Pull the Trigger

Yea, I can’t quite shake the dreams that haunt me
those images that play out slowly drag on
black and white as if from another time
another sliver between now and then
a wedge between the past and the present
moving forward is a monumental task
and I’m spent man worn to the bone
sitting at a bar lifting a shot bartender’s special poison
like a gun to my head a little voice is whispering
pull the trigger
pull the trigger
but instead I wipe the sweat from my brow
hesitantly thankful for the distraction this time
it’s too warm in here the fan is stuck in repeat mode circulating a stale breeze and thoughts that don’t drift
hover like a helium balloon without the party high
they remain hyper focused details small minute
details – smell, senses, hot, cold, wet, dry, etc, etc…
old song mist the street I used to live on, lived on
searching for salvation self forgiveness God
and failing continually failing
shuffle buzzed stepping down a boardwalk
roaming around pinball wizard arcade
lights flash and maybe just maybe
I can call this hole in the wall, home.

©2017 TrilbyYates

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Berklee Story

A moment a shuffle throw one back
gently put that baby down
every musician has a Berklee story
none as poignant as mine
and you spin storytelling to a new high
I can’t recall the last time I laughed so hard
the last time I laughed…the last time

Memory lane dims and time fades
agony adds humor to anecdotal flamboyance
yes color sound sit back close your eyes
it’s all in the details not weighed down by accuracy
arbitrary facts and truth stretches
morphing into a piece of history – unlike yours and mine
hard times weave in and out of love hope
and death spirals 180 degrees slam on the breaks spin out

Back to my story mine not yours
you had your turn as the door opened
the sun hit your face you pulled your shades down
covering the clarity in your eyes and walked
kicking up some dust as a smoke screen
to what you were leaving behind…

Guitar in hand notes float nerves are razor sharp
slice a vein left wrist I can play that tune
six string benders sit high imperial wizards
academia brain teasers lost faith
when the gigs were few and far between
ivy halls Berklee stories credence to their talents
play three songs comfort zone lost in a jazz piece
too many bars long gone the acrobat
the riff moves on a fine wire tear drop
perfection to the bleeding hearts
unplug sit back and listen as vibrations continue to hum
lingering in the air paying its dues to the faithful
and words drop like petals from a lovers bouquet
clearing his throat he comments on three notes
that sound reminiscent of another day
and the great influencers carry no weight
in the grand audition halls of Berklee

©2017 TrilbyYates

Black Balloon

I fill my room with black balloons
helium high keeps me up at night
but that’s the least of my worries
and I have few in comparison
to years ago when I dreaded
the rise of the sun…or its setting

The clouds hang low every now and then
And off in the distance there is a haze
that can’t or won’t burn off for days and days
My personal prison wistfully floating
…and self-imposed
Familiar or not – it’s just my way
…reluctantly, I suppose
and I’m not sure how I ended black balloons shadows blended

The days slip by; the weekends turn around so fast
its remnants never leave they always stay
and wont resolve themselves until it’s far too late
so I continue to sleep walk night into day
I never see the sun set on the horizon anymore
because I can’t find the time to sit…or wait

Dreams fall short when purpose and angst
have met their match twisted ribbons I do adore
black balloons begin to fall leaving nothing
but latex shadows on the floor

Point of contention I do recall
this was never about you at all
This was never about you
and the dragons that you have slain
or the demons that sleep comfortably in my bed
and childhood pranksters do remain
…and black balloons shimmer in the night
drifting gently sweet-one as they dance with delight

©2017 TrilbyYates

Time Line Unwind

Late night street lights buzz and flicker
almost a bit too much of a slow beat drag
slip your hand into mine and lets walk along the river
Brooklyn Bridge backdrop illuminating
and I can’t see past the halo around your head

All that glitters isn’t gold
and baby don’t I know it to be true
but only time will tell if a dull shine suits me
kind of the way I think you do
and if a wish and a prayer can carry the day
I’d be on my knees thinking about a hell of a lot more
than the color of your eyes as rosary beads slide
across the planks of this old wood floor

Yes it’s been a long time coming
and I’m not even sure I’m on the right path
because maybe I’ve waited too long
to climb down from the widows walk
for lack of interest when all I wanted
was less and nothing more

“And now I need a break man; a step back
loosen the slack, let the hands of the clock…
tick took tick tick, set me free
time line unwind…”

©2017 TrilbyYates

Weekend

It’s the weekend…end of the week beginning of the week
long and short of it makes no sense beginnings or endings
they all fall into neat little boxes with a top and a bottom
a piece of cloud like fluff inside gently placed
each emotion carefully tucked in, the corners soundly folded under
the top placed firmly, with familiarity; a silk ribbon tied securely
sailors knot…loose lips sink ships
thoughts wander off to old sayings, expressions I never understood
yet, they hold their space for another moment, maybe laughter or joy
a ribbon without meaning or symbolic of any cause
a ribbon without a color coded sense of design

It’s the weekend there is live music and poetry slams
all of which seem to have lost some of their luster for me
a shinny bobble dimming as the waves crash against my feet
walking the shoreline feels like an abandonment of my physiological progression
walking the shoreline feels like I’ve jumped ship and could care less
– about the chill in the Atlantic
gray days, rain seems endless, sad thoughts and gloom push the envelope
into a the lost not found folder on some unknown postal workers desk
as if the intention was to be categorized, sorted or kept

It’s the weekend…end of the week beginning of the week

©2017 TrilbyYates

Enter Title Here

I haven’t written haven’t had words in the light of day
come together harsh light spot light maybe because its a lie or half truth
and the cosmos knows or some greater entity has a hook line and sinker
on me my insincerity it’s like a spot light a spot light harsh and unforgiving
and that little voice that whiny little sniveling voice pathetic
in its strain and stutter its insecurities choking on all that self loathing
but in the dark of night when the lights are out and darkness is a blanket
a warm secure blanket of hope and security a safety net capturing all the creativity
ransom is a time frame dawn creeping rays of sunlight throw a blinding light
on the details the nuances the little particulars that are descriptive lullabies
soothing my crippling wired brain to thought word score shut down shut out
light of day dawn breaking dawn creeping in like a stray cat that has been out all night
a stray sashaying in light of day when nothing comes together and nothing lasts forever
until the sunsets and a subtle shade is thrown like a spot light on all that was right
and all that is wrong with the security felt within the angst of dread
as the door closes openness drifts and the power of each word is skewed
for lack of a better word for lack of a better word…
what happened to that overload of poetic free fall
that throw caution to the wind
that let the good times roll
that fuck it attitude
because the truth has a power and words can’t be taken back
and revealing is a tight rope and the fall from grace is unforgiving
but who cares when the wind is at my back the wind is always at my back
night and darkness are a crutch a cloak and dagger
a falsehood for the weary
an excuse to play in the shadows
…to stay in the shadows

©2017 TrilbyYates

Thread

Hanging on by a single thread silk woven bare bones
And you ask why I don’t cry or why I sleep walk instead
Of resting dream like in my bed and all I can think about is how my hands ache
Every time I walk past a grave site with granite stone shining bright
There is nothing left to say
I’m hanging on by a single thread silk woven bare bones

There is a line
Sometimes it’s in the sand
Sometimes it’s moral and won’t be crossed
Sometimes it’s blood, family, generations
A line by any other name is still a line
Tomorrow we say goodbye
Tomorrow we confirm within ritual our final goodbyes
A bloodline family a generation
Tomorrow we say goodbye and we never ever forget
It is family
It is a bloodline
It is a generation
A single thread

©2017 TrilbyYates

One of My Stories

It was Valentines Day…I made chocolate covered strawberries
you photographed them Nikon Kodachrome color never fades
the chemo nurse asked for a signed copy she collects strawberry photos
kitchen framed hanging on the wall fav patient she said
you graciously complied signature of an artist
a future Hallmark card never to throw away
take-out delivery dinner sushi deluxe
you bought a box of hot saki for me
we dressed up as if a night out on the town were apropos
Ginger Rogers and Johnny Rotten who would have known
music floated around sweet sounds soothing
the difference between rock n roll drummers and Jazz
technique and beat drumsticks in hand tap, tap, tap
we sat in the living room funny name we laughed
Noguchi table white linens and candle light
chop sticks ginger and wasabi burning bright
a knock at the door top hat and spats
a bouquet of wildflowers left in sterile wrap
orange tiger lilies white daisies gentle spray of babies breath
babies breath shallow and sweet
we both seemed to buzz, vibrate in sync with the universe
a high from the experience and love – a well earned gift
a high from a low level oxygen intake – breathe deeply
bare necessities when so much exists between two people
…the space is clear our wealth intoxicating

– drip drip drip background noise continuous

©2017 TrilbyYates

Black Leather Box

Short notes abbreviated symbols in place of emotions
The latest craze communicate via emoji, IM, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter…etc
But you; you send me actual ‘letters’ strung together
Creating words, creating sentences
Words strung together short and sweet…cryptic messages
Stealing the wit of my personalized pearl analogy
And I’m drawn in and I look around as if being secretly watched
– cautious, but with intrigue and questioning what did you mean by that?
I stumble for a dictionary or google, Wikipedia or some other resource
To translate those words placed in such an order
Old blues man mumbles something about a double entendre
A two sided coin flipped high into the air, landing gently
And the meaning could be heads you win tails I lose
– either or it all feels the same way
You see; anticipation, expectation is a path that will lead to my ultimate demise
The mind wanders and floats to and fro lavender and lace
The heart opens and closes like a door; automatic lock-down
Roses and stardust blown across a lovers face
And then an unexpected twist foregone conclusion never the source of intention
Insecurity begins to rise higher and higher sending me back to a safer time
When the gold band worn on my left hand was held with the utmost regard
And life could never change and love would linger sweetly on and on and on…
I open the dresser drawer and take out a black leather box, three rings fit snugly inside
Diamonds are forever and etched with care words of always love yours mine
The year a starting point a moment in time when the pendulum began to swing
And the hands of the clock start to circle around and around – repeat
The way the earth, sun and moon do their dance – our dance
And now as I digress, my footing is slightly off kilter I light another candle
Whisper your name in muted light; I wish for one of two things
Neither actually within my grasp as I reach out into thin air feeling rather cold
Another year has come to an end and a new one only a few weeks in
My story continues to be told and your words have clung to a tiny piece of my heart
I question how do I continue…I question how do I even restart

©2017 TrilbyYates