Memory fleeting past
Holes burning marks
Time long gone
I sit looking at the holes
Memories lost Sadness
I know where they were
Like sink holes Gone
Marsh lands mental quick sands
Sinking into the past
The future that was now
I look think now becomes then
It floods then leaks holes
Seeing her face her name is gone
Her feel is there body is mist
Her mind I knew thoughts blow away
Sunlight dark in my head
Holes
Hands cling to nothing
Lips touching air
Heart running still
Seeing nothing nothing everywhere
Grabbing for memories no longer there
Gone…
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-23-13
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Vincent Van Goth
Vincent Van Goth
Never sold a painting
Heard voices in the sky
Saw colors burned brightly
Forever asked why
In love gave his body
In art gave his soul
In drink gave his all
In mind never saw
Vincent Van Goth
Forever sold his tears
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-23-13
Never sold a painting
Heard voices in the sky
Saw colors burned brightly
Forever asked why
In love gave his body
In art gave his soul
In drink gave his all
In mind never saw
Vincent Van Goth
Forever sold his tears
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-23-13
Rose petals
Rose petals
Falling scents
Dying beauty
Effort over
End of sun
Enrichments start
Entropy’s prize
Worms food
Plants strength
Branches growth
Seeds future
Flowers bloom
Rose petals…
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-20-13
Falling scents
Dying beauty
Effort over
End of sun
Enrichments start
Entropy’s prize
Worms food
Plants strength
Branches growth
Seeds future
Flowers bloom
Rose petals…
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-20-13
If all you want is all you want.
If all you want is all you want,
Then you are alone in what you want,
What if all you need isn’t all you want,
What if what you need is what others want,
Then you want what all we want,
So if all you need is what all we want,
We all need for you to have all you want
And you have the same want
….I’m dizzy and want it to stop…
Inspired by All I want is all I want by Samuel Sanusi
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-16-13
Then you are alone in what you want,
What if all you need isn’t all you want,
What if what you need is what others want,
Then you want what all we want,
So if all you need is what all we want,
We all need for you to have all you want
And you have the same want
….I’m dizzy and want it to stop…
Inspired by All I want is all I want by Samuel Sanusi
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-16-13
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Night is for sleeping.
Night is for sleeping.
The welcoming bed, the comforter, crisp sheets, soft pillows for heads.
Moonlight, star light, cat smuggled at your feet.
Dreams sweet dreams, whispering softly for your attendance,
But
Behind the dreams in your head,
There’s a door, there behind the old cloths rack, open just a little,
Cracked.
Behind that door sits a funny strange little man,
Surrounded by switches, knobs, dials, and screens.
Muttering into a microphones,
Twitching in his seat.
Impatient.
Waiting.
Pushing at buttons,
Flipping off switches.
I live on the same street that God lives on.
I never knew it.
I never realized it.
Driving home, singing to the music, thinking of everything and nothing…
There it is
At the end of the block
At the highest point of the street of course
Big, bright, tall.
I never noticed,
I never saw,
I didn’t think it was possible,
On a normal corner, on an average block,
You wouldn’t expect it, so I made up my mind,
I’ve never said hello, good to have you next door,
I’m going to visit God, maybe have coffee, sit for a Chat,
See if by chance I can make god smile.
Showered, shaved, brushed and dressed, but not too much,
I don’t want it to look like a Sunday trip,
Just a simple visit, a nod, a wink,
And a shake of hands goodbye,
a glad to be you neighbor,
if I can ever help, drop by.
I walk down the block, it’s not very far,
Then I’m there.
God’s house.
God’s palace.
Gargantuan in size.
Long tall gold fences, pearly gates open spread wide a mile high ,
From the street to the polished marble steps the gold cobble stone stretch.
The yard is fluffy clouds, edged, prefect like angels would keep.
The steps are bounded by banisters of mixed metals
Gold, bronze, silver, and brass,
Steal, platinum, iron mixed intertwined
Precious gems are everywhere that you grasp.
The porch alabaster, snow blind white, smooth as glass.
The doors, Oh the doors seem to go sky high,
Woods inlaid with woods in impossible design,
My mind whirls,
My breath sticks,
I see how small I am,
How great this is,
And wonder why I exist.
Knees are seismic zones,
Blather minded,
Kidneys work overtime.
There on the door,
A knocker,
A diamond,
Five pounds at least,
As I’m wimping away, my hand reaches out,
The diamond goes thud,
The echo,
echo,
echo,
echo,
echo,
Time stops, Stands still, and walks in a circle around me.
I have that feeling you get when you look up and see the police car in the mirror.
The door opens, my breath slaps me down, body like jello.
My eyes blur and clear.
A man stands there,
Peter?
I fear.
He is tall and straight, perfectly coiffed, no a hair out of place
Not a wrinkle in his suit, no dust on his shoes, so perfect a shine, I can see myself!!!
All new.
All clean.
All a perfect sheen.
With no smile on his face, it’d be out of place, ruin the perfect look of complicacy, symmetry and grace.
“Yes”
That’s all, he says no more,
Just “Yes”
I look at my feet,
Shoes all dusty, pants wrinkled, old. And if my shoe weren’t glued to the porch I’d run.
Words dribble though my lips,
“I live down the block and never said hi so I thought I’d just drop by and say hello, “Is god at home, can I possibly meet him, I don’t want to interrupt, but if there’s a chance…”
The smell is vile,
Vomitus,
Corrupt.
My head snaps, I look up, Eyes so wide, I can’t miss enough.
He smiles, Oh dear god, he smiles.
Teeth sharp, Black and green, gristle hanging, gums bleed, breath crawls out.
The noise, a giggle I think,
The earthquake of my knees makes my head bob and shake.
“Wrong house…” Did I hear “wrong house…over there…”
The hand at the end of a stick called his arm, Is shriveled and stained and rotting.
I stare…
The blast from the shutting of the door tosses me to the street.
What??? Why??? I stand up and look, where had he point???
There. A house. Small. 1940’s or 1950’s.
A simple green lawn.
Cement walk up to well worn wooden steps.
Porch swing, wind chimes, plain old door.
I knock on the screen,
The door opens up,
An old man, hair out of place, cup in his hand.
He smiles,
I smile
“Come in.’ he says.
I follow, over well kept old carpet, down the hall…
The man in the room stomps the floor, slams down a switch. He leans forward and with my wife’s voice and says, “John, John time for coffee…”
Sunlight...Morning.
Night is for dreaming,
But
Sometimes we get to learn from them in the sunlight of morning.
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-07-13
The welcoming bed, the comforter, crisp sheets, soft pillows for heads.
Moonlight, star light, cat smuggled at your feet.
Dreams sweet dreams, whispering softly for your attendance,
But
Behind the dreams in your head,
There’s a door, there behind the old cloths rack, open just a little,
Cracked.
Behind that door sits a funny strange little man,
Surrounded by switches, knobs, dials, and screens.
Muttering into a microphones,
Twitching in his seat.
Impatient.
Waiting.
Pushing at buttons,
Flipping off switches.
I live on the same street that God lives on.
I never knew it.
I never realized it.
Driving home, singing to the music, thinking of everything and nothing…
There it is
At the end of the block
At the highest point of the street of course
Big, bright, tall.
I never noticed,
I never saw,
I didn’t think it was possible,
On a normal corner, on an average block,
You wouldn’t expect it, so I made up my mind,
I’ve never said hello, good to have you next door,
I’m going to visit God, maybe have coffee, sit for a Chat,
See if by chance I can make god smile.
Showered, shaved, brushed and dressed, but not too much,
I don’t want it to look like a Sunday trip,
Just a simple visit, a nod, a wink,
And a shake of hands goodbye,
a glad to be you neighbor,
if I can ever help, drop by.
I walk down the block, it’s not very far,
Then I’m there.
God’s house.
God’s palace.
Gargantuan in size.
Long tall gold fences, pearly gates open spread wide a mile high ,
From the street to the polished marble steps the gold cobble stone stretch.
The yard is fluffy clouds, edged, prefect like angels would keep.
The steps are bounded by banisters of mixed metals
Gold, bronze, silver, and brass,
Steal, platinum, iron mixed intertwined
Precious gems are everywhere that you grasp.
The porch alabaster, snow blind white, smooth as glass.
The doors, Oh the doors seem to go sky high,
Woods inlaid with woods in impossible design,
My mind whirls,
My breath sticks,
I see how small I am,
How great this is,
And wonder why I exist.
Knees are seismic zones,
Blather minded,
Kidneys work overtime.
There on the door,
A knocker,
A diamond,
Five pounds at least,
As I’m wimping away, my hand reaches out,
The diamond goes thud,
The echo,
echo,
echo,
echo,
echo,
Time stops, Stands still, and walks in a circle around me.
I have that feeling you get when you look up and see the police car in the mirror.
The door opens, my breath slaps me down, body like jello.
My eyes blur and clear.
A man stands there,
Peter?
I fear.
He is tall and straight, perfectly coiffed, no a hair out of place
Not a wrinkle in his suit, no dust on his shoes, so perfect a shine, I can see myself!!!
All new.
All clean.
All a perfect sheen.
With no smile on his face, it’d be out of place, ruin the perfect look of complicacy, symmetry and grace.
“Yes”
That’s all, he says no more,
Just “Yes”
I look at my feet,
Shoes all dusty, pants wrinkled, old. And if my shoe weren’t glued to the porch I’d run.
Words dribble though my lips,
“I live down the block and never said hi so I thought I’d just drop by and say hello, “Is god at home, can I possibly meet him, I don’t want to interrupt, but if there’s a chance…”
The smell is vile,
Vomitus,
Corrupt.
My head snaps, I look up, Eyes so wide, I can’t miss enough.
He smiles, Oh dear god, he smiles.
Teeth sharp, Black and green, gristle hanging, gums bleed, breath crawls out.
The noise, a giggle I think,
The earthquake of my knees makes my head bob and shake.
“Wrong house…” Did I hear “wrong house…over there…”
The hand at the end of a stick called his arm, Is shriveled and stained and rotting.
I stare…
The blast from the shutting of the door tosses me to the street.
What??? Why??? I stand up and look, where had he point???
There. A house. Small. 1940’s or 1950’s.
A simple green lawn.
Cement walk up to well worn wooden steps.
Porch swing, wind chimes, plain old door.
I knock on the screen,
The door opens up,
An old man, hair out of place, cup in his hand.
He smiles,
I smile
“Come in.’ he says.
I follow, over well kept old carpet, down the hall…
The man in the room stomps the floor, slams down a switch. He leans forward and with my wife’s voice and says, “John, John time for coffee…”
Sunlight...Morning.
Night is for dreaming,
But
Sometimes we get to learn from them in the sunlight of morning.
Written by John Fried
Posted on 03-07-13
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Media Frenzied
I have to admit, with some small shame,
that TV has taken over my brain.
Forget the shows, it’s commercials you see,
those things that should make you flee.
Between the schlock, before the show,
there’s gonna’ be at least one that I know.
I have to see the baby Prance,
or the little school girls protest dance.
I blame U-Tube, or the facebook rage,
that has put my mind with-in this cage.
With two minute bites, my dead brain cells bloat,
my Intelligence sinks, this boat don’t float.
My hair is shiny, my prescription dictated
My next car bought (obviously updated)
Oh glee and awe, paid programming ya’ll
For thirty minutes I watch on how to clean my hall
My eyes a glazed, my time diverted
Cereal commercials and Dr. Seuss perverted.
The day flies past, night runs away
Morning comes crawling though, afternoons sway.
My wife just smiles and shakes her head,
Gives me my meds, leads me to bed.
Sunlight cracks my dreams,
Settling in, my recliner screams.
So I sit in my chair, my mouth agape,
waiting for the next commercial brake… brake… brake… brake…
Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-26-13
that TV has taken over my brain.
Forget the shows, it’s commercials you see,
those things that should make you flee.
Between the schlock, before the show,
there’s gonna’ be at least one that I know.
I have to see the baby Prance,
or the little school girls protest dance.
I blame U-Tube, or the facebook rage,
that has put my mind with-in this cage.
With two minute bites, my dead brain cells bloat,
my Intelligence sinks, this boat don’t float.
My hair is shiny, my prescription dictated
My next car bought (obviously updated)
Oh glee and awe, paid programming ya’ll
For thirty minutes I watch on how to clean my hall
My eyes a glazed, my time diverted
Cereal commercials and Dr. Seuss perverted.
The day flies past, night runs away
Morning comes crawling though, afternoons sway.
My wife just smiles and shakes her head,
Gives me my meds, leads me to bed.
Sunlight cracks my dreams,
Settling in, my recliner screams.
So I sit in my chair, my mouth agape,
waiting for the next commercial brake… brake… brake… brake…
Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-26-13
Poetry of the Mind
In poems there is meter and rhyme,
That’s what teachers say all the time,
A beat to keep, like a pounding drum,
A thesaurus work to drive one to rum
With tricks of mind and clever little twists
One weaves words into strange little mists
Some so smooth off the tongue
they tend to make the bees hum
Others in so Gilbert and Sullivan they say
nothing in high standing comedic ways
Some write to fall to others dreaming call
To drift away in dreams soft sway far and all
A loss to self, in rhyming curse
To write what is in them the worst
Of addled dreams, fever minds tossed
And leave the reader at cross roads losted
But the poetry of the mind
Defies the meter, destroys the rhyme
And teachers best lesions are learned
So self incrimination's are earned…
Written by John Fried
Posted on 02/25/13
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