...nightmares in color...

Chemically balanced hallucinations

     brought to life by memories no longer buried,
     past visions of what were sins

     embedded in the psyche; married

As it were.  Bound in form and shape

     as ethereal portraits, tattered canvases

     strung end to end.  Macabre film tape

     overexposed to garish glass

Statuettes of disillusionment.  Memory spark

     gives light to dim horrors
     so soon forgotten but with a careless remark
     comes back with such savage roar.

Too curious about the dead and what cannot be,

     sitting alone at a impasse, precipice,

     the mirror of time shows a reflection not of me.

     A strange face stares back, identity amiss

To the relation of the soul.  Monsters and resurrection

     dominate all thought process and function.
     God.  Damn.  It.  If only I could shun
     what seems to demand and dominate attention;

More than its fair share of my time.

     If I could push them back down

     these unsightly demons of mine

     would they weigh so heavy, an unpleasant crown

Made of thorns, of brambles and things made to prick

     causing blood to draw from unsightly wounds

     heavy on my heart like a cinder brick

     sewn  mortar with flesh, a self contained tomb.

Heavy is the heart behind the eyelids of the damned

     wishes for sanity and longing for sleep

     inside this crazed mind they now become crammed

     nothing left to do now, but lie in the dark and weep.

© 2013 p.hill

those times we danced…

do you remember the night we danced;

the time we twirled under the moonlight?

times you held me close so that your perfume

eased its way into my nostrils…

do you remember the time that we held each under meteor showers

how the sky rained down around us as if the world were ending?

I remember that was the night we danced

do you remember the morning we woke up in each others’ arms?

how we dared not look away from each other

afraid that the image would be a dream and that we might wake

next to someone else or worse next to no one at all?

do you remember how we danced around the bed

our fingers gently touching each other in a special way

with a special purpose and intent

we fed our hunger with lust from our hearts

that morning we danced

do you remember the night we lost our way?

how we spent an endless cold night in a strange and foreign place?

that special and scary time was trying and it was true

we survived those harsh realities and persevered

do you remember how we held our hands close to one another?

afraid that if we let go, we’d be lost?

I remember it all…

that cold night we danced

through all of these years and these miles

that we have traveled together

with all the ups and the downs;

joys and the horrors that we’ve lived through

my favorite memories are of

those days and nights we danced together

with all the world watching; all eyes on you

we danced until our feet hurt; our eyes red with tears brimmed over

tears of happiness; tears of relief…  we made it…

© 2013 p.hill

...a father's wish - verse #1...

My child little child where do you go

When your feet now touch winter’s new snow?

My child little child what do you see

When you wander so very far from me?

My child little child what clues do you leave

When you wander away and your parents now grieve?

My child little child what sights does the world show

When you are off to the places you will go?

My child little child are you scared now

When you realize you are on your own now?

My child oh my little child know this above all

I will always love you most of all…

© 2013 p.hill

kites in a cemetery

recall with such vivid memory

   burst into tears!

no less appropriate

than flying kites in a cemetery

waterfalls of tears drown down

echoes of the woman; gone

precious images from derelict hotels

shadowy clips in clouded past

I wish you could see me now

but you don’t see me anymore

you see no one at all

subtle pulse of my heartbeat

   rhythm

backbeat, soundtrack to my pain

your sound has gone dark

rhythmic scratching of a needle

on record’s side done

if I could say one thing, anything

just now I would say I am

   sorry?

when we said goodbye

on steps of the church so cold

in the warm spring sun

it wasn’t supposed to be forever

forever goes by too fast to count

what happened to our innocent

   days?

lying under pool tables, kissing to

the sounds of Spacehog…

we didn’t just grow apart but

   fell apart

torn apart ripped apart thrown

to the four winds of future and

   fate

the noose fell tight and choked

the light out of our naivety

strangled by the weight on the

simple third left that left us with

   duty

even now we pass in politeness

but never more do we speak

of the fateful nights when

passion ran free and so did our

inexperienced hands and tongues

salt stains the face now, still now

why now?  why not go and leave

the happy memories of youth?

we erected those markers of youth

and bowed before them and lived

in the happiness of impropriety

   inappropriate

just like kites flying in a cemetery

© 2013 p.hill

gentleman; bastard

bees wax poetic on a dusty record player

warped ancient vinyl dancing circular

designed to emanate symphonic melody;

instead a discordant sound.

I stood in the doorway and watched her cry

that last bit of life we shared now gone,

extinguished in a single barbed comment

because we went to bed angry.

what should have been whimsical and delicious

now the tinny cat gut sound of dying affection.

heat swelters through this old stick frame house

baking the trapped occupants to a sickly sticky end.

while the world spins oblivious outside

the night calls out, but the stars can’t reach;

light dimmed by the cloud of emotion that hangs

damp and deep over our heads.

sweat from frustrations long pent up

soaks the sheets where we once tossed.

words should be so poetic but fall hollow on a page

hollow as the sound of an empty chamber in the gun,

hollow as the sound of an empty glass that once held liquor

and dreams and romance and desires and lust

all things that would have made this life complete

but for the fact that effort couldn’t compete with impotence.

and now Ginsburg himself can hear the howl;

tortured scream of pain that should have been mistaken for ecstasy

now sounds of an animal in its death throes.

if only a simple apology could fix all the wrongs

a kiss good night could say all the things that needed  said.

we might not be here now wasting away

dying of thirst because we are too oblivious to notice

we were each others’ resuscitation.

too late too bad so sad now gone.

the world has moved on and I wasn’t invited.

© 2013 p.hill

...that time i said too much...

Neon green meteorites rained down
on an old brown Buick Century;
windshield glass fogged by indiscretion.

Too delicate to look away and
too embarrassed to admit that
he was rubbing the armrest that
he mistook for her leg.

Stealing quick glances at her
petite breasts that leapt out of her low cut
sundress as she bent over to retrieve her bag.

Hippies don’t wear bras, thank God.

I tell this story and laugh because
that was a long time ago and
the mental trauma has faded to hilarity.

So I pen this story in atypical orange ink.

That’s right motherfuckers I’m comfortable
with my sexuality; stupid hot pink tattoos
that I’d love to show off on my pale biceps
because they are so damn awesome.

But I would have to take off my shirt
and I dare say no one wants to see my scarred
nipples from 10 gage rings that used to
sag my man boobs and bleed through
my best shirts because they never fully healed.

Do people see the hidden meaning of the
fact that there is no hidden meaning
in my artwork?

If dinosaurs could diffuse bombs then
our pop machines would always be
stocked by poor tyrannosaurs with short
arms and senior citizen style extension grips
used to retrieve soup cans by people confined
to their Hoverounds and fueled by
a desire to never give up
as they cruised the Grand Canyon and Wal Mart aisles.

I’d write more but I can’t feel my hand…

Shit.

(c) 2013 p.hill