Hungry

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Loneliness takes our hearts,

our souls and our stomachs.

Climbing into an

empty bed each night,

waking up beside ghosts.

Walking each empty street,

loneliness made me hungry.

I searched my fridge,

my cupboards,

there was nothing to eat.

I went to lunch with

friends, still hungry.

I attended a dinner party

for the entire neighborhood,

but i woke up in

that empty bed,

and i was still hungry.

I ate photographs, journals,

the paint off my walls.

I ate the blue sky,

i feasted on books of poetry,

short stories, fantasy epics,

still hungry.

I tried to eat a spell

but i choked on the flame,

so i took a bite

of the universe,

but it sat in my

stomach like a parasite,

devouring every piece

of desire and

chocolate i consumed.

I started slurping

down songs, sad songs,

dance songs, folk,

reggae, techno, pop,

classical, rap, jazz, metal,

blues, punk songs.

Songs from my friends,

songs from strangers,

i ate at least 4 gigs,

still hungry.

For a snack i

went for a walk,

i waited for the night,

took big bites

of the moon,

swallowed stars

one by one,

fell asleep eating

every bizarre dream.



This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Looking Into The Sun

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This summer started out raining.
Epic thunderstorms broke the sky.
The concrete smelled like freedom,
but the gray clouds locked us in a little longer.
Every drop coated the ground,
fed the rapidly growing grass.
Ran down my windows like the kind
of tears that give you a headache.
The days were hot and wet, almost oppressive,
if they had come later in the season.
Luckily it's still June, with its
warm days and chilly nights.
When the wind picked up i could
still feel it through my clothes,
its fingers gripping my skin.
The wetness seemed wetter clinging
to my shirt, settling into my hair.
I will always have this June, this wet,
rainy June, this month of gratuitous bloom,
color that would be obscene
if it covered anything else.
It felt strange to stay amongst the lilacs
and strawberries, feet planted in the springs
emerald carpet, looking out at the lake
and hoping i could still retreat to its depths,
finding newness where i could.
Started walking towards town,
listening to music, pouring my words onto
the pad, looking new people in the eye.
Self portraits, digging in the dirt,
loving dangerously, inhaling other
peoples breath and smoke in the
corner booth of my favorite bar.
It's official, i'm a whiskey guy,
whiskey in the spring, whiskey
on the rocks in the summer.
This June, it's whiskey by the campfire,
and whiskey in my flask.
It suits me well, it feels hot, a little vicious,
tastes bitter and sweet.
Tastes like rain in the summer,
tastes like wet streets.
I can still sleep easy, when i finally
get to sleep, and wake up to rain,
vibrant color like a hallucination.
Glowing green, riotous red, everything alive.
This June is nothing if not surprising,
bursts of sun so strong you swear
they would last forever.
Nights so cold you don't even dream.
I have trouble believing in the blue sky.
I stare it down until my eyes burn,
waiting for it to give out darker shades.
Seems i've lost something, maybe my faith,
maybe it's better this way.
The days are growing lighter, but not for long.
It feels like the beginning of the light,
but it's really the beginning of the end,
darkness edges its way in.
But now it's still June,
with its rain, with its flowers.
This June came in shaking, booming,
rattling, knocked the dust off,
chased the birds and butterflies away,
further and further into the sunrise.
I'm just going to sit here and watch it set.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Ode To Father

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Ode to father on fathers day,

a mighty good guy,

regardless of what

others have to say.

Dad's a great guy to go to

when you are feeling

blue and kinda rough.

He'll give you the shirt

right off his back when

the going gets tough.

He often knows what's on

your mind when you

come to him for advice.

Dad will always listen,

suggest, and defend,

being patient and

helpful until the end.

A father teaches us

to be strong in life,

and his love always

plays a part.

There will forever

be a place for him

deep within your heart.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Why Go Fishing?

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To bathe in the glorious

sunny warm weather.

A truly beautiful stream,

long stretches of absolute solitude,

drenched in the sounds of nature.

There is just so much to see,

out there on those quiet, empty waters.

The shoreline, like fantastic dreams,

enclosed the lake which spread out

beyond in vibrant turquoise greens

and blues, until it met the blue of the sky.

Patterned here and there with

mounds of gentle clouds,

arranged as if purposely,

to enhance the ethereal beauty

and vastness of the place.

The quiet, the peace, the color,

the sun, the smell of clean air.

The endless variety of life in the lake,

the scene of a world still living

comfortably with itself.

Even if the fish are spooked,

the sporting qualities would still

make it an odds on favorite of man.

Any fishing trip, even a short one,

cements you together in a

bond of spirit and friendship.

Together you battle the bugs, the rocks,

the adverse forces of the stream,

and whatever elements nature exhibits.

Alone together in the wilderness,

you find undefinable independence

and strength, which cannot be gained

through books or politics.

Tensions fall away, life is greatly

simplified to bare essentials.

Nature as God intended it to be.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

The Mountains, The Desert, And I

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No one will ever know

about the everlasting love

i hold in my heart for

the times i'm out

under the desert sky,

or camping within the trees

of the mountains sublime.

And the heaviness of my

aching heart when fate

decrees for awhile,

we must part.

When we get back

together again,

each silent night

alone with them

is Heaven supreme.

Under the stars

and candle light,

in my tent,

as i rest up and repent

of the life i have spent

in the city's tight,

noisy streets and

stifling air.

No noisy city

to betray or

spoil my rest.

Even when i receive

natures hint of a storm,

i merely fasten the

tent down and really

snore throughout

the night and

worry no more.

That's the kind

of life for me.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

The Real Joys Of Living

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The real joys of living today,

is not the getting,

but the giving that pays.

If everybody cared

no more for you

than they do for me,

what a hell of a place

this world would be.

To some, life is sweet,

just because of

friends we've made,

and the things with

others we share.

If we all stood alone

in the battle of life,

full of sorrow,

contempt and strife,

this old world would be

a dreary place indeed.

It's the giving and the

doing for somebody else,

that all life's splendor depends.

All the joys of this world,

what few there are,

are found in the

making of friends.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.