Haikus

I can't write haikus
But I'll try and try and more,
Bring out something good

Lone and forsaken
I heard some ole' bum sing out
Now hear this ole' song

To The Generation Too Far to Know

This writing will most likely be forgotten, if not soon then soon enough.
Its letters will be on this page, maybe, hopefully, a few more
Then be crumpled up, torn, trashed and let go from the memory.
It happens to everything that has been written and will happen again to everything that is.
Shakespeare's human will come to an end, so too will the roads of the Beats,
The echoes of the canyon bards, the whispers of the bum poets.
All will be given a final blink, a note on heard.
So be it.

There will be far more people who won't read this poem than will
There may already be more dead folk through the centuries
Than there ever will be live folk who can read this.

To those who I cannot touch, who I can't hope to imagine
I give to you my hopes,
That you might do something grand and great
And know things that are small and their strengths
That you might be loved and give love
That the words that bruise our skin,
Racism, zeen-o-foe-be-ya, sexism, apartheid,
Perjury, theft, prudishness,
And all the rest,
Will be too ancient for proper translation;
That you might love with your touch and with your mind,
That you might see the Sun wider than the Earth's orbit
And know all you need to know, do all you need to do
And be all you need to be.

My Angers

My angers come to me too easily.
I never show them, their faces are ugly, like Mars,
Crimson, filled wrinkles of mountains and rivers
Long since vanished,
And their voices are like the sounds from freezers
Deeper than they'd ever need to be,
Colder than they'd ever need to be,
And their words are infantile,
Mono-syllablic, ill-said and mostly meaningless.

I never want them around and I'm never glad when they're gone, not really.

Some of these angers know that they're justified
And then some of these angers actually are justified;
I never know which is and which isn't until the years and years have gone
And any reason, justified or unjustified has long since passed.

Some of the time the angers come when I realize it's been too long
Since my lips touched other lips,
Since I've seen another person as naked,
Naked in body, with all their worts and their hairs, their sizes and their guises,
Naked in spirit, saying what I don't know,
Not saying thing what I'll already know,
Since I called someone mine
And since someone called me theirs.

Some of the times the angers come when I'm reminded of money;
Of how I have it for what I want
And never for what I need;
Of how it can't be burned when I want to forget about it in the most splendid way
And how it can't be found when I remember it's as much part of me
And you and all the other yous
As is the bacteria in our bodies;
Of how I never know what to feel
When I give it to someone on the street begging their dignity away
For another bread or another bud;
Of how it chose the bed on which I was made on,
The hospital which I was born in,
The schools I wanted to leave,
And of how it'll choose
The looks I'll have, to certain extents,
The gifts I'll give to my loved ones,
The looks I'll get from others, to certain extents,
The medicines that'll sustain my life
And the medicines that'll fail at that,
Where I'll be buried and if I'll be buried,
And so much of what I can give after I'm gone.

I've hurt too many with my angers,
Made them know that the glare of my eye
In its moment of distress and
Has more gravitational pull than the blackest, widest black hole.

I don't even know where the anger stems from,
Not really.
I don't know what tragedies have justified them,
Which losses gave them room in my mind.
I don't know if the angers are one anger or many angers
Or how to rid myself of them.

I know very little about them,
But I know they do sometimes mean good.
I know that if I have an emotion this strong then there are others just as strong,
That there things I'll fight against and for,
That my heart beats to the point of hurting,
That I can write any poem of any length when I'm passionate enough,

That I can do good, that I will do good.

What Are My Goals, As A Person?

To love those who deserve love
And to love those who don't.
To create what's worth creating
And to keep many, many drafts.

To read and become
To listen and become
To watch and become
To think and become
To dream and become
To be and become.

To have the dollars to live
And compassion to give.
To see the darkest nights
And know where to find light.

To see the many blemishes on the many faces
And still to remember them in the galleries of the mind
With all their graces.

To walk lands that are smooth, flat enough that a pancake
Syrupless or not
Could fall and fall as if it fell on a table.
To walk lands that are rough and coarse
Where ankles fear to tread
And logs by fire serve as beds.
To walk lands I haven't heard of
And challenge my bottom half to stand tall
So what's in my eye sockets and past my nostrils and right above my ear lobes can know it
And know that it is not all.

Song to Bob

I'm reaching and reading all that I can
Sometimes I'm just learning to stand
And that sometimes there are mountains of blues
And sometimes not one's worth for to use

Hey hey Bob Dylan I'm writing you a song
One that'll probably ramble too long
Seems there ain't enough songs these days
That are saying all that's worth to say

Hey hey Bob Dylan I know that you know
All that I'm saying and many a-times more
I'm a-singing you the song but I can't sing enough
Cause there's not many folks that've done the things you've done

I'm a-hearing the sung-out echoes
And all the ones the sun still has chose
I'm a hearing them and hearing them again
Seems like they're still a-goin and blowin in the wind

I got nowhere to go and nowhere to stay
Bob, you know what I'd least like to say
So I'll just give my thanks to you
And hope I won't hope to only be you

Nothing Was Hid

They tell me you don't love me no more
They tell me you never did
I swear you looked into my eyes
The same way I look into yours
And in that moment nothing was hid
I swear, I swear, I swear
Nothing was hid

I remember you holding your boy
I remember, like I've never been
And I remember the swings sitting still

I remember your clothes and your hair
I remember you lookin' so fair
I don't remember a single care

They tell me you don't love me no more
They tell me you never did
I swear you looked into my eyes
The same way I look into yours
And in that moment nothing was hid
I swear, I swear, I swear
Nothing was hid

I love you and I'd paint you new colors
I love you and I'd sing it til there were no notes
I love you and all that is you

I love you and hate knowing that I do
I love you and don't know what to do
I love you, I love you, I love you
I love you

They tell me you don't love me no more
They tell me you never did
I swear you looked into my eyes
The same way I look into yours
And in that moment nothing was hid
I swear, I swear, I swear
Nothing was hid

Bus Driver, Oh Bus Driver

Bus Driver, oh Bus Driver,
Will you let me have a ride
Need just another dime
Bus Driver, oh Bus Driver
Will you just let it slide
Hour's become an unsafe time
Bus Driver, oh Bus Driver

The name's Patrick O'Williams
Today's a day I was young
Played with the whores and the bums
Played down and out on the run
Played around with my gun
Had myself some fun
But these days are done
My bat's been swung

Bus Driver, oh Bus Driver,
Will you let me have a ride
I only need a dime
Bus Driver, oh Bus Driver
Will you please just let it slide
Clock's hand show an unsafe time
Bus Driver, oh Bus Driver

So....this is unfinished but I like what I have so far enough to post it.