Dreaming Head

i have a head
full of indispensable dreams
and that's just enough
for me on this human romp
until i try to
quantify those dreams
on some metric scale
no one knows about
and wouldn't even know how to
if there was enough
to take
my impossible task
any further than a dream
and this
slinking poem
going into
it's magical
corner right now.

convoy's of truck driving cowboy's

always pass me by
on the highway
with a tall mug of
steam swirled coffee,
an empty bottle of jack
on the passenger side floor,
the smell of pine in the air,
a girl with tussled hair
that flies up like a
pop goes the weasel game
wiping the side of her mouth
as the trucker fixes his
content gaze further on down
the road of our lives
laughing at the tiny throne
we sit on in our small
cars darting around
like substandard battery powered
bikes heading towards
our luke warm water
and simple sex lives.

Baby Breath

of all
the wondrous
movements
and instincts
of a baby,
the coolest
thing
has to be
the fact that
they
don't get
bad breath.

shielded by
the mystery of
nature and
evolution,
you can lie
next to their
face in
a pure trance
and not
smell anything
but the
scent of fresh
skin
and the
new
skeleton
of many,
many
tomorrows.

Cardboard Buffet

when someone tells me what
they are eating tastes like cardboard,
i nod and wonder.

i imagine them sitting
down to some elaborate
dinner table with
every assorted type of
cardboard awaiting their
hungry chops.

mashed cardboard,
grilled cardboard,
steamed cardboard,
roasted cardboard,
cold cardboard,
soupy cardboard.

and watch them tuck
that cloud white napkin
into the top ring of their
shirts,
then start shoving cardboard down their mouths.

as their eyes water,
they comment to their guests,
'MAN, THIS REALLY TASTES LIKE
CARDBOARD, EH?'

at this,
i can accept someone telling
me that their food tastes
like something they
have never eaten,
except in my day dreams.

night .. night.

truth behind kid sleep

the greatest thing about kids
is that they really don't sleep
at night.

they just rest their eye lids
as we adult kinds
sleep and melt down
into a dark slip of
oblivion full of failed dreams
and new tasks.

the kids continue to
rage about their landscape
with a thousand strings of
innocence flying the world's
kites and waiting for the
next ground breaking electrical
surge to meet a key as that
same rain storm soaks our
adult dreams with
worries of umbrellas and
leaking basement foundations
while the morning alarm
SCREAMS IN LOUD R.E.M.
for us to
wake our
restful
eye lids.

people are praying for the wrong things

people are praying for the wrong things
as the wheel of evangelical
abdication of war and
veiled hate flies through
the wasted newsprint wods
coming down our windy street.

folks are praying,
but do they know what they should
be asking for
as the portly face of
another preacher on a
channel in the 200's promise
viewers solace and financial freedom
if they just call one small number.

the squeezed eyes of another graying
christian preacher
blurs through the faded screen
as he holds the hand of his
terrified wife asking for
things like an end to world hunger
and the terrorists to perish.

while all i hope for is that
on one errant swipe through the
television channel guide
or side streets of america,
that the supposed christian audience
will finally ask their creator
to help them understand
love and patience as the grail of jesus
gracefully ages another day.

Welcome to the New JD Poetry Portal

welcome to the initial installment of my new poetry portal .. my plan is to at least update this blog with a new poem every couple of days and keep you abreast on all poetry developments .. this is also a resource for finding poetry volumes, spoken word, video poems, rejection letters and the triumphant acceptances .. enjoy .. and a poem is below:

NATIONAL BANKS
we always see the shiny fronts
of the first nation banks,
but what about all the second
and third national banks.

i think i would like to put my money
in institutions that have a
second, third or fourth in their names.

it's not so far in the clouds
and steeped in piles of gold i could never count.

it has that blue collar ring that makes
me feel like i'm the poor guy that i really am.

maybe i should start the third national and
give everyone a free tootsie pop

and a shot of whiskey to join.