Clash

Discussion in 'Poetry' started by jlah1009, Apr 18, 2007.

  1. jlah1009

    jlah1009 Member

    Clash



    Stony, stony crack in the wall

    You know your headed, headed for a fall

    Man runnin’

    No end in sight

    The boss screams

    “Take off tonight”



    Makes his way through the cloudy streets

    Would sell his brand new Cadillac just to have a seat

    Says he needs to get out of the heat

    Starts to dream

    Dreams of the smooth sounds

    The smooth sounds of Miles Davis

    The petty piano peeps of Carlos Jobim

    The screeching samba saxophone of Stan Getz



    He starts to dream

    Starts to see

    100 miles away

    1000 miles away

    Sees a palm tree

    Swaying in the wind

    Softly

    Picking up speed

    Leaves pulsating to the rhythm of the music



    The phone rings

    Life is on line one

    She says “Honey pick up the dry cleaning”

    He grows frustrated

    Wonders why his one suit isn’t good enough

    He starts to undo his tie

    He was told this is a Golden Age

    Who is that man sleeping on the corner?

    He sees a politician

    So the dinosaurs still live among us



    He thinks of her

    Wonders how many miles to Ipanema

    He still sees her eyes everywhere

    And in her eyes he saw the world



    The saxophones light up

    The sound bursts into his ears

    A freshly fizzed drink

    The tie comes off

    His muscles tense

    The car picks up speed

    His eyes are glassy with a tinge of indifference toward the endless sea

    A nude woman exerting pure lust…Buy these jeans!

    A man with an orgasmic expression surrounded by three girls…Cheap hot tubs!

    We’re all destined to swim in that tub alone one day



    He sees an ad for the Fox News Corporation

    If a killer’s words were not broadcast

    He would not kill



    A visage of focused intent arranges itself

    His eyes are open

    But his mind is 1000 miles away

    Fixed on a sea of the organic variety

    The blue-eyed behemoth stirs his mind

    Teasing

    It wants him to seek it out

    It wants to suck him in



    The fiery demon begins his descent

    The blue waves in his mind have already extinguished the blaze

    He sees nothing but the past

    A past so long ago

    He feels it is not his own

    Is he stealing it from someone else?

    That’s the American way



    His life is a movie

    He can see the director

    The sea laughs at him

    Mocks him

    Tells him “I am the tub”



    He approaches his little niche he has carved out on the planet

    The car slows

    The gloss fades as the high tide goes out

    He tries to glimpse her one more time

    A great waterfall is in his way







    Snap!

    Crackle!

    Pop!

    His mind shuts off

    The autopilot kicks in

    Dry cleaning?

    Dry cleaning!



    The car turns around

    He is going back the way he came

    He’s repeating the pattern

    But with each repetition comes the chance for change



    The demon has returned to his lair

    The heavens are grey

    They match his mind

    A white goddess rises now

    He pays her no mind

    He needs to get the dry cleaning



    There is fear in the goddess

    She knows the flames will rise again

    The man feels in control

    He sees the goddess and knows something that she knows not

    Without her, there is no demon

    And without the demon, she herself could not exist



    He feels in command

    The sea has left him

    It said “don’t you worry, it’s my love, the pleasure’s mine”

    Regret has been whisked aside

    Like an eagle leaving the nest

    He’s flying on the wings of maybe

    But he’s got so far to go



    Trying to catch up with his memories

    He doesn’t realize he’s running the wrong way

    So as the bug creeps along its path

    An unwelcome intruder joins the struggle in the sky















    Flight 752

    Continental Airlines

    Its passengers gave one hundred and seventy two pieces of green paper in exchange for the right to sit on a flying bus

    The UFO looks small to the man

    He wonders what the people on board see when they look at him

    The director wonders what the people on board the plane see when they look up

    The sea is approaching again



    The raging demon plots alone as the goddess has her time in the sun

    He wonders if perhaps she is wearing a mask



    The man tries to think of the her face

    He gets anxious

    Checks his phone

    Checks it twice

    His leg twitches

    Something is rising

    A serpent snaking its way, writhing its way into his mind

    It creeps into his conscience

    Suddenly he’s overcome with a feeling of malicious self doubt

    The anger comes next

    An overflowing cauldron of boiling and bubbling tomato soup

    Her face is there

    The sea prepares for its final battle

    Up above, the goddess cheers him on

    She’s pulling the sea back

    The blue stains her dress

    He raises his icy sword

    It clears a path to her

    He runs to her

    Runs from his fears

    Runs from his life

    Runs from the future

    Runs from the towering redwoods of society that shed leaves upon his soul

    He pauses

    Looks back

    He knows the redwoods will topple soon



    Her eyes pierce his very soul

    Like a Sphinx bearing down upon the eyes of a housecat

    This lioness could not be tamed

    Not by him nor the by demon nor by the sea

    Nor by the very goddess in who’s image she had been created in

    No tub could hold her



    With a last defiant attempt

    He speaks to her

    Asks if he could just take her on a journey

    Through the smoke rings of his mind

    To the foggy ruins of time

    High above the snow capped mountains of reason

    To a cliff where the sea wages its eternal battle

    Fighting against the very barriers of time itself

    Pushing the limits of all thought

    Until with one last exhale it rescinds

    Only to try again the next day



    She speaks

    The same samba voice and raspy curling tone

    Sorry babe, I’m taken by the sky



    He turns away

    Slowly it comes back to him

    He needs to get the dry cleaning
     
  2. jlah1009

    jlah1009 Member

    comments?
    compliments?
    suggestions?
    criticism?

    thanks
     
  3. Miss_Beatle

    Miss_Beatle Beatlemaniac

    Oh I love it! I love reading poems in this forum, this is definitely a great one! :) Great job!
     

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