A (wise) man of two faces
Musings, commentary, and the occasional parade of novelty.

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Celestial Crown

I’ll pluck the colors of the skies,
right out of the air,
and weave them ‘fore your very eyes.

I’ll grasp azure and cyan dyes
and cerulean most fair.
I’ll pluck the colors of the skies.

I’ll work until the sunset vies
crimson shades with glaucous glares
and weave them ‘fore your very eyes.

I’ll wait until the moonbeams rise
and thread a set, or perhaps a pair.
I’ll pluck the colors of the skies

Throughout the night, until sunrise
spills rivers of red which I’ll prepare
and weave them ‘fore your very eyes.

I’ll secure them with firm ties
and lay the veil upon your hair.
I’ll pluck the colors of the skies
and weave them ‘fore your very eyes.


Scandalous

I’m a bad man, I confess,
when I’m a player out on the attack.
My life’s been one big, glorious mess.

The cherry of my eye was a girl named Jess.
She had the most amazing rack.
I’m a bad man, I confess.

And I broke the heart of dear, sweet Bess
when she caught me and her mother in the sack.
My life’s been one big, glorious mess.

Then there was Miss Little Black Dress
who gleefully took me to hell and back.
I’m a bad man, I confess.

And there was that brief time with Wes…
Which, I assure you all, amounted to jack.
My life’s been one big, glorious mess.

Now I spend my nights with Tess
who has quite a dexterous knack…
I’m a bad man, I confess.
My life’s been one big, glorious mess.


Looking for love

How long have I pined
for a love with substance and with style
to fulfill my heart, soul, and mind?

How long have I looked, eager to find,
staying hopeful all the while…
How long have I pined…

It’s bittersweet and wretched kind,
making the sourest faces smile
to fulfill my heart, soul, and mind.

Searching always, sometimes blind
and other times with such guile.
How long have I pined…

But it can’t be bought, wined, or dined
and lies at the end of a long trial
to fulfill my heart, soul, and mind.

At long last, the journey behind,
we’ll look back on every blessed mile.
How long have I pined
to fulfill my heart, soul, and mind…


The sanguine song

Do you have music in your veins,
that pulse of fire deep inside -
the kind you look for in soft refrains?

You pull it out with such sweet strains
of fingertips that grip and glide.
Do you have music in your veins?

Brought to life with such pains
you can hear in each note the pride,
the kind you look for in soft refrains.

Falling as gently as the rain
and rocking as hard as the tide.
Do you have music in your veins?

You refine it until all that remains
is a phantasmagoric, sensual ride,
the kind you look for in soft refrains.

That kind of passion never wanes
and takes the long years all in stride.
Do you have music in your veins,
the kind you look for in soft refrains?

Dedicated to Toubab Krewe, without whom this poem would not exist.


What’s your favorite part of spring?

What’s your favorite part of spring?
Where do you even start?
It can be any old thing…

Is it the birds taking wing
weaving to and fro as they dart?
What’s your favorite part of spring?

Is it that familiar set of rings
that appear once the clouds part?
It can be any old thing.

Is it the perfume flowers bring
as they make a meadow into art?
What’s your favorite part of spring?

Is it the way the whole world seems to sing
like life is only beginning to start?
It can be any old thing…

What makes you feel like a king
moving your mind, soul, and heart?
What’s your favorite part of spring -
it can be any old thing.


Haunting

I couldn’t believe that sight.
My skin’s as white as a pall;
it gave me such a fright.

It almost seemed a trick of the light
save for the shadows on the wall.
I couldn’t believe that sight.

Ghosts, goblins, and a wight
strolling boldly with visible gall.
It gave me such a fright.

I followed and watched their evening rite -
I couldn’t resist that phantom call.
I couldn’t believe that sight.

And as the ceremony reached its height
their voices shook the very walls.
It gave me such a fright.

I hear their revelry each night
the echos of their spectral ball.
I couldn’t believe that sight;
it gave me such a fright.


Celebrity

There are many who would make their name
and seek the glory of the limelight -
there are few who’re prepared for fame.

There are those who like to claim
that it’s all theirs by right.
There are many who would make their name.

There are so many that are all the same;
they twinkle and then fall from sight.
There are few who’re prepared for fame.

Their life laid bare, a public shame,
displayed for our vulgar delight.
There are many who would make their name.

For the successful, a lifelong game
of putting on masks every night.
There are few who’re prepared for fame.

But in the end, who can blame
them for reaching towards such heights.
There are many who would make their name;
there are few who’re prepared for fame.


The sound of rain

I’m listening to the sound of rain
caressing each blade of grass,
lingering on the window pane.

It lays the low the sugar cane -
that tumble down with a crash.
I’m listening to the sound of rain.

I lift high my head and crane
towards the recent lightning’s flash
lingering on the window pane.

The whistling of the raindrop train
and booming splendor of each splash.
I’m listening to the sound of rain.

How many days have I lain
watching it, in my blanket sash,
lingering on the window pane.

Though it’s so simple and so plain,
I love each and every moistened lash.
I’m listening to the sound of rain
lingering on the window pane.


House party

Let loose and let ‘er rip!
This is the only chance we get -
grab life by the horns and enjoy the trip.

Sing, dance, and shake your hip;
happiness is a just mindset.
Let loose and let ‘er rip!

Head on out and hit the strip
for a couple of beers and a cigarette.
Grab life by the horns and enjoy the trip.

Mosey on down and take a dip;
don’t be afraid to get your feet wet.
Let loose and let ‘er rip!

Enjoy the taste of the lip
of that certain someone you just met.
Grab life by the horns and enjoy the trip.

Learn to take a bow and do a flip
and live without a safety net.
Let loose and let ‘er rip,
grab life by the horns and enjoy the trip!


From across the bar

I saw in you a vision rare
lighting the contours of your face
beneath the canopy of your hair.

There was something in your stare
that compelled me to give chase.
I saw in you a vision rare.

That wink and smile, a sultry dare
that made me want to stand and race
beneath the canopy of your hair.

I approached without a care
to all the jealous in that place.
I saw in you a vision rare.

After an evening beyond compare,
you pulled me into an embrace
beneath the canopy of your hair.

Now, I say, we make quite the pair
sauntering to our own pace.
I saw in you a vision rare
beneath the canopy of your hair.


Amori

It’s the thing that makes us croon,
cackling as though driven mad
under the quicksilver moon.

Written in ancient text and rune
in the stories I heard as a lad.
It’s the thing that makes us croon.

Hidden in both dance and tune,
often making the weary glad
under the quicksilver moon.

The saving grace of the buffoon
and tool of every wretched cad.
It’s the thing that makes us croon.

Often ending far too soon
crushing the hearts of the sad
under the quicksilver moon.

The blessing of all those who swoon
and curse of those who’ve been had.
It’s the thing that makes us croon
under the quicksilver moon.


A bed of black down

Do you know the nature of the Raven
or of the calamity he brings.
You’ll not find one who is more craven.

Stubble-chinned or clean-shaven,
he’ll beguile you with the song he sings.
Do you know the nature of the Raven?

He’ll play you on by misbehavin’:
twisting words, belying meanings.
You’ll not find one who is more craven.

Dare you bring him to your haven,
a victim of his smooth preenings.
Do you know the nature of the Raven?

He say that you’re the one who’ll save him
and pull you down beneath his wings.
You’ll not find one who is more craven.

By the morning you’ll be needing savin’
for you’ll be dancing on his strings.
Do you know the nature of the Raven -
you’ll not find one who is more craven.


The ravens’ cry

Hear now a familiar tale
of wartime pagentry.
Can you hear the ravens’ wail?

They traveled far over hill and dale
and forests ripe with trees.
Hear now a familiar tale.

Arriving at last, hearty and hale,
to fight for their country.
Can you hear the ravens’ wail?

They clashed against, with weapon and mail,
the rival infantry.
Hear now a familiar tale.

Blood quenching the ground, a hearty ale
poured from men at their knees.
Can you hear the ravens’ wail?

None were left to say which side prevailed
in that visceral sea.
Hear now a familiar tale -
can you hear the ravens’ wail?


Mnemonics and aspirations

Try to take things in stride.
You are not second-rate.
Don’t forget who you are inside.

Nothing changes if you run and hide.
The road is neither narrow nor straight.
Try to take things in stride.

Find friends in whom you can confide.
She (or he) is worth the wait.
Don’t forget who you are inside.

Everyone you love will someday have died.
Love them now before it’s too late.
Try to take things in stride.

Lose your face; not your pride.
Do not anger. DO. NOT. HATE.
Don’t forget who you are inside.

Learn to live with what you decide.
You’re the author of your own fate.
Try to take things in stride.
Don’t forget who are you inside.


Oceanic

I stare out at the sea
and watch the world go bye,
feeling happy.

The blissful simplicity
of watching waves climb high.
I stare out at the sea.

Taking in the symphony
of every seaside cry,
feeling happy.

Enjoying the warmth on me
of sunlight from the sky.
I stare out at the sea.

Drinking tea
while I lie
feeling happy.

Filled with a quiet glee
and contentedness while I…
I stare out at the sea
feeling happy.


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