#ClarenceClemmons

There’s a deep horn blowing
And a Cheshire grin
Miles away from where we’ve been
And some kind of light
Came sweeping by
To carry them swiftly to live in the sky

I don’t know where I’m going
When my time is through
I’m not sure where I’ve been
Or what I’ve been through
I’m not sure if god’s light
Will come for me too
Wherever it takes me
Better be with you

There’s a song in my heart
Heavy on my chest
That leads me to darkness away from the rest
And a sax solo playing
The sound of my tears
And drowning their sorrow…and I’m drowning in sorrow

I don’t know where I’m going
When my time is through
I’m not sure where I’ve been
Or what I’ve been through
I’m not sure if god’s light
Will come for me too
Wherever it takes me
Better be with you

In My Dream

In my dream
In the night only
You visit inside my world
And for a moment
You come to life
Your touch is left lingering
Upon my skin
A barely perceptible smile until
Day light takes you away
Time steals the memory
And I wish to never waken

POEM

When I die
I want to be a poet
They will discover
Under the bedstand
Numerous journals
Filled with my brilliant musings

When I die
I want to be a poet
They will collect my writings
In themed anthologies
Oblivious to the whirlwind
Of my mind

When I die
I want to be a poet
Who will be poked at
Prodded and dissected
By adolescent girls and boys
Who are told no by the educated elite

When I die
I want to be a poet
That one young girl keeps by her
Bed at night
And silently reads to herself
In her voice
The road of my undoing

When I die
I want to be a poet
With a cult following
Because I did not obey the rules
And be misinterpreted over and over
Because I am not here to explain myself

When I die
I want to be a poet
And I want the world to know
My secrets I hide from them
In the daylight of judgment
And my innermost turmoil
They will never understand

When I die
I want my writings burned
Inside the charcoal grill
On my deck
And the ashes spread in Doolin
Glasses raised in my honor
In honor of the century’s greatest poet
Who tragically was not recognized
Until after her death

And to quote myself
“fuck ain’t that the way it is”.

SONG

I don’t know you
But I would like to
So take my hand and cross my heart

Come play with me in the dark

You can push me on a swing
I’ll push you back harder
Take you for a scary ride

Then you can fall down my black slide

I don’t know you
But I would like to
You hold secrets I have touched
You don’t know me But you would love to

Come play with me come love

You’re from the city
So I’m told
You know too many things
And you’d break me
And not even take me
Back to your city
And set me free

I don’t know you
Or your black ladder
That’s ok just cross your heart

Come play with me in the dark

Come play with me
Come set me free

Saying Goodbye

The tear spring is dry
and a frozen stone has
claimed it for a resting place

Inside my Head

What are
These bars
These walls
These chains
Surrounding my Voice

Dexter

GIVING MYSELF PERMISSION

And If I adore you
What sin is not undone
Black White moving pictures in my mind
Passing moments shared before
What may or may not become

GOYA'S GHOST

Early tonight
Goya’s ghost
Subtly fought his way
Past my defenses
And gently kissed me
For a moment only
I could believe
In who I am
In who I will become
Past all doubts and fears
Beyond all practical expectations

Then as quietly as he had come
He slipped away from the voice
That cradled me only moments ago
And beyond into the grave
Inviting me to remember
Daring to not forget

MORNING CHILL

MORNING STAR

The artist in me

Void of inspiration
So I start to believe
The lies about myself
The tongue of my undoing
Whispers day after day

The same tongue that paints
That draws and molds
That frees me in moments
I left myself create
Abandons the artist in me
For too long

POEM

Brick wall sun
Mocking my ache
Doubting my name

Brick wall sun
Swallowing fire
Swiping my flame

POEM

Is this what you truly want
To return to the four walls
Where man has created
The rules of your faith

In place of your heart
Rows and columns
Of expectations and borderlines
Giving you a place to fall

But also a place to tread
Not moving beyond
What has been promised
And not yet delivered

An illusion of safety
A hug that slowly over time
Breaks to splinters your brittle
Spirit to seep out your burned flesh

Leaving you with nothing but your reach
That falls short and always will

Song

Sweat dripping down his back
Subtle chill in the air
Tonight someone here is keeping secrets
Worse someone else just don’t care

There’s a burner on in the kitchen
The tv is turned up too loud
Someone’s putting something in the oven
S’got nothing to do with being proud

Chorus:
There’s no love in here
No love in the corners of this place
There’s no love in here
No love in here

She goes to bed early
He stays up for the night
He leaves before the darkness
She’ll leave in the light

Not one thought during their days
Not a moment of wanting to call
Tonight he’ll be home late again
But she never asks him at all

There’s no love in here
No love in the memories on her face
There’s no love in here
No love in here

Bridge
And shadows are dancing
On the stained cellar walls
Melodies bleeding into the night air

He thinks about when they were young
And their wedding day
That moment of realization
He shouldn’t have let slip away

But a promise is a promise
Coming with or without love
A promise is easily broken
When lover never was

There’s no love in here
No love in the memories on her face
There’s no love in here
No love in here

South Street Diner - Boston, MA

POEM

In my reflection
A familiar stranger
A flogging stick
To my ache

In my eyes
An apology
A window pane
To the dark slide

In the silence
Of my empty room
Foul words ricochet
On my shattered glass

And I’m left with
My captor
Who will never fade

POEM

Due to my shortage of new poetry, here is a poem I wrote several years ago:

Am I to blame
Letting you enter
the secret room inside me
like a ghost watching you capture
the screaming voice who owns me
slowling taking you over
oblivious of my obsession
blindly allowing my captureof the tender heart inside you
like a prey unaware
I held the keyto all this turmoil
that could have been the end
I must be to blame

PHOTO-Footbridge in Holyoke, MA

POEM

When I paint myself
My fingers drag down my cheeks
In place of tears that must
Always be there
I’m a downhearted spirit
Even in the abandon of pretend
I cannot escape it