loneliness is for people who can’t handle alcohol

“Turn your head and cough.

          Everything seems fine.

                   May I make a suggestion?

                             Maybe you never were a poet.”

 

standing on a sidewalk

crosswalk before me

three a.m.

 

on the other side of the intersection

a car waits for the light to change

a man walks up to the car

pulls a pistol

and fires several shots at the driver

 

i stand frozen

watch as my mind finds the sound

the man runs off

 

a twenty four hour diner

empties as a crowd surrounds the car

cell phones dialing

 

i turn and walk away

the court jester never holds sway

at the round table

 

in this city nothing surprises me

violence is in its veins in an endless refrain

 

i put the plugs in my ears

blutengel fills my mind with a language

my father spoke but didn’t pass down to me

so i enjoy the beat and the electronic sounds

 

i can hear the sirens

soundtrack to l.a.

 

my mp3 is on random

switches to seelennacht

 

the violence was random, meaningless

the driver’s death was random, meaningless

tonight is random, meaningless

i spy a cat in the gutter

road kill

tonight i have had my fill

of the meaning of meaninglessness

 

i find OMD on my mp3

set it to play their “best of” album

take me back to a simpler time

when the only crime i witnessed

were the fans of hair bands

ridiculing the second british

musical invasion

 

a synthesized creation that i still love

even if the best of it now comes

out of germany

 

where am i going with this?

you ask

oh i forgot

you haven’t unlocked

that when i talk

i’m not coming to a point

with words i wander far afield

i’m just relaying

what’s displaying

there is nothing behind the viewing screen

when something happens

there is nothing to understand

 

but let me shut out these thoughts

listen to the album i bought

and sing,

“i was only dreaming”

 

***

in trouble again

i was at a book signing

should have self-published

instead of signing a contract

 

sitting at a table

in need of a shave

people clutching

the dark streets of decay

 

i had to get drunk to do it

 

then a little girl walked up

elementary school age

and announced that i was wrong

that not only does god exist

but that i would one day answer for my words

 

they swooped to sweep her from view

and i lost it

jumped out of my chair and yelled,

“leave her alone!

don’t you dare destroy her spirit!

in a world of chaos, confusion and cowards

that is the most courageous thing i’ve ever seen!”

 

yeah,

it was me they escorted out of the store

quoting the raven,

“nevermore’

 

only one day later

i have just received a text

that i have been dropped by my publisher

 

***

 

found among the foliage of forgotten poems

i use to be a poet now i’m nothing in between

the sheets are soiled from bodies coiled

an intimacy i could only share with you

 

faces look out their windows as i walk by

solitary faces watching a solitary figure

my soul knows that beyond the clouds

there is no universe

all meaning is right here, right now

the taste of salt on your skin

but i could only watch you leave

emptying rooms of all meaning

 

and the moonlight lights the corners of

          vacant sheets

even the devil wouldn’t wish someone

          so much pain

world on fire and i conspire to just sit here

          and watch it burn

 

a james blunt song brings forth tears

but the words are just words

and life was your skin on mine

evidence of the divine

something understood without the mind

collect calls are not a crime

but i can’t even collect myself

 

candles burn and i in turn extinguish

          with their last flames

the movie always ends with one last empty frame

 

***

 

the meanderings of a morose mind

the birds chirp with the advent of another day

bet they weren’t up all night

with a bottle of bourbon

walking the dark streets of decay

 

stepping inside

as the sun makes the night blink

does not make me goth

just someone who’s had too much to drink

 

a shower to wash off the stink

of cigarettes and sweat

crawl into bed

 

another night of nothing

walking, drinking

poetry, thinking

the meanderings of a morose mind

 

jenny won’t be home till tomorrow night

i’ll sleep while the city bathes in light

and when i wake

i will try and put an egg sandwich in me

before i crack open my first beer

 

***

 

dwelling on the fringes of literary obscurity

 leiahdorus fills the room

yeah if you haven’t figured it out by now

i like german electronic music

 

i hadn’t drank all day

just didn’t feel like it

then got notification

that a volume of poetry

i gave to my publisher

was just published

 

titled: soulevard

 

it was pretty much

everything i’ve written

before i started writing

the dark streets of decay

 

so i broke out the bourbon

the ice, the tumbler, the coca-cola

to celebrate

 

if i could calculate

i could tell you how many i’ve had

 

and i had been so well behaved today

pushed myself hard on the weights

ate protein all day

and drank lots of water

plenty in the place to drink

but last night when i was out

some guy mouthed off to me

and i went after him

 

once i calmed down

i hated the way i had lost control

so a day of sobriety was my penance

 

then i found out my book was published

with my second novel still to be released

and, well, here i am

 

leiahdorus slams into my walls

with sound waves

saying they have never seen the sun before

i need a different sound

so i put in santa hates you

turn up hexenpolizei

 

and realize just how boring all this is

jenny left today

some conference on something

i’m not controlling

so i actually wasn’t paying attention

and have no retention

of where she said she was spending

the next few days

 

but i still don’t feel like going out

my cat on my lap

no one to give me crap

 

and i really don’t care that my one

accomplishment

my writing

isn’t relevant

to the rest of the infestation

 

because as much as i smile

and nod my head when you talk

i am a nihilist

and exasperated with the stalks

that think there was meaning

in the sunshine, the seed

the soil and the shit used

as fertilizer that made

them delectable

ready for harvest

 

i divest

so congregate, extrapolate

i’ll segregate

to where it is understood

as common fucking sense

that nothing matters

 

in other words

i will dwell alone

 

***

link to another volume of poems published on kindle

http://www.amazon.com/Soulevard-John-Young-ebook/dp/B00OOCTEEI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1413806813&sr=8-1&keywords=soulevard+john+young

This is the brief introduction I wrote for the book:

This is a collection of most of the poems I’ve written over the years starting with the first poem I penned in June of 1978 when I was 17until late November of 2013 when I was 52 years old at which time I began writing the poems I collected into a separate book entitled The Dark Streets of Decay and since the completion of The Dark Streets I have been writing poems for its sequel. I’ve placed the poems in this collection in chronological order since that is how I have always kept them in my poetry journals. Hope you enjoy. 

i’m on the naughty list?

the moonlight searches the room

finds her face

fast asleep

keeping pace

with the dreams that midnight makes

linger in the maze of a mind

 

i left the dark streets of decay early

laid down beside her

just to watch the moonlight sigh

such a privilege to be allowed to shine

on perfection

 

why am i so angry?

drunk

brawling with strangers

 

tonto without the lone ranger

is an indian the white man

says has no worth

 

but what is worth?

birth?

you know what?

i just don’t know

 

but watching jenny breathing slow

a blanket covering a belly

that continues to grow

 

and i think meaning is

as i keep saying it is

it is and then it isn’t

 

and the moment magnifies

that there is no more meaning

than this

 

jenny denying me her kiss

with her slightly parted lips

signifying the stage of deep sleep

 

she stirs

all my senses purr

she focuses on me

asks what am i doing

 

i say,

“pack your bags honey

we’re going to hell”

 

she blinks then mutters,

“no more listening to

santa hates you for you”

then rolls over on her other side

her back creating a divide

wider than the grand canyon

 

i let my body slide

into the perfect spoon

my hand placed upon her pregnancy

 

but soon

i hear the slow breath

of one who has returned

to the deepest valley of sleep

 

i can hear the cat

incessantly clawing the litter

in the cat box

 

some sort of obsession

always displayed

after each and every use

 

i get up and feel obtuse

for the fragrance of my feelings

 

open a beer and slouch into the couch

should i go back out?

 

should i stop pretending i’m a nihilist

since all i ever do is search for some kind of meaning?

 

i perceive existence as so demeaning

and all you can do to console

is tell me i should be grateful

my life is not like the less fortunate

 

but all you do is confirm

and make firm

with such a squirm

that we are just worms

in the sand

and god

if he/she/it exist

does nothing more than

watch the ant farm

with morbid curiosity

 

but it makes more sense

while i watch the world suffer

in its present tense

to believe there just isn’t a god

 

why can’t i just accept the façade?

do as if doing is enough

 

instead of having everything

that i complained

while walking the dark streets of decay

was not choreographed into the ballet

 

but now is incorporated into the dance

that is maybe circumstance or chance

 

oh i am so done talking

going back out to resume walking

grab my half empty bottle of bourbon

to douse the flames

that are consuming the foliage of my mind

 

whatever it is i am hoping to find

among all which i have already found

i hope to drown out the sound

on this concrete l.a. ground

 

of that which will expound

the stitch which will be sewn

to make me whole

when all i have known

is this need for her tender touch

 

i don’t care if it is a crutch

put me in a wheelchair

and push me into her hospital

 

bring in the counselors

that will advise that the cure

will only work if i accept it

 

while my mind then strays

to the dark streets of decay

because you cannot

convince me that it is true

unless “I” make it so

 

***

prelude to the dark streets of decay

do you really think that at that moment

i cared about such things

the room was dark, the bed warm

and i was wrapped around her like a ring

 

i could feel her sleeping

and in that moment all i could think

was that i could be happy here

with her

 

gazing at the darkness that surrounded the bed

my mind only knew what it felt like

to lay there with her body pressed against mine

 

the moment changed

but the feeling didn’t

i stayed in love

through it all

i was enthralled

until the day she moved away

 

and now all i do is miss her

time passes but only one thing is clear

that after more than a year

i am still in love

and wish she were still here

forever, together

whatever may come

 

my time with her

was the only time in my life

i have ever truly been happy

 

(moments past midnight…)

 

the equality of emptiness

among my works made public

the poems from my past

that i wrote in meter and rhyme

have been the most popular

so with my left hand

curled around a coffee cup

and a pen in my right hand

i wrote tonight in the vein

of rhyming words in a refrain

but it just felt so juvenile

but maybe it wasn’t the style

i’m just not the person

i was when i wrote those poems

idealism was still part of my creation

now i’m just a creature

with nothing to feature

with meter and rhyme

i expressed passion

now i’m out of fashion

the future folds and draws the blinds

locks the doors, unplugs the signs

my torn jeans and worn out shoes

transport me and my flask of booze

anyway

there is no point to this progression

no place to put the period

signifying an end to the matter

they search the universe for possible chatter

but so far all they hear are

echoes from a vast emptiness

*** 

where butterflies go when it rains

can’t stop eating tonight

at the first stop i was at

they had hard boiled eggs

already peeled

simmering in some solution

in a huge jar

i ate four

while i was walking

i stopped at a deli

and had four hot dogs

with the works

then just a few miles in

i stopped at a cantina

and ate chips and salsa

while drinking beers

now with every corner i turn
my stomach yearns for tacos

i keep thinking about jenny

but after three nights straight

of pressing our bodies together

she sensed my restlessness

and suggested i go out for the night

cool

a jack-in-the-box

i do love their tacos

and this is my adventure

staring down the barrel

of another winter

as october reaches the twelfth

doubt i’ll see much rain

as everyone talks of drought

but i will walk this route

with or without water

the ultra sound shows

we will have a daughter

earlier i re-read

the dark streets of decay

and realized i am so far away

from the sadness of loneliness that lingers

of course the thing on which

to put my finger

is jenny

i haven’t changed

i still don’t believe

anything is arranged

it just is

and one day it isn’t

and the quality of quantum mechanics

qualifies

where butterflies go when it rains

these streets have known my feet

i smoke and bite my fingernails

and sweat to this l.a. heat

i think the tacos tilted the scales

and if you’re still reading my sordid tales

you will know i am all too human

my life does not flow

like a river to the sea

my tides and currents

break against a rocky shore

this is not a revolution

i am just reacting to need

and rarely getting anything right

my novels sucked

my poems have been decent

and the dark streets of decay

was my swan song and masterpiece

saying the squeaky wheel

does not get the grease

and trains run on time

so someone doesn’t get fired

if god is

he is not for hire

but i’ve already covered this

i live in harmonious bliss

because i don’t believe

there is a “why”

and that fairness and justice

are just concepts

fairy tales that try to spread

the butter evenly

high in the sky are just things we find

with telescopes that have different lenses

it just is

and then it isn’t

that’s why i say

the dark streets of decay

the los angeles i portray

is a really good place

to find a taco

but if you’re looking

for any other purpose

amid this decomposition

well, good luck with that

***