lantern soon.

Windfall clarity should scare me.

If I should flinch when I have by chance

An unscrambled avalanche

Doled out again as an hour old

Soulful  pillow  rain, I’ll miss when

The words come,

Spilling the spaces.

I ain’t nervous of naked undersurfaces

July 31, 2009

I”ll Believe I’ll Believe Here

They say that at sea

Mal de mer

Is easier to bear

If you can lift your gaze,

Look, and lock in the horizon—

The distant   constant   transcedent  end.


I’m a man who  says “land,too.”

Older Posts »