link to savvy

Poetry

Little Red Riding HoodWhen we were young and we had it all in front of us…Busy streets Walkin the BeastTogether for a Light ShowerA Time for IndividualityFighting Upstream on a Wild HorseGenerating a Present with PresenceAnd it's Like That, Ain't It?Gluttonous EyesInto the Wildheel meSteamrollin like an 18-wheelerBody WorkStranger. Killer. MuseHer Heart in MineDisdainedCapped in the ShinBreaking BravadoPortrait of a LadyIn TruthAmong the Wildflowers

Among the Wildflowers

How many cigarettes,
Will, are going to be drawn
From those I don't even smoke.

Excuses I make,
Become,
The power I lose;
The fabric
Of my fall and
The guilt,
Of which I implore
On those around me.
So, how many excuses
Must be drawn through
Nights spent,
Dependent on others?

This here,
This is for the soldiers
Which rose up,
Who came through
In a time of despair,
Beseeched upon us all
At one time or another;
Who drank merrily
Under the swollen moon,
Howling escape and
Tempting fate,
To break our own chains.

This is for the night crawler,
With bourbon lips
And pirate breath
And condolences shared-
A wilted leaf
On an overdrawn account.
It was the two of us,
A pair of fools,
Combing for lust,
For seashells,
Filling an empty tank;
Paralyzed against the aftermath.

This is for the earth goer,
The lost stallion,
Wandering on a meager path,
Only to find
Endless pasture
For legs once suspended,
Incubated between
Steel and spike,
Forbidden from it's nature,
Tucked away, forgotten
But finally becoming the crow,
Airborn into fear.

And this is for those,
Who I've imposed
On the long,
Drawn path
Of dust and fern;
We found habit in our experiment,
Became creatures of
Our disembodiment when
We were meant to crane above
The meridien,
Gliding on a rite of passage
To fever over stagnant groans.

We branched out
For the open road,
To find laughter as
Fertile minds curious-
Hungry.
Meant to be fauna,
Spry on the knoll
Awaiting rain
To bloom our buds,
Instead, caught
In a beguilding storm
Drowning in an ambush.

We were the great escape,
Relishing in awry,
Tormented by prediction,
Determined for a stage-
A platform to misbehave
And borne form
Over our excuses,
Through the words
Of other great soldiers
Gone to pass,
Far too early,
In adolesent tragedy.

We should have
Looked t'ward the sun,
Instead of these false heroes,
Embracing our down jackets,
Instead of
Mourning lost summers.
No mater what spilled
Ink onto our pages,
We learned through the misleadings,
Either out of prose,
Or experience-
Or both.

And this is for those that
Came to pass,
Too soon to disengage.
Pawns in a greater scheme,
Of franchising,
And delusion
For a rock star's dream
Or a cowboy's rite-
Who threw away that lover,
Be it his self,
His queen, dreams
Or his passion.

This is for those
Unable to turn back
Lost on the wrong
Way of a road forked;
On the long,
Dark road,
As the forever dark horse,
Who fell to dark forces;
Now sitting higher,
Than any of those labels,
Watching over our steps
To ease us through torment.

This is for those,
The wise,
Who turned
A fresh page,
Who drew courage
To plow through
That which was overdrawn
And come to its end;
Who empowered foresight,
Before it was drafted,
Scripted,
And Sculpted.

This is for those,
Determined
To carry on seeking,
Through curiosity the same,
As those wild and gory nights,
For more trials
And certain tribulations,
In other means
Than those that were at heed.
For it's in challenge
We wage the tide
And near our beasts.

To baste it all with confidence,
Clarity,
Or even love.


'All it takes is the seat of the pants to find the seat of the chair'
-Robert Frost

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