...and the word was good

Porn Star V5

gregory — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 21:31:43 +0000

And I can’t receive love, but I’m not into hate
My compass is shot, I can’t locate
The room with the treasure, the door with the code
The map of above
The map of below.

Providence Line: Hole Filled

gregory — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 16:54:44 +0000

You take yours and I’ll take mine
Then we’ll leave the rest all behind
Dip our memories in turpentine
Let the colours run down Providence Line.

Same problem, different territories

gregory — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 16:56:27 +0000

I went to see a therapist
And the therapist said,
I see a problem with your heart
And a problem with your head.

My Father Is an Orphan

gregory — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 16:47:22 +0000

I forgot my father is an orphan
I forgot I will be one, too.

Blind Chase

gregory — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 04:44:03 +0000

Today I decided
That in my pursuit of beauty
I missed what is beautiful
About ugly.

Expect the Dawn

gregory — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 11:54:14 +0000

I’ve been learning about expectation.
I’ve learned that—so far—
the only safe expectation
is that of dawn’s arrival.

Advice No.2

gregory — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 04:49:59 +0000

If you walk among the Faithful
At least you won’t have anything to prove.
If you have to be a target
Be one that can move.

The Softness of Winter Relenting

gregory — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 09:57:42 +0000

So the old man told me that all of it was just a reminder;
the colours of the trees, the colour of the sky, the cycles of violence in the natural world…
just reminders we seem to need.

It seems we need to be reminded of the basics;
love, honour, the fragility of the whole thing.

And so I thought I had learned well when we sat on the hill today
In the softness of winter relenting
And I saw the mists moving in the valley,
Flitting and morphing,
Moving like they were late for a party
Or moving toward the final light
Or called by the crooked finger of some invisible hand.

And I knew:
I am, we are, like that.
Temporary and graceful
But mostly temporary.

I get it.

Who Are We?

gregory — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 20:57:46 +0000

Who are we
when the electricity runs out?

Who are we
when the credit cards are maxed?

Who are we
when the Sheriff comes to change the locks?

Action Hero…not.

gregory — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 20:48:20 +0000

I wonder why I don’t write more?

I haven’t written any poetry
or made love
in too long.

I begin to question my ability to love;
in the same way I question my ability to recognize beauty,
something worth writing about,
hiding from the rest of the world
and willing to make itself known
only
to
me
and to no others.

Too many questions, maybe.
Not enough action.