Wake up

March is on its way out the door and the chilly weather seems to be going with it. Of course, I've probably just damned my east coast brethren to another month of freakishly cold weather. Sorry.
I've been out of it lately. I guess its just the extra time to breath I have, thanks to the momentary break from that hardcore schedule. It definitely shows in what I've been writing lately - can't help but put it all on paper. Either way, fuck your worries people and onward we stride!
How's everyone else doing? Got something like 160 different people that have visited the page. Hopefully, a few are coming back. I'll try to keep you here. Todays piece:

Mr. Hatiko's Despair

He awakens
Glare of the morning sun
A blinding reminder that yesterday is no more
and today is just a yesterday waiting to expose its rosy cheeks
The Bronx bleeds its symphony through the cracks in his window frame
Subway cars and a forgotten Major fuse as they traverse the cigarette stained air
On a path to his ear
There’s no place like home
No place quite worthy of the lovely, hateful mess of feelings attached to it
Like this towering concrete prison
Its captives unlearned and over-experienced
Finding love for sale in the hands of children -
Children finding love in the loins of children -
Creating children in the loins of children.
And he is nothing more than a child
Wearing the mask of an adult and flexing his voice as one
His glare is that of a lone wolf in the forest of his mind
He finds he likes his time alone and he worries
If he can move beyond the blood and spit stained path
Carved by those before him,
Can he walk a golden road?
Will his legs carry him beyond his grungy walls of insecurity
To the oft visited dreamlands of his mind?
Or is this urban seer merely unfortunate enough to have been born with eyes
Fine focused enough to witness his own demise and see that
Today is just a yesterday waiting to show her gleaming browns
Will he let them raise him up or keep him down?

And Still My Emerald Heart Beats

Happy St. Patrick's Day, all! Yes, I am Irish -and Puerto Rican- and bleed green like the best of them. St. Patrick's day has always been a happy day for me. When I was younger, no matter her condition at the time, my mother would always make corn beef and cabbage ("More Yank than Irish" says a friend of mine) on Saint Patty's. I never did enjoy it, but there was something about having that one tradition in the otherwise tradition-less house --It was the only real 'holiday' we 'celebrated'. As I got older, it shifted to a reason to drink and be merry... simultaneously of course. I would gather my friends, be them Irish or not, and get absolutely wasted. Eventually, even that became old. Now I just get a smile on my face upon waking, don a green shirt, have a couple drinks and let my emerald heart beat.
So, in honor of this day, the next pint is on me! Enjoy the day, everyone, because its not only about the Irish -- it's about the underdog. It's about raising up past all that stands in your way, and lending a hand to someone who is having trouble with their own obstacles. A celebration of humanity and our bond with one another.

Enough preaching! You've got drinking to do!

Silencing the Banshee

When all the world raises
to meet me in war or just in jest
I do not fear a moment,
thank the Shamrock in my chest.
When all the darkness sets in
and light cannot be seen,
I know that all around me
I've got the mighty green.
When the ground twists and bulges
to block my steadfast stride,
I rise above on Emerald wings
and soar on Irish Pride.

Come and Take Them

Busy week for the ol' River Man. Saw Reno 911, The Number 23 and 300 (note: it has just dawned on me that they all have numbers involved in the titles somehow). For the most part, Reno was funny. Although, I found myself desiring some wit, instead of the relentless bombardment of stupidity that has dominated comedies as of late. 23 was great. The ending felt a bit forced - some connective tissue was definitely missing. Overall though it was an amazing movie, as well as another example of Jim Carey's abilities as a serious actor. If you haven't seen The Majestic or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you are seriously missing out... especially with the latter. 300 was incredible. This is a movie more driven by honor than The Last Samurai (running into a hail of bullets for your beliefs) or Braveheart (entering a suspected trap for the possibility of obtaining freedom). If you know the story of Thermopylae, then you can assume how it ends. Nevertheless, it makes you want to purge the world of fire arms and return warfare to it honorable beginnings -- face to face, sword to sword.
Enough with the movie critic role! I am (if I were to leave this very moment) an hour late for work. Tardiness is becoming more frequent; Perhaps my subconscious is aiming for my release from one of these positions. On the other hand, maybe I'm just damned lazy. Either way, onward with the verse.

Peccavi

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of poverty and disgrace
Silently simmering love in a tablespoon in my bedroom
Blanking out to the sweet sounds of Dylan.
God, forgive me
but I've lost my faith in you.
In me a muted fire burns its final log to ash and I tire
of trying to fit my technicolor mind
into the world of gray you've placed before me. Why try?
Death seeks out the joyous
So I've made it my mission to smile the widest
Still the reaper avoids me
Maybe he knows my plan
Maybe Lachesis has extended her rod and
Atropos has cast an idle eye to their garden flowers
in hopes my begrimed thread will rot itself away.
-Heartless wretches, the lot of the sentient world-
I refuse to be part of it
Found all the love I need in darkness and needle points
I have no need for the living
With their shamed looks and whispers
The judgment of one guilty man
cast from the lips of another
is nothing but a mockery of honor and sense.
Wanton behavior at best and
I won't have any of it.
Now if you will,
Please allow me to excuse myself
as a man of poverty and disgrace
Been around a long, long year
Sold my soul
and
Burnt my faith.

Long Winded Wont

Greetings all. Hopefully everyone is in good spirits. I'm drained. Another overworked bastard only managing to make ends meet. Same old story, different voice spitting it. However, I've set out to make more time for writing. I think I really need to write more these days. Ol' insanity is a sneaking back up on me. That's no good, my friends.
On the subject of writing, had a Tenacious D moment today. I know, I know, you're saying 'River Man, oh River man... whats a Tenacious D moment??" Well, TD is a band who performed the greatest song in the world, forgot it, and wrote a song about the whole experience. I thought the most amazing poem today. Just went free in the mind, and it was flowing like water. Made plans to write it down, but they didn't exactly work out. So, I sat down tonight to try something else, but that also died down. I have hope for the latter... if I complete it I'll throw it up here.
I can't lie... I'm terribly disappointed in this blog. I had such plans. Such hopes. I feel as if I have fallen horribly short. Perhaps my public display was premature. In fact, I have very little doubt it was. But, it is what it is, as that is all it can be. So onward we trek, towards my new goal of righteousness. Not the biblical sort though. The righteousness that arises when you visit a blog, read some of its content and say "Whoa. This is righteous." Others might use awesome, cool, amazing, kick ass, poppin', pimpin', fly, off the chain, off the hook, off the rack, dope, radical, unbelievable, indescribable, godly, super, superb, wonderful, mind-blowingly orgasmic, etc. I prefer righteous.
Anyway, onward with tonights piece. It seems unfinished. But, I almost don't mind. Almost.

Verbal Still Life

Ankles crossed
Mouth ajar
He sits in disbelief
It's happened again
That swirling mass of nothingness has
swallowed him whole
without the decency to chew
Used
Hand rests on paper
Pen tip just moments away
from an inky disaster
to be forgotten in the tired
corners of a book
against penguins.
Eyes burn, cause blinking is overrated
and underdone
Stomach rumbles, another cold dinner
sliding down.
What's the point?
All the worlds in black and white
and he's a pastel mess.
It's happened again
He's settled for nothing more than nothing he wants
and he can't find the exit.

EndThoughts

Morning Bus Ride thoughts
My mind is full of endthoughts. What's an endthought, you ask? Well, they are thoughts that force the mind into an 'intellectual corner' in which instict urges you to just end the thoughts. Death, or perhaps what follows it, is an endthought. My religious readers will try to argue this, I'm sure. Try this: step back from your views for one second and try to imagine the nothingness that could follow. The end of you. Darkness. Well, not even darkness. Darkness is an absence of light - this is an absence of everything. An absence of an absence.
That's not the endthought on my mind though. The mind is. The concious mind. Not mine, but others. All around me are concious minds who are all 'I' in regards to themselves. To them, I'm a strange guy in the corner furiously scribbling away in what they would probably call a journal. They look at the world from different heights, different levels of sight, from behind the veil of different experiences. They each have their own lists of things in themselves and this world they are unhappy with. All the lists are different. Some points are shared but if we listed the worlds gripes unrepeating, I haven't a doubt it would exhaust the paper supplies and still not be done.
I suppose the endthought aspect of this is its vastness. My mind struggles to imagine sharing sight with one other person, let alone a bus load. A cities worth. All the worlds citizens.
... Lost my thought, or perhaps my mind abandoned it for some higher sake. Vindication mayhaps.

Lithium and Heart Shaped Scars

Be Still
Just Breath
We can still be all we've dreamed of
The world's an open book
and your mind's the pencil
Keep it sharp
The brightest star's the first seen at night
Wishing is a waste of time
Yours and mine
You and I
We make misery marvelous
a colorful mess to combat
shadows we cast.
Here it goes again
The end, that is
The end of the start
and the beginning of the rest...
Rest assured
the trip is best enjoyed
From the drivers seat
No question
in this ratrace of Mice and Men
I'd rather be a wolf
...Here Kitty, kitty...
My bark is worse than my bite
as long as I'm well fed.
No worries lovely lady,
Your loving keeps the belly full.
Autumn Angel,
Seems the secrets free
We can still be all we've dreamed of
All we wanted
Just breath
Be Still.

Queen of Clubs and Hearts and Spades

And guess what.. He's alive!!
I know, I know... I went MIA 2 weeks. Miss me? During my time adrift, I aged a year, enjoyed a day of love and wrote a couple things here and there. Still plagued by writers block. Nevertheless, even the strongest foe will bow to an iron will. I see that during my time away I've managed to get a couple fans, or one big one. Either way, thanks for your comments! I know I've said it before -but I love the praise. It warms the chest cavity. Damn... It seems to have very little to say tonight. My mind is well beyond overworked. Perhaps I will have more to babble about tomorrow. Until then, read on.

Sinners Sanctuary

An old man stands atop a weary, turbid stone
Howling

-It is not the sun that sets
but the earth that turns away...
still I stand here, cursing the skies,
pleading the darkness for one more moments light.
Are we all that different?
The sun and I?-

His questions make me wonder and I ask...

Have I not been the moon?
Hiding in the shadows until
I can shine the brightest?
Only showing part
when you crave it all
At times staying hidden to avoid your affection
The topic of hearsay
They say I control the tides of hearts abound
And drive the sane berserk when my face is shone
Still I beam
and gleam and glimmer in this time of warring twins
Are my evils more than shadows misconstrued?
Am I any better for the error?

That depends...
Are you the judge or am I?

Fruit Flavored Life Savers

Well, as you may have figured, the opportunity did not arise yesterday. To be honest with ya, the only chance I really had to sit down at a computer was wasted on an hour or so of online game stumbling. These things happen damn it. I want to thank those (three) that have commented directly or through the guestbook. I appreciate the recognition (actually I enjoy few things more). Sorry I didn't thank earlier, forgot my manners and all I suppose. For those of you waiting for me to spiffify my page up before you grace it with your written presence, you will be waiting a bit longer. I have plans, but I have to find time to make them reality. Until then, you're stuck with the humdrum minima snazzed only by my choice in pigmentation and lettering. How unfortunate it is to be you, huh? Meanwhile, I got out of work a bit early today. Mondays and Wednesdays are my TA days. Perhaps I should clear that up, because despite knowing what that stands for even my mind went to the typical perversions. Mon and Wed, I am a Teaching Assistant. Occasionally on Sundays also. Mainly for various aspects of college biology. In fact strictly so. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I tutor various math and bio courses during the day. Saturday, Sundays and whatever weekdays need attention I am a Lab Tech. Needless to say... I am hellishly tired often. All in the pursuit of my goal, that would seem to be teaching right now.

Okay, okay I know you want me to shut up and get to the writers block ridden verse already. Saying to yourself "where's this 'strictly performance piece' you spoke of yesterday? On to it, man, on to it!"
Can't argue with that...

Strawberries in the Morning

You seem a lovely mystery

Casting a glance from the corner of your eye

cause you know I'm looking and

I think you like it.

Hell, I think you love it

knowing I want you like I do

Want to know everything about you

Want to fall in love with you

Not just the sight of you

The very thought of you

I want to fall in love with the feeling of your name on my lips

And the sound of your voice in the air...

Forget making love

I want us to invent love

I want envy amongst the bonded masses

cause their love is nothing like our love.

Knowing nothing of the sweet taste of

strawberry kisses in the waking hours.

I want to live a dream

and never sleep again

never risk never seeing you again

I want to grow old with you

then spin back the hands of the clock so I can

Want to grow old with you once more

and be with you forever on.

But damn...

First...

I just want to know your name.

And so I will...

So I will post something born of this current writers block to show just how deep I am in it. However, as I said yesterday, it is easing. I haven't even gotten the chance to sit down with the book today... an event becoming more common. I suppose when this block lifts I will be as consumed with writing as usual. That's the typical progression of this. In the mean time... I'm trying to decide between something that is strictly performance, and something that will work on paper (screen). The choice should be obvious, but I am a goddamned performer... so I happen to prefer the former. However, I'll post the latter and if the opportunity arises tomorrow, I'll throw the other on here.

Silver Sight

I can't help but wonder...
Did we discover
something better than heaven?
Sure as hell felt that way
in that silent supernove
Swear I heard the stars gasp
when I found the other half of me
Did you hear the cheers that followed?
Did you know how right that wrong was?
I hadn't any doubts, still don't, still won't
have your steel resolve.
It doesn't change a thing.
What's meant to be, will be
What isn't, will not.

Wolf Cubs and Mental Math

And the shitty mood continues, although significantly less shitty. Birthday's 'round the bend, hopefully I'm in better spirits by then. I plan on heading out to see that new flick Blood and Chocolate, simply because it in some way involves wolves. .. Yes, I must admit it. Have to come out of the furry, howling closet. I am a wolf freak. Haven't quite gotten the handle on why, though I've heard enough ideas to choke a horse -- or bring it down in a methodical and sophisticated manner. Feel free to share your theories... maybe one will draw that long sought 'oh shit... that makes a lot of sense.'
Separate, unrelated note: it just dawned on me that I had laid a wet shirt across my computer chair. Seems it took this long to soak the one I am currently wearing I guess. I'm not compelled to move whatsoever, though. Complacency is a wonderful thing. That's something forgotten far too often; or at the very least it seems that way. I work with a girl who has that 'must please/best everyone' attitude and it is bloody irritating. Besides that, though, it's a fountain of discontent. If you like something, you can be damn sure she likes it too. You did something? She's done it twice before. Liked that movie? She loved it and read the book. Whatever you bring up --no matter how exotic and remote-- she knows exactly what you're talking about. Almost as if she is afraid of being out of the loop. Not in the 'in crowd'. That is an unfortunate M.O. to have. You may be saying at this point 'well, it's no worse then the asshole who observes it all, lets it piss him off and then blog-bitches about it'. You'd be right. But fuck you, I like me goddamnit and that's what it is all about: complacency.

Onto tonight’s piece, which is --you guessed it-- another old one. Writers block is in the process of lifting. Maybe tomorrow I'll throw on some WB ridden piece I scribbled this afternoon. With any luck, my monstrous ego will be so annoyed that I put something it considered sub-par online that it will immediately beat my subconscious from this funk. Or... it won't. Any bets?

Salty Song

I've cut myself to pieces
Trying to add up to more than I am
To be enough for you.
But I keep coming up short.
White tie on a black suit
Worn by a white man with a Technicolor mind
Has a red stain where he cut his soul free...
Or tried to, only to find it was
Empty.
Who'da thought those cloudy years
Would catch up with this sunshine.
Who'da thought I'd hate the past
So much in this dismal future.
Upside down, but still alright
Inside.
It's a shame, they say
And I can't help but agree
I guess we never get the chance
Maybe for the better.
Light a candle for each missed opportunity
And we'd scorch the world.
Ugh.
Stomach aches again.
Head is spinning again
And it's all in monochrome.
Bite your tongue and hand it here
(Will you?) I need the relief
I feel so hindered (you know)
And the days are so long.
I can't land the falls I could before
My knees are getting weak.
I can't seem to read the words...
My eyes are getting old
And damn, this voice is so damned
Tired.

Sounds Like a Hushed Thought

Ugh. Ugh in all its melancholic glory. I'm feeling out of it today. Can't seem to pinpoint why; it's strange considering things are going pretty damn well for me. So good that I've hit a bloody writers block. It's fucking horrible... being as writing is like breathing, I'm suffocating in this drought. Random thought: what if this is some bizarre way for my subconscious to achieve its desired goal of writing by putting me in this funk -- Counterintuitive, yes, but that’s how I like it damn it. Or it could just be normal depression of the ol' Bipolar II (though in my mind I like to call it manic-depression... the sequel!), damned ups and downs, ya know... but wouldn't the former be fucking poetic in it self?
On the topic of poetry, tonight’s piece is a little old and bizarre in itself but that’s why I like it. It has so many things going on and yet that's what makes it work. It's jumbled in all the right ways, or so I hope. Read it aloud! It’s a performance piece as most of 'em are. Go crazy with it and Enjoy.

There and Gone Again

When I was your age
-Pluto was a planet
Dancing with the ferryman
By the banks of Styx
The under over world
Filled with inverted company screaming
“Loneliness is pot marked.
That is to say,
Loneliness is pot marked.
That’s all there is to say”
Inkwells feed the hungry
Stars in heaping spoonfuls
And my sanity is north of nowhere
I implore
Dance devil men, dance!
Lest mortals choose your fate
And damn your tapping toes

… I cough for you
And choke on the smoke that was your glory
Care to spend a score?
Don’t get homesick.
When you’re here your sick of home.
We’re never happy, are we?
I asked that before, didn’t I?
I often lose my thoughts to time
In bets of tens and twenty
Cupful of coffee iced to chilled perfection
Can’t freeze the heat of memories
That refuse to die
-All I do is lie-
All my life’s a lie
And I a fallacy
A stray daydream of some godlike figure
-Sad with yesterday.

Can you turn off that light?
It burns my eyes, you see
I’m not like the others
Lone wolves howl the loudest
And humans can’t at all
Can’t you see I don’t belong?
Half moon and a stolen song
Wallowing in a December moan
Sounding something like the tale of a prophet.
Care to take a listen
Can you’re folds contain this knowledge
So knowledgeable
so goddamn knowledgeable
Though I know less than the breeze
Still… can’t forget
When I was your age
Pluto was a planet.
And he danced – so content with his loneliness
So happy in exile
So joyous for border life
And then he was gone.
Don’t you feel lucky?
Don’t you feel lucky?
Feel lucky
So… lucky.
So Lucky
So So
Lucky.
So. Mother. Fucking. Lucky.

Roadside Whim

Went on a road trip to a tiny, remote town in Northwestern New York to visit some relatives and while on the ride we passed a random church. Now, under normal circumstances I can't stand small town churches because it often seems they take the difference of their size when compared to their inner-city counterparts and flip it to become that much more ignorant in their views. Instantly I picture Reverend Shaw Moore from Footloose inside preaching the muted anarchist view on the evils of our world and its need for destruction. This time though, I was far too consumed with that little message board that sits outside to be consumed with Rev. Shaw and his hate of Rock 'n' Roll. "The Lord Helps the Humble". It was that simple. Nothing new; anyone familiar with the Christian/Catholic ways will know that eventually 'the meek shall inherit the earth', or something along those lines. Yeah Yeah... that’s wonderful, whatever floats your boat -- But it just ain't poetic. This, however, was a mysterious beacon shining from a higher place (I believe many call it the sun). So, I scribbled down the quote to work on later.

Interesting little 'Behind the Poetry' tidbit: This church wasn't in Sulivan county. We didn't pass Sulivan county for another hour and a half or so. But once I saw the Sulivan sign, I knew I had my title.

The Lord Helps the Humble in Sulivan County

On a static highway drive
Through the desolate fields of my mind
And I think I've found Christ
Jesus is a friend of mine.
Born of a virgin broad with a penchant for fucking angels
Or at least she claims their angels
I'm beginning to question her convictions
Convicted of divinities seen on the backs of turtles
Nestled in the feathers of desert birds
Consumed with life
They find themselves consumed in death
By the mouths of children created in their loins
It's the 'Circle of life'
We live to die while dying to live that life portrayed on the high definition screens of our minds
My pictures getting blurry
Dreams painted on billboards lining that road of life, promising
"All you've ever wanted -- 3 miles."
Too bad it takes a year to take a step
Need a black beauty to make the world fly by
And get to the
Crown jewel of my estate...
Can't seem to find the key to your case
Loneliness is such a waste of your charm.
Sweet and sappy social butterfly
Have you found the plight of the lone wolf who howls in half-hearted bursts towards the moon?
Have you found it out too soon?
Did you hope to get trapped in a dream world named desire?
With me as your brave knight and you as my lady?
Maybe is just a polite No.
Let's skip the pleasantries.
It's a bit late for apologies
... Is I'm sorry enough?
Infected with that Griffin virus
I can't help but vanish
And fade away in the vestige of what was once
A very charming man
Cursed by the flow of the river.
Oh that river.
That motherfucking river.
How it's calling.
Carving through the desolate fields of my mind
Jesus is soaked to his knees.
He's sick of miracles that go unheard.
Tired of his sacrifice.
Jesus is a friend of mine.
And he says he hates you all.

nice and short today...

Its cold. Very very cold. I had gotten far too used to the El Nino/global warming one-two punch to be left in this chilly mess. Eh well. Life goes on.

He[r] P[e]as Were Gol[d]en in a Time of Rust

There’s a demon in my belly

And how frighteningly enlightening

It is to watch him nibble on my naughty bits

He walks on one leg

Surely it’s more of a hop of sorts

A tired ramble through the deeper side of nowhere

How shallow I’ve become

Seat locked in an upright position

While I’m slouched and relaxed

Cuddling my seething hellion

My telltale heart is a trembling hand

And all the finest ale’s.

Bed bugs and dust mites deter the weary

For the rest I resort to wit

If I find failure in that

I am left no choice but to flutter by with the butterflies

And the effects are spectacular.

And so it began...

After a grand deal of hesitation, mixed lightly with just enough deep thought, I have finally begun this blog. It had been an intention of mine for quite some time, first to randomly chronicle my seemingly mundane everyday experience. Soon though, its purpose would see sundry topics. My inner thoughts, short stories, random rants. A slew of objectives arose, but in the end, I settled on my truest written love: Poetry. Where better to spread my accumulating wealth of original journeys in verse then my very own blog? I certainly haven't any idea.
With that said, I have to put great thought into my 'ice breaker' piece. I want something relatively metrically pleasing (as I have been dipping into the chagrin as of late, trying something pseudo-revolutionary) and well rounded. Something to introduce you to... I actually forgot what I chose my blogspot pseudonym to be. You'll soon find I do that quite often -- forget things. Aha! And it comes to me. River Man. Yes. A heap of meanings are tied into that one... for now we will define it as 'He who resides besides the Hudson'. Nice ring to that.
During all this blathering, I somehow managed to decide the icebreaker. It's one of my rare poems in which the title can be obviously attached to the piece. Normally you would have to understand the twisted workings of my mind to understand the origins; even then, a great deal of sleuthing is necessary.

Iron Angel and Fifty Murderous Rounds

She cowers
Clutching at her cobblestone soul
Beneath the sliver of what was once the moon
She calls it home now.
Knows this moist stone as the home she always had but never wanted
Watches the geese fly by in V like formation
Surely it’s short for freedom
Surely if she hoped hard enough wings would sprout and she could take off
Into the sunset I can’t help but talk shit about.
She labeled me the devil
Cast a thought in retrospect
She’d said I’m so angelic
Said none had ever known love to have love like the love she had for me
But there she cowers
Glancing at the street lights peeking through the trees
Reminding me she had a fire in her eyes I had never seen before.
Passion for the living from this queen of the dead
I wonder if it’s extinguished
Wonder if all the tears to drown a proud man’s heart
Could put that fire out.
It overflowed the levees and overran the garden.
I don’t doubt its power.
She cowers
Clutching at her cobblestone soul
An iron angel in a crust of rust
River flowers growing to taunt her loses.
I watch
And I cower
Spooning these patchwork wings
I fashioned from flaps of virgins flesh
And parts of hearts I’ve collected along the way.
Fifty murderous shots fly freely and a voice shouts
“The Devil Is Dead!!”
And I am.
Lying in the bed I made myself with a sly smile and that River man’s curse.
Bloodied and bleeding away all the trouble within me.
“You’re so angelic.”
Her voice carries as
She cowers
Beneath the sliver of what was once the moon.