Showers Cold & Simple - M.Weisgerber

This is a movie frame, and I
am bathed in electric light.
Audiences bored at the trying drama,
but this is my life:  fast forward.

I wander at night.
Do not know where I go.
Thoroughfares transversed.
Hint of canopies under shade with midway shine;
August boughs leaning down to run
twiggy fingers through my locks.

These eyes are now unwilling or unable to rest
mostly consist of pupils, seen not, but seen enough
not reflections caught    ----    glimpsed, revered.  Held.
Oh, God, can you hear me?
Can I even hear myself?

Where now will this go?

A Song for Juno - M.Weisgerber

This story begins, when i was 64
I looked at my life, and the meaning of the world.

Cuz when I was 13, i fell in love with love,
Didn't have a clue what to do, and spent my nights alone.

When I was 15, figured out what to do!
Stayed after school, asked a girl if she would love me too.

When she was 15, she figured out what to say;
She denied my attempts, and then she went away.

So when i was 16, I fell for another girl,
she fell for a girl, then she shook my world.

Then I was 18, I again fell for love,
But love from above came and tore it up

Then again, when I hit 25 I felt so alive
I tried to drown my lungs, but dammit I survived.

When I hit 34, they told me to look for so much more,
Said date a man if you can, and be a happy lad.

When i was 35, a man did try to take my hand,
I laughed at him and said "NO WAY"

Now I'm 64, and done wishing for so much more
Found revelation of  God in the barn, then cried a lot.

Forgotten Colors - M.Weisgerber

Another red plug
here, waiting patiently
on this crisp porcelain.
Not mocking, merely resting
spooning the dust motes
and any simple bathroom grime.

It never traveled far,
sought out Ganges dreams,
or strange glances
at the back of dank bars.
A view of the waste dump,
is the best it can hope now.

It could have waited here,
knitting strange tomes
watching shapes pass, tall
heads stuck far above nimbus,
with eons passing easily
or another hour gone by.

But still it found me
quickly without camouflage,
helped entice me to burn
merely with its shape.
A Cheshire smile;
I recognized its tale.

Immediately hated short nights
of quiet trepidation,
bathing deeply within
gentle joys of discovery.
But hating more
all the shifting walls

made merely by this color,
curling like the toes,
sturdy as the girl
who existed to make it
hold it, mold it,
yank it to my floor.

What am I to do
if...when I find another?
Char its sweet end,
or feed it to the first?
Hope that it turns blue,
dies from its own stench.

Another will serve
as a reminder of more
that once we engaged in it,
and it was good.
Felt better than good,
bordering on great.

But great is not enough,
not for the red color,
red must be fed "incredible"
red must not be made aware
of mistakes allowable,
even if red errs itself.

But I am an artist,
and this color
remains as one -
many is my palate
by which to craft,
to create something bolder.

We are meant to avoid
mixture of such dense flavors,
because orange is stronger still,
something once possible from we two;
it is trauma overcome,
and thus could never be.

Light Pursestrings

This morning I reached a hand inside
and pulled out two pens from dark fathoms,
both engraved with inch long hearts
each ebony - neither from here.

Odd, as I had not thought of crafting today,
of placing fine tips to weary paper,
watching the figures twist and grow
from nothing, catch fire then return to same.

Born: hardened warriors that steal my graphite,
start to sketch themselves unnerved,
with chain-mail coated ice cream colors,
battle axes of cotton candy repute.

Or a biker clothed in mime apparel,
face covered in acrylic dusty blues accents -
an owl, unfurling its birth coverlet
sailing skies with one wing detached.

I fondle these light wrappings,
exclaim soft cries of pleasure from such joys held -
taunt noises that emerge from the inner tappings
of pen upon glass, glass held on paper.

The crinkled noises catching in brain webbing,
mutating to larger girl sounds, of laughter
echoing off noiseless kitchen floorboards,
wall cupboards reminding me where we almost made love.

I suppose these surprises are getting easier;
every sugar-bowl lid hiding another jumpy mouse,
which neither bites too assuredly or for too long
but still rests their regardless, ready to pounce.

Me, debating if I need sweetener for this morning joe,
or if I can handle the bitter blackness, necessary
to wake me after many late night rainstorms.

I Am (or more aptly, The Constant Gardner) (7/24/2012). - M.Weisgerber

When last I fell into love,
I knew all the right things
& therefore said them.

When cast out doley,
I wrote till pen & heart were dry
Nimble now, such a fractured thing beheld.

I am now content to watch,
Peer into a blue that breaks from darker water,
Or cry out, to send inner beasts back into deep wilderness:

It is a composed passion, these things.

For when I first awoke into this life,
I talked like a man, fought like a god
& doing so, watched the world burn.

Upon awakening to the shambles of a new day
I relearned how to grow quiet calm,
subtly pick at the many weeds that reared their ugly heads.

I spoke, therefore I am.
I hated, therefore I am that too.
I love now, and seek a brighter future:

That has made all the difference imaginable.

Shattering of the Blood-Stained Darts - M.Weisgerber

Sharpest Fracture -

Goodbye, dear constant soldier of the night

Headstrong; he who taught me how to fight.

What can we say, to him whose life betrayed

himself, daily - now frozen, never to grow old

Never again to laugh or cry.

You supped upon their finest poison,

drained that crystal chalice in a fell swoop,

stumbled to the nearest window

and awaited the coming of the dawn

with a new sense of urgency.

We are those left with boyhood memories,

of many good times through the woods

of endless futures never quite set.

We forged bonds of weight n stone,

gave meaning to all the insane wanderings in the dark.

We laughed... what is there left to say?

You led us first and foremost, and lead us again now,

apparently a marked man destined for an endless night.

Hope now, in your chilled embrace

fated for the fire.

Royal Woods - M.Weisgerber

There is a girl, who managed to earn a place under my skin

Not sure with fine precision or just weakness of mind;

She is there to stay, to root around like so many gerbils nesting.

Held precious, but mentally removed with much disdain.

Held, I say, because I asked her to enter and stay,

made room amongst all the decent clutter.

Precious, I say, because I realized far too late

what little that was caught, was far more than friendship.

I...

I dreamed of my city darkly, no windows;

everywhere an endless sea of wood beams.

People smirking over a cup of tea.

Always watching; a faint glow that was all becoming.

I meander here along a Seine that never existed,

dreading the waking, and the screaming that follows.

Saw her hair at a distance, riding that broken red bicycle

and always seeming to ride away, always laughing so.

Follow me down, past the edge of the quai's,

to where our favorite colors collide, hallucinogen times;

those crafting a scene I will remember when down,

drawn up and drugged against a better state of mind.

a dig at fiona apple - m.weisgerber

oh, watch the iron beast take to the sky, 70 tons
at least
it is a longing for refuge
a need to take flight and rise
but never is a promise

and never will that creature survive the climb

it is the kind of thoughts that made it hemorrhage originally
each rivet hiss, sizzle, pop underneath curling fists
if i could paint that picture, it would be the muscles of a jawbone flexed
strained, then snap, and limply hang

maybe i'd color it red

i've lost you in some forgotten land - m.weisgerber

maybe in some faraway place I will find you
And be allowed to take you home
or at least, catch your gaze in my eye
your lips, one last time, to remember what its like to hear you speak my name
three syllables spoken softly, please

i wish i could remember what it was like to hold you close
held a blade in your stead, its long sinews singing for reprise
you, probably, have watched a hundred times from your lofty cloud,
and begged a hundred more in your own silent prayer as i replaced its gentle gleam
to unfold it yet again, while whispering my own quiet reminders

i suppose i should have always known, that i could fall for blonde hair and blue eyes
for reckless hate, and a fear that comes from sadistic smiles
exchanges help, however, and keep us alive: human once again if only for a little while

you once asked me to make that final change.

while you pray in joyful love, i will show how much a forgotten face can still mean
i  will give up forever, if just to touch you once more, softly
with only the back of my hand, while you however, only gave up a simple body for a simple boy
and now, i will give it all away, carry your memories up to the sky

take me for one last dance, cold friend
and tell me how much regret, and sweetness, and sadness can all partake here in this single moment
a lost artist with the ability to create no more
but enough courage to draw a few more simple lines

Falcon Sound - M.Weisgerber

Touch of the mirror with the backside of my hand
seeing chocolate eyes that melt at the edges,
reminding me its time for a leap.

Falcon Sound - M.Weisgerber

He settled on the name 'plunge', then jumped
sending body on a cartwheel course through midair
catching nimbus between open toes, whilst screaming aloud.
And dropping.

Oh yes, dropping still; creating a secondhand view of the 21st century.
Not feeling gravity's lore, not stuck on simple sounds,
while blending others around tissues scarred.

If we could fill the void with jello, his decent would be slowed, yet still remain graceful
Wishing he could hang forever in midair.
Stealing any precious seconds to remain in flight.

Not stuck on the rocks climbing, upwards.
Not picnic dreams, snared in near briar patches.
Not love, I know not that name; wish to merely cheat death again.
Or strike flesh on the outcropping below, surviving for yet another day.

It's a different sort of backpack worn,
while hanging amidst the ice flows & blue seas.
Pack heavier than your average knapsack.

How odd to touch air, yet not feel the cold.
Or gurgle on the slush blood wrapped inside crimped veins.
To feel bare feet amidst the howling winds, and not care.

Weast - M.Weisgerber

I see the rising east, sweet history; to seek the origin of dreaming
Your eyes rest west; to that of opportunity, and of the dear setting setting sun
West, where Mojo Rising wrote to live,
East, where he died aspiring to better days.
Both, a balance, more potent than any drug.
We, stuck in this middle and ready to run
Ready to jump and play,
To sleep and stay,
or write such simple poetry.

Dirtiest Dancing - M.Weisgerber

Tell me anything, we'll fly to the moon

Tell me your sorry, or tell me your mood

How can I say how I really feel?

How can I tell what's even real?

Every night I'm a better man,

even if I'm insane here all alone.

The dawn is coming, tis early morn

just biding my time to go sound the horn

Ticking of clock, no sound of the crow

Sitting back, just watching you grow!

So much to say, but I'll wait and I'll pray

Take my time, greet the new day

Call me, sign me, sing me a song

Tell me you love me, tell me to get gone

A word, a wink, even a poke

Just say HI, make my heart float!

Chemistry; tis but a simple word.

Love; it can be more than a verb.

Stealing Lennon - M.Weisgerber

I'm so tired__I haven't slept a wink,
Four days tired__ my mind is on the brink,
I tell you that I love you, but I need to just be me

no no no...

Holding on to dreams, just sit here, feeling so mean
You say, I'm falling apart; I say, I'm trying so hard...
I can't sleep, I'm going insane
Cant feel, life's just going down the drain
I'd give you everything everything I've got, for a piece of mind.
I'll tell ya anything I got, all that's on my mind.



I'm so tired__another day is gone
I'm so fried__nothing here to change my life
I told you that its over, that we just need to move on
 so so so...

You say, try me again; I say, I don't think I can,
I can't speak, still going insane!
Doing everything I can, but it's not enough
Waiting around, but still cracking up..
Hanging around, not feeling tough..



You say, I'm doing all wrong; I say, I gotta follow my heart
You tell me, there's got to be a way; I say, I'm GOING INSANE.

I'd give you everything I got to make it all fine...

A Summary of Exhaustion - M.Weisgerber

Honestly, most honored I stand,
glad to be part of troubled days; simple reverie -
- it reminds me how to wake, to sup on easy living:
the moments between clock hands.

What is it about a city that causes reprisal?
Could it be the courses of stone, or longing glances over sips of tea?
I bathe in such matters haughtily; dress accordingly.
Place blade in back to save others the trouble:

It is the steps necessary for wandering.

Dearest coffee held, greet me early today,
halfway between spilled milk & sugar packs;
set the tempo for my morn, unzip lips
- allow the soul to flow freely.

Take me to the highest Andes,
the sweatshop for churned beans produced,
allow me to follow your sailing ship to port,
then finally walk you to my home.

This is where you belong, and help prep me
for another day.

Those Who Run with Knives! – M.Weisgerber

What do you need, on a day such as this?

Warm wind in the hair, soft smells on the face

Everything greening in self delight!

Toes in mud, buried deep; eating live worms.

Being ten again, every day and globs of goo

Adding to the stain of tie-dye jeans.

Better than a letter never sent, or a smile with sad eyes

An expectant pleading with a hint of bright?

Oh what to do when the weather turns fair...

Never again to cry (cept out of fits of jolly joy)

Once again to stumble into love, or out just as quickly;

Of soft kisses stolen in the moonlight!

Let doom twist and fall? We can laugh with him in the plummet

Grasp his pinkey, then pull him up to play;

This is we, the stupid pair in stories held – the ones who chase life!