Friday's Poem

juste à temps

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 22:53:00 +0000

hush
cold marble
stairs always
make me whisper
thickets, run alone
near riverside
liars and thieves
are silent
invisible
in this drab wilderness
then, the sun
that kisses
peering daffodils
turns its glare
on us.

cool river goddess

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 08:00:00 +0000

am i the prey
in your river
of coolness?
or am i the one
who lies?
as the sun fades
crickets chirp
tides turn
slowly, my eyes
trace the surface
of your silken beauty
majestic strands
deep and luscious
i'm not scared
of the dance
together in the night
sweet passion ensues
you are not cold
safe, warm, triumphant
we are one
the feast is ours
and we want more
of the cool river
where our hearts
are free.

©2010 Sean Muzzy

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 09:26:00 +0000

in the absence of you
i sit in darkness
waiting patiently
with all the little birds
as they await sunrise
i rest my eyes
dream of your soft skin
gentle embrace
your smiling face
our hands intertwine
our lips meet

in the absence of you
i sit in darkness

don't want to share the sun
with anyone else.

(written a long time ago, outside,
before dawn, in a tiny notebook.)

Here She Comes Now

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 22:38:00 +0000

Here she ever comes now now
She ever comes now now
She ever comes now

Here she ever comes now now
She ever comes now now
She ever comes now

Oh oh, it look so good
She's made out of wood
Just look and see

(Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison, John Cale)

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 09:17:00 +0000

the switch just flips on...

my head tilted down
my mind empty
then, I see it staring back at me
into the whites of my eyes
speckles on a gray rug
tiny dots that were designed
to add texture to something
as mundane as regional air travel
with forever broken snack trays
worn leather seats
and interior panels that resemble
personal computer casings circa 1993
the overhead was designed to stow
the smallest of satchels
as I sit with my knees planted in my chin
but it's the sunset that ignites my mind
a ritual I can't escape
my heart rate quickens
watching the colors shift and roll
clouds trace and outline the frame
in front of me
my eyes will always be open to
the beautiful
the sick
the absurd
to the rush of blood
that flows into my finger tips
powering pen on paper
I will watch it all
I will consume it all
and when I'm done
I will give thanks
to the creator of this crime drama
that I've found myself cast in
quietly hoping
that I'm the hero
and not the villain.

©2009 Sean Muzzy

dunesday ensemble

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:11:00 +0000

in between…
the master plan
poured concrete
and kismet meadows
the rising sun persists
the air filled with salt vapor
and burning pine needles
sundew glistens
as bright rays shimmer
off the waves
ah the rhythm of the tides
thump and roll
southern shores do leave
bonfires for bootleggers
tiny birds rustle in the brush
and gulls crash the chorus
but the soulful
calming melody
refuses to leave

©2009 Sean Muzzy

skydrift @ 45

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 03:35:00 +0000

skydrift @ 45 degrees
above the dark clouds;
that surround,
engulf my destination.
eye to eye with the moon,
brighter than i have ever seen.
the silence is eerie.
beyond the pressurized cabin;
lies the fury of the atmosphere,
the true nature of the skies,
the glitter in a snow globe,
constantly shaking.
my eyes retreat
from the glass,
leaving a little moisture.
as we level off,
my heart rate slows;
i’ve been here before!

©2009 Sean Muzzy

off the backs of dishes

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 09:40:00 +0000

tomorrow will be different
as i sit here watching
a new day bounce
off the backs of dishes
my compass reads north
in the distance a hum
rubber on pavement
engines on interstate tarmacs
racing towards lift off

tomorrow will be different
my body facing
another direction
my eyes searching for
new wonders to observe

but only after they've punched
this stop
this checkpoint.

roadblock

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 20:59:00 +0000

on the road
my face feels the wind
my brow the sun
my eyes focused, but
turned inward... lost?

my mind is racing
and has caused my stomach
to turn, slowly... and repeat.

i'm hiding behind my shades,
behind the wheel
stuck, waiting
for a pipe to burst
for the words to make sense
for my voice to rise
above the static
the static
that shields clarity
that rings in my ears
and won't let me
move forward
i can't even hold this pen
anymore... steady

the wind stops for a moment
the earth inhales
and allows me to
exhale
i'll repeat this several
times (daily)
until i've located

my muse, standing
on the other side
of the roadblock
that my mind has created.

©2009 Sean Muzzy

walking through skunk hollow

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sat, 09 May 2009 13:39:00 +0000

every bird wants to feel the sun
don't they?
(as they glide across
vapor free skies)

before the rain
soaked wings
and muted melodies
they were unbridled
spring's glory
dancing
and grabbing worms

now tempest fury reigns
and they are meek
yet somewhere
in the fog
beyond the trapped
rodent stench
is a space
a quiet space

collect your thoughts
petits
dry your wings
prepare
to fly

the new sun will set you free.

©2009 Sean Muzzy

Spring Whisper

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 12:31:00 +0000

Soft, gentle lips
can't keep up with your beauty
a gentle breeze that rolls in with the morning sun
and exits sweetly as my tired eyes close
want to hold you close and forget the day
run through your fields
and listen to your soul
soft, gentle laugh
my youth is passing fast
yet our connection is marked by
sprouting lilacs and tiny daffodils
we share something special
an understanding of the stone
and the path entire
your soft whisper the gateway
to my freedom

©2005 Sean Muzzy

Chasing An Endless Sunrise

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 14:22:00 +0000

Slowly waking from the cold
that fresh blanket melts to the whisper of spring
in your eyes I see the innocence of love
the frailty of a single reality
my eyes rest gently on the wet pavement
without union there is only eternity
without eternity there is no union
it's at this point that I realize why
I picked this trail when I was stranded
sitting in a blank room with blank walls
chasing an endless sunrise
choosing by best disguise
oh how wounded I was, how lost
lonely and scared, like every child
I don't remember signing any papers
crossing any lines or
cutting any deals, but
somehow it all seems borrowed
an undetermined term
with a balloon payment
or not, because your eyes
they made me see beyond
a single reality, a one shot deal
into the possibility that
there can be an endless sunrise
and I won't have to choose
my best disguise

©2005 Sean Muzzy

the complexity of this movement (2nd take)

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 22:24:00 +0000

a barrier between us

we sit isolated in our thoughts
not knowing the true power
of our own hands

hidden between majestic interludes
lies a sweet, soft melody

the notes we play are unwritten

a beautiful sound emerges
when we converge

jaws drop
tears fall
silence ensues

and our souls rejoice.

©2009 Sean Muzzy

dans la maison du soleil levant

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 09:22:00 +0000

home...
now a fleeting concept
captured for too long
in a cell that I allowed
to encapsulate me
stacked boxes
a reminder of the
temporary nature of possession
ain't no moss on my back
each step i take
pushes me further away
from anything resembling
comfort
i feel it in my bones
in my stomach
and under my eyes
yet it's from
discomfort
that freedom imbues
like the waking of the sun
from a long sleep
streaks of deep textured purple
ensue, cascade across the sky
drying the tears
that grew from the
distress of yesterday
throw it away
and take hold of
the freshness
the complexity
of the air,
the cool bursts
that fill your dreams

my chains are shattered
my cage is broken
my heart is beating

i am home.

©2009 Sean Muzzy

crushing petals

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 02:20:00 +0000

next time...
i won't crush petals with my hands
sad lines on my face
on the paper in front of me
the mirror to my soul
wish i could wash them away
one by one
paper blank
pages empty

©2009 Sean Muzzy

synthetic fill

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 14:17:00 +0000

thin skin,
where does the angst
stem from?
the anger that spits
out the sides of your mouth.

my head aches from the cold
from the delay of toxins
that i have refused
i feel the space behind my eyes
prolonged escape paths
and hidden afflictions
i am awful
so full of...

breathe in
exhale
breathe in
exhale

past is gone
presence is now
here
re-set
i need to
re-set
adhere to
re-set
place your ad-here.

©2008 Sean Muzzy

Wishful Thinking

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 11:15:00 +0000

Winter in upstate New York is long and cold, snow falls by November and stays until April. Walking alone in the streets on a dark cold night makes you feel like you're in Siberia. We used to run down the middle of the street and then slide on the packed snow. Winter is such a solemn season. And when you're a college student, heading back from bars alone, it was easy to lose your thoughts to the cold and dream of spring to come to your rescue.

1994 was a crazy year in general, it was President Clinton's second full year in office and Netscape 1.0 was released. The Knicks would make the finals that year, losing and sucking the air out of NYC. During a playoff game against the Bulls, OJ Simpson and his white Bronco stopped the telecast, and every other telecast, it felt like time froze. I read somewhere that more people ordered pizza that night than any other night in history. Hmmm, in today's world I don't think that would happen, I'm sure the national pizza chains would be happy if it did, but news is so much more continuous now. There were also some major losses in '94, John Candy and Kurt Cobain died. The latter event left many college students, myself included, wondering what music would be like without one of it's great poets. We didn't have cellphones or computers like we have now. The internet was mostly accessed through massive computer labs, that were in themselves inaccessible. Music came from CDs, but most of us had these boxes of tapes -- mixes and bootlegs were rampant. Nowadays, the future seems very predictable, because we see it unfold online -- the minute something happens to anyone everyone is aware, nothing is really that surprising is it? Back then, pre-9/11, we were living at times with blinders, the future seemed like this far off destination, that someday we would see and be surprised by. That started to change during the Persian Gulf War, when Bernard Shaw reported from under a table in his Baghdad hotel room while missiles blew up around him. Or when the news covered the ATF's siege on the Branch Davidian ranch in Waco Texas in 1993. I sat in my dorm room and watched a massive fire destroy the ranch and everyone who lived inside. The filters were being broken down by the power of the people, we were demanding instant access. Live coverage of OJ's attempt to evade the law and the launch of Netscape Navigator 1.0, in many ways marked the beginning of a major shift in how the world consumed information. Honestly, if I had a cellphone, mobile access to the web, and an iPod in 1994, I wouldn't be telling this story right now. I would be broadcasting it.

I don't remember how the idea of going to New Orleans for Mardi Gras got started. But by the middle of January I had an empty spaghetti sauce jar on my coffee table labeled Mardi Gras Fund. It was wishful thinking at best, I didn't know if I was really going. In fact, none of my roommates or friends took the idea seriously. If it was going to happen it would be a very spur of the moment adventure. Could there possibly be any other type of adventure. Gene and Sam were in Massachusetts pretty much doing the same thing. Their apartment had a banner that read Mardi Gras or Bust. I guess you could say it was a ritual that college kids took part in, daring others to question if you really had it in you to make a trip like that while classes were in session. Flying down wasn't even an option, so it would have to be a road trip, which would make it that much better. Mardi Gras at the time wasn't as overplayed as it is now. This was about 4 years before all the girls gone wild videos would hit the pavement. I guess it still had a level of mystique, or maybe I was just younger and a little less wise.

By the time February rolled around there still weren't any solid plans. But the jar was slowly filling up. Fat Tuesday actually fell on Valentine's Day in 1994 and it was on Sunday the 6th when I spoke with Gene on the phone and we made the decision to do it. Sam was definitely in, so it would be the three of us trekking down south for a party that would hopefully catapult us out of winter and into spring. The plan was for Gene to drive his truck to New York to pick me up and then we just go south. We would spend a night camping in the Smokey Mountains, head to Memphis for a night, and then race south to New Orleans along the bayou.

We get to write this one

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 10:50:00 +0000

Another tear shed, her soft skin soaked through with sadness.
It's a gnawing story that we can't rewrite, edit, or change.

Drop the shades,
Close your eyes and dream,
Enter the cocoon of hope.

A new day is on the horizon and its blank slate is waiting for us,
A birth is near and it will revolutionize our existence.

We get to write this one.

Your gentle touch and caring heart will soon be able to fly.
Wings of joy spread in a triumphant array of beauty.
Dig the blue sky butterfly, forget that you ever had to cry.

©2004 Sean Muzzy

travails through the backcountry of my soul

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 10:38:00 +0000

compass broken
the trail split off
broke into
infinite tributaries
that was spring
and the flowers
fresh from the dew
distracted my weak mind
i closed my eyes
and pushed through
the surface
shut the door
on that wooden box
that held my past
sufferings
in the wake of
summers lost
floating on the waves
alone and tormented
full bloom, half-life
in the distance
the chains that bound me
held firm
love, loss, lust
the swell subsided
dumped me on
hypodermic shores
littered with my soiled ashes
i am you
you are real
how was i supposed to deal?
with the day
that lay before my tired voice
trapped in a splintered
box of lies
the pilot flickered
it lingered
kept my heart beating
my eyes open
the lines are thicker
now,
it's time for winter
that frozen cavern
swapping flames
stopping voices
in my head
that lied to me
they lied to me
it's time
leave stronger
live longer
to see another sunrise
the trail is still f'd
my knees weaker
but my will is wiser
now,
it's about time
i found you
on the ridge
where you were waiting
all along
to show me the other side
of the peak,
the valley that breaths beneath.

©2008 Sean Muzzy

Pier 11

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 12:08:00 +0000

The morning's crisp calm
soothes my warm skin,
solidifying my swirling thoughts.
I'm not as cold as the winter air
that's brought in with strong winds.
My soul will always be touched by the sun,
no matter its position in the sky.
This, is what we all need.
The change of seasons,
forcing us to evolve.
Stark reality no different than
the plants that die back in winter
to catch their breath.
Waiting, however long,
for the coming of spring.
Dormant souls that have their roots
frozen in time.
They'll grow again,
when the earth's orbit deems it so.
The perfect union between nature and being.
Some fight off the change,
others embrace it with outstretched arms.
Our forward progress is sometimes stalled
by rain clouds and winter squalls,
but continue we must on our voyage through time.
Gather your thoughts and throw on a scarf
and journey, however far,
across the vastness of reality's
subtle, shocking swells.
Ride them to shore,
so you too can meld with the earth.

(written 11/10/03)

©2008 Sean Muzzy

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 04:00:00 +0000

Holy shit! Holy shit! I just realized something. I stopped living a long time ago, gave in just like everyone else. It’s not like I stopped dreaming, I still do that. I more or less decided to subscribe to an existence that requires me to exert overwhelming attention to my greater sustenance. Does that make any sense? I’m strictly motivated by this fear of failure, no matter what I do I can’t and won’t put my well being in jeopardy. So what does this have to do with not living, well when I disconnect from the day, my mind doesn’t stop it continues processing the information it has collected over the past 24 hours. Then I begin to worry about the next day, next year, what will the future hold? Do I have enough money, time? Who did I upset today? Does anyone hate me? Did anyone anger me? How do I deal with all of this?

So eventually sleep comes to rescue me from the never ending cycle of thoughts that often leave me staring at a blank wall in the dark. And when I wake up I feel worn. So all this sounds like depression, right? Yes to some extent, but also no. What I mean is that I’m generally happy. Often times I love everything about my life. The people I’m lucky enough to know, the pleasure I get from accomplishing even the smallest of tasks. But there is this deep seated feeling that I want to give to some cause that is far greater than me and everyone I know. Here’s the catch though, I can’t do that because I have no way of measuring my accomplishments. Yeah that’s right I want to do something for the greater good of humanity, but I’m preventing myself because I don’t feel it something that I can measure. I know that’s seems extremely selfish and just down right wrong, but I think it’s actually more endemic than anything else.

Think back to your childhood. Everything is about measurement – what did you weigh at birth and how long were you? What percentile were you in? Did you walk before you were a year? When I swam it was about your time, how fast could you be and where would you place? Don’t even bring up education, which is purely about measurement. These are all inevitable outcomes of life, I would never place any weight in a society of no measurements; it’s just not possible, not ideal. If people asked how you felt what you would say, “Sorry I can’t tell”. I guess what we have to learn is how to navigate through everything that requires measurement and realize that in the grand scheme we won’t be measured by the failure of any one thing. So at the end of the day measurement is great at the task level, but once that’s gone you can’t bring it with you. You have to move beyond the test and on to the next stage whatever that may be. Still, the quandary I brought before still exists for me, because my feeling is that to truly do something great for society it shouldn’t be about the measurement. But the way I approach everything, I first consider how it will be measured.

So why is this all of sudden so important to me? Well, I think I finally realized some major inconsistencies on how I interacted with other people. I didn’t do it on my own terms; in fact I wish some people would have hit me in the head a long time ago. When I was young I learned two important teachings from Catholicism that I believe to this day. The first being give and thou shall receive and the second being turn the other cheek. I know these seem extremely clichéd and sort of tired in their importance, but I believed and practiced them faithfully. Something happened to me though, and it continues to happen to me. Some of the people I give to don’t give back to me, and some of the people I turn the other cheek for, continue to slap my face. But the most beautiful thing I realized is that when you close your eyes you are alone in this place that no one can invade. No matter how wrong or right things are you fall asleep and are alone.

So dreams come and help you visualize the inertia, the things you see from high above the silt. And all we see looks so peaceful from high above, but it stops. Next thing you know you’re trapped back in this place where fear dances in front of all those perfect images. The clock keeps thinking and the inner you is quiet and wondering what will come, can anything stop my beating heart? It’s this place, at the head of the stream, where all those nightmares release into a great big pool of open water. No one is there it’s just you floating on your back, resting, at peace with the day. Now we can talk, right?

Don’t you see? We’re all alike because we don’t know where we’re going. Some have faith in purity and greater peace that we find after this madness. They live believing and that works for them, but not for everyone and still we are the same. Because even though they have faith in a destiny, they really don’t know where the road leads. They have a sense that and some have painted pictures of pearly gates and fields of joy. But these are just images that helped other people describe what they longed for the end to be. Some new beginning, an open pasture that is full of life, yet devoid of it at the same time. Nothing is just full of life, just like nothing is just good. There is no perfection and that is nature and that is this planet. So we choose to position ourselves neatly next to those that think like we do, dream like we do. Maybe even people that were born like we were. What does that even me, to be born like we were?

You’ll have to deal with my ways; I’m a poet who is trying to tell a story. I’m used to writing in disguise and exposing my thoughts in streams of consciousness. But it’s time now for me to talk in plain speak as only I know how to speak. I’m done holding a drink in one hand professing some babble at the nearest pub table. I’m ready to show you what I see through these eyes that seem to pick up the smallest of movements form all sorts of angles. But I do this in a breath that I share with everyone, because I feel that I am as unique as you are and as special as everyone is. We are all the same, don’t you get it? Just manifestations and subversions that have different perspectives, yet we are molded from the same clay. And in the end what we see is the same clay the same dust the same cloud.

©2006 Sean Muzzy

Verona

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 11:58:00 +0000

Verona sits in the park
the park sits on the side of...
crumbling concrete and rusting steel

$1.2 billion spent to connect rail to air
Verona still sits in the park
in the fetal position
each-day
every-day
hot or cold
rain or shine

All tickets please!
Woodside the next stop,
train to New York's Penn Station!

See you tomorrow Verona.

©2004 Sean Muzzy

Circular Reference

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 11:43:00 +0000

Morning, she wakes
tired eyes, tears
Soft lips touch soft skin
in a fluffy white bed.
What the f is going on in my head?
Everyday the same, every day the sane,
everyway the shame, the pain.
Sunlight evaporates the remains of the morning rain.
Each day is loosely connected by a patchwork
of forgotten dreams
and to do lists that go undone
on quite a regular basis
Each formula I enter is met with
a circular reference
but underneath it all is the true fabric of
my existence
I've learned to become numb to the inane,
and often times innocuous requests that cross
my desk as director of fill in the blank
Yet I believe that everything is possible
and that we shouldn't take anything for granted
each second is yet a smaller piece of a much larger puzzle
that I've been working on for some time now
there are so many pieces and time is such
that I've taken to putting it together in a random fashion
which is how I approach each day
again a circular reference
but grueling as it might appear
sections of the puzzle slowly become clear
and the challenge of completing another section
allows me to miraculously escape
the perils of that parallel universe
known only as the "real world"
each morn, an out stretched hand holds a cup of coffee
as we queue it up in front of the slaughterhouse
I'm really not running any risks, because it's all connected
as I make progress on my puzzle, I'm able to side step the cattle
with the speed of a sprinter and the mind of a Buddha
now I can focus on the task at hand
yes I still worry about providing,
but I don't feel the pressure I used to feel
like I was supposed to save the world or something
I guess my puzzle work has showed me
that I'm nothing and in reality that's everything.
that's all. no heavy lifting.

(written 4/02/05)

©2005 Sean Muzzy

tiny birds

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 09:40:00 +0000

oh yeah, and another thing...
with morning fast approaching
my lazy eye always lies shut
you see i've been stuck here in this rut
some sort of self imposed misery
always looking for the right words to say
words don't make a difference anyway
patiently waiting for all my debts to be paid
realizing that there are so many more
yes, so many more mistakes to be made
all i can hear are those damn tiny birds
yappin away, tip-tap, tip-tap, meep, meep
bunched up on the frozen side walks
hangin out on the lonely street corners
been waitin for me to pass their way
i just smile and look away

©2006 Sean Muzzy

isolation

noreply@blogger.com (Muzz) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 09:12:00 +0000

trapped in
my eternal blank canvas,
i slowly awake

traverse
as i must, crowds
that gather along
planned, yet pointless
thouroughfares

compress
my dreams
that I create, dictate
running in place
questioning grace

silence
my cask, roadblock
keeping me from
my past and future
empty, unknown

isolation
breeds this false sense
of freedom
no victories, no progress
an endless labrynth of doubt

i want to stay up all night.

©2008 Sean Muzzy