It's for the Blind that I See

I am a soothsayer for the blind,
a golden, false god that can sing
a language of silence with a smile-
I suffer, a delirious lyricist
with a cut tongue,
a fanatical fascist in centrifuge.
I have eyes to share the world
though I am a fool with words,
giving thoughts to those without.
I am a lost talent rolling nothing
into the wind of today and tomorrow,
sitting silent in my observations.
I will not sing songs of my lament
because the dance is hard to follow,
the words are far too shallow.

Smile and Be Content

Smile and be content

Smile, I say, smile
and be content
because we have to talk
for there's something to be said
in a hushed whisper,
but remember to smile loudly
and profess your exuberance
in a demure and respectful way

Put an end to your empty
heart that aches in great pain,
or hide it all with a smile
while you talk a good game

Jan '06
Dedicated to HER

Tragically Convoluted

Everything was tragically convoluted
as total fuck-all could be,
the people bumping into each other
as living distortions of themselves that weren't meant
to co-exist on any plane of harmony.
In the center of it was I,
the very I living within each and every one
of us that has the tenacity
to look into the mirror when weak and crying.
From where I sit, it's all our accident,
this world, this life, and I am not sitting
anywhere the Buddha or the Christ hasn't or couldn't
but I haven't the capacity to meditate the same.
When I think of me, I think more of my place
in the brotherhood of man-
a brother just the same to man and woman
alike, united in the sacred blood of the earth.

3/10/06

An Electric Friend

An electric friend lights quiet compassion,
the ties that bind a subtle current
flowing at the speed of a flash
that is recognition in another's eyes

Unmatched is the bond, known
between friend and friend, they silently speak
a truth shared within

Sitting beside one another, they can agree
that the world is a convoluted mess
filled with random chaos in search
of stability, because stable is comfortable

Comfort in the lies is but a way
to pass the time, so we shake the present,
inside it may break or break us free
and either way relearn to just let go

Letting go is giving up the ghost
and surrendering to those demons
inside of us the very pain
we've lived in until we can cry
it all away until another day

'Tis only through our pain can we see
the hidden miracle - We must ask
the question, no matter the result

Jordan P Fitzpatrick & Michael J Dingler (Jan '06 - New Orleans, LA)

Darryl Started me off With This First Line

The right use of will
is always most important when darkness
falls across a shadowed land,
trees swaying in the winds
of change, the winds deranged
blowing madly to the dawn,
the madness a yawn come early,
surly and sad - a sigh
let out before all time passes
into the history of the dead,
the history for the well-read
to read at night before
they tuck themselves into bed
finally believing that they are now safe.

12/30

My Beautiful and Charming Child

Aside from the fact that I have two beautiful and charming little girls, we'll focus on my three and a half year old for the moment. Since our daycare was closed today for the coming Christmas holiday, my wife was taking our oldest to work with her while I get to be adventure boy with my two year old. As she's settling in to her seat in the backseat of the car, she looks down at one of those plastic kiddie bowls that litter our car and announces to my wife, "Mommy, that bowl is fucking dirty." End of story...out of the mouths of babes. Of course, when my wife stopped back by so that I could get the little ones baby seat out of the car, the was a very demure and shy girl sitting back there while the story was relayed. My response...we'll make a sailor of her yet. And that is the beginning of my Friday before Christmas. Hope the holidays are good for all. MD

A Post Apocalyptic Nightmare Called Home

It is in the stillness that we bend,
horrid creatures crouching sad,
the glad facade a cavalcade of joy
that is torpid and warm-
a spattering of blood slowly drip, drip, dripping.

It is in the marketplace of the world
that we explode a curious bunch
of ardent full-believers in a dream
that to some may seem a distant
and complacent place of heresy.

It is in reformation that we grow
like giants to the sky, hands raised
in holy genuflection to the self-
the mortal and immortal
that is both larger and smaller than itself.

It is in ego that we fall horribly
hard to the pits of despair we call unfair,
angels no longer loved or in love-
drenched in pools of fire, liquid blue
and vulgar like a leper's crutch tapping on stone.

It is in charity that we mend
the broken fences of the world
that we've hurled tempest-tossed into the air
of what happens next when the wind
is blowing hard - leaves ripping from the trees.

It is in solutions that we find absolution
when we tell all the dirty little secrets
of ourselves and others, especially others,
to find forgiveness, the credence of forgiveness
that is a godless and abundant artform.

It is in resistance that we make the call
for mounting a diverse strategy
of imposing thoughts, a forward-continuum
that is the science of advertising that opposes the spirituality
of naked souls crying out in silent screams.

It is in sexual indulgence that freedom is found,
lustful stimulation that is in and out again,
illuminations in the dark, retardations of the spark
that was once animalistic and divine,
retardations that are toxic and perverse.

It is in the middle millhouses of the earth
where we find the hungry and the poor,
where the whores lie rotten, rotting in stench-
rimmed corridors and behind closed doors
while water leaks from rusting pipes - drip, drip, dripping.

It is in the sky that we find salvation,
damnation, seeking a sacrament that tastes
of wine and blood, of shit and lies,
all the things that I despise
wrapped up conveniently in one bundle called my home.

MJD '05