in a galaxy far far away...

So this is my first attempt at a web comic.... lets see where this goes...

cast aside

I lay cold, wet, cast aside,
That fateful night something inside me died,
A quiet, miserable passing,
From this world to another,
And now the need to be solitary,
took me over, I was wary,
to love and be loved again,
to cast aside the cold,
only with the warmth of another,
for whom the fever raged high and heavy,
to hold and be held,
to be cast aside yet again...

TCP (excuse the syntax)

Red earth, dry heat,
Warrior steps out,
Crowd claps a rhythmic beat,
King readies for the bout,

Bends low touches the dust,
Straightening out feels the gust,
of wind carrying the smell,
of fresh carcass and the sound of chiming death bell,

Acute senses and steady heart,
Lion comes into thick of things,
Crowd reacts with a start,
To every last ounce of bravery he clings,

What happens after is for another place and another time,
For as of now this wandering poet is out of rhyme.

Calangute Blues...

Left, after right,
prints in the sand,
walking over the promised land,
I look ahead,
But can't help looking back,
and a pattern repeats,
In my head and with my feet,
I look as far back as a I can,
As far as a solitary man,
Can without losing his mind,
his identity and turning blind.

The prints are numerous,
They leave and then return,
But i never learn,
Two sets and then just one,
I stumble, again and again....

And then the lights come back on,
and i look up and see the figures,
Dark outlines against a blinding light,
Laughing, jeering, cheering at my plight,
As they watch and slight,
My every effort to get back up.

Lying there I look back again,
And watch the surf sweep onto the sand,
cover every open wound, the pain,
and freeze for an instant,
a minute, a year, an eternity,
and then sweep back,
leaving nothing but an empty canvas,
no history, no footprints,
no dark outlines, no memories,
just a new beginning,
and life goes on. Again.

The AC is too cold...

Start out with a blank slate,
open road stares you in the face,
you take the bait
and with a shifty unsure gait,

you are on the forsaken ground,
nobody with you
take a look around,
take in the lack of sights and sound

alone in infnity,
surrounded by nothingness,
you just want things to be
just want to taste, smell, feel

life for the first time,
all over again

Day turns to noon,
noon to night,
Howl at the moon,
the poet's plight

The rhyme is dead,
He's turned to glass,
In her head,

Seeing through him,
Seeing through her,
Reality is grim

The truth is out to see,
The storm's in his head,
He wants to flee

The empty streets,
The lonely crowds,
The deafening silences,
The indifference....

Miserably falling in love,
Miserably falling out,
Falling, Falling, Falling,
The endless abyss of doubt.

new beginings

'When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.' - Ernest Hemingway (A moveable feast)