Monday, January 28, 2013

Men In Low Cars

This ones for Marian!!!!! From a Stephen King prompt a  while back.  Enjoy Babyluv!!!

Driving slow and listening to swing music by day
And the music of a small boy’s screams by night
They took his father on a road trip through the veil
To Boo Ya Moon to feed him to the Long Boy neat
Wrapped him in ribbon and cuts of rotting flesh
Placed gently beneath the boughs of the sweetheart tree

Ace……Ace, help me man, are you awake
The king’s here for his birthday cake
He’s in a bad way Ace
Maybe we should go home man….you know?

Percy sailed to the port that night, setting anchor in my mind
She ate happiness and shit curses in waters of black ink
It’s going to be a long night….I hope, that’s what Wireman said
She couldn’t just keep the Big Boy on a chain, why should she
And God forbid when the painting's done…have mercy
Play with your dolls hon and if you have a good day, we smoke

Derry is as Derry does….christ sakes
His fucking head is full of snakes
Oh shit man…..the sun
Maybe we should go home man….you know?

That Glick boy learned to fly with help of whitewashed friends
It’s always the house on the hill that needs cleaning, sour earth
When a man’s heart gets too stony, he’ll do anything to make things right
Secrets tend to gather darkness at an alarming rate, the sparrows are flying
And congregate in desert lands where Chinese slaves infuse desperation….tak!
While men in low cars scour the streets, nose to the air for the scent of fear

Walk the green mile…last time for these shoes
Innocent men pay hard their dues
Roll on two…..even with the house
We should’ve gone home man…you know?

© 2011 Crowley

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Tea Party

Sometimes its hard to listen to myself....

The one voice said "you are good enough"
But that never really sinks in as the others do, taunting
Fucking voices
I'm just thankful for the company
But sharing one cup of tea becomes tedious

Monday, January 14, 2013

Better Than I Am

I might look better if you turn down the light love
Its quality makes my nonsense a gleaming halo
Humor, a cloaking sarong, falling loosely about worn out knees
Adding a splash of color, making me more, fancy

Walking along the road where the doves are singing their romantic praises
Until I pass, then just rustle with uneasiness in the fading light
I tell them to pardon my intrusion, just trying to fit in
My voice too loud, making me more, lonely

The neon light of the bar hums steadily red
Its promises of companionship, an overzealous marketing ploy
The seats at the counter are empty, save one, native woman
I don’t even register a glance, making me more, empty

The covers are stiflingly hot, my hair soaking my pillow
Again the light, hope you are interested in light, moonlight
Washes over my ordinary features, it won’t stay long
I drift into sleep in the dark, making me more, sickly

My dreams have me pushing a boulder up a mountain
And jumping from the top to the bottom in a single leap
She’s waiting at the bottom, looking at me with admiration
Here, I am better than I am, here I am more, manly

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

"B" Side

It started with a pin point light and the smell of juniper berries
A warm wash of sand and sea water, irrigation for the soul
Growing, golem sized glow, coupled with the tink and tank of piano
And the sweet taste of honeyed almonds roasted over a hearts desire

Oh wow….there she is my sister dear
More beautiful from this diet of primordial soup
Spanning  the “It” with a universal smile and swagger
Tending the garden, mulching dreams for those not yet departed
Cueing up music that builds thoughts and shapes bosoms
Music from the “B” side

Monday, January 7, 2013


You use the keys to the city to cut the Rainbow’s rusty chain
Pulling it into your kitchen, you lick it while humming Patsy Cline
Your tongue whispers Roy G. Biv and blisters
On the outside you remain inky black

Shovel coal, eroded shoal
Life experiences that take their toll
Deep in the swamp a half burned shack
Society won’t take you back
You can’t escape from being black

You turn the radio up, music colors life
Singing tunes of redemption and sweet desire
Maybe delicious lyrics will color you brightly
On the inside you remain pitch black

Raving crow, sold out show
Slimy things they’re voices low
You can’t see, they’re on your back
Purple heart beat, smoking crack
You can’t escape from being black

You sit at the window and watch the birds
Experiences give character, a sixty-four box of crayons with sharpener
Your eyes see a world you want to explore with prying fingers
On your deathbed your thoughts are back alley black

Wispy smoke, worn out joke
Whiskey burns and makes you choke
You can’t control the death ships tack
You’ll never run the victory track
You can’t escape from being black

Wednesday, January 2, 2013


     He trailered his madness on an old hay wagon and traded a Padre two pigs and four chickens for an old paint to pull it proper. He set off on a pencil sketch of a day to try and find a poultice to take the sting out of his rope burn existence and to look for a woman with lithe fingers and patchy hair who would appreciate his wit.

     On a trail through the Cumberland Gap he came upon a spring and drank heavily from a cup made from the skin of a Cork Bark Fir. His madness oozed from beneath the tarp and crept up behind him as he stared at his reflection in the water. It spoke to him of wasted energy and lost souls and a need to stay put, the path to happiness was fraught with tigers. He looked and listened and gave his journey nary another thought, content in his role of the universal fool unspooling.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Your Message

You uttered perfection with one word
And I climbed on to that word and glided
To the hearts and minds of all the men
Who listened patiently for fitting advice

You write the soul in textured minutes

You painted a stroke of ashen gray
And I carried it in my pocket, burning
To show these men what they were missing
With their misused policies and powerbroker mindsets

You write the mind in fractured havoc

You scratched the message of resolute trust
And I hurled it to the throng of hungry hearts
To teach these men of the power of love, blinding
With their post-coital regret and lustful craving

You write the heart in metered temptation

You inked a treatise of peace and meaningful tolerance
And I preached it from the top of the universal precipice
To show these men the importance of creation
Milking every drop of perspiration and understanding from historys' back

You write the stars in idealistic grandeur