POEMS & SHORTS

December 2, 2009

My confindance…funny, can’t even spell it (nothing new, huh)…findance, that is pretty funny. How about my con (artist) fin dance? Coning myself for a fin. Fin. Fin? Five bucks, only. Five dollars. Fi dollas. Fi friggin’ dollas for what? Doughnuts. Five fatty doughnuts, sinkin’ me into the doldrums, cause that’s where I am, dopy doughnut gobbler. Turkey brain, turning the coat on my own…my own….my own. What’s the word? what do I need? MY CONFIDENCE, OKAY! My confidence is being shaken and I need help. Is it the ever lasting expectations that I allow myself to hold onto? Is it the comparisons I…

Just wanna scratch this, it is so depressing. But I’ll leave it in for fond memories of dark mornings. And It actually is dark this morning. The sky is covered with clouds, no more ominous than my thoughts. Just cloud cover, my boy. The sun is always shinning beyond them, right? Spiritually I mean. I am my own weatherman. Forecasting. Fore skinning. Dicking my self around. Laugh, please and get off, of this self -mposed crisis. Here there within it lies. At least somebody’s not tellin’ the truth here, know what I’m sayin’. Why those, those, all those sister fuckers, who…fucked me like I was their little sister. And I took it. Punch, punch, punch…and roll. Punch, punch, punch…and roll, year after year after year. And just get up again, sonny boy, I say.. Sunny boy. Shine right through that thick grey mass. That massive mess of mind and manifest the brilliance and success you deserve. Stand up. Stand up. Stand up and take the punch again, laughing, until the fist that hits you tires and disappears like the clouds. And this metaphor has brought tears to my eyes. Or is it an analogy? You moron? Who? You know who? Perhaps the fists a’ comin’ are me own, me tinks.

So it’s afternoon now. 3:30 pm. There is a slight inconsistent wind which makes the trees appear still and when I look again, specifically to the pine tree out the window to my right, it seems as if someone is underneath, (because I can’t see down to prove there isn’t) a big woods man or beast perhaps with big mitts for hands, grabbing and shaking the tree by the trunk when he pleases. He is shaking the tree down for pine needles as that is what currency he deals in. “I need some more needles! Come on!” he says as he shakes down the tree. Then he waits and thinks about it, thinks about what he is doing, thinks if he is a sinner in the woods. Then he comes back to his criminal senses and shakes the tree again. “Come on!” So it is either that or the inconsistent wind, making the Pine tree seem that way and I can’t tell because, like I said I can only see straight out the window which is twenty feet high…so who knows what is going down below? The needle beast of the woods could be, say, fifteen-feet tall and I still wouldn’t be able to see him, unless I looked down. But then he might see me and shake the whole house, until I fell down into his giant paws and he might inhale me with a sprinkle of needles on the side. so I will stay here and write, take deep breaths and carry on.

‘The Many Sides of Darrell Jones’ is a story of….first, a white man with a black man’s name, only the black man originally was given that name of Jones by a white man about two hundred years ago as the black men had no names back then such as, Darrell or Jones. They were African’s for Christ’s sake. So Darrell Jones was already mixed up at birth without even being conscious of it. History had already played a part. Fuck his parents. They could have named him, John or Joe but I won’t be mentioning them other than to say, “Fuck his parents…” And Darrell felt the same. To prove it, he dropped one L off his name.

So Darrel Jones said different things to different people, according to what he wanted them to hear…but for the most he said the wrong things, inappropriate things, thinking they were justified and truthful. He was a seeker of the truth even if misguided, he wanted to find the truth, speak the truth, act the truth. But who else really did? They were getting by, playing their parts, keeping the truth hidden. The ugly ones that is, the ones that weren’t positive…better known as ,negative. Darrel was perceived as a “negative” person by many…but he always felt he was telling the truth…but he developed his many sides to compensate for what he perceived to be the shortcomings of others who couldn’t handle it.