Banjo Needs Learning

I have a banjo in my corner at home
I can't play it, despite my yearning.
I'm just too busy and leave it alone,
Sometime I'll give the banjo its learning.
But first. . .

Work needs working,
Car needs washing,
Friends need hanging,
House needs cleaning,
Dishes need doing,
TV needs watching,
Mother needs talking,
Elbow needs scratching,
Girlfriend needs kissing.

But after that I can learn my banjo,
You know, except first. . .

Facebook needs checking,
Driveway needs repaving,
Book needs reading,
Stomach needs eating,
Afternoon needs napping,
Sunset needs watching,
Pool needs swimming,
Closet needs reorganizing,
Trash needs out-throwing.

After rapid fire life-ing,
I'll be done with the trifling.
Maybe then,
despite how nervous I am,
and how hard it seems,
After all the things that need doing,
Maybe then I can follow my dreams.





Thanks to Ian for this Saturday's Inspiration, "Learning to play the banjo."

Lost Sheep

I broke the fence with my thick skull
and discovered a field of sleep
and dreamless nocturnes.

I slept in the cold glance of stars,
through lazer burns of the sun,
dazed in a desert dry coma.

A thick oil coat keeps out the rain
and the light. I floated floods
and my tongue was dry.

I was covered in fireflies
but never sparked.
I was lost because I forgot my home.

New Flame/Old Flame

New flame doesn't know his fuel.
He seethes upon mysterious shoulders.
New sparks flail from his wrath into labyrinth walls
as he burns the world in his causeless rebellion.

Old flame has a subtle lilt she learned from home.
She sips her oil and pens direct, cordial thoughts.
She lets active flints bark until their throats are sore
or they have caught fire for more than naught.

New flame urges the young with his projected spittle.
Little kindlings stack themselves at his feet as his napalm pours.
The daylong army has begun its march on everything
because they never sought foundation, only things to abhor.

Old flame has enough ink for decades of wisdom.
She has changed the world in peace and with loving paste.
Quiet in frame she knows her source from crinkled pages
moonlit in humilty, forgoing the death of baseless haste.

June 27th

This is one of my favorite days.
It's the day we celebrate you.
I celebrate you all of the times,
but today everyone else does too.

Today you become a quarter
though you're worth your weight in gold.
You may be tired and go to bed early,
but I promise you're not old.

Your light is shining ever brighter
within our Father's love.
Every day with you gets better and better.
We fit each other like gloves.

I hold tight to knowing you deeper
and to your blizzard ing soul.
I will hold fast to you as your snow globe
whenever you loose control.

You are my most bestest friend.
I love to pamper you and take you out.
You are my favorite person
which I could never do without.






Dedicated to Lyndsay. Happy Birthday, Sweetest of Ladies.

Context Conquests

 The house stands in full view
and everyone wants a home.
Elegant fullness displayed
under its grand dome.

Every war is fought for love
and longing to be fulfilled.
The party splits and bites for conquest;
scrounging for weapons to impose will.

They rip and tear from context
all the nails to seek out eyes.
Glass is broken for daggers,
bricks to maces, lights to paralyze.

The shingles smooth the artillery,
made from water heaters and AC.
The war of pick and chooses
is forging waste and tragedy.

When all the meaning is pulled
and ripped away from the mouse,
a bitter shell of hatred smokes
with bodies that will never douse.

Now the home is blamed
for every misguided, bitter act.
No one can come home again
for the love has been fract'ed.

Busy Haikus

I woke up early
I have lots of work to do
Got home late, still more

Write this, create that
Add new numbers to the  clocks
Sleep overrated

More things than fingers
Palms fill and flowing over
Hands work for no rest

Hundred mile days
Shoes are worn thin and thinner
Bed is so lonely

Timer ticks lower
Fuel is almost empty now
Praying for more gas

A Tower of Desperate Treason

Fragile mountains climb the heavens
in desperate accolade to purity.
Sky's banner is distanced
from the working shovels.
All piles faint in the weary
weight of decrepit morsels.
How long can we build
this vile travesty?
What qualm will quench
our Babel's betrayal?
Can we not as brothers
decimate our own filth?
We have grandly ignored
our covenant and treaty
with a villainous disdain.
How long shall we mother each other
due to the mediocrity of our own laziness?!
Come now, servants and brother's,
let us remember our past entreatments
and forge anew our form.
A tower of desperate treason
hath wrought carelessness
to break bounds we had once illumined!
Let us destroy the futile injustice
within our own reach,
bond souls in an aspiration
to better each other
instead of ineffectually wound.
Let's put our dirty dishes in the dishwasher
instead of stacking them in the sink.

Cope

Hold a green mantle high
and let it grow on you.
Find the vines enforce your spine
and help the flowers bloom.

Let each twisted bud scrape skin
and plant anew your heart.
Let the indigence bleed
and feel the new blood start.

Leave barren, hateful lands,
regain your pearls from the swine.
Place your bets and hopes in Me,
and know that you are Mine.









Thanks to Sara for this Saturday's inspiration, "Cope."

Time Ticks

Juggle beats. They're good for you.
Hold the moments still.
Time the clock to perfect ticks.
Don't let run to kills.

Let each drop drip a pool.
Fill your mind with important drains.
Bleed away the blood of fool.
and sing until you're sane.

Feel the movement wake.
Left the cold heart thawing.
For the sunshine pull the shade.
For the rain pull the awning.

Inspiration

Gleam of horizon.
Glinting in the mind.
Silhouette of order
whispers ears cold.

Thoughts follow rules,
need follows flow.
Rivers twist rusted bars
and smile their way home.

Typewriters singing
unearthly sonnets.
Doubt fades as hall lights
dry up in closing doors.

Certainty instead of thoughts.
Movement instead of maps.
Every moment is joy
as the feet live in rhythm.

Pounds

Cold Turkey or Bust

Just one last time,
One last sip.
The faucet is off,
I only want the drip.

The drop was sweet,
glazing, not greedy.
It isn't all bad,
it isn't all that I'm needing.

It's a hobby, harmless,
a wet vegetator.
Twist the faucet just a bit,
don't be a hater.

It's not very much everyday;
A few sips in a cup.
It won't take me again,
I totally know what's up.

Leave me alone.
I can drink what I want.
Everyone's got something.
It's not like I flaunt.

So I bought a hose.
It makes it easier to drink.
So I thirst a lot more.
It's not as bad as you think.

Fine! Ok! Whatever!
I have a problem, I know.
Yes, ok, I promise.
I'll let it go. But. . .

Just one last time,
One last sip.
The faucet is off,
I only want the drip.

Writing Poetry

I can't write too clear
because no one will take their time.
I can't write too vague
because no one will care for rhyme.

I can't write too funny
because no one will believe I'm true.
I can't write too sad
because everyone will think I'm blue.

I can't write too much
because everyone will think I'm broke.
I can't write too little
because everyone will think I'm a joke.

I can't write anything
if I want everyone to be pleased.
So I'll just write and write and write
and simply let my poems be.

Fathers Are. . .

A knight to fight monsters.
A farmer to make food.
A teacher of every craft.
A lover for mother.
A professor of wisdom.
A friend for games.
A rock for peer pressure.
A lyricist for heart-songs.
A soldier for yearnings.
A shaper of smiles.
A holder of hands.
A curler of fists.
A guide through the unknown.
A molder of life.






Dedicated to my dad, Jim Crigler.

BA in Theatre

Mostly it's starving,
scraping pennies from car seats,
inventing ramen based meals,
thrifting for less dingy sheets,
working day jobs to support a lover,
thinking about food,
going nuts with peanut butter,
learning the words to "Hey Jude,"
calculating bills,
stretching bodies and wallets,
pulling out hair and pockets,
breathing emotional earthquakes,
forcing down potatoes and eggs,
working eighteen hour days,
having a dozen W-9's,
writing down a million miles of taxes,
memorizing and reading a thousand plays,
writing post-it notes to remember breathing,
blowing out adrenal glands,
exhausting emotions from top to bottom,
living in your car,
the power of naps,
knowing nothing will fit like a glove,
mostly it's all of these things.
But fully, it's love.




Thanks to Matt for this Saturday's Inspiration, "A BA in Theatre."

Penance of Intelligence

How just our fate when, 

with all books consumed, 

we fail to work our bodies 

from our minds. 

What incantations spewed 

will fill the earth with truth, 

recited to a perfect letter,

with no belief in magic?

What song, when scrawled

in a closed book,

can ever bring a tear

or stock a heart with warmth?

We must now make penance 

for intelligence with clean feet,

for memorized wisdom 

which never breathes. 

Sing then, on duty,

on dance, on recitations,

and brim each cup met

with a gift of greater work. 

Drained Battery

I am so tired. 

Mind shuts down. 

Spinning wheel of death. 

Frozen screen. 

Hp drained. 

Must find inn. 

Wait for download. 

Find the outlet. 

Doesn't compute. 

Does not compute. 

Do ont copmute. 

Revamp

Take me by the lungs

and swing me a song. 

Beat my hearty drums

and give me a throng. 

Bring my fractured head

and fill in the cracks. 

Rip my finger's dread

and teach me my knack. 

Fill my narrow bones

and flow full my veins. 

Leave me not alone

and let me be Your gain. 

Decompress

Sigh to nowhere.

Leave iris' empty. 

Become a coach. 

Smile at vapors. 

Cry with songs. 

Watch the waves drift you by. 

Prayer of Storms

In Your sway of paths

let me walk her well. 

Let ringlet fingers clinch

As we tread lamplight. 

Hold our arm's-length souls

over the tripping stones. 

She will cradle my fever,

I will snow globe her storm. 

Each howl sings our bones

to shiver our hearts close. 

Bring our melody up

from ground our soles churn. 

Shine peace in our dark,

show us the tightrope path. 

Guide us with Your song

as we sing Your chorus. 

18

Now your an adult

and as a result

you'll be able to buy a lottery ticket. 

But to your chagrin 

you probably won't win,

and you'll tell them where to stick it. 

But then they'll pull out a shotty

and aim it at your body

and your adult ninja skills will kick in. 

You'll flip round that gun

(it'll be a lot of fun)

and from cameras your face they'll be pickin'.

They'll say you robbed the store

(and probably several more)

and you'll be framed left and right. 

They'll place on your murders

of desperate sheep herders

until the list so long runs out of sight. 

After all of the trying

they'll want you to be dying

as an adult you'll be tried fair and clean. 

They'll zap all your hair

in the electric chair

all because you're eighteen.

For Hannah because turned 18 today. Happy Birthday. :)

Kneed

Earth churning in my hands. 

Rubber band knuckles pull in and through 

what I kneed. 

Pour wet, salted anguish

into the rusty yeast. 

A splash of hope 

walks on the air 

and makes me white.

I kneed and find

my nose kissed with earthen love

and my fears relieved of duty,

grind my struggles into simplicity. 

A hard hands work softens the heart. 

All my wheat had fallen

but its new ground birth

gives me everything 

I need. 

Thanks to Rebecca for this Saturday's inspiration, "Making homemade bread."

Hey You

Hey you,

me and I think you should be

in a club with they and us and we. 

It'd be tons of fun

with stars and sun

and grassy spot from which to see. 

Because We and I and me

decide we did likes you in club to be

so see,

there should be more hangings out 

with us three or five and thee. 

So you,

Come be with us and they 

and me and I 

with secret codes

and warm abodes

with chilled night skies. 

Because your eyes are glowed

and your hair wind blowed

is as pretty as pretty can be,

and we and I and me and they 

invited you with glee to be

in a club for free

so what do you say?

Will You stay?

Sincerely,

We and I and They and Us and Me

Dueled Prince

I am the dust and ash left behind and eaten. 

I slip narrow ways into fein idols 

and dead pleasures until I join their king. 

I sit prince of a kingdom

in a castle in which I do not belong. 

I rule here in my cancer 

full of hot air and deflating balloons. 

Wait for me as I burn 

and try to learn 

how to be home. 

Mid-Life Questioning

Drained stains fill the floor

and all the desire faints. 

Bitter sips pour from lips

and happiness taints. 

Unsecured and inferred

mayo spread too thin. 

Flop down, drop down

into pits of chagrin. 

Hold tight to little light

on crumbled knees to bust. 

Father sates and abates

the darkness when there's trust. 

Porn

Bacon dressed in nothing

draws out the tongue. 

Salt drives the user 

to thirst more desperate. 

Pavlov's man learns

everyone is meat. 

Every curve a treat

to be consumed. 

Pig ears nibbled,

bit biting legs,

breasts, loins driven 

to animal consequences. 

Every sliver walks

and boys keep young.

Drooling troughs fill

and the meat loses sweet. 

Every slice pulls

pleasure's promise,

and laughs loud

at the empty oral cavity. 

Supermarket's ease

prevents the hunt,

starves the gaze,

and sizzles home alone. 

Fattened man is ready

to be sacrificed

and feed the hungry demons

who bent his love to sinews. 

He bakes in his own juice,

heart empty,

stomach full,

wondering where his woman was. 

Ocean of the Blind

The sweet sunrise fell on my shoulders

and I burned under its weight. 

I waited for the crisp crinkle of my skin

to pull the tears back into my eyes. 

I didn't know how rotted my hands were

until I was free and they were healed.

My heals shot my legs full of the old bones

and I felt the purging and repossession of my veins. 

In vain I tried to pull my new appendages from the sky

and the firm hands wept lakes because I was weak. 

A week went by and my own power 

was only enough to break me there. 

They're are better ways, meant ways,

for one to grow from the old into the new. 

I knew I had to let go and be cradled again 

as the child I became when He brought me home. 

He homed in on my soul, flamed and burning empty, 

and taught me to fly but I was no pupil. 

My pupils dilated and I chose to know the dark

instead of a Father's loving light; I would not see. 

My cried sea filled my void in great gushes of water

and salt dry my hopes and bones bare. 

I bear this dark ocean of weight in place of a feather load

as the lighthouse gently calls my name. 

Sleep Deprivation Haikus

Eyelids exhausted

Eyeball hug deprivation

Eye go down with nod

Bed calls long distance

"I'll come back to you," on phone

My sweet cuddling friend

My empty arms want

Special lady; pillow grasped

I'm super squishy

Clock wars against bed

Treadmill time until sweet rest

Both us are run down

Now I lay me down

Warmth spreads its wings over me

Sleep holds soft my face

Tubing

Hovered above heaven's shore,
a breath aloft of celestial beach.
Gaze downward upon the passing loom,
nose kissed to suspension's wet keep.

A sky full of white-sanded, dark rocks,
pass fishless along subtle gravity's path.
Wind to rested lumps that cradle
a lullaby across miles unknown.

Wind's serenade and light toppling chorus,
soft over rapid's secret whisper.
Zion's radio lilting a shadow,
of promised bliss and perfect love.





Thanks to Jessica for this Saturday's inspiration, "Tubing."

No Big Deal

I didn't mean anything by that,

by the way. 

By the way, 

that didn't mean anything. 

Nothing was meant. 

Meant nothing by that,

by the way. 

It was just a day, anyway. 

Anyway it was just a day. 

A day I put your lights out,

so you wouldn't see. 

You wouldn't see without your lights,

anyway. 

Anyway, 

you didn't need to see. 

You didn't need to see me,

anyway. 

Anyway. . . 

No big deal, 

really. 

Really,

no big deal. 

No big deal at all. 

All of it was no big deal. 

Just a throat, it was. 

It was just a throat. 

Don't worry,

you didn't need that airspace. 

Always were a little air headed,

you. 

You with all that air in your head. 

You didn't need room for air,

Don't worry. 

It'll be fine,

Alright?

Alright,

It'll be fine. 

Just fine. 

Maybe not better,

but fine. 

Everything will be fine. 

It was just a nail. 

A little nail, at that. 

At that funeral,

I packed. 

A little nail holding you down. 

You didn't even know it, at that. 

At that funeral I nailed.