The Poet's Pen

What prompts YOU
to pick up the pen
And write unsolicited poems
of women and men
Being but a meek mortal
Writing words creates the portal
For all to see
The passion, love, lust and anger
That dwells inside me
There are some
who know my soul
Some words are for them
Writing them keeps me whole
Strangers now to each other
To a life that has passed
Only the written word will ever last
Poems of passion a tribute today
Lusting for tomorrow
The pen will show the way

© by Gypsypashn ---,--'--<{@
8/18/2000

The Angels of Gloucester
by marc d. goldfinger

In Gloucester, the angels come together
in hospitals, churches, kitchens, they laugh and cry
in each other's arms. Once they were dirt
whores, carried by the winds of bad chance

into dark hallways, virus-strewn streets,
offered themselves to wasted men and other
cracked demons to buy death on hard-time payments.
Their spirits forgot the words to the ancient

sister songs and their children were ripped
from them. Cramped and alone, these women
cowered in dark basements, fell to their knees before
lesser gods in hell's hotels, died and were

burned, their ashes swept away with a bitter tide. Everything
changes. They become sisters, walk an ancient path now, join hands
at signs of trouble, hug each others children, knit
their families into hot strong blankets with threads

of prayer. The men watch.

Bikers

Bikers are a strange breed-
Because when it comes to living,

Men act like they're going to live forever
And feel short changed when they don't-

But most bikers know the truth-
When it comes to life
We're all just passing through
So you might as well enjoy the ride-
So- what others measure-
In dollars and cents-
Bikers measure- in speed and chrome
-cast iron and stainless steel-
-black rubber - engine power

And it's what your gauges measure that counts...
-Not other's expectations.

It's twisting the wick
Snapping the next gear...
Going down the red line
While you streak down the white line.

Leaving all the citizens to stay in line-

'Cause you know the truth
We're all just passing through

And heaven is just one more gear up.

The Appendage Police

The appendage police came the other day and threatened to confiscate my hands. They said I was writing subversive songs and anti-status-quo articles and screw-the-system poetry. They told me to straighten up and fly right 'cause after all, they knew what was good for me and how would I like to go around with no hands to ride or eat or touch with?

Later the brain police arrived and told me to stop having subversive, anti-status-quo, screw-the-system thoughts. They offered me an all expense paid surgical procedure that would help me fit in with the rest of their designer world.

"Just wait," they said, "If you don't come around, you'll be sorry ... We can adjust those little gray cells of yours and you'll be just fine."

After that, the emotion police showed up and suggested (very strongly) that I stop caring about war and poverty and spirituality and making the world a better place. They implored me to work hard and make more money. Then they told me to stop hurting so much for what could be and accept the world for what it is. They said they had these chemicals I could take that would make me happy - all the time.

When the sex police pulled up, I slipped out a window, jumped on my bike and left town...

Revenge

The headstones shown bright under the full moon,
Growing close to midnight and not a minute too soon.
It had been a year since Jake had lost his life,
The result of being stabbed by an unknown's knife.
Buried with his bike; a very touching scene,
Together for eternity, man and his machine.
It was never really clear what happened that night,
No one had wittnessed such a deadly fight.
His bro Mike who was with him told how it went down,
But unfortunately he was the only eyewittness in town.
He said that a rival club had caught them by surprise,
And stabbed Jake in the back right before his eyes.
Shortly after Jake's death Mike moved in with his widowed wife,
It seems he had been after her most of her married life.
Tonight was a party for the anniversary of Jake's decease,
But after all this time for him there was still no peace
As they gathered around the grave in memory of "Ole" Jake,
Suddenly the ground began to tremble like a mighty earthquake.
Then up from the earth sprang a ghostly figure astride a bike,
And skidded to a sudden stop about a foot in front of Mike.
With blood red eyes he looked at him with an evil grin,
And said "now tell everyone what really happened back then".
As Mike looked at the crowd as if he were ready to explode,
The apparition grabbed him and back into the ground the two of them rode.

Fire Escape

The narrow
boxed-in feeling
Like the alleys
between the
apartment buildings
All gray cement and rusty steel
Except for the sun shining
at the very top
But it cannot reach me
As I shiver
Indoors.

Quasi-intellectual, semi-sarcastic essays and photographs
about life and motorcycles