POEMS, POEMS, POEMS

 EXCUSE THE POETRY

OR

ALWAYS…

Me scary

Me spooky
Excuse the poetry

But that’s just me

That is who I am

A spirit of blood

And fire

Though it may not be

My desire

It’s what I do

I scare people

Like me

And you

And excuse the poetry

But that’s just me

 Or someone once told me

And I scared you

Didn’t I…?

Scare you...

I’m esoteric

When I should be

Practical

And did I spell that right

And did it make a difference?

I would like to think

That it did

And sometimes

That’s all we’ve got

Hope to cope

Now may I have the permission?

You see I’m on a secret mission

To write about the angels

When I sleep

But I see no angels

And I talk to none

In my dreams

At this time

Was the ticket

Worth the trip?

To hell and back

With my brother

On my back

But he’s not a burden

And when he’s not hurting

Then Neither am I

Away and back again

Or never having left you

Out of my mind

Well, you said

I was mad, rad, and insane

And now you’re going to find

How true to your words

You were

And who was to blame

Even as the war rages

In my own mind

How much chaos

Is in these bloody

Mad Wars?

But we’ll fight through them

And maybe find freedom

Peace

And tranquility

I don’t desire to be

A bitter memory

I’d rather leave you be

With a happy tune

To remember me by

Oh—how I try

What I mean to say is

Pleasant Dreams

Or is it too late for that?

Too late to remember

That very fine day

Where all the good people won

Everybody and everyone

As one…?

But now I’m tired

Uninspired

It happens sometimes

But you provided the inspiration

And for that I thank you

For your kindness and grace

For the smile you put on my face

And I know that it

Will come around again

Like it always does

Always…

To My Far-off Friend

Through mystic means beyond men’s scope,

Two souls were destined to bring hope –

Hope that one day things will change

And thus increase their footsteps’ range.

If my humble verse affords some hope,

And helps him with his demons cope,

Then I shall have this day done well,

To help him rise from his own hell;

For Hell is born in any guise,

And within a happy home can rise.

So thus it did in my own life,

Its early part unmarked by strife.

But others like my far-off friend

Have greater cause to see no end –

No end to a life of bleak despair

Which no strict preacher can repair;

For threats of Hell should have no place

To steal all hope from misery’s face.

Instead, a hand one should extend,

Without demands that have no end.

And yet without love’s fond embrace,

Which in his youth was found no place,

He strove and managed to survive,

And keep his feeble hopes alive.

He rose above what I have not,

And found that which I long have sought:

A partner whom he can embrace,

And by whose side all obstacles face,

And with a resilience that I desire

Has found that to which I still aspire.

But I shall not give up just yet,

Nor because of Fate’s cruel scowl fret,

For fight within me does remain,

To see that one day joy I’ll gain.

Having read the poem that I composed for him, Timothy asked that I explain its significance and what led me to write it for the benefit of his readers. The first four lines reference the fact that we were, to quote Timothy, “serendipitously” brought together by my having read an exposé that he had written on an unscrupulous publisher with a criminal record. 

Ironically, both Timothy and I had sent our manuscripts to him within a week of each other. I was just about to sign this con artist’s contract when I decided to do a bit of research on him, and that is when I found out that he had been convicted of security fraud and various other criminal activities. Then I stumbled upon Timothy’s justifiably scathing attack on “the methods” of this vile man and his minions. So, the fact that two writers, working on novels of the same genre, with several things in common, should thus “meet” is certainly a wild coincidence – if, in fact, coincidences are all that common. Since then, we have begun collaborating on a sequel to an already finished novel of his, and are supporting each other in our endeavors, in the fervent hope that we will achieve the success that we have both long sought.


The next several lines (from “If my humble verse affords some hope...” to “Instead, a hand one should extend, Without demands that have no end...”) describe our own unique demons with which we have to grapple daily. As those of you who read Timothy’s blog know, he suffers from various mental disorders which affect him every day. Some days are worse than others for him; and I can certainly relate to that, as I have suffered from chronic depression for over 25 years, and from OCD since 1977 (I was born in 1967). 

To make matters much worse, the very first antidepressant that I was prescribed induced seizures, which I still occasionally have. Nonetheless, I managed to get a B.A. and then a Master’s degree in Classical Languages & Literature, and my Master’s thesis is published in one of the libraries on the campus of the university that I attended. Besides my own horror novel, I have also written many poems and for several years have been working on my magnum opus: a heavily annotated history of Ancient Israel. Still, in spite of the fact that I try to keep busy, every day is a struggle, and I can’t seem to find the right medication that might help me. Timothy has been very supportive whenever we have spoken on the phone, and I try to speak words of encouragement to him. Ironically, he seems to deal better (on the whole) with his demons than I. 

Hell is indeed “born in any guise,” as I wrote; for I had much love and affection showered upon me as a child (an only child), whereas Timothy’s childhood years were far from happy. Yet he rose above them, and, even more significantly, above the hell of living on the streets for three years, to become one of the most empathetic souls that I have had the privilege of knowing. He has spoken to me of the supposedly well-meaning “fire and brimstone” style sermons to which he was subjected while ensnared by what he calls a cult, and it is each leader of this cult whom I label a “strict preacher.” This type of preaching is what has led many to turn from the Judeo-Christian religion, since its message has long been distorted by men and women with little or no knowledge (as I have) of how the corpus of Jewish and Christian writings came to be, and of the editorial processes that occurred to form what we know as the Bible. What is usually spewed from pulpits is not “pure” Christianity, but the teachings of Christ as filtered through the misogynistic, hate-mongering Paul, whose mind-numbingly boring epistles form such a large part of the New Testament. And thus I feel that “threats of Hell should have no place to steal all hope from misery’s face.” The last ten lines of my poem address my own frustrations and nebulous hopes, and contrast them with aspects of Timothy’s life. I hope that I have successfully elucidated the inner meaning of my work and that some of you appreciate and understand its message.


--Stephen Clothier

And why a man of such depth and eloquence is unable to find a publisher and/or agent, goes to show how much the majority of agents and publishers lack the proper intelligence to apparently screw in a light-bulb without asking for assistance. Stephen’s work should have been published years ago—I dare say even before I found publication. But once again it goes to show that it doesn’t matter how good you might be at your craft; it is either who you know, or how proverbially fucking lucky you get… 

And this is why I have chosen Stephen to collaborate with me; for there are so few that show as much eloquence and depth that Stephen has shown himself to be quite capable of…my hat is, and always will be off to this talented and prodigiously striving gentleman and writer… 

Furthermore, why it is that my work got through to be sent to Clive Barker, and Stephen’s was prevented from doing so, was obviously just the luck of the draw; for in a perfect world he should have had no trouble getting his work submitted. And will Clive Barker ever see my work...? Does the Universe give a wit...?

I think not...

Which brings me to often times wonder why either one of us have to continue to try to prove anything to anybody is also proverbially moot, when we both have our own arduous obstacles to contend with… 

In closing: If Clive Barker never reads my work, it will merely further elucidate and illustrate the condition and nature of this world, and its grand ignorance as well as it's--so often times--misplaced, doo-da luck and fortune; and why often times I would just as soon get off this wondrous blue-green gem. 

However, if I ever do have an audience with Clive Barker, I will do all within my capacity to see that Stephen has an audience with Mr. Barker as well; for Stephen’s success has become as important to me as mine own…

--Timothy Goodwin

 

I AM

The fart stinks most

When we want it

The least

And all this time

We’ve been taking

In the aroma

Of the breath

Of the beast

While we allow

The Magician

To ride

The back of the train

Of Eternal Flame

Never to proclaim

Anything else

Save that which he is

And never coming forward

Until he is needed

Like Sitting Bull

The Mystic

Who knew the way

Of The Hidden Path

The Magician sits

And contemplates

Conceptualizing

And rationalizing

And waiting for you

To ask

What you will ask

And all the while

Knowing how

To put you

On the proper path

Any fool can do magic

They only need know

What to do with their hands

How to use their voice

But the Magician

Knows how to perform

Real Magcick

And that you can count on

Still, no epiphany

Will ever negate

The Magician’s responsibility

And the choice to choose

The Fool over the Magician

Is always yours to make…

ONE

There was a poet

And a songwriter

But he didn’t know it

The latter

Was hidden by him

Either by chance

Or by choice

Though it came out

In his words

And in his verse

Which was also hidden

Either by chance

Or by choice

Even as it was unconventional

He had no chorus

He was a one-man band

That took the hand

Of those who heard

His words

Even as he led them

To a mirror

So they could see

All there is to see

And from one sea

To another

They came to recognize that

They would be

One with all those

That took the hand of the other

And that of the artist

And became one

By choice

Or by chance

THE DOG WITH TWO BONES

You may try

To say the right thing

At the right time

However

Sometimes

You find

That others

Aren’t of the same mind

Mirror mirror  on the wall

What does it say

Of us all…?

A need to come

A need to go

A need to dance to

A different tune

You try

To get on the same page

But all the rage

Has the world flying away

And no one has the time

To listen anymore

You’ve probably heard it before

About the dog with two bones

The canine sees his reflection

In the pond

And sees another dog

With another bone

And decides he wants

That one too

But soon he finds

That it’s all in his mind

And that there is no other dog

But it is too late

He opens his mouth

To grab the bone of the other

And finds now he has none

So let us cherish our friends and loved ones

And value the things

We can find

And share

With one another

And learn to value

What we have

For what we want

May just merely be

Illusions of the mind…

WHAT LIES BENEATH

What people don’t know

Those that refuse to see

Those who think that

They choose quantity of life

From quality

I beg to differ

Instead I perceive

Your Hereafter

Lies with the voices

In the wind

So believe what you choose

And refuse what you refuse

But I no longer have anything

To lose

 You have taken my life

You will not have my dream

I will keep mine

Even as you lose yours

And when it comes time

To judge me as you do

And call me tainted

Or otherwise untrue

I will be far from here

And I will see

That it is your own reflection

That you see

In the mirror

I am out of here

And you can analyze the situation

To me it’s all

Just mental copulation

In the long run

That is all it comes down to

Between me and you

Now--what am I

Guilty of…?

 

THE ETERNAL HERO

Monday, April 5, 2010

THE ETERNAL HERO

I stood on the edge
Of oblivion
And looked down
Into the dark Abyss
Of chaos and madness
And my heart filled
With a fathomless
Sadness

Musing in despair
Of what might have been
Wishing for
That which might still be


The ghostly whispers
Of voices in the wind
Fill my head
With a song of dissonance
I'm never going
Back again...


I died a thousand times

In a thousand ways

So that I could come back

And pave the way

For you to embrace

The Eternal Sunshine

I battled my way

Through the demons

Of Darkness

With my sword of flame

Adrianna is her name…

My island is

In the equidistance of

The Seas of Times Reflections

And I have steered my way

Through the waves

Countless times

But I would do it all again

Just for the line

To complete the Final Rhyme

Between you and me

But if you search

You will find

That I just left

To do it all again…

If you listen
You may hear
Adrianna's song
In the whispers of the wind
Come lately
And time and time bygone


I no longer have
Any desire
For dreams unseen...

Monday, April 5, 2010

CLOSE THE DOOR

CLOSE THE DOOR

So what happens when she becomes a monster

And you are reduced to a piece of furniture?

And you find that there ain’t no way

To get away from the situation?

Though it may be the plagues of negativity

Even as you strive toward prosperity

I delicately

Extricate

With tact and precision

Removing myself

From the possession

Never to be attached to it again

Lest by my choosin’

I’m still learning

And I feel like I am burning up

In the flames

Made by the explosion

Of the powder kegs

With a few simple words

I can build it up

Or cast it down

But I will not be a clown

Unless I choose

I am tired of feeling used

And that’s how it’s been

Time and again

And I can’t even explain why

If only I could paint the sky

And heal the hurt that no one could

Maybe then we would be understood

But as it stands now

The show must go on

And the one

To play the leading roll

Is gone…

I never wanted to be mean

But you turned so ugly

So fast on me

And even though we shared smiles

And hugs

For awhile

And even though you painted my world blue

And made it seem all too true

I’m sorry girl, but I have to be leaving now…

Didn't think I could Rap did ya'?

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

DULL

DULL

There are those it would seem

That can rob the wetness

Out of any dream

And with their mere presence

They can steal away

The color of the day

So that everything

Is colored in shades

Of steel gray

Or like a tomb

Before noon

While they talk the hours away

Half of the time not even hearing

What it is they say

It is all for them

And none for all

And if you are compromised

By their negative energy

Beware the fall

For there is no one above

That is listening

Or paying attention

No one that cares

To do anything

About the way

That life should be

They say that the rain falls

On the just

And the unjust

Yet it seems

That it is the unjust

That manages always

To snag the Brass Ring…

And if this is what it means

To be right

Then why shouldn’t I

Want to be wrong?

For I have heard the song

Of dissonance

A cacophony of tin cans

Slamming together

Drowning out any words

You might have to say

And what do your words

Mean anyway

In the Grand Scheme of Things…?

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

LETTING GO

LETTING GO

And when the stream

Has washed me clean

And I retrace my steps

To gather up

What remains of my dream

I learn

That a divine light

Has made

The self-centered blind

To who I am

And what I might be

And so they cannot see

The treasure laid out before them

Neither can they realize

Their own dream

Never having lived it

In the decades

Where breath remained in them

Whereas I live my dream

On a day to day basis

And it is something

That cannot be

So easily

Taken from me

For I have lived it

For decades as well

Never selling out

Never giving up

Each day complimenting

The next

And showing me

That a Dreamer never dies

It is shame

That they will never know

All that was waiting for them

If they had just learned

To let go…

MIRROR RHYME: BITCH OR BEAUTY?

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

MIRROR RHYME: BITCH OR BEAUTY?

Well- it really sounds like things are falling into place for you

In some areas they are falling into place for me too

Now, if I could just learn to take a sabbatical

From sensitivity

I would like to do that

Take a long-needed vacation

From all that I have done

--or tried to do

Without all the negativity

Clouding my reasoning

Leaving me to wonder

If I am in the right place at the right time

And wondering whether or not I am

In the right state of mind

Oft I feel I sit forever

In the Seat of Judgment

--and that seat rests

In an Abyss of Despair

Where I am forever

Immobilized

While I stare into the void

Of nothingness

Unable to help anyone

In need of repair

That is one talent

I never want to lose

The capacity for healing

The intuition of feeling

Where I might help another

Who has lost their way

However, I need time to heal too

And that doesn’t seem to be

Part of the deal

That I can assimilate

Before I am yet late again

And then I somehow get side-tracked

Grinding gears and metal

Even as I try to slow down

While the world forces me

To drive fast and swerve

And it makes it sometimes impossible

To be of service

To those I care about

--even as I separate

The wolves from the lambs

The lambs from the sheep

Even as they are led to the slaughter

Leaving me to ponder

If any of it is worth a damn

I let them be

The Judge

Jury

Executioner

Does the dream live

Or does it die…?

And before I go

Can I have just one last look

At the sparkle in your eye…?

You know the one

That reflects the smile on your face

The one that can make me feel exalted

Where no other can take its place

If I cannot have it all

Can I at least have this moment

And the twinkle in your eye…?

At least before I go blind

From the majesty

Of the moment in time…

I should stop here

But the world says

The show must go on

And I find

That after a time

There is one

Who doesn’t like the rhyme

Doesn’t care for the line

Judge

Jury

Executioner

She tells me that I’m wasting my time

That I shouldn’t even bother with the rhyme

That I should stop feeling sorry for myself

Yet in my eyes

As I look into hers

I currently have no tears

Honestly

Even as I gaze

Into the reflections

To the mirrors of my soul…

THE RUB

THE RUB

In ten years

Plus eight

I have never insulted

Her tears

Or left them open for debate

Yet she informs me

Disgustedly

That mine are full

Of self-pity

Can she not see

Any tears that I cry

Are ones of doubt

For the pain

I might inflict

When my brain is raging

Or my inability to stand tall

Before she has to shout

Even as I

Try to sort things out

No—

And she doesn’t have to

She wears the mantle

--it must be nice

I cannot wear it

Though I might request it twice

From the Universe

And any powers that be

She is the rub

The conundrum

In the poem

Between

All that is seen and seems

To be

My hopes

And my dreams

Yet I did not marry her

She is not my mother

Though I am beloved of her daughter

Who may at times

See me

In the same light as she

Or as a piece of furniture

Sometimes I cannot

Be sure

Though I tried to be a Romeo

I seem to make a better Macbeth

And could I hope

Or could I pray

That the parody might end

With my death?

Perhaps

After my body is burned

The lesson learned

I can learn

To smile again

Try though I might

I cannot seem to get through

And if all this is true

Then to spill my guts with a blade

Would merely be a waste of time

And if I were to become a Book of Blood

For all the ghosts that haunt me

In her eyes

I think

It still would not matter

Oh—why do I bother?

She wears the mantle

Is keeper of the purse

And I cannot walk on water…

BIG BOYS DON’T CRY

Author: Timothy Goodwin

 BIG BOYS DON’T CRY

 I’m not crying right now

Honestly I’m not

And apparently it would seem

That my tears

Throughout the years

Have been misunderstood

Seldom have I cried in self-pity

Instead my tears are usually

That of self-doubt

Tears I shed

Even before you shout

While I

Try to sort things out

Tears of failure

Tears of despair

Before the cloth is wrung out

A confident man

Has no need for tears

Save those that are righteous

Well, now, that just figures

Without you

I may never have confidence again…

 

All Alone

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 417
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All Alone

To all those who still believe in the Magic, and try to keep it alive…


I may be passing soon
But only if it’s in written in the stars
And life has truly been a boon
I should have passed sooner, based on the scars
I have not
And I still don’t know what my purpose is
Do I have the permission to feel sorry for myself now?
Not that I want to you understand
But I did want to sing a different tune


I did my best to spread a little happiness
Throughout the pages of my years
And I learned that there’s more life in a dying rose
Than in one that has never bloomed at all…


I sailed the torrential Sea of Times Reflections
Without trying to insult those around me
I uplifted my neighbors, and even my enemies
—but not always by choice


Burdened down with tears
I learned
Life is the sandbox that we never grow out of
It just gets bigger


We have been taught to hurt those that don’t agree with our beliefs
Even by those religious leaders that we put our sole trust in
But what good comes out of it
In the end?


Celebrities forever make more money than martyrs
All the while they hurt those that would love them
I’ve never understood the way that some treat the treasures that they have
That others will never know


So is it the penniless that understand love better
Do the blind have sight?
When there are those that refuse to see at all?


I have been called many things
A poet
A writer
An artist
Multi-talented
But never truly knowing success
Save for the wife I married


And I tried to knit a tapestry the size of the world
Reflecting my soul
Perhaps others will succeed
Where I have not
No, I don’t seek the sorrow of others for what may soon pass
And this isn’t fancy poetry
If it is poetry at all
I pray only this
That what I offer is not an illusion
Hopefully I speak the truth
And if I was given the opportunity to say just one thing
It would be this
Try a little kindness
With the one next to you
Regardless of their belief
Their philosophy
Or sexual preference
Especially if they have no intention of casting a stone
Because we’re all in this together
No one gets out alive
And when the final curtain falls
We will be all alone…

Xeldarine

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 231
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Xeldarine

I have spied your eyes milady Xeldarine
and seen them glisten
with sadness beneath the nimbus of star-shine
A sadness that should not be
for one so fair as thee…


And all too quickly they might become embers
to sear the soul of virtue itself
while your countenance
a glowing gossamer veil
only found in the moonlight of dreams
wherein the bosom of strength controlled is denied the dreamer’s touch…
Your lips could make a rose most crimson, hide its petals in shame
but to kiss them the dreamer risks the thorn-prick of the rose itself…


Your stature and form is carved in the likeness of Dhi’hana
even mirroring the Goddess of the Hunt herself
And the god Cyric—if he has any intellect at all
would bow at thine feet…


I have become the dreamer who would risk a kiss
the touch of your skin
all the while knowing that I could become irretrievably lost
in the equidistance of your wondrous eyes
and never again desiring to return to this world of madness that has carved our destiny… 


For in its adversity would it try to rob you of your finest treasures
your most divine delights…
I would therefore offer you a moment’s peace
an evening of pleasure’s passion in the heat’s embrace
where we might together drive away the world’s madness…for a time.
If…you would have me…

Dream Perspective

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 369
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Dream Perspective

Philosophy for dreamers and idealists—think pragmatic

DREAM PERSPECTIVE
Timothy Goodwin


I don’t know the song playing
Inside my head
I really don’t hear it all
Just the edge


I once held tightly to a dream
I wanted a princess
But instead I found a Queen
And I don’t know what’s the matter
But lately it seems
I’m not half the man
I wanted to be


Now I wait
For Someone to restore order
But I really don’t think
That’s going to happen


Days fade away
Years pass me by
And again there’s this glimmer of a tear
At the edge of my eye
I thought I had something to say
I guess it was just my imagination
It’s only the loss of a faded dying dream
That’s got me feeling this way
Damned if I don’t
Damned if I do
The price I pay
Days fade away
The world passes by
I grow older
Just watching the sky



And I grow colder from the chill of time
I can still hear the whispers
At the edge of my mind
But now I’ve also grown less bolder
Once bitten twice shy
I suppose this is the way
It’s supposed to be
But I wonder why
For wanting things to be better
Than I thought was reasonable
I guess I never
Should have been
So questionable


Damned if I do
Damned if I don’t
I suppose that’s just me
At least I still have my writing
Even if it’s only seen
As merely mental masturbation
We all need some kind of therapy


Just remember this, my friend
Take it to the end
If it isn’t bringing in the money
Your dream may be all you got
I know
I gazed with starry eyes
And have nothing to show


If it doesn’t cover the roof
Put food in your belly
Or clothes on your body
I’m sorry, my friend
Oh—so sorry
But your dream
Doesn’t mean
A damned thing


Still it’s yours to cherish
Don’t let anyone steal your dream away
I tried so very hard
To give the world
My Song
Bitter
Sweet
Blood, bone, and marrow
I guess it will
Never be done…
...But…
Then again
If I still have the promise of tomorrow
Then maybe…

Blind Sight

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 964
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Blind Sight

Probably the longest poem you might ever be inclined to read—intended to provoke thought…

BLIND SIGHT


While I had coffee
He had tea


A kind stranger once said to me
That God and he
Have been playing Chess
For more than thirty years
And three


Today I have Him in Check
An Impossibility?
I think He is a Sore Loser
‘Though He wanted to play the game
But when I take His pieces
He curses me
It is one and the same


While playing the game
The man asked God
Why is there evil in the world?
This is odd
Is it man?
Or is it the Devil?
And if it is man
Why was he made to be so unwise?
And if it’s the Devil
Why was life breathed into him in the beginning?
Certainly You knew what the repercussions would be for his actions
You knew he wouldn’t change things for the better
Only for worse
Yet You still brought this sour spirit into existence
And now there is a justification for such a curse?
Why?


And what about the countless infidels
That were destroyed by your holy fires
Certainly You realized that they could bring no harm to You
And if they threatened Your people
You could have cursed them
Instead You allowed even children to be butchered
And the virgins of the infidels taken as sport
In the name of righteousness?
What was the benefit in this?


And forgive me for saying
But what was the necessity
For all of the barbaric blood-sacrifices?
Would it not have been easier
To nail a dead animal to my door
And profess Your love in this manner
And nothing more


Rather than have the Innocent One tortured and mutilated
For my misdeeds?
Why such a chaotic activity
Not unlike the one you cast down
Am I too blind to see?
Too ignorant to realize
That man should not be beaten for being wise


For his unswerving devotion
For his gift of Serenity?
Yet for such an act that I perceive as psychotic
You have been hailed your Highness
As the embodiment of Love
And Kindness


I’m merely a man
But I want to understand
Why the Holy atrocity?
Why must there always be
A wretched bloody sacrifice?
Is this then the price
For True Wisdom?


The Light finally comes on
Only after your soul has been flayed countless times?
And what of Your people
Who are willing to kill others
Still holding fast to the belief
That same-sex marriage is an abomination in Your sight
And ignore the scripture
That unruly-children should be stoned to death
Is this still right?


Now I have learned the price of Love Unconditional
The price of Wisdom and Knowledge
The cost of disrespect and ignorance
I even went to college
I have learned the price of Justice
Freedom
And variance
And I pay the price
Not with blessings or kindness
But rather with curses and anger
Bitterness
For my understanding
Even for these words
I am cursed
‘Though I once had dreams
So long ago it seems
Severed now
Taken away
Strip at their seams
From the keenness of a double-edged sword
What does it all mean?


What is this Freedom of Choice that we are supposed to have?
Damned if you do
Damned if you don’t
Coercion is all I see
Look but don’t touch
Touch but don’t taste
Taste but don’t swallow
It all seems a waste of time
Vagaries and illusions
Clouding one’s own mind


I never knew a best friend
That could be so cold
So callus
So cruel
Never giving me the desired gem
Always making me climb the hill
Wrestling with a bulldozer
Ooh—what a thrill


And if the door is closed
Then so is the window
‘Though I still feel a chill


My most poignant of prayer
That I ever spoke
Was for me
To see
God as he Truly is
And not what the world perceives Him to be
And in all His omnipotence
Has he chosen to reveal Himself to me?
By His actions
And inactions
Is this then His Glory?


People say that God always answers prayer
Sometimes the answer is ‘”Yes”
Sometimes the answer is “No”
But if He refuses me my request
Then I’m led to believe
That there is something
He doesn’t want me to know


Yet if the answer was “Yes”
How could I be so wrong?
For across the oceans of time
I perceived the way
A wondrous God
Should be
But lately I’m not sure
If I like what I see
I’m sure I don’t like the song


And if the Good Book is True
I’m left with this perception
That He forgot His words
While hanging on a tree
He said: “My God, My God
Why hast thou forsaken me…?”
He pleaded even while dying
Or is this merely self-deception
For wanting to know the truth?


I further am led to believe
That He has risen above All That
And has cast the day of the tree
Far away from Him
Far away from His memory
Forgotten the day
Swept it away
Like dust under a rug
For now I perceive Him to be
So much loftier than the dreams we pray
Now and again
Or every day


And I’m no longer worthy of a hug
I played Chess with God
That is what He wanted me to do
But to win is to lose
And I never cared much for the game anyway
For more than thirty years
And three
The kind stranger said to me
Chess with God
Is what he was playing
Through a river of accumulated tears
The stranger told me
He had God in Check
I wondered if that were possible
But God only knows
And after all this time
He’s not saying…

The Hidden Ones

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 314
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The Hidden Ones

The Hidden Ones no more about the illusion of life than most—they are cursed for their knowledge…

THE HIDDEN ONES


What is this baleful institution
This hidden conspiracy
That they somehow seemed marked with-where they literally see
The dying of their dreams
With articulately exquisite finality?


Where they are bound in shackles
And forced to walk
The valley of scarcity


They have been good
If only for the sake of goodness
Yet they fight when provoked to do so
—discovering that choice is merely an illusion
The vagary of an idealist’s mind
They have struggled and persevered without end
Yet their curse seems to be
The persecution of unseen entities;
Wherein God and the Devil meld into one
-for there is no justice
That they can see,
Anymore than there could exist the Devil
Without the presence of God-save for in the evil that men do


Their tale is the beginning and end of sorrows
And they become as martyrs
With no Grace from the Divine
What then is their purpose?
If they serve not themselves but others
Without the light and promise of redemption
Who do they ultimately serve?


Nonetheless the Unseen Witnesses frown at their best intentions
Even as they are cursed to live the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner
And who will remove the albatross from their necks?
Will they ever be able to appreciate
The glory of the sun
When the Son of man has forsaken them?


Herein lies their Grand Finale
And why have they become prisoners of pain and sorrow
When theirs is the hope of a brighter tomorrow
—challenging all opposition to the letter
Trying to make it all better?


People believe what they read;
But no one was awake
To hear
The prayer of God
In the Garden of Gethsemane
For them then it is ignorance
—not wisdom, that has the final word
And their blindness becomes sight
Beyond all that which is seen
In The End and throughout Infinity…

If only...

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 179
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If only...

If only... belongs to the following groups:

LEFT WING VALUES AND POSITIVE GLOBAL AWARENESS

 

If only
We could see
Beyond the vagary
Of what we believed
To be the Truth for so long
Then we would know
Without a shadow of a doubt
Where it is
We went wrong




If only we could see
Beyond ourselves
To those living
On the edge of the night
We could encourage them
Even in their weakness
That they are strong




If only we could see
That prejudice
Is only as useful as neglect
And that peace
Cannot be forced
Only perceived
Then would we see
That we hold the key
To unlock any doors
Of opposition
And see with the wisdom
That we have refused ourselves
For so long




Then would we realize
That we have the potential
To reshape the cosmos
But with a little maturity
And we would understand
That it isn’t necessary
To be old to be wise




And we would perceive
That choosing to be blind
Only robs us
Of all life’s treasures
The answer isn’t found
Between the covers
Of books
It starts where it ends…
From within

Hyde from Me

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 362
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Hyde from Me

The daily struggle with bipolar-mixed disorder and schizoaffective tendencies…

I can be all things
To most people
The Magician
The Sandman
But when my potion fails
So does my plan


You don’t want to be
Near me
You don’t want to stray
Too close
When the veil is gone
The Beast gets lose


And there is no telling
What it will do
After it has clawed through
The disguise
‘Neath my eyes


For I try to see in color
Or even in shades of gray
But it only sees
In black and white
What it perceives to be wrong
And what it perceives to be right


And I have to try often times
To be very strong
Lest I lose sight
Of what I have become


But the beast is crafty
Like a demon
With knowledge
Of ages gone by
And it uses twisted logic
Against me
That takes all my fortitude
To see the truth
Behind the lies
A daily conflict
A continuous fight
That goes on
Between myself and I
Don’t stray too close
Lest the abyss looks into you
And I will try to find my way
Through the fog
Through the darkness of night
Using my integrity
To try and set things right


It isn’t easy
It is never easy
Though my actions
Might suggest otherwise
When the beast is loose
I hear voices
Whispers in the winds
Of my mind
Trying to confound me
To lose sight
Of who I am


So far I have been overall successful
Through the battle
That rages on
Fighting my way
Through a maelstrom
To find stronger ground
But now and again I will lose
A skirmish or two
And when that happens
It’s best that you don’t
Find me around


Whispers in the winds
Of my mind
Over the years
They have turned out to be
So unkind
If you search for me then
You won’t find me there
I have stepped out
Replaced by one
Who doesn’t care
And this is the part of me
I don’t want to share
But like it or not
Loose or bound
It remains a part of me
Somewhere…


I can be all things


To most people
The Magician
The Sandman…

Fallen from Grace

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 309
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Fallen from Grace

A fallen angel’s ghost on the whispers of the wind…

There was a time
Not far from my mind
When I wanted to be
The Apple of His Eye
Though no matter how hard I tried
No matter how many times my heart would break
No matter how many rivers I cried
No matter how many claims I staked
I could never seem to find
That secret chord
That perfect rhyme
Always unable
To tune my harp
To please the Lord
Though I never meant to stray
The music of the other sheep
Always kept me at bay


And soon I was to learn
That I was destined to walk the streets alone
I sometimes wonder about my former King
And if I did anything
That was pleasing to His heart


Now I shrug with indifference
Never caring to run interference
And realizing that the party was never one
That I was invited to


He has so many at His table now
It doesn’t seem to matter anyhow
One less plate
Means one less mouth to feed
Though I heard it professed that He fed the multitude during His Sermon
One less guest
Means one less person to entertain
And although He might call me from a distance
I no longer care for His words
Now that He is a celebrity
Gone Hollywood
His Perfect Plan
No longer includes me
If it ever did


I gave my song
That I had to give
Now I look for a chance to live
And search for a party
Where I feel invited
I look for a plan that includes
The integrity of an atypical man…


I ask now that you don’t try to save me
It is far too late
Too much time has passed for me to care
If you’re looking for me you won’t find me there
I just left
Leaving just my memories behind…

Castaway

Author: Timothy Goodwin
Word Count: 263
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Castaway

I sit for days
Sometimes years at a time
By my life-line
Hoping for the door
Or window of opportunity
To open for me


The one that will complete
The Final Rhyme
In the song
That I have longed for
After all I have tried for thirty years
It seems like ninety
A fleeting moment
Within the walls of purgatory


And I have cried
An ocean of tears
Standing on my island
Waiting for my ship to come in
Having tossed countless bottles on the waves
With messages in them


Have I somehow angered the prognosticators of the fates?
Is my dream truly so unreasonable?


Why then was I inspired to reach for the unattainable?
Easier it would have been
To go to school and become and Engineer
A Doctor
A Lawyer
Rather than traverse these valleys of trials and tribulations
Daily fighting with a bulldozer uphill
Is the Road Less Traveled
Truly all that it is cracked up to be?
Or is it merely another vagary
A convenient analogy
For someone who finally got lucky?


I believed that integrity mattered
I thought I was being charming
But apparently Lady Ms. Fortune
Seems to think otherwise


So where lies the key
To the treasure chest of my dreams?
Not in my heart as the High Priest once suggested
If that were the case that fucker would have been unlocked years ago
And who knows why the cold wind blows?
I do; simply because it can
But why the sun refuses to shine
When you need it the most
I will never understand…

SUICIDE NOTE OF THE SIMULACRUM: NOWHERE MAN - WITHOUT A SOUL

Author: Timothy Goodwin
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SUICIDE NOTE OF THE SIMULACRUM: NOWHERE MAN - WITHOUT A SOUL


A work of fiction—note the shock-value, and please respond kindly…



Well this is it
I appear to be having a psychotic break
As a result of ineffective medication
That, coupled with schizoaffective tendencies



The ghosts whispering in my ear



And distorted reasoning
Makes me recognize that life is a lesson in futility


I awake
And I’m opposed
I try to go around or through the opposition
And I am opposed again


And yet again the ghosts whisper to me
While others laugh maniacally


What do you want from me…?
The Path of Least Resistance…?
The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse are scheduled
To come by for a visitation
And they are not bringing flowers



They could favor me with a pair of garden sheers
I have the strong desire to pluck out my right eye
And that seems like the perfect implement
For performing the extraction


Oh-just hear the cheers
Of Jubilation

-
Of course they could also just send someone
To kill me in their stead
That would solve everyone’s problems
—including mine…
I’ll laugh while everyone cries
I’ll cry while everyone laughs
And eventually
I will recognize
That the joke was on me…


I tried to be good
And they just closed their eyes
So when I am bad
I leave a scar in their mind
Like a splinter
In the eye of the mind
That sticks to them



Like an eyeball
To a cactus


Then they have the audacity to ask me why.



Why am I being so cruel?
I must be a fool
To think that an imitation
Ever mattered at all…


How can a simulacrum die?
If it never truly lived…?



I’m not real
Just an imitation
I can’t offer you affection
Or compassion
No inspiration



Better to ask that of your leaders
And those you can trust
Look to them for encouragement
I could never truly feel
Because I was never truly real…
I know incontrovertibly
What it means to be
A Nowhere Man…




A Stranger in a strange land
That is what I am
That is what they made me to be
But they never really wanted
For me to live
Only to give…



But apparently I failed to do
What they wanted me to
Failed to be
All they wanted me to be
I can only see
With the eyes that they gave me
And the treasures
They will never understand…



I tried to take hold of their hand
To reach them
But there is only one
That knew me…



And that one is gone
There time is done
And now what will I become
As one
Without a soul…?



I’ve been wearing gloves for so long
--they told me to
I forgot what my hands look like



But they warned me
If I take the gloves off
Shit gets real



And I supposed it did
I will never know
Because I could never
Really feel



For thirty years I wore the gloves
Given to me
But someone forced my hand
I tried to be just a man
That is what they wanted me to be
They would not listen
I am what I am
Now they will hear my voice
In the halls of infinity…



I was duped
I tried to be something I knew I was not
They would have it no other way
I played right into their hand
Now I am listening to the band
Playing a song
Just a song
About the one
That never was
Or ever would be
Again…

MAYBE...

MAYBE…

--Timothy Goodwin (Earle Blessing)

And in the moment

When the energy is gone

Sadness reigns

Like a day where you miss the sun

And it’s only just begun

And somehow you got to

Get through

The hours

Though they might

Be filled with sorrows

And no one is bringing you flowers

A tear might slip from your eye

That you don’t let anyone see

Because you got to be strong

No matter what the afternoon deigns…

And you didn’t think

That your heart could be

This blue

Again

You thought that you had been through it all

And you were so strong

And now you have to be stronger still

To realize that you were wrong…

The rain isn’t done with you yet

Till it washes you clean

And you see your dream

For what it is

A reality

Or a vagary

There is nothing that is in between

Except for me

And I’m there

Though you might not see me

There to see you through

No matter what it takes

I will lay the stakes

That help you make it back

To the path that calls to you

Before you journey back home

And if you call on the phone

And if I’m home

I will greet your voice

With a smile from my own…

And maybe together

We can convince the sun

To come out from behind the clouds

And warm your heart again

And if it helps

You can laugh

And you can cry

And you can see it through

Without knowing why

Without seeing the light

Save the one

That burns in your heart

Could it be enough

To convince the sun

To make the clouds part

And put the blue

Again where it belongs

In the sky

Up so high

Where those damned birds fly

And maybe their song

Is one of harmony

Or dissonance

Or maybe…just maybe

You could teach the birds

Just to sing

For you

For me

And maybe we will

See the sun

Before the day is through

And the darkness

Embraces the stars…