Poetry

• Always

• Bandage Girl

• Brush

• Chain

• Children

• Evening Crusader

• GOODBYE MATTHEW SHEPARD

• I Am

• Individuality

• Lost

• Manipulator

• The Next Step

• One Final Laugh

• Revenge

• Talkin' Upcreek America Blues

• Veterans Blvd.

• Where We End

Essays

• Shoes

There are inflamed welts
where he never touched her

     (But there they are
 and there they were)

Though everyone can tell
there really ARE no marks
except the ones in her expression
     (he'd never ever NEVER hit her face because she's so pretty)
collarbones
ribs
hands
cobwebs of fractures

And all the boys wonder if
    (maybe just maybe)
 there's something beautiful
 and perfect
under the raw wounds and the drying scabs

and she'd be Mizz Popularity
if she wasn't all
cracked bruised flawed dead
 charred chipped scarred dead
(they can't quite let it fall all on them)
Soon enough,
he'll get herself a wound too big for a tourniquet
nd the last thing on her mind battered will be a prom date

    (desires all withered
            raped)

Vivid, angry marks turn gray
 oh how quick and amazing grays
but though the pain isn't constant
 the stitches are

Each time he hits her
the mouths of the wounds reopen
in her
ravagedbandagedblisteredburntdying
skin

The greatest, and only crime of his;
Following his heart. An impulsive organ
That can’t be denied.
Slaughtered. Tortured because
And only because he was gay.
No reason for his death, but hate.
Why hate?
Why did this beautiful soul,
This friend, this son, this life,
Have to be taken away from all whom he loved?
And who loved him back?
Poor lost love.
1976-1998, just 21 years old.
Beautiful life that should have laid ahead
Ripped away by hate, by anger, by misplaced fear,
By people who just didn’t understand;
People who maybe never will.
This must end here.
There is no place for hate in this world.
Goodbye Matthew, may you be in a better place,
A place that understands, accepts, and loves you
For who you are,
For who you were,
And for who you could have been.

Shadows steal the light
As day turns to night
And the sky glows
As the sun sinks into the sea.
The gentle waves lap the beach
And the breeze brushes her cheek
A tiny wave curls at her feet
As she walks.
The rocks near
And the waves grow larger and the wind picks up,
It carries her hair and twists it in its fingers,
Until she holds the loose strand down with a gentle hand.
Salty spray sprinkles her face,
And she begins climbing the rocks.
The stars are her guiding lights, for the sun is buried away.
She continues her mission over the slick rocks
The now angry waves beating upon them like angry fists,
But she continues on.

Green strings twist me to a tree
Tied but free
And I went underneath
To see what I could see
The veins ran their colors
And the roots polished their diamonds
I just ran my fingers through my hair
Sat there in the marshmallow chair
But she grabbed me by the neck
Brain so heavy on the left
And turned my ears to darkness
Full of rings and deaths and tiny roots
Reaching to infinity
Can I breathe under here
Or do I speak through my pantyhose with a face of crystal?
Stroke my tone and breed my squeeze
Work to let my muscles ease
Let the river flow over you
And all your wombs will be preserved
All your creations time will curve

Moving forward, i strut
with confidence through a what i call
my life's demilitarized zone.
An illusion of a line
 can tear a heart of a Dynasty
Separating an eternity
of man.

Go forward, i say
for a journey of a thousand miles
begins with one step
A maxim i carry on my shoulders
to a new adventure
with only an old pair of shoes
double knotted tightly
aging with each
step

The floor is falling beneath me
Me, trying to grab hold on to anything
to an old friend, but our hands
slip through like the memories we share
i try to grab hold of my mother,
but again, falling through her worn,
weak hands, for 18 years
they have held
 strong

i fall straight onto the solid ground
and crash onto the concrete
bruised and bleeding,
I get up to awaken
 to another day
of falling
and taking
little
steps.

I am silly and unpredictable.
I wonder what I'll do next.
I hear music.
I see the color pink.
I want everyone smiling.
I am silly and unpredictable.

I pretend I don't care.
I feel like crying.
I touch pizza dough.
I worry I'll never get another boyfriend.
I cry when I am alone.
I am silly and unpredictable.

I understand the world does not revolve around me.
I say I am just kidding.
I dream of being famous.
I try to live day to day.
I hope I live forever.
I am silly and unpredictable.

Manipulator

You use your
MIND,
your words, your actions
To push us to do your
BIDDING,
To make us believe in a
FALSE REALITY,
One where there is only tasks to be completed and
YOU.
Our dictator,
RULER
of our minds and
THIEF
of our free will.
DOWN
down we know we are being
USED,
But we keep going...
Just to get a
MOMENTARY TASTE
of your
COUNTERFEIT LOVE
for us.
So, are we the manipulators,
Or just the manipulated?

I don't keep my innocence because you tell me to
I keep my innocence to stay pure.
I don't keep my sense of humor to make you laugh
I keep my sense of humor because it gives me edge.

I don't see your point of view because you force it on me
I see your point because it expands my power.
I don't fly in my dreams because you inspire me
I fly because it gives me release.

I don't love who I love because your support counts
I love because I can give.
I don't live and breathe because I rely on your words
I live and breathe because it's my happiness.

I am one and I am myself.

Talkin' Upcreek America Blues

Back down in young Dixie, man life there is old.
All my memories there ha' been bought up and sold.
Like Ms. Till, my friend, who desperately wanted a sliver,
Of that King led army 'cause her babe's in the river.
And all the glass-bottomed soldiers that followed him down,
They just play the friend cause they want the King's crown.
Sure they all cried and whimpered when they heard the news,
But now they're talkin' 'bout those Upcreek America Blues.

Well that was the blue river novel that started it all,
Born dark, dusty dirty long before that fall.
(But it's stopped flowin' since then, yah it stopped flowin' all
right.)
It saw the men with their guns and their ropes and their girls,

Like typewriter-poets that been lost in blue curls.
And the blue mountain valley that runs to the sea,
It saw 'em too but it just isn't free.
So it sits around crooked with it's musical booze,
Singing sonnets ‘bout the Upcreek America Blues

And so man, it was just the river,
Running swift to the sea 'till the sea runs dry,
Picking up Tills and whatever else happens by.
A river don't care.

Nah and God don't either, least that's what they say,
Now that they've beat him all bloody and hid him away.
Now's he's walking 'round sideways 'cause his hair's all been shorn,
Still hunting and looking for that reason to mourn.
But it's nowhere, no how and ain't no one got it.
So he lays in his bright ditch, nursing the bruise,
Wondering how came the Upcreek America Blues

No they ain't got 'em up North where they live as they shave,
Where they sing of freedom while beatin' their slave.
And though Lindbergh's babe lies dead in the wood,
He too searches frant'cly cause his miss said he should.
And all the meanwhile Big Bruno's runnin',
(And he's running faster than fast ever ran.)
'Cause he knows that behind him old St. Louie's gunnin'.
And he knows if he stops he will take the abuse,
That they spoke of in their Upcreek America Blues.

Well, he tried, they got him, he burned on the spot,
Like a shaker of salt in a mixed rummy shot.
But well outside this nuthouse, where storm-norm was the man,
Miss 'merica was burning herself with the pan.
And all the ghost critics who came out to judge,
They knocked out their allies cause they held His grudge.
Then they ran to their auto-drip-lava-lamp muse,
Who told them to sing her Upcreek America Blues.

Now honor and pride both been gunned to the ground,
And they's lying there moaning and rolling around
'Till somebody, Mrs. Moses, tells them to go home,
(Yes she tells them to quit 'cause she knows this ain't the place
they belong.)
So their shot down unloaded in the place where they roam.
And the existential candy man and with him the Jack of Hearts,
Are shot down from their nooses, for practicing their art.
Now the only place they show up is in ice cream and tattoos,
And in anyone who knows and loves the Upcreek America Blues.

Now we take the train out westward to meet Garrett and the Kid,
One a collaborating horseman traitor who coughed up the lowest bid.
And the other a flamingo-writer, living life in honest pain,
Who couldn't 'scape the down spouting gutter that kept drowning him in rain.
(And the hard rain he spoke of fell harder than hard on that soul.)
Well those two rode off with their friend, a lousy image of a man,
Who found his Miss 'merica with old Clarky and their clan.
And together up they saddled her until they blew a fuse,
And out came bleeding cursedly the Upcreek America Blues.

Then they headed back to the junglish East where they happened
upon a kid,
Who scorned them, cursed them, pulled and shot them 'Cause they knew more than he did.
And the people praised and hailed him for being a murdering thief,
'Cause he robbed the world of knowledge, much to their relief.
But back up on old Sinai the four prophetic children sing,
Only they know life's a hollow hole and a bell that's ceased to ring.
And kid, those friends that think and prey on no one but the man,
It's they that are the blessed and saved for straying from this land.
But it's to you, my man and they say only you must choose,
'Bout whether to thank her kindly or sing the Upcreek America Blues.

2000 Luke A.

Chain

There's a chain around my neck.
You can't see it, but it's there.
Holding me,
confining me,
keeping me here
in this life.
The life I never wanted,
never thought I'd have to live.
But I was oblivious
to this chain around my neck.
I always thought I was meant
for something better.
Something better than this distorted reality
behind a closed door.
I knew there was more to life than this.
Until the day came.
As I stepped towards the door,
I felt the first tug.
An insignificant, powerless tug.
Then stronger
and stronger still,
until I was left
laying on the floor,
gasping for breath.
But not my breath.
The breath of another.
Because my air isn't here.
My sun doesn't shine here,
my stars don't glow here.
But I can't leave.
There's a chain around my neck
keeping me here
in a life not meant for me.

Always

I always see your face in the clouds during the day,
in the stars at night, and in my dreams when I pray;
and in the darkest hours, in the dawns of my dreams,
in the past and in the future, through my tears and my screams.

Your voice is but an echo, throughout my tortured soul,
I long to see the face, of whom my heart you stole.
Your face is but a memory, engraved upon my mind,
I confess my love to you, but the words I've yet to find.

Your eyes are like a fire, as they gaze into mine.
Like the memory of a song, of a love so divine.
I hear as you whisper, deep into the night,
I hear the echo of your words, still ringing come daylight.

Locked in my heart, are the words I cannot say,
like a thousand whispers, they come and go away.
While my heart is silent, it's empty forever more,
Until we meet again my love, it's you I'll always adore.

Lost

I walk a hundred miles
and yet I return to here
to this place
the land of no smiles

I cry a thousand tears
sobbing quietly
trying to escape
trying hard to comfort my fears

i scream loudly in the silent night
my throat aches and burns
and i scream louder
no longer willing to fight

If I give up now
will I die?
Can I ever forget?
i wonder how?

I need you
but you left me
now I am lost
if only you knew

if i could look into your eyes
Only if i could see you once more
Wishes go unheard
and i will cry until the very day I die

One Final Laugh

You look upon me so blank and calm
With buried eyes always gleaming
Secretly watching, secretly smirking
Yes, you have the better hand
You grip the reins
Or so they say
And they, they who fight as I
Pounce at the chance to shine as you
Yet you snicker at their pathetic attempts
Power, powerful heart within
Sits sleeping half awake
Yet you still watch, watch, see
See and you know
Yes you know and you laugh
Shrill, scream it louder
Echo it back from the mountains
Louder still to the seas
The more I see the harder you giggle
Feeding the ache that grows
Grows as your smile widens
Flash your hands and your soul about
For you have the power to flaunt
Yes, yes, laugh, laugh at me!
Laugh at everyone, for you can
And better yet, for you want to
How sick, how sad the dirt sits
How calm, how calm we all go
And sit as dirt, sit, sit, stay
Take those you may
Or take none at all
As far as I know, we know
You may as well enjoy your art alone
Enjoy your own company forever
No need for friends, yes, no need at all
You make them here and there
And swat them and kick them
Watch them squirm in misery
Ha! then watch as they scream
Scream in pain and oh how they ache
Rumble your laugher louder
Shriek it farther for then more will listen
How it bounces from one to another
How your attention jumps
Shake one here and slap one there
The more the merrier
Entertainment forever, how jovial it must be
Until boredrom steps forth
Tiptoes into your painting
And the laugher dies down
Off to something else
Creativity blooms interesting amusement
But wait, wait one more minute
The joke has yet to be finished
Not done yet in any case
Yes, one final laugh for you

Revenge

Open your senses to the world
See the pain you have cause
Hear the suffering of the people around you
Smell the scent of misery
Feel the void inside of you
Fill it with more hurt
Get the revenge you have forever wanted
Harm yourself just to get to them
Is it oh so worth it?
The satisfaction of vengeance
The blinding agony
The deafening sorrow
The sickening scent defeat

Brush

This brush
Powers my emotions
With a swift blot and swipe
A feeling is expressed
Angered burned
And happiness bubbling
A color added
To a mass of clutter
Color
Added to a sprawling canvas
A canvas not worthy of my feelings
For my feelings burn
And are there
I am not empty
Guiding my brush
I begin to let it all out into the open for all the world to see.

Children are seedlings just waiting to grow
into beautiful flowers, but they can’t do it alone.
They need someone to help them, show them the way,
teach them the knowledge they’ll need in future days.

A teacher is the water & sunshine so bright
who helps build their future, helps them reach any height.
They open their arms & open their hearts,
they open their books, and the learning starts.

The child & the teacher are part of the plan
but children need someone to hold their hand.
Flowers can’t grow without someone to tend them
someone to pull the weeds, someone to care for them.

The parents are needed from beginning to end
they’re needed as helpers, leaders, & friends.
To show them the path to right their wrongs,
to praise their accomplishments, to guide them along.

A child is a seedling, waiting to grow
into a beautiful flower, but they can’t do it alone.
So, help them succeed, show them the way
& your children will be beautiful flowers someday.

Sunlight bathes the sidewalk
The pavement reflects the heat
A city is slowly simmering
Sweat bleeds down my temples
I lack the energy to feel my pain
No reason to be drunk in spirit
I take the middle just the same
Cruel heat scorches our kindess
I watch the flower fester away
Trying to discern a sea of people
Fighting to go the same way
The day is turning gray now
Like and old man withering away
The seach for one to think for them
As they turn their faces away
A chilled breeze lifts the last trickle
Of prespiration from my face
The sea of people is rolling like
an opaque and murky wave
Willing to kill their souls
to be a little closer to home.

     Yessir, this pair of shoes sure has seen a lot over the years. They have collected stains on them that go back years. They've got mud stains, grass stains, paint stains; oil stains, and even bloodstains. Yessir, these shoes and I have been through a lot together. I first received my shoes in the spring on 1935.

     It was March in the year 1935 and times in southeast Georgia were rough.  Wall Street had fallen almost six years ago and it seemed our whole country was in shambles. The fields were dry and hardly anything would grow. The only good thing we had going was the Sunday and Wednesday worship services at our church. Even there, you could see a combination of hope and despair on the tired faces of the faithful few who gathered to pray to the Lord and ask Him if He would bless our community, country, and most of all, our fields. I had just turned 14 and my mama had gotten me a pair of shoes. I had never put shoes like these on my feet and it was a funny feeling at first but soon they became like a new layer of skin. The soft tanned leather felt so good against the skin of my feet. I went everywhere in these shoes.  Down to the creek to fish and catch crawfish. To church on Sundays, to school, and to work in the fields. I wore these shoes everyday of my life until graduation. !

     Six years had gone by since I had gotten my shoes. Times were better now.  The fields were full and people looked happier. Until that fateful day in December. Pearl Harbor had been bombed and we, the United States, were in an all out war. I signed on 5 days after I heard the news and was shipped to boot camp the next day. I never saw action until three years later on the beaches of Normandy. I had slipped my shoes on just 2 hours before we hit the beach. So many of Americas strong, brave young men died on that beach that day. My shoes are stained with the blood of my fallen companions, many of whom I watched die not 20 feet away. For some reason, God saw fit for me not to die on that beach in 1944 and I was shipped home a year later. The Allies had won, we were going home. I came home and married a beautiful young girl who I had been in love with since high school in the little country church where I was raised. I was wearing my shoes when I said I do and I was wearing them when the doctor told me it was a healthy little boy and that he and his mama were doing fine. I was wearing my shoes when I opened my little hardware store, which had always been my dream. I saw a lot of the community come and go in my store. I watched a lot of old men playing checkers and telling fish lies. I watched a lot of kids grow up in my store, including my own child. I had to sell out to a larger company when my wife got sick. The doctor said the tumor was inoperable and there was nothing we could do but let nature take its course. When nature finally did, she was 42 and I was 44. Oh, how I miss her, but I know that someday soon, I'll see her again. That was 20 years ago and my shoes and I are still going strong. Nowadays I have nothing but my garden, my dog, and my son who has started a family of his own. He has a little boy just as I did and he and his wife are expecting a little girl soon.

     There are many stains on my old shoes, mud stains, grass stains, oil stains, and bloodstains. But the stains that mean the most to me are the tearstains. Some of the tears were shed in joy, others in sorrow. Either way, they hold the memories that are nearest and dearest to my heart, the memories of my life.