The Dark Side

Do you really want to be the one
left on the safe shore,
Do you really want to be the one
left behind.
We are moving to experimental phase,
exploring new worlds of the mind,
We are moving to places unexplored
talking powders with the best of them.
Everything you have known,
we are letting go of,
Everything you have been taught
we are rejecting.
Then we go off the cliff,
knowing we cannot fall
Then we go off on our merry way,
knowing nothing at all.
When the smoke cleared,
our eyes opened,
When the smoke yielded answers,
our eyes would not focus.
There is no way knowing
what lies on the dark side.
There is no way you are coming
back from the dark side.
Without losing,
Without gaining.
 Do you really want to be the one going ?
Do you really want to be the one staying ?

©Frank Coughlin May 2011

Siren (Ullysses’ Excuse)

Sultry girl promenades ‘round the room
She wants to hook you - she wants your eyes
Talking like she’s a big shot
like her words mean anything to you
you have your problems of your own
It ain’t easy to keep this ship on course
but ya gotta if ya wanna
get back to the wife and the life
you left behind.
Next thing, you know she’s there - this goddess - next to you
across the table with a bottle, and then there’s glasses
held high, to queen and country, and her eyes
so blue, so deep, so watery liquid - they take you down
and you can taste them as they strip you naked,
meanwhile you hear some sort scraping noise
like rocks against wood and you realize
it is already to late - you have seen too much
and you have gone too far - there is no turning back
her bed is now your bed and your men are forgotten or dead
this morning is not next morning - years have flashed past in moments -
 could this be true ?
you ask yourself while you clear your mind
She, this woman who lies with you, she is young like that yesterday so long ago,
and you, you are the age you are supposed to be, today,
As you walk toward the door, you hear her song once again
you feel her hooks pull you back, for she is what the man in you lusts for
Yet the bottle she offers is empty and
you are the warrior, that is, at least what you once were
(your men are no more, your ship is in ruins)
She laughs as she strips your armor off once again and you rage silently
for all that has been lost - for all that will be lost
and against all odds, you stumble out the door,
and curse the gods, and you fight because that is what you do,
you fight the rage of the sea and wind and you fight the ghosts of dead men you once knew.
You fight the distance between where you are and where you want to be,
and you nearly lose - you wash up on shore, half-dead
you have nothing now, you are the wreck yet somehow
you make it home to the wife that is waiting and she takes you in her arms
Then you know why you came - there is no one who loves you
except your wife. You are Home - somewhere else the Siren is crying your name.

Poetry 367: Dreams, Undead, Fire

Poetry 367: Dreams, Undead, Fire: "It happens on the day you wake up, when the dream you held tight like a warm blanket, fuzzy slips from your fingers, replaced by the cold ..."

Dreams, Undead, Fire

It happens on the day you wake up,
when the dream you held tight like a warm blanket, fuzzy
slips from your fingers, replaced by the cold wind
of the morning, slapping against your skin,
hey, face me you coward - it yells -
in tones of harsh bluster, face me damn you
pick up your head and face me.

When the wind dies, later
and you reach your car and put it into drive
the echo of her eyes lances into what is left
of the spark you once had. There in that moment
something is remembered, that tree you wanted to climb
or that girl you wanted to date, silly isn’t it after all
these years to think about your goal to visit all fifty states
and the desire to feel a peyote sunrise.

The alchemist in you has boiled experiences down
into the raw Archetypal elements,
the girl was just about sex
the tree was just to feel high
one state is much like another from the highway
and drugs just mess with your mind.
It should be enough to have figured things out,
to have bottled experience away,
now you live in the vicarious realm -
It must be the stories of others,
you know the ones where they do the crazy things
and you are safe, laughing at the kitchen table.
But this is the day that you have woken up,
this is the day the dream stays fuzzy by your side
the blanket you have stolen back from the wind
when you grabbed its hand - faced it and said
enough is enough.
It is the echo of your eyes that burns forth
igniting the soul, and she laughs,
because she is your muse and that is what they do.

©Frank Coughlin May 2011

The Monster Within

Dr. Jekyll - I presume
so proud of himself
upon finding someone else
living within
down there in the dark basement,
the crawlspace, the forgotten
place inside the house he calls
his own. What was he thinking ?
Opening the cage that society had closed and locked.

Imagine his shock upon finding he could not control
Himself.

Urges long thought dead
desires, rages, emotions
all lumped in one mass called - Hyde.
What was he really after
a dash of the bold
a pinch of the Taboo
A taste of Naughty
No matter - what he got was all that
and more, a whole lot more
Sin without the temptation - what fun is that.
Madness, I say, utter madness.

Feart

Now the above word is a new word for me
an accidental typo or Freudian slip
still the word seems less daunting than Fear,
four letters that paralyze me
while Heart is five letters that
stimulate me
Heart and Fear please hold
hands, there is room together
for you both,
Fear painted is dark colors of
black and blood red and monstrous forms
that leer evil grins
Heart painted is the red of passion,
warmth of pulsating aliveness
I choose to paint them both
they dance and struggle with one another
seeking dominance
stop I say unity and balance is what
I strive for and so shall you.
Blacks and reds merge turning into
blackened reds and reddish blacks
My sweat and blood joins my spiritual canvas
for I want my whole self leaping in
Tears too form puddles and the
paint swirls like a tornado building
force twirling me like Dorothy around
and around I feel the madness within me
being ripped out, sucked out like snake
venom
I am in charge of my destiny and FEART
birthed into my vocabulary is
reassuring.

©Beverly Bronson May 2011

And Then . . .

You heard the story
the one about those lovers
who met across the room
their eyes kissed, melting all inhibitions
No one told them there would be math
at least not afterMath
you know the part where one and one
make one - more that is.
Next come the decisions 
is this one we keep or throw away
do we stay or break apart
Is my dream dead squashed by the reality of us ?
or enhanced by our new experience
our choices, made together or not
become the palette of our tomorrows
will we sing the blues or dance in green
bask in the sun or work the night away
There is no happy ending here
in fact, there is no ending at all
She and he - taking a wait and see
attitude - leaving me - the narrator
waiting and not seeing - how can they be so cruel
It is like reading a romance novel where the last chapter has been ripped out.
Will they learn to accept the fact of each other, you know the one where each of them comes to realize that the other will never be their ideal, that their kids will never be what they hoped they would be, heart break will be around nearly every turn, and that time will not ignore them. Yes, time will kick their asses, turn them into prunes and eventually kill them.
But that part has not been written yet
and may not ever be.
Choices are the roads we take
There is no GPS telling us the right way to go
We write our stories and hope we live to tell

©Frank Coughlin 2011