Memory fleeting past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

two cats

Two cats had a discussion,
upon my front porch today.
I’m here! the first said.
Your there!! The second.
Go away! the first spake.
You first, whisper the second.
I’M HERE!!! The first yowled.
You’ll stay there forever, the second hissed.
So they had a race, across the yard, over the street, down the block,
To a fence over which the winner shot.
The loser took a bath, chased a bee, danced across the street, sniffed at the grass,
chased a leaf, climbed to the porch, with head held high to look over his domain… took a nap.

Written by John Fried
Posted 02-25-13

Fish

There are fish In my aquarium,
I watch them day to day
In their water filled vacuum, 
flying as they pass along their way.
I wonder though,
are they the watched
Or are they the watching,
And pondering why I do not fly
In my empty air filled void
I shake my head, enough said
Go on with my daily voyage…

Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-25-13

I started on the walk one day

I started on the walk one day
And a young oak I saw
Standing aloof, proud, tall
In its well made bed,
set and ready to be admired, 
its arms held high,
Almost arrogant as it reached though the sky.
Trimmed and sculpted it looked down,
And I walked on, passing by.
Later on my walk, I came to a field
Another oak tree I see,
Bent by weathers,
Wild in its bed
Old scars of fire upon its back,
Lightning struck,
Its arms bent wide and down
Gently bowing at the ground
Its shaggy head ruffled the sky,
It smiled at me and I grinded back
and beneath its invites I set aside my cane
To laid my head my walk at end…

Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-23-13

When I was young I was told

When I was young I was told:
You can’t have evil without good,
You can’t have good without evil,
And I understood.
Without light, there is only the dark,
You have no sight,
And without dark you are snow-blind,
And cannot see.
Then I got older.
Gray showed up, between the light and the dark,
On the edge of the lights fine lace
is the darks faded charcoal smudges.
Good can be the comfort of a trees gray shade
Or Texas sunlight hash summer gaze.
and I grew older.
I noticed what we see as dark, is not always,
what we want to see becomes what is important
not what is bright in light, gray shadows or dark night,
that good can flourish where we think all is dark,
and that the darkest evil can come
in the shadow of the arm
outstretched
accusing finger
bright in the sun
dark without simple understanding…

Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-21-13

Sunbeam

The 
morning 
Sunlight 
Passes 
through 
a
window
and
s c a t t e r s
On a
Cat.
How about that!

Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-20-13

There is a time I remember

It's been 25 years, but a weak start is better than nothing:

There is a time I remember,
When thoughtful care was give to others,
When respect was the first common factor 
In our discourse and conversation.
There is a way I feel that we had,
To listen to others thoughts and ideas
That we didn’t condemn or cry foul,
For we realized all views helped balance the world.
We have truth and falsehood in all of our opinions,
For we lie to ourselves the easiest
And in that are all wrong and we are all right
At times in the least and others in the most part
So when you start to talk or read
When you begin to answer or counter
Think not to how the last person treated your ideas,
Take not your revenge upon the treatment you last got,
Do not stoop to a level below yourself
But with open mind, study to see
What others feel and see
Work for the betterment of yourself and all
And converse as you wish the world to be
And how you wish your treatment could be…
We can always agree to disagree…

Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-19-13