new poem (untitled) Friday, July 9, 2010 at 9:43AM i am the one who has been enabled i am the one who is unstable i am the one who wants to be beyond Cane & Able. i want so much, to feel less, and walk with the rest. but it is not my fate to be so straight, as those who i try to emulate.
terminus vesuvious Wednesday, September 9, 2009 at 3:27PM terminus vesuvious it lays in wait for days and days. and I walk away and I walk away every know and then I feel the slight rumblings of what lies beneath. and I move forward, and keep my sight set on the horizon of my precarious nature. for vesuvious is known to be fatal. and even it’s rumblings frighten those close to me and the hand that holds pencil and paper so delicately. is the hand who has wrapped it’s enraged ﬁngers around a most delicate and beautiful throat. and so I traverse the terrain of my own mount vesuvious with much trepidation. as I reﬂect on past eruptions and the dying embers of past relations, now forever lost to me. and so I continue to climb my personal vesuvious. and I peer into the heart of my own darkness.
and the dying embers of past relations, now forever lost to me. and so I continue to climb my personal vesuvious. and I peer into the heart of my own darkness.
and having reached the top, the mystery is not revealed. and so I descend from my own intermittent eruptions. and I walk down the street with a new sense of wonder. and I walk down the street with the memory of having peered into my mount vesuvious. keller | 1 Comment | Share Article
Reader Comments (1) and the hand that holds pencil and paper so delicately. is the hand who has wrapped itâ€™s enraged ďŹ ngers around a most delicate and beautiful throat June 24, 2010 |
keep your mama up all night Saturday, August 1, 2009 at 10:01AM keep your mama up all night i'm tired of people doing the best they can i'm tired of people letting me down again. so i stay up late because it's my fate i can't hesitate and fall beneath the substrate. and so you look inside and all you see is an empty man, holding grains of sand and you stay up late doing the best you can.
if ever Saturday, August 1, 2009 at 10:00AM if ever if ever there was a one who never cared. if ever there was a one who was never heard. if ever there was a one who was not part of the herd. if ever there was a one who was talked about. if ever there was a one who has walked about. if ever forever if ever there could be someone clever. it would be me. keller | Post a Comment | Share Article
approach happiness Saturday, July 18, 2009 at 3:13PM you skate past it you skate against it you skate right up to it you skate around it and you forever repeat the ďŹ gure 8 of your mistakes and as you round the bend and it fades in your rearview mirror you cycle past and you cycle thru and the air becomes still and your breath is light and the happiness is not on the outward rim of your ďŹ gure 8 it's at the twist the twist of fate that makes us skate
keller | Post a Comment | Share Article
misplaced face Wednesday, August 12, 2009 at 8:42AM remember this remember you, remember me, remember what used to be? empty pockets empty lockets with lost keepsakes of yesteryear. things we clung too things we tried to keep near. the misplaced forgotten faces occupying empty spaces lost forever without traces of regretful remorseful sullen faces
nakedness Saturday, July 11, 2009 at 4:58PM i'm a writer and i've lost my way....
if the words could leap off the page....
if i could express the reason movies are so popular
if i could express the reason fast food is so affordable
if i could express the turmoil in my own life.....
you would begin to glimpse you would begin to graspe you would begin to see, you would begin to see that which is me......
you would begin to glimpse you would begin to graspe you would begin to see, you would begin to see that which is me......
! in all my naked glory in all my naked shame in all my nakedness... ! so look inside and look wide and look deep and look high and look low and.... you will begin to see the nakedness that is me. !
how heavy the silence hangs (unďŹ nished) Wednesday, August 4, 2010 at 11:00PM how heavy the silence hangs i wake in the morning and stir a cup of coffee the clink of the spoon and the glass is what greets me
start the shower and layout clothes for the day my own smile greets me in the mirror and i tell myself good morning this is the silence i have grown accustomed too this is the silence that begins and ends my days how heavy the silence hangs i walk through the silence and say pleasantries as i maneuver the heaviness to and fro so as not to get caught as if it were a pendulum of sharpened steel waiting for me to overlook it's sway keller | Post a Comment | Share Article in poetry
tow trucks and broken glasses Sunday, October 24, 2010 at 4:50PM tow trucks and broken glasses cab rides and broken buckles altercations and bruised knuckles bitter exâ€™s and pissed girlfriends courtrooms and thumbprints dockets and process wooden benches and wasted time. resets and blue papers and so it goes, my year slowly passes and I cover the bruises of my heart with new pants and t-shirts and coats. and perhaps the more I cover it up and the more I bury myself under a mountain of retail therapy. the less I have to deal with my own brokenness and the less I have to deal with the denials of the present. and so I sit here in the crisp morning air trying to ďŹ nd my reset button. turn me off start me over rewrite my present revise my ending turn down a different street and walk thru this distasteful present into a brighter more peaceful future.
luxury is my natural habitat Saturday, July 11, 2009 at 4:45PM luxury is my natural habitat
i live in the present unconcerned about the trivial unpleasentries of mortals
i walk in the sun most everyday, full of overshare and undercare and none oh none of that most banal aftercare.....
it's me of my own choosing and me of my own musing.....
hither and yonder and over and under
for you it's up and at em' and race home and gobble it up....
for me it's slumber and wonder ďŹ lled with no commute and no trafďŹ c cam and certainly no canned yams....
set the table load the dishwasher stop and pick up some milk
oh please this is not the life for me
i'm dancing thru the lyrical prose and snifďŹ ng out the most pungent of rose. keller | 1 Comment | Share Article
Reader Comments (1) Babe this is my favorite so far! Love ya September 6, 2009 |
Entries in poetry (12) Thursday Jan072010
coldest moon Thursday, January 7, 2010 at 12:03AM It was there, on the coldest of moons That I danced with clutched daffodils And the freest of wills Set forth as one cursed To the strictest of ills And the wantonness of psychiatric pills.
And in such resides my solace, my purgatory and my abandon forever shamed by my own regalia of things less seen and adorned by a will less felt.
sheathing Wednesday, August 11, 2010 at 3:18PM i sheathed myself in words of no consequence i prepared my lyrical armor as one with boots on the ground and gun in hand. my words were non threatening and dumbed down for non consumption and my words walked ahead of me to clear my way as i negotiated my day. they took me out into the cold of winter and they misted me as i played in the august heat and i was so careful with the words i chose one must not alert those with intellect less fortunate, as to become suspect.
the micro short and twitter!blame Thursday, August 27, 2009 at 7:53AM okay so i have just written my ﬁrst micro short story for the npr writing competition.! the story could only be 600 words maximum, and had to begin with the sentence "the nurse left at 5 o'clock in the morning.! so off i went down the road of existential expression and furiously wrote my ﬁrst micro short story.! This really spurred me on to thinking about the alleged fragmented constantly updated socialized media network we call society.! I'm not on conservative talk radio so i will not start vehemently reacting to everything in the media, but i digress.! I am only posing the question, are all these micro blogs, micro texts and micro shorts ruining the written word? Is a 140 characters enough to express yourself! word count so far 126! so here is my ﬁrst micro short: the nurse left the at 5 o'clock heaving a sigh of relief as she dashed to her car. the patients, the doctor's, the morphine drip, exposed veins, unkept promises. she managed another sigh of quiet desperation as she started the car.! the drive home usually dragged on, her ﬂight to the suburbs never came soon enough, but tonight was different. needles, nurse's rounds, morphine drip. Morning comes early in the medical profession. Much to prepare for, Much to oversee. Take the pulse, check the dose, ease the pain, these are the nurse's domain. She quietly shuts the cabinet door and begins her morning rounds. "Good morning Mr. Elliott, and how are we doing today?" "No better than yesterday" he grunted in his usual curmudgeonly way. And in her ever so polite voice she responds so motheringly "Well let me see what we can do to ease your pain." "Don't stick me again with that needle! I'm not some pin cushion. I'm a human being! You people tend to forget this when I'm lying here with tubes running every which way." I'm just a piece of meat with a price tag he thought to himself. "There you go Mr. Elliott, a fresh morphine drip to ease your pain. Just press the buzzer if you need anything." Morphine drips, loose lips, doctor's slips. She continues on to her next patient, all the while trying to suppress how Mr. Elliott reminds her of her own father and how his most simplest of responses catapults her back to an unsavory past.! Why didn't it happen yesterday?! What went wrong? the dose, the setting, the morphine drip. It's funny how we march through life diligently covering up the past.! Until one day we've marched to the end of the line, and we look up and we are forced to stand at attention.! We stand at the crossroads. The crossroads is an interesting place.! Ahead of us many futures behind us only one past.
"Good Morning Mr. Elliott" "Good Morning Sarah, How are you?" "I'm ďŹ ne Mr. Elliott, What are you doing?" He looks down at Sarah affectionately, then continues to weed the garden. "Can I help" she asks in a sweet lilting voice. "Of Course darling" morphine drips, needles, nurse' s rounds.
Suddenly Sarah is jolted back into the present by the nurses buzzer from Mr. Elliott's room. She turns around immediately and stares down the hallway.! Instinct from a thousand intern's nights takes over and she rushes in the room.! The sound of his heart monitor is deafening, His dry cracked lips are gasping for air.! She leans forward. She grasps his hand. Morphine drips, doctor's slips, a needles nip. she fondly caresses his forehead and whispers in his ear. "That's it Mr. Elliott, Tend to the garden. The sun is high and bright and we will have fresh tomatoes tonight."
subway jibber jabber Monday, July 6, 2009 at 1:24PM good enough to record, but not good enough to tip. here’s 3 dollars. that’s stealing art. hey your in a public place, no it’s not stealing cocksucker! I’ve got 4 cd’s out. well then, get out of the subway. and the doors close and I move on to my destination. a little southern and a little new York.
ugly guys Thursday, June 10, 2010 at 3:26PM white shirts and bad ties pleated pants and black eyes oh my god if i should cry please don't wipe my eyes. for if ever i was as clever as an old used beer lever i could never end up pent up post up fucked up over stuffed giddy up what the fuck?
canâ€™t wait canâ€™t stay Thursday, July 2, 2009 at 4:07PM it's not okay and i can't stay. and your machismo gives you away... so walk away that's right walk away from what you know step into the abiss and fall and fall and it's not okay so don't let go and clutch at the crutches of your present because you live in an uncertain future and you life is lost in the boondocks. there is no train for you to jump on. your a vagabond with nowhere to go..... and it's not okay so move on so move forward so think for another day and yearn for the place where you want to stay... it's only your life and it's ephemeral and it terminates and you don't know why and you don't know when you only know it's coming round the bend.
curio Wednesday, July 8, 2009 at 8:27AM In the heat of the day. walk up main street it feels peculiar, itâ€™s a small texas town, with local texas wines. we dart in and out of quaint little curio shops where I see so much of what ďŹ lls so many houses. I collect thimbles, I collect little porcelain elephants. What do you collect? Where does this urge to surround ourselves with things rise from?
Thursday, May 6, 2010 at 4:23AM i'm much like paul McCartney in that i love talking about paul McCartney. mrk 201 ............................................. .......................... ...... .......................... .............................................
where is space girl? i need a little space girl? oh maybe not a little space girl. but a whole lotta space girl...... mrk 2010 ................
we are dancing on the rings of Saturn and your stuck in UrAnus. mrk 2010
community supervision Sunday, October 24, 2010 at 4:50PM community supervision walk thru work thru sit thru feel thru for you gangsta shorts green prison tats same stale smell of the waiting room hum of the vending machine creaking chairs and impatient faces waddling footsteps and juggling cell phones rough thugs and strung out girlfriends ﬁll the room. what’s your spin #? have a seat pee in a cup pay your ﬁne and your free to go. see ya next month.
keller | Post a Comment | Share Article in poetry
future did Thursday, January 7, 2010 at 12:04AM for me the future did not slap one in the face. rather it was much like a slow dance between lost lovers ever doomed to a breathless walk on a cold lunar surface.
It’s from here that my personal heresy evolved. I need not swoon nor fear human shortcomings to weave a tale of freedom and abandon And so it is here that our story begins…
In the mind of an insomniac and fearful geriatric, So ﬁnd Monday and swallow your pills, For here is the taste of nightingales And Christian wills, forever alone on the Cold mountains of forgotten swales far beyond Frigid moons and fruitless beacons, Of thine, Inﬁnitely catapulted Into lifeless places. For mine is the future of comfortable faces transposed among wretched mazes, and the most aspiring and deepest of traces,
InďŹ nitely catapulted Into lifeless places. For mine is the future of comfortable faces transposed among wretched mazes, and the most aspiring and deepest of traces, in the bleakest of spaces.
And thru this forgotten lore One rises out and shines forth And Is forgotten no more. keller | Post a Comment | Share Article in poetry Page 1 2 Next 10 Entries Âť
add page header add page footer Sunday Oct242010
Sunday, October 24, 2010 at 4:52PM modify remove organize post follow up boxes and I’m so worried about what you say and I’m so worried about what you think and you have to put me in a box and leave me on a shelf and you’re comfortable and your world makes sense and I don’t ﬁt in that box and you know this and so you try a different box and for a while I seem to ﬁt and for a while it seems to work and then the box starts to sag from my weight and the walls start to bend and I don’t ﬁt in that box either and so I sit on the shelf exposed for the world to see
it seems to work and then the box starts to sag from my weight and the walls start to bend and I donâ€™t ďŹ t in that box either and so I sit on the shelf exposed for the world to see and my life is wonderful wild and free
grass Saturday, July 11, 2009 at 5:09PM ! and all i hear are the tears, i never knew what a symphony they possess, i never knew the jarring reality they convey ! so i sit !! and so i listen and so i wish for quieter! guests and! more fruitful visits..... ! but they dont' come and they dont' visit and so i sit and so i visit....
! and things don't! change... ! and i rhyme meaningless words with vanessa montaingne.... things move forward... and i wish for silent! neighbors and empty coffee bars.... well life is short,! and movies are passing and i live my life with 3d goggles and imax futures. so i sit and so i listen and so i petition! that which is beyond and that which i cannot grasp and i mow and i mow and i mow the grass...... !
gen!x'ers Monday, October 25, 2010 at 7:42AM !(1/2) we are a nation of sleepers who have forgotten our dreams !!!!!!!!! our beds are too comfy !!!!!!!!! our pillows too soft !!!!!!!!! these are the dream killers! (2/2)they don't arrive with guns but rather with comfort food and lazy afternoons!!! within our dreams lies the promise of a generation...! and the generation is lost and full of entitlement and empty hands............! hands whose gifts often fall away from their sight succumb to the wrongs they come to know as right.
i am the one who is unstable i want so much, to feel less, and walk with the rest. as those who i try to emulate. beyond Cane & Able. Fr...