THE WORDS WON’T WRITE THEMSELVES
He called me up on the phone.
I don’t know why I answered.
“come on down to the decks,”
He said to me, voices in the background.
“come down and have a drink!”
I gave the idea some thought.
I never minded a drink or two,
Out there on those sunny decks,
The boats sailing by on the bay.
“you workin’”
“no, I’m drinkin’!”
“oh, Christ.”
The problem with my friend T.
was that a drink or two turned into
a day or two on the whiskey train,
and I knew if I went down there
I’d never make it back to the keys.
“nah. I only like to come down
When you’re working,
so that I can pay less for drinks and hassle you.”
“come on, it’s a beautiful day out.”
“listen, kid. I’m in here at the keys,
Trying to make something of my life.”
“make something of your life out here,
That’s what I’m doing!”
I chuckled into the phone.
“And that’s why I’ll get published
And become one of the greatest of all time.
People will drink and cry and toss flowers on my tomb,
While you’ll just drink yourself to death,
never having been published.
And dogs will piss on your grave.”
There was silence for a moment,
Then he said thoughtfully, “that’s really mean.”
“Ho ho ho,” I laughed,
“but it might also be true. Now listen,”
I said, sipping at the beer in front of me.
“I’ve gotta go. These words won’t write themselves.”
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
A POEM - WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE PECKING ORDER?
WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE PECKING ORDER?
I’d gotten into the city around dusk,
Put back a small flask of whiskey
That didn’t taste like anything much,
And spent a few hours trying to get things done,
On a WiFi server that was just being expoited.
I met a few English boys and spoke with them,
About this and that,
And then thought I’d go out
And see what was what.
There were signs for a reggae bar,
And I’ve never minded reggae,
And generally liked a bar,
So I thought I’d give it a go.
Along the street, though, as I walked,
Rats just ran from everywhere,
Every nook, every corner, every open space.
I’d never seen so many rats in my life!
This was all well and good.
Rats could do whatever the hell they wanted,
As long as they stayed out of my way,
And these rats were very good about
Staying out of the way.
But what got me the most was when I saw a rat,
Just standing there by a bag of trash,
While a cat walked by.
I tried to speak with the cat,
I tried to tell it,
“hey, there’s a rat over there, go get it,”
But the little feline fuck wouldn’t hear me out.
So I tried to explain to it,
“that’s a rat. That’s your arch enemy.
Your rival. You were born to chase those fuckers!”
The cat still just strutted past,
Didn’t give a shit.
“what the hell is wrong with these creatures?”
I wondered, as I continued walking along.
Then I came to another rat,
A less timid one.
He was digging into some trash
And I watched from a distance at first.
Then another cat approached,
And I thought, “all right, this is it. Get that fucker!”
I just wanted to see some action,
A chase, or at least something!
Maybe it was the man in me, or the American in me.
The cat walked up,
Right beside the rat,
And began digging into the same mess,
Like he was helping him out,
Like they were two pals who’d partnered up.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” I shouted,
Which apparently scared them both enough,
To run and hide under the same closed up food stand.
I stood waiting, hoping to see,
at least hear a fight, but nothing.
It was like all the animals here,
They were too lazy to be bothered.
They’d given up their loyalties to their own species,
And formed some brotherhood.
There was too much food lying around already,
For them to go after each other.
I came to the bar and it was closed
And then I began walking home.
At the end of the street
There was a dog.
And I mean, this fucking dog couldn’t be bothered.
In its wildest dreams it had never chased a cat,
Or even trotted after one.
Maybe it’s just America, I wondered.
Maybe it’s just at home we like to fight
And see the action and see the guts and the glory.
I’d gotten into the city around dusk,
Put back a small flask of whiskey
That didn’t taste like anything much,
And spent a few hours trying to get things done,
On a WiFi server that was just being expoited.
I met a few English boys and spoke with them,
About this and that,
And then thought I’d go out
And see what was what.
There were signs for a reggae bar,
And I’ve never minded reggae,
And generally liked a bar,
So I thought I’d give it a go.
Along the street, though, as I walked,
Rats just ran from everywhere,
Every nook, every corner, every open space.
I’d never seen so many rats in my life!
This was all well and good.
Rats could do whatever the hell they wanted,
As long as they stayed out of my way,
And these rats were very good about
Staying out of the way.
But what got me the most was when I saw a rat,
Just standing there by a bag of trash,
While a cat walked by.
I tried to speak with the cat,
I tried to tell it,
“hey, there’s a rat over there, go get it,”
But the little feline fuck wouldn’t hear me out.
So I tried to explain to it,
“that’s a rat. That’s your arch enemy.
Your rival. You were born to chase those fuckers!”
The cat still just strutted past,
Didn’t give a shit.
“what the hell is wrong with these creatures?”
I wondered, as I continued walking along.
Then I came to another rat,
A less timid one.
He was digging into some trash
And I watched from a distance at first.
Then another cat approached,
And I thought, “all right, this is it. Get that fucker!”
I just wanted to see some action,
A chase, or at least something!
Maybe it was the man in me, or the American in me.
The cat walked up,
Right beside the rat,
And began digging into the same mess,
Like he was helping him out,
Like they were two pals who’d partnered up.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” I shouted,
Which apparently scared them both enough,
To run and hide under the same closed up food stand.
I stood waiting, hoping to see,
at least hear a fight, but nothing.
It was like all the animals here,
They were too lazy to be bothered.
They’d given up their loyalties to their own species,
And formed some brotherhood.
There was too much food lying around already,
For them to go after each other.
I came to the bar and it was closed
And then I began walking home.
At the end of the street
There was a dog.
And I mean, this fucking dog couldn’t be bothered.
In its wildest dreams it had never chased a cat,
Or even trotted after one.
Maybe it’s just America, I wondered.
Maybe it’s just at home we like to fight
And see the action and see the guts and the glory.
Friday, February 15, 2008
A POEM - JUST LEAVE ME BE
JUST LEAVE ME BE
I was just sitting there at the bar,
Rolling up cigarettes and smoking them
Away and swilling beer.
It wasn’t much but it made sense
and it passed the days.
Then she came in.
She was average height
and she had this flat body like a young boy.
She came right up to me and gave
Me a once over and then said to me,
“you know, smoking will kill you.”
I didn’t look back at her.
I didn’t need to see her disapproving eyes.
I just remained there sipping at my bottle,
and then finally I replied,
“well, lady, that’s the idea.”
She turned to walk away but then turned back.
“so, you’re one of those bastards, huh?”
I sucked down the rest of my beer,
threw a twenty on the bar,
got up and walked out of there.
I was just sitting there at the bar,
Rolling up cigarettes and smoking them
Away and swilling beer.
It wasn’t much but it made sense
and it passed the days.
Then she came in.
She was average height
and she had this flat body like a young boy.
She came right up to me and gave
Me a once over and then said to me,
“you know, smoking will kill you.”
I didn’t look back at her.
I didn’t need to see her disapproving eyes.
I just remained there sipping at my bottle,
and then finally I replied,
“well, lady, that’s the idea.”
She turned to walk away but then turned back.
“so, you’re one of those bastards, huh?”
I sucked down the rest of my beer,
threw a twenty on the bar,
got up and walked out of there.
A POEM - WHEN YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT BAD, OTHERS HAVE IT WORSE
WHEN YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT BAD, OTHERS HAVE IT WORSE
I was down and out in Trang,
After bidding farewell to Gerard,
Up in Phuket.
By down and out,
I don’t mean I was broke.
I had money to eat,
For at least another little while,
But I was wretchedly sick,
Morbidly depressed,
And was wondering what the hell it was,
that I doing with my life,
or rather wasn't doing with my life.
I was wandering the streets,
In search of something to ease the pain,
Caused by the severe congestion
In my sinuses.
I saw a pharmacy
And was about to go in,
When I noticed a dog up on the counter.
Normally, in Thailand,
This wouldn’t have phased me.
Hell, I’d once eaten at a place
That had a live cat sleeping in the food fridge.
You just got used to these things.
But this dog,
It was standing there,
And the pharmacist,
He was lifting up the dog’s tail,
And sticking his finger into its asshole!
I did a quick 180 and thought to myself,
“shit, I thought I had it bad. Poor little doggie!”
I was down and out in Trang,
After bidding farewell to Gerard,
Up in Phuket.
By down and out,
I don’t mean I was broke.
I had money to eat,
For at least another little while,
But I was wretchedly sick,
Morbidly depressed,
And was wondering what the hell it was,
that I doing with my life,
or rather wasn't doing with my life.
I was wandering the streets,
In search of something to ease the pain,
Caused by the severe congestion
In my sinuses.
I saw a pharmacy
And was about to go in,
When I noticed a dog up on the counter.
Normally, in Thailand,
This wouldn’t have phased me.
Hell, I’d once eaten at a place
That had a live cat sleeping in the food fridge.
You just got used to these things.
But this dog,
It was standing there,
And the pharmacist,
He was lifting up the dog’s tail,
And sticking his finger into its asshole!
I did a quick 180 and thought to myself,
“shit, I thought I had it bad. Poor little doggie!”
Thursday, February 14, 2008
A POEM - THE WAY IT WAS DURING THAT TIME IN PORT CITY
THE WAY IT WAS DURING THAT TIME IN PORT CITY
During that time in Port City,
On some mornings
I’d wake up
and start right in with the beers.
I figured if I got into it early enough,
I could avoid the dry heaves
And snub the inevitable headache.
I’d sit in my little writing den,
Drinking the beers,
Staring at the wall,
Listening to her cry in the room next door.
After maybe six beers I’d walk outside
and lie down in the driveway
and crawl halfway under a parked car.
It was a very sad point in my life
and I was always having this desire to die.
Maybe I just hoped the neighbor,
Or whoever owned the car,
Would not see me and just get in
And run me over.
But this never happened.
Eventually a friend would come find me
and kick at my ribs until I woke up.
I’d stare up at him and he’d say,
“come on, Jack. Let’s go to the bar
and get you something to drink.”
I’d crawl out from under the car,
Get to my feet and dust myself off.
“All right, man. Sure. Whatever you want.
I just don’t care anymore.”
During that time in Port City,
On some mornings
I’d wake up
and start right in with the beers.
I figured if I got into it early enough,
I could avoid the dry heaves
And snub the inevitable headache.
I’d sit in my little writing den,
Drinking the beers,
Staring at the wall,
Listening to her cry in the room next door.
After maybe six beers I’d walk outside
and lie down in the driveway
and crawl halfway under a parked car.
It was a very sad point in my life
and I was always having this desire to die.
Maybe I just hoped the neighbor,
Or whoever owned the car,
Would not see me and just get in
And run me over.
But this never happened.
Eventually a friend would come find me
and kick at my ribs until I woke up.
I’d stare up at him and he’d say,
“come on, Jack. Let’s go to the bar
and get you something to drink.”
I’d crawl out from under the car,
Get to my feet and dust myself off.
“All right, man. Sure. Whatever you want.
I just don’t care anymore.”
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