sweating glass

it took an old southern rock bar band
a switch from wine to gin and tonic
and the recollection of a childhood memory
to swallow a dream starting to slip slide on thin summer ice
chilled to near perfection once, the dream
the gallant aspirations striking a spark at one’s heels
“why”
love
always there, the love
passion–an over-used word, I call into service here
I want to write about me (without you knowing)
I want to write about you (and think it’s me)
I want to create boulevards and labyrinths,
defeat, victory and the people that fall to both
friends, lovers torn apart, maybe connected in twisting alleys
plain flat features and sculpted bullshit
forbidden denizens
I want to go down the creepy hall and
have my right hand make the left open the door
but the most honest excuse
I’ll place here (bear in mind I got in very late last night)
if I don’t sit beneath the light at 4 am with a pen
I won’t be any good to anyone
so many of us have this story
we happily summon up this creative nightmare
it is not a bad dream but a wickedly feisty journey
across dark boulevards
sipping my midnight refreshing gin and tonic
the sweating glass slipping in my hand a bit
listening and watching the band
they were decent as bar bands go
around people drinking, laughing, texting
four band members
wasn’t a gig worth the pay
wasn’t worth the hot lights, sweat and beer stench
(and there’s that Jackson Brown song)

and the token rude person or two in the crowd
they–the magnificent four, simply loved what they did
not the hot lights, sweating, drunkards, texters, talkers, laughers
and
there was the flash memory of a childhood diary
a little worn book “accidentally” left out for my five sibs
so they might read
my words

Oscar E. Hornse

the other thing I adore–monsters, this guy drawn last year
happy Sunday:)

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southpaw warrior

southpaw warrior
wielding a just sabre
for righteousness
unsheathed in sparking white
gaining action by wind arc
inked blood contract
philosophies demanded
upon lofty principles
enforced with pride
beliefs carved upon singular roads
will not lead
southpaw warrior
to peace

Who

Who

the S word

each one of us
gets stuffed into a human skin
and chucked onto the world map
from there shit happens
we bound around
based on how we’ve defined
the S word

my first recollection of this word,
a football cheer from way back
my high school years
saddle-shoed cheerleaders would sing out
“S-U-C-C-E-S-S
that’s the way you spell success…”
I remember thinking
well, I’m already not a
S-U-C-C-E-S-S
I’m not a cheerleader

for many
Success is easy
it’s simply surviving
to witness another sunrise

for those of us not focused on
food, water, air, health
Success becomes something
entirely different

what is it we want
when we have the “freedom”
to make “choices”

I end here
because it is not for me to say
this is an intimate and personal journey
I leave with just a thought

the S word
S-U-C-C-E-S-S
begins with
SUC

and that’s what it will do
if you let it…
baby gorillaevery gorilla species is endangered, today many organizations and individuals are working tirelessly to return these gorgeous animals back to a survival success story

……………………………………………….the tunnel

want it bad?
it’s deep down

you might reach it
crawling on hands and knees
’til they bleed
stumble through the deafening black
clawing and scraping at the tight walls
fingernails ripping off
the tunnel
doesn’t use up life
it just takes time
yours
a beastly eternity
if you make it all the way
shield your eyes
get back on your feet
the light is blinding
but fragrantly warm
now suck in that lucid sky
there’s not much time
the
next shadowless passage
is just over
the horizon
arnold pumpkinquickie sketch, was going to do a whole tunnel concept – truth be told – housecleaning day – damn 😉

Frustration and a Talking Tale

Another selection from my teenage journal.

Frustration

Frustration looked down the path with eyes of anxious fire. She, like the muskrat, embedded herself into the ground. A grin of one-hundred teeth repulsively staring. Her scent left no space untouched. Always, Frustration an unworthy creature, attacking from the back. Shadows cast beneath the fold. Frustration, like the starving animal, unsatisfied and hungry for the lagging one.

Blue Tale

Blue Tale

May you dream of happy memories…

Free verse written 1977, Blue Lion created in 2014 published with another post a few months back (I still like this guy, he makes me smile. I hope he makes you smile too.)