March 2012


I’m sitting here again,
alone and feeling down.
You should be right here,
but you didn’t come around.
This isn’t the first time,
you stood me up like this.
I’m too nice so I’ve been told,
to get the girl is my only wish.
I listen to you whine,
and upon my shoulder you cry.
But you see me like a brother.
Why do I even try?
Ladies say they want a nice guy,
but that isn’t what they want.
They want a guy who is a jerk,
but looks great so they can flaunt.
I have an idea, heres the knife,
why don’t you twist it a little more.
I might be nice and sweet,
but when it comes to pain, I’m hardcore.
I don’t even need this,
piece of trash to rhyme.
It doesn’t matter,
my feelings and all.
My writing sucks,
and I’m pissed off.
Don’t tell me it gets better.
I don’t even want it to.
I broke my fingers,
so I can’t even try to get out of this hole.
I’m not going to say sorry,
For this piece of shit rant.
Don’t tell me to cheer up,
Because I just can’t.

Allen Ginsberg created something called an American Sentence. It was basically his version of Haiku. I decided to try my hand. 17 syllables, one sentence.

1 The smoke is thick and black as I look down to find a hole in my chest.

2 The ink upon my skin tells tales of downfall and of recovery.

3 I watch my children playing sports, trying to be the best they can be.

4  My smile hides the pain inside
as I fall deeper into despair.

5  Words can cut you deeper than a knife shoved directly into your heart.

6  Like the snake, I shed my skin and grow, leaving my past where it belongs.

7  The wood of the cherry tree smells sweet and reminds me of better times.

8  He stole my life and resides within my old house, laughing all the while.

9 I don’t know if I was born to write, but I will try my best to please.

    I’m laying here in the darkness of my room thinking. I find myself pondering on the fact that nobody knows when their time is up. Mine could be in 70 years, or before I finish writing this sentence. (Well, I guess I didn’t die before finishing that one, but you know what I mean.) :p
    What will I think when that time comes? Will I be proud of what I have accomplished? Will I be ashamed of what I haven’t? I don’t know, but I do know this… I will definitely be thankful for the people I have had the pleasure to know in this lifetime. Even you who read my words.
    My words, to me, sound like so much drivel, but the fact that you read them means the world to me. I don’t know if my writing has an effect on people, but I hope that at the very least, it makes people look at the world a little different. So thank you, my faceless friends, from the bottom of my heart.

Grinningbear

    On Tuesday I was helping coach the under nine lacrosse league that my son plays on. I am not a certified coach. I coach alongside two certified coaches, but unlike them, at the games, I’m not allowed on the field. So I get the best of both worlds. I get to help coach, and I get to actually watch the games on gameday instead of having to coach then.
    I would have become certified but my son has issues with me coaching. He told me it’s not fair that I get to tell him what to do when he’s with me, and on the field. So while I’m there, I won’t deal with him. I told him that if he has an issue, he needs to speak with one of the other coaches. This works pretty well for us.
    On Tuesday it started to rain shortly after practice started. Normally lacrosse, like other rough sports, is played as long as there is no lightning. Our practice field happens to be part of a private school’s field. And since the league pays to use it, it is bound by the school’s rules. They don’t want us playing in the rain because the cleats cause damage to the field. Let’s ignore the fact that the field is full of ankle breaking holes due to the gopher population.
    Our head coach decided that since only five kids showed up to practice, four of them being coaches kids, that practice would continue. We had a great time running drills and goofing around. I have always enjoyed the rain. In fact, I haven’t owned an umbrella since the third grade. So I wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. We were soaked to the bone and still having a blast.
    After practice, the coaches were talking about the day. The head coach says, “That was fun! It’s been so long since I was in the rain without an umbrella. I kind of forgot how fun it could be.” He had a giant, childlike smile on his face as he said this. The kids were still busy running around playing catch.
    I think, as adults, we sometimes lose the ability to find joy in something as simple as playing in the rain. If you find yourself in a moment like this, take the time to enjoy it like you did as a child. We seem to spend our lives outgrowing the joys of childhood, and finding joy in new things. Things that we deem more important, like making money, or finding something to watch on one of the five million channels we have to choose from. Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with finding joy in new things as you get older, but don’t strangle the child that still lives within you.
    Step back for a moment and ask yourself what you, as a child, would think of yourself if you met yourself now. Would that child like the person you have become? Or would that child think you are boring? So do yourself a favor and find yourself something you used to love to do as a child, and do it again. You might just find that we can still view the world through their eyes. And the child in you will thank you for it. 🙂

    I have a poetry app called Poets Corner. (it’s only for phones) You can post your poetry and people can comment on it. There was a man going around posting mean things. Constructive criticism is one thing, but this gentleman was very rude. He was telling people their writings were worthless, and stuff like that. I wrote this for him and he never responded… I wish he would have.

Hey pacelli, come and pick on me.
I love the fact that your criticism’s free.
I’d pay to learn in a college class,
But I’d rather learn from your vindictive ass.

PC is not for critics with no poems.
It’s where we come to share with glee,
the thoughts we think when we’re alone
It’s the perfect place for Teenagetragedy.

So please please please be done with her,
And come help me to see.
I need help with my iambic pentameter.
It’s very hard for me.

Am I right when I say, that to do it in English,
It has to be in Accentual-syllabic verse?
To understand this complex thing is my wish.
Having to use qualitative metre, makes it worse.

You see, I need this help to write a sonnet.
So after I learn this iambic stuff,
I was hoping you’d help me feel less like a baby with no bonnet.
Cuz, deciding on Occitan, Spenserian, or modern is rough.

Perhaps I should go with original Petrarchan style.
That would be like being a bard.
Poets like Milton and Gray, did it in English for awhile.
But something like “O voi che per la via” is too hard.

So any assistance you could give this young whelp,
Would help me “get it” and ring my bell.
I’ll say in advance, thanks professor for the help.
Now shut up, turn off your phone, and go to hell. 🙂

   Read all the way thru before you start judging me please. 😉

Well my love, I have to leave. It isn’t you, it’s me. I really love you but I just can’t see you anymore. Don’t cry my love, just please  try to remember the good times. Remember when we met? I was just a teen. We’d fool around  at my house while my parents were gone. You used to always come with me to all the parties I went to back in the day. We were just nibbling the edges of love, but as time went on, I fell madly in love with you. We started getting hot and heavy. You and me in my room at night, maybe a quickie at lunch during school. In the back room at work. At my wedding was when you started to make me feel dirty. But I couldn’t quit. We met up a lot on my honeymoon, and sometimes even me, you, and my wife. You took the edge off during my divorce, and stayed with me on those cold and lonely nights. But I have to leave. I thought you were helping me, but in truth you have been slowly draining me of life. You are truly a poison in my soul, and I need you to leave. But I will always remember our times together. I will always love you. And I will forever have your name burned into my mind. Goodbye…. Alcohol.

Love,
Grinn

(Bet you were thinking I was a total a$$hole huh? Lmao  Gotcha. Luv ya all. 🙂

I’ve always been a fighter
That’s the way I was raised
Crackin skulls, gettin loaded
Is how I spent my days
I’ve never backed down
From a single fight
Ya beat me down and I’ll come back
And leave you layin in the night
Didn’t need a grip of friends
To do what must be done
I’d beak his legs, I’d break his back
Then I’d steal his gun
I’d make sure he was watchin
Put that shit up to my head
Don’t try to fuckin kill me
Cuz I’m already dead
And then one day it ended
As quick as it began
I was gonna be a daddy
Friends said I shoulda ran
Wouldn’t do that to her
Wouldn’t do that to my kid
Whiny mother fuckers
Were the ones that ran and hid
Instead of packin knuckles
I’m packin bottles and a diaper
When shit goes down nowadays
I clean and change and wipe her
Instead of smokin meth
I’m rockin her to sleep
No more fightin, no more dealin
They say I’m in too deep
They can kiss my ass
They’ll never know the joy
Of workin hard and comin home
To a baby girl or boy
I’ve always been a fighter
Thats the way I was raised
Honest work and cookin dinner
Is how I spend my days

(This is not completely autobiographical. I’ve lived a hard life, but I did stop before I had my children. This is in honor of all those who get out of the game to take care of their children. Anybody can be tough, but it takes real men and women to raise their children and teach them the ways of honest work and love for ones family. 🙂

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