thejournalofbisonjack:

 Invisible 
I can see right through me today. I can see through this desk and chair and sedentary room; through these bone-colored walls and the closed doors of rooms I can no longer go into; through the windows painted shut by thesilence that comes with memory; through the reaching oak, and the weeping cypress tree, and through the overgrown path that beats its way from me—and now, of course, I can see through this poem. But, I still can’t see past you.

thejournalofbisonjack:

 Invisible

I can see right through me today.

I can see through this desk

and chair and sedentary room;

through these bone-colored walls

and the closed doors of rooms

I can no longer go into; through

the windows painted shut by the

silence that comes with memory;

through the reaching oak, and

the weeping cypress tree,

and through the overgrown path

that beats its way from me—and

now, of course, I can see through

this poem. But, I still can’t see past you.

 Invisible 
I can see right through me today. I can see through this desk and chair and sedentary room; through these bone-colored walls and the closed doors of rooms I can no longer go into; through the windows painted shut by thesilence that comes with memory; through the reaching oak, and the weeping cypress tree, and through the overgrown path that beats its way from me—and now, of course, I can see through this poem. But, I still can’t see past you.

 Invisible

I can see right through me today.

I can see through this desk

and chair and sedentary room;

through these bone-colored walls

and the closed doors of rooms

I can no longer go into; through

the windows painted shut by the

silence that comes with memory;

through the reaching oak, and

the weeping cypress tree,

and through the overgrown path

that beats its way from me—and

now, of course, I can see through

this poem. But, I still can’t see past you.

thejournalofbisonjack:

The X-Files Episode I Want to BelieveI don’t recall ever seeing a girl riding a bicycle when I was a kid, and I never saw a girl on the bus or the subway or hanging out after school. Looking back, it seems to me that one day they just appeared;and, from that day forth,I have believed.

thejournalofbisonjack:

The X-Files Episode I Want to Believe

I don’t recall ever seeing
a girl riding a bicycle when
I was a kid, and I never saw
a girl on the bus or the subway
or hanging out after school.
Looking back, it seems to me
that one day they just appeared;
and, from that day forth,
I have believed.

New Website Thingy.

New Website Thingy.

The X-Files Episode I Want to BelieveI don’t recall ever seeing a girl riding a bicycle when I was a kid, and I never saw a girl on the bus or the subway or hanging out after school. Looking back, it seems to me that one day they just appeared;and, from that day forth,I have believed.

The X-Files Episode I Want to Believe

I don’t recall ever seeing
a girl riding a bicycle when
I was a kid, and I never saw
a girl on the bus or the subway
or hanging out after school.
Looking back, it seems to me
that one day they just appeared;
and, from that day forth,
I have believed.

I have always struggled to write a haiku. It’s not that I don’t approve of them—the famous one about the old pond and the frog is awe inspiring— its just I am terrible at following rules when it comes to scribbling my thoughts; particularly 17 syllables (5,7,5). 
Traditionally a haiku is nature-bound; but, naturally, as with all poetry, love has become a common theme. So, on that note, here is the LAST haiku I will ever write. I shall call it….
The Buckaroo Chat-Up Haiku
Me etceteraMe and you etceteraYou etcetera

I have always struggled to write a haiku. It’s not that I don’t approve of them—the famous one about the old pond and the frog is awe inspiring— its just I am terrible at following rules when it comes to scribbling my thoughts; particularly 17 syllables (5,7,5).
Traditionally a haiku is nature-bound; but, naturally, as with all poetry, love has become a common theme. So, on that note, here is the LAST haiku I will ever write. I shall call it….

The Buckaroo Chat-Up Haiku

Me etcetera
Me and you etcetera
You etcetera

Roses
When you are youngyour heart is your only compassand, for that alone,you are the best of us.

Roses

When you are young
your heart
is your only compass
and, for that alone,
you are the best of us.

The Becoming
He finally becamewho she thought he could be, but all that was left of himwas an empty placewhere he used to live, and she would visit.

The Becoming

He finally became
who she thought
he could be,
but all that
was left of him
was an empty place
where he used to
live, and she
would visit.

Long after the Hurry has Gone and the Night has let Go; when all you can hear is the Sound of your Breathing andall you can See are the Stars in the Sky; you are Free.

Long after the Hurry has Gone and the Night has let Go;
when all you can hear is the Sound of your Breathing and
all you can See are the Stars in the Sky; you are Free.

The Used Love Lot
She was an Aston Martin: luxurious,expensive to maintain, and coveted.She was a Porsche 911: trunk in the front, no room for kids, and quick to leave. She was a Lexus: everything was where it should be, but she wouldn’t let me touch anything.She was an Infiniti: Jackie O shades, little black dress, fun in corners, but noisy.She was a Chrysler Sebring: good looking, reasonably priced, but made of Styrofoam. She was a Toyota Prius: plugged in, environmentally friendly, with one previous owner—who she wouldn’t stop talking about. She was a 1970‘s Volvo: dependable, plenty of room in the back, good suspension,but took too long to get anywhereShe was an 80’s Cadillac: low mileage,high maintenance and constantly falling apart. I’ll take them all, I said.

The Used Love Lot

She was an Aston Martin: luxurious,
expensive to maintain, and coveted.
She was a Porsche 911: trunk in the
front, no room for kids, and quick to leave.
She was a Lexus: everything was where
it should be, but she wouldn’t let me
touch anything.
She was an Infiniti: Jackie O shades,
little black dress, fun in corners, but noisy.
She was a Chrysler Sebring: good looking,
reasonably priced, but made of Styrofoam.
She was a Toyota Prius: plugged in,
environmentally friendly, with one previous
owner—who she wouldn’t stop talking about.
She was a 1970‘s Volvo: dependable,
plenty of room in the back, good suspension,
but took too long to get anywhere
She was an 80’s Cadillac: low mileage,
high maintenance and constantly
falling apart. I’ll take them all, I said.

Everything
Some days, I wish I could singand make the word everythingsound like everything I mean.

Everything

Some days,
I wish I could sing
and make the word
everything
sound like everything
I mean.

Ordinary FruitAt the same timeas I thought about you,sunlight cracked the duston a brittle Christmas wreathand Billie Holidaycame on the jukebox.I watched  the words fromStrange Fruit drift through thebar—until they reached a manwith a teardrop tattoo,sittingalone in a booth,and he began to cry,Then a womanwrapped in cigarette smokeand perfumewalked in.And, just like that,I forgotabout you again.

Ordinary Fruit


At the same time
as I thought about you,
sunlight cracked the dust
on a brittle Christmas wreath
and Billie Holiday
came on the jukebox.
I watched  the words from
Strange Fruit drift through the
bar—until they reached a man
with a teardrop tattoo,sitting
alone in a booth,
and he began to cry,
Then a woman
wrapped in cigarette smoke
and perfume
walked in.
And, just like that,
I forgot
about you again.

Regardless of the Consequences

.

At approximately 11.00 pm, the man decided

he would no longer pretend to be something

he wasn’t, and from now on he would do whatever

he wanted: Firstly, he would stop trying to please

everyone and when he went back to work on

Monday morning, he would stop hiding behind

small talk. From now on, he would stop saying

what he thought people wanted to hear and simply

give his opinion—regardless of the consequences.

He also determined he should never get married

and would only sleep with other men’s wives—like

the French. He told himself to move to France.

He decided that he would become more brooding

and mysterious—and that he would listen to

Leonard Cohen. He would grow a beard and go

to the gym. He would become a Buddhist.

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. He would find meaning

in his life. He would get a dog. He would start

writing. He would just….be.

Excited at the prospect of the new life that awaited

him—but aware that he had made similar promises

to himself before—he asked the bartender if he might

borrow a pen to write down his private manifesto;

then he promised himself that he would go home,

get an early night, and wake up with the sunrise.

That’s when she walked in.

Of Course
I wish I knew nowwhat I thought I would know by nowback then; but of course, back thenI thoughtI knew it all.

Of Course

I wish
I knew now
what I thought
I would know
by now
back then;
but of course,
back then
I thought
I knew it all.

Beer Clam

Beer Clam