The Mad Ones Use Poetry

“Don't use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.” 
        
            ― Jack Kerouac

"I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness."

The Words Between Them

He writes them on her heart.

Imprinting himself there. 

So she won't forget.

He writes them.

Until the words cover her.

Until she is covered with him.

The words, slick on her body.
She is marked, for all the world to see.

The letters move

sliding over her skin, snaking and rearranging, 

by magic

freeform prose, runs together, bleeds apart

forming small bridges to his soul.

Electrons fall to their band,

particles scramble themselves into chaos, 

flowers arch towards the bright sunbeams

Everything bends

towards its natural state

He bends towards her. 

He arches his back; reaches to touch her lips. 

He scrambles - he is her - and she is he - and they are one - into chaos; her wild hair everywhere

He falls into her bed.

When he thinks of her,

she knows.

The words burst from his soul but out of her heart,

And tumble across her, 

She is covered 

in smudges of lust.

And she won't forget,

Because he has imprinted himself, etched their story on her body and soul.

On her heart.

 

More on Storytelling

Night Rain (Haiku)

And now it's raining.

A cold wet blanket descends.

Harder and harder.

Storytelling. Down Under.

"Australian Aborigines say that the big stories—the stories worth telling and retelling, the ones in which you may find the meaning of your life—are forever stalking the right teller, sniffing and tracking like predators hunting their prey in the bush."


                                                                            —Robert Moss, Dreamgates

Anthony and The Flea Say 'Look Inside'

"When will I know that I really can't go
To the well once more - time to decide on.
Well it's killing me, when will I really see, all that I need to look inside.
Come to believe that I better not leave before I get my chance to ride,
Well it's killing me, what do I really need - all that I need to look inside."
                                       
                                                               - RHCP, Hey Oh! (Snow)

From Coelho's Lips To God's Ears

Kiss Me

On your soft lips,
that fit into the grooves of my mouth,
so perfectly.

In My Smile

"Is it true?" she whispered.
A little girl, at bedtime.

(It's true.)

Stay in my smile.
Stretch out. Sleep.

And she saw his eyes,
looking at her own.

And she knew.

You Know How Writers Are: Creating Themselves All The Time

“You know how writers are... they create themselves as they create their work. Or perhaps they create their work in order to create themselves.”
                                                                                                             ― Orson Scott Card