PLAY MY GUITAR

yellow car

I tossed and turned throughout the night, something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by,  like comets fast.  I wondered if this night would pass. I prayed to God this would not last. Take me away, my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in the world will loved ones say? Morning came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. Day turned into early eve,. Deep within my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscience broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs. I looked around for someone to share this miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon a chair, someone to play that old guitar driving by in its yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me. I’m alone again. It’s just me who sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?

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 Johanna Hinting by Scott Utley

 

I think Johanna was giving me a hint, Johanna my sister. Warn me. In her own special way, her gentle, caring way. She posted a poem a few days ago… or has it been weeks?… I can’t keep track of time anymore…it doesn’t matter…time…anymore…to a guy like me. She called it “To Edith Failing”. Edith my Mom.
Edith Utley 21 in 1943 Born in Hell's Kitchen1921 Raised in LIC, QUEENS, NYC
 
I am standing naked, drenched. My is head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pouring into my eyes. The cobra skinned clouds & the moon are playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part and the moon crystalised clear.
 
The blue dot light stars splash across the night sky. Then it dawns on me that maybe Johanna is preparing ime and the world I know for the saddest moment of my life… lives really…hundreds…maybe more.
 
Edith is my favorite mother of all time The first mother walked out of Africa. Edith was that mother. I am grateful she chose me for a son. I guess she was looking for a challenge. Is Edith Failing? If so… will she return?
 
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Fire Island Pines: Morning by Scott Utley

My eyes hold their place among the wreckage of my face. I’m thinking, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, (paid for twice over, but never to be owned), will not subdue the bestial morning’s sadistic appetite. The secret is out; Fire Island tragedies are lurking under star-crossed pines in paradise. My eyes are held in place midst the wreckage of my face by shear will. I think, perhaps one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab paid for twice over, but never to be owned, will obliterate a debauched morning hangover. What about an aspirin or a bloody Mary? Maybe if I take a dive into the raging blue Atlantic waters of forget me nows, my sins will be erased along with yesterday and my inhuman slurs and beat you down puns. Even if the divine in divine mind could muster mercy for my soul, yes, even if I acquiesce and bow to their Latin liturgies, and I finally see that all my prescriptions are merely the fleeting tonics of a foolish mind, I will never find repose. Consequently, (I will not deny this) a loaded Colt 45’s horsepower is my medicine of choice. What other elixir will suffice when you wake early on a brand new day and your mirror is exclaiming, “You’re old, decrepit and to boot you’re gay? These are but the rage-dreams of a narcissist’s self-absorbed preoccupation. In ephemeral brevity, my spirits rise high as the sun glides its way into mid-day.

I take a second look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of m y eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I’m a silly man. I think I look dashing as my life and times and face decay. I think, “Oh, what’s another cocktail, or a line of coke or two, with this blue-eyed prince of a man; paid for twice over?” The fine print says ‘on loan, ever to be owned.’ Nowhere does the contract state ‘this stud, despite his sublime stature cannot subdue another debauched morning hangover revenge.’ On Fire Island, ghosts lurk scarecrow, screw-faced under littered dreams. Theirs is an insatiable hunger for any soul so predisposed to join their twisted spirits in a ritual of howls.

Paradise Lost Paradise Found Over The Rainbow Smashed To The Ground. My eyes hold their place within the wreckage of my face as I slowly turn to ashes. Please, just one more cocktail with you, my beloved, blue eyed Aphrodite. I’ve handsomely paid for you twice over, could you love me for any fee? No. Not he or any living mortal can subdue this debauched morning hangover. Finally, I take yet another look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under starcrossed pines? My eyes hold their place inside the wreckage of my face. I think, one more cocktail with this blue eyed slab, paid for twice over but never to be owned, leased but never mine for evermore will not change the fact that no mere mortal will ever subdue my demoralized mornings spent between heaven and hell. You see, here on Fire Island, ghosts lurk screw faced under starcrossed pines howling without sound.

 

frank hohohi

 

 

 

 

LEO

I am a Lion.

I am a child of the Sun.

I’m proud of my pride & royal blue blood.

I listen to all but I answer to none.

I am a Lion with wings on my sides.

I use them to flee but never to hide.

I’ve known sorrow & wonder.

I’ve laughed & I’ve cried.

I am a Lion on a cobalt blue sky.

I have ruby red diamonds where others have eyes.

I am a prophet to some because I have died.

I am a Lion with a powerful roar.

My effortless might evens the score.

Such cowards they are.

See how they run? 

There isn’t a battle I haven’t won.

lion vs snake

Dedicated To Karl Waldbauer

WINGED LION COVER by http://sandara.deviantart.com/

WINGED LION INSERT by http://www.scott-eaton.com

his name is prophet (inspired by a fellow poet’s verse ) Poem by Aprilia Zank

Galaktika Poetike "ATUNIS"

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Poem by Aprilia Zank
 
his name is prophet
inspired by a fellow poet’s verse
 
I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
 
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
 
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
 
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
 
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
homeless
restless
waiting for translation.

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EDGE OF THE WORLD ~ SCOTT UTLEY ~ FEATURING: LACH HILL ~ WINTER-SCENE-13-CUE-5

I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met. The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprites & the Green Wood Elves; odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?  

The Elder Blue Sprites were certain I must be either crazy or insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms & tried to distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. The Green Wood Elves being somewhat more wizened than their cousins insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learned to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day. The Green Wood Elves taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I thought was its ultimate frontier. They taught me how they weave their magic with hopes I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past and the image of you when we first met. I could  never let that happen though. Sometimes Wood Elves can be so naive.

I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was ten thousand years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry now. My whole world is waiting for you. I am still holding lilacs too.