a wish upon a flower

a quake
and wave
endless winter
invisibly falling
soil maimed
the monk 
temple grown
20 million suns
parch the earth
of suffering
in hope
to wish upon
a sunflower

Inspired by the short film "Invisible Snow"  http://buddhismnow.com/2011/08/20/invisible-snow/


the dreamers

come with me
to the harbor of arbors
away from the eyes
and the lies
those who prosthelytize
us to be unbelievers
battered heads
in empty beds
to dream again as one

those eyes

those eyes
they hypnotize
as they gaze across
the glass to mine
soul inspecting
ne'er rejecting
to see me raw
and not withdraw
erotically charged
into mine did barge
left me wanting
all the more
and nothing more
to want


my angel

i can't bear the thought
of a world you're not a part of
i can't bear the thought of air
your lungs hasn't breathed
or a sky without a moon
you've walked along beneath
you changed me without even trying
gave life when i'd resigned to dying
when I wanted to join
my dreams in their grave
you came along and saved
me from myself
you know just what to say
to brighten every day
your picture and a deep breath
can vanquish any stress
you are my religion my penance
my absolution
what i wouldn't give
to take the pain from you
even if it killed me
as i'd be better still
than when you found me
a better man because you loved me
without judgement
my flaws and failures,
my sadness didn't scare you
hope is such a foreign feeling
my heart left reeling
with every moment spent together
i want to grow old
just to spend it all with you



just a glance and the spiral begins,
the cimmerian night luring me in.
away from love, away from you,
from all my hopes pretended to.
stygian waves crash against my shore,
charnel surf my mind erodes, beckons me once more.
the malady it surges, observe it when it comes;
darkness rising from within, like a nearing drum.
the angel flirts, my devil within,
can't stand to be inside my skin.

image: http://poisonedshadow.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/depression.jpg


every night
my body wakes
in search of you,
glimmer of hope
so desperate sought;
before sun
kisses morning,
while moon hangs,
waiting, yearning; 
sleeping eyes,
i reach for you
across the empty bed.
soothed by you,
ever present.


all that jazz

(for Michael Harper)

falling like the rain goes
landing on a needle's point
as the sun strays behind
     a rainbow moon
grandiloquent jazz beaten blue
echoing hughes in its resonance
angry arrangements
     harmonious beat of
     enigma and intention
is this what drew allen, jack and bill
     to the bars of the wild neon night
     drunk on port
     high on green apples and benny tubes
mexican fresco
     painted on a cracked wall
     carelessly spattered with tar
a ragtime rhythm
sweet from the alto sax
sinks like liquid lead
in the ocean of cacophony

~ dwmetz, 1994


where are the feast of friends
dispersed across the earth
like lung blown dandelions
london, paris, linden and roselle
where is the church bell tolling
to call the demon saints together
where are the days of youth and innocence
bottled beer and railroad tracks
first date at mcdonalds mother driving
training wheels and rubber masks
bloodied in the pavement crash
arcane rites to summon demons
dice tossed deciding death
military dreams stunted by frail heart
the romance of tragedy
basement boiler room razor blades
catholic school tie tourniquet
a dare a chance to end it
cyclical sorrows interrupted by mirth
time passing like loved ones old
the seeds were dark from the start

~dwmetz, 3 november 1994

poem while dying

gasping for breath,
i still insist on maledictions.
i stare death in the face
and she laughs at my audacity,
calls me a brazen fool
and brushes me away with a
silk dressed thigh.

~dwmetz april 1995


waiting tides

while the tide divides
and night bleeds to your dawn,
within that dreaded silence
i cannot help but look upon
to reminisce in moments shared
and words between exchanged;
linger in your photograph,
sigh deep to breathe you in.
try not to mourn the empty past
where arms could not have been,
the ache is almost over,
our future i have seen.
the beach is near within our reach
in hand to walk along,
with orchestra of stars alight
mesmerizing oceans song.
to walk beside til end of night
and when the sun does rise,
waiting there at end of time
to hold you by my side.


going home

the last time in, 
i was already out, 
returned for 
odds and ends;
room to room 
a ghost i walked, 
ill not knowing, 
where fate was going,
shedding tears 
for each bit taken.
left behind 
the golden ring, 
on hand an 
empty space;
absconding with 
a book of poems, 
and memory 
of friendship's face.
the absinthe dream, 
of love it seemed, 
would sleep 
another night.



when the broken breaks
does it matter
the number of pieces
would you consider 
when broken fall
to pick up
or leave shattered
left for someone else
to put in the bin 
break me if you must
i was already pieces
make more if you must
grind me down to sand
with it i'll make glass
and craft you a mirror
look back at yourself
and hope 
it doesn't shatter. 



did i reveal
too soon,
when whispered words
unto the moon?
was i out of turn,
when confessed
my breast did burn?
promethean fire
you lit in me;
your whisper stopped
the cacophony
of voices
droning in negation.
tried to hold
the word at bay,
when time was
longer spent.
save it for
another day,
not to wonder
if words were meant.
i could hold
my voice no more,
for fear you leave
my somber shore,
and i awake
and you no more,
my sweet lenore
to ever mourn.


to love the night

to love you is 
to love the night,
i cannot put 
my arms around,
in darkness still 
you hold me.
world away 
or quarter day,
mountains left
to climb.


a. poem

as morning sun
began to rise
the moon held fast
the autumn sky
the crickets breathed
and echoed back
there he lay
upon his back
the pen was spent
with heart it went
laid out sarcophagus
and wondered not
for love



is there any
further to fall
than falling out
of love with life
in the middle
of nowhere
you're somewhere
and when somewhere
you're lost
hopes dashed
on a rain splashed



every reflection
a stranger mirrored
inducing guilt
as if not being
true to self
a mask comes off
another worn
some cracked,
some whole
some white
with nothingness
more welcoming
to wear
to embrace
what it brings
pleasure or pain,
full or empty,
anything welcomed
to feel again
strangers wander
the carnival of souls
comedy or tragedy,
each one
a monster hiding
unleashed conformity
unbridled desires
truth so seldom told
musicians wait
for the dancers to arrive
only to find
broken thespians
drinking sour wine
eyelet hollows burn to see
until the ember fades
closed eyed death
not welcome yet
age of sleep
to dream again
Awakened, dark
desires disappear
until the mask falls
will not be clear



she danced
holding my hand
not deadweight
but so danced me
astral companion
beyond space
and time
rhythm in poetry
smoothness in wine
she danced with me
a tribal beat
whip of wind
we woke the gods
with words
for offerings
to orchestra
of heart and soul
two of the same
dancing alone



yet fearful
of the curl
you've made
my lips
to make
and why
so seldom
seems foreign
unused muscles
of a smile
in infinity



in a storm
i lost you
gaze neglected
as i spun around
for shore to swim
or harbor rest
to save myself
looking back
all around
no grasping hand
no bubble to signal
breath beneath
daylight dawns
the beach
within reach
a myth, eyes
playing tricks
come back dear muse
come back

Shine On

I'd like to thank the Michael David Saunders Hall, for nominating me for the "Shine On" award.  Michael is one of the many talented poets I've met thanks to Poets of G+ and a few other poetry communities I'm involved in. While I certainly appreciate the nomination in itself, what I really like is the ripple effect of discovering new poets.

Requirements for accepting the nomination are as follows:

1. Display the award logo on your blog. - check

2. Link back to the person who nominated you. - check

3. State 7 things about yourself - hmm, ok sit tight.

4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them...

5. Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award requirements.

7 things about me:
  • i despise filling out "about me" sections
  • i need to travel more
  • i have a degree in film and video production
  • i work in "IT"
  • i'm a volunteer ambassador for ShelterBox
  • favorite author: Jack Kerouac
  • favorite musician: John Coltrane

The following are among my favorite current poets, both for the amazing work they produce as well as the friendship they've shown me in support of my own writing endeavors. I hope you enjoy their company as much as I do.

My 15 Nominees:


sounds heard on a summer sunday night

the crackling pop
of lumber burning
the crunch
of a graham cracker
in a little mouth
the crisp snap
cervesa in a can
the sizzle of the drizzle
that wouldn't stay away
the thud of car doors
and airplanes in descent
tires on wet pavement
neighbors dog disturbed
my black dogs now sleeping
beer and cigarettes
and the company of others
left them sleeping
in the soul kitchen
another can snaps
another ember pops
an offering
to the music gods
yielded ivory
then hard bop trumpet
and god made the rain stop
because you were all alone
drum solo
awakens the soul
saxophone lullaby
embers slowly churning
water drips
beneath the pit
steam gallantly rising
and the court of six
sits empty



night slowly
drawing shade
skin savoring
each gracing breeze
the trees rustle
cryptic conversations
among themselves
asking about
the soul who wanders
and where is the other
close your eyes
you'll hear the ocean
too much car commotion
looks off to what
he thinks is west
that would be
the place to rest
the breeze gone
a stillness settles
stars fixed
clouds drifting
not yet lifting


each night

each time i lay down
i find myself
in thoughts of you
is it because
you're the only one
to know that ache
of alone
or is it the way
i know you'd scoff
to know that day by day
it's still the same
each night i lay
each dream another lie
each morning
a cold goodbye



poured into the void
to see the world
from a caterpillar perspective
in half world dreams
like shaman guests
to keep at bay
the black dogs barking
the blanket in the night
when all around is cold
aching for silence
where do they go



i'm afraid
     i'm losing
          my humanity
too often said
     i'm sorry
          for your loss
too frequent
     the empathy
          for innocents

wish to comfort
     hope to save
          but words
fall hollow

as we march unto
     our waiting graves
          tears run dry
no more
     questioning why

is the numbness
     my protection
          is the echo
god's rejection

why is despair
          where did i lose
the hope to bear

somewhere in the
     white space
          between life and death

i fear
     i lost


the reason

shut the doors
turn off the lights
another night
another season
divining for reason
melancholic routine
of wash rinse repeat
each night
a moment stolen
from the sun-kissed
children's hour
that breathes
between sunsets
and the moon rise
a solemn pause
to gape the one sky
that covers you and i
could your sight
be upon the same light
would you wonder
you and i
the words unspoken
soul echoes broken
just a figment
of joy's imagination
the melancholic routine
wash rinse repeat


the movie

surreal to sit in the theatre
waiting for the film to start
afraid of the mirror that might reflect me
wanting to scream "turn the lights down"
not wanting to be seen
but wanting to see you
every song that played
crashing into me like a sledgehammer
surrounded by strangers i've known
who never knew me like you did
double checking every face to enter
had I missed you comIng in
or did fate intervene
worlds colliding heart subsiding
what was it that I'd become
the fool, the liar, the scoundrel?
and then I heard your voice
and for a moment all was right
for a moment
there was sunshine in the night

~ dwmetz 01.13.2012



bonum nocte (audio)

When the words of a poem, be it your own or another's, keep coming back to you - you know it's hit a nerve.

bonum nocte
i miss you most
whenever we’re together
we’ve come so far
to get so far apart
missing the last chance
to sleep beside each other
and to think the kindest night
was the night we called it over


Discovering Duluoz, new tracks

I've added a few more tracks to my spoken word book movie proect, Discovering Duluoz.. Click the link below for the set list on SoundCloud

SoundCloud: Discovering Duluoz


to stand alone

the raven locks guard a strength within
the way your lip twists down when pondering
not at all disfiguring - beautiful in thought
from the same side of the dark

what happened to you
what happened to me
that grey we've dealt within
before 50 shades made it a thing

in darkness i regain my faith
yet still to stand alone
divergent from the happy masses
my strength within my poems


straight and winding

black highway white lines
lost in the time
trance like thunder
echoes through my chest
the sky a grey wrinkled quilt
puffy like her eyelids
crying through the night before
depression, needing to cry
but the well of tears run dry
enlightenment finds you
in the yellow light box
of a maintenance truck behind you
road rising through the trees
asphalt river, valley of leaves
stopped at the intersection
of freedom and sadness


spirituality lost

remember not
under sun
everything done
to your kingdom
now violent
a threat this creation
fall from temptation
now my image
in your conversation
you lost one
you lost some one
your talk cold
the price of your soul
tryin' to grab hold
what you control
silver and gold
every man's exempt
down on repent
can't talk of judgment
your movement's a serpent
consequence is innocent
to the full extent
intent for punishment
you don't wanna hear
paths you must choose
you lost one
you lost some one
someone lost you
did you gain from
what you done,
just understand man
universal law
karma can't hold
back that long
until you do right,
all will go wrong
can still be reborn
from the night
arise sweet dawn
some listen
and some shun
think they've reached
see what you've become
lost one


Discovering Duluoz


In my life I can remember at least two literary awakenings. The first was my exposure to Lord of the Rings. I remember my mother got a set from a friend of hers for me one summer. The three books and cardboard sleeve that held them was at least 10 years old. The pages all had that tattered smell us bibliophiles love to breathe oh so deep. I disappeared in the fantasy.

But that has nothing to do with this project.

The second awakening was the summer of 1992 on the beach at Long Beach Island when I was first introduced to the spontaneous prosody of Jack Kerouac. Throughout the previous year or so my curiosity had been bombarded with the hype of hipness by a long time comrade and fellow writer. As my boredom was reaching its zenith with the rhythmic lulls of the ocean and unminded children, it was with great delectation that I discovered one of Kerouac's novels on my sister's dresser.
Oddly enough, it was not the book that eternally crowned Kerouac 'King of the Beats' and the subsequent father of a new generation. It was in fact The Dharma Bums, a text that I thoroughly enjoyed and quickly devoured on the sand swept landscape. In a sense, it was a demarcation of a major turning point in my life as I had finally found a literary mentor with whom to commiserate with sheer honesty. From that fateful day when the salt spray dampened the pages of the book before me, I would approach the world with eyes as fresh as a newborn infant's. Traveling anywhere without a journal became unheard of.
According to the first entry I'd kept a journal previously, about 2 years ago, and had ceased writing 1 year, 11 months and 2 weeks after that. But this journal, and the half dozen or so that followed, would prove to be different. On the inside jacket of the first I taped a copy (though still handwritten) of Jack Kerouac's Belief and Techniques for Modern Prose.
Over the next few years I wrote constantly, from the day I put down the Dharma Bums, to the day I bussed and hitchhiked to Ti Jean's very town of birth, the haunts of Doctor Sax, Lowell, Massachusetts. From book to birthplace I was Discovering Duluoz.
When I was done I gave a copy of my manuscript to a few friends and until very recently forgot all about it. My project, though that sounds much to formal and bureaucratic for what I have in mind, is to revisit those entries, the verse of my mind in discovery, and assemble my favorites into a spoken word collection.

without wings

in the afternoon sun
arms outstretched
you sweetly soared
through the april breeze
a smile bright,
your heart in flight
my angel
without wings
on high from days delight
to sleep you'd fight
unless someone
would cuddle beside you
soon a gentle snore
i held your hand
listed to you breathe
and listened to you
breathe some more
i watched you lay
smooth face on the pillow
curls like clouds
sleeping angel
where did you leave
your wings

Spoken Word Hangout

Here's the video of our G+ Spoken Word Workshop hangout on G+ last night. Some exciting news regarding Nexus Cafe and yours truly.


poetry hangover

was it the wine
was it the pills
was it the poetry
i cannot stand still
against disaster i lean
one eye closed
to escape meandering
a rhythm flows
a beat beats
a sacred cadence
from beneath
steel drums peel
aortas thump
bump. bump. bump.
table wobbles
dean stance begone
keep on keep on
syn ack sin flash
what does it mean
aren't we all
just wondering
can i be loved
and why do i need it



madness that you woke
just a verse at first
then more and more
as nights begone
the seed planted
watered with wine
moonlight ripened
how could i forget
an entire book
names faces drunk places
bodhisattva center of all
back and again she calls
back alive i am
as if all before were a dream
the haze of waking
wrapped in sheets of smoke
blankets of jazz
and a fire



kindred friends
distance be damned
words brought together
broken down
to binary
and back again
rooftop yawps
and basement whisperings
microphones immortalize
as poets sing and cry
kindred companions
circle round
but try they
cannot shield
the closest are
the furthest flown
you next to me
i feel alone



the hits keep coming
words not fists maliciously
to gut and to jaw
scars of old are raw again

shouting in silence
bear witness the burning hope
poems of old he rides
across wires synapse misfires

from keyboard somber
roman candle poems explode
crowd gathers watching
some cheer the rising tempest

others silent mourn
of charred corpse but one thing left
heart impervious
reincarnation he wills

now bereft of happiness


This is my first attempt at the Japanese poetry form of choka.

choka, a form of waka (Japanese court poetry of the 6th to 14th century) consisting of alternating lines of five and seven syllables and ending with an extra line of seven syllables. The total length of the poem is indefinite.




of course you don't want a dog
you're convinced you already have one
what happened to love
what happened to friends
what had been erotic is now erratic
life is too short for this misery
reverse misogyny
you could have had my heart
now you can have my back

white horses

i've yielded to the white horses,
curious desperation
driving the stampede;
intrigued but not enthralled
as heartbeat races
imagined fires, sparked libido
only waking moments later
as a heard of elephants
danced a cerebral ballet
nauseous, jealous
with voice and distance
the street rat feigns
the country boy
drowning in mediocrity
or saved by a western wave

~ dwmetz

never beautiful

a brain diseased by mirrors
starvation, deprivation, self-
annihilation, forced to conform
to a frame of glass,
if only to be blind.
gross, disgusting,
hunk of meat. day after day
after day, never to see
her own beauty


texaco revisited

harvest moon high in the sky
that magic night i saw you
and you saw me in page after page
years gone by were minutes passed
had it really been that long
and still i felt for you
the sanctity of primal love
stars behind you, sand beneath
candle quivers in your grasp
you devoured my words
i wanted to give my soul to you
i'm sorry that i lost that ring
as i always seem to do
i should have guarded it better
excuses of parking meters
forced our parting
who cares about the car
had i known i'd rather walk
the world beside you
we said we'd see each other soon
but never said your soon
or my soon or why soon
and not now
back to the grey house
looking for what i'd already found
the moon's magic extinguished
should have sealed it with a kiss




i'm sorry it's so frustrating
to communicate
it's hard to hear you
over the poetry
bleeding from my ears
the voices trapped inside
the jazz of the street beneath
i watch you like a sitcom
queue canned laugh in 3. 2.
i can't see the humor
but i chuckle
at the thought
it's not you it's me
my mind
needs to be free


hash collision

clouds colliding
universe inward riding
inside the wires
malformed desires
secrets and lies
poets and spies
from rooftops shouting
who's to hear
the rhythm of sin
skin on skin
to waste resistance
or welcome reckoning

suburban doldrums

artifacts of memories
clay pots that once held flowers
so little sun to grow
scars the only lasting souvenirs
it's more spacious here
but sirens are too prevalent
from the doors of perception
to the walls of persuasion
everybody giving up
until no one is happy
each day the black dogs bay
to their jowls hurled
fistfuls of pills,
bottles green and brown,
cartons of ash
like a terrible infant
on the wrong side of town
still pauses to stare the setting sun
over fence through neighboring trees
succumbing now numb enough
the backdoorstep of suburban death


the ocean muse

the muse dressed like justice
whispers softly
she stands in the sand
with painted toes
a wisp among the white wash
her gossamer gauze
dancing on the frothing surf
off the beach she beckons
luring with glances
out to see the sea
to the moonlit driven waves
and suffering stallions
he's frozen to the sand slowly
slipping down the hour glass
and with the waves like
dreams of night
she retreats
taking his heart for art
and leaving him there
to write

~dwmetz, 2013



feast of one

tonight as I dined
on pb & j and wine
strawberry for jelly
grapes for the vine
on a fancy bread
i thought of you
and smiled


one more

one more cigarette
one more postponement
of acceptance
this isn't
how you ever thought
it would work out
the chorus of existence
faithlessly praying
for change



in autumn when the awards were dispelled
he prayed in the basement
to his bodhisattva
drinking coffee
dashing against depression
his desperation to dream
dreams of driving home to his father
through fires in the forest
true freedom to come from ghosts
goodbye my grief
all my heroes have insomnia
to live and love under moon til morning
mortality transfixed to the muse
music gods and nature dance through night
while pain is trapped in photography
and poetry rains a red blood street
go now to the mill
say farewell to relationships
the separation that had to come
sleep now my son in stillness
be a stranger to surgery
your minds survival is in the trees
and when it's time trust your wine
and unleash your words

image: http://www.flickr.com/x/t/0095009/photos/fotoshock/5337002027/


a soul unfinished

a pipe before bed
his soul born old
musing on the muse
and the smile she inspires
the literal joy she brings
on tie died wings
yet the smile a secret keeps
night drawn long he sits alone
the fire wanes
moon peeking through elder trees
he climbs into the wooden cave
sharing the sky by divided night
spirit damp she makes it bright
and yet together they may not be
and so his soul would not be right


poison wine

staring at the bottle on the shelf
contemplating opening for the sake of feeling
it calls, entices
fingers trace the gentle curves
afraid to release the intoxicating scent
to drink to hide or to release
words creeping closer to the surface
lingering on the choice already made
glasses left on the shelf
bottle taken straight to mouth
the crimson dribbles past the corner of a smirk
poison or divine unknown
can never escape her
feelings consume consummate
there is no hiding
an error to imbibe
ponder how to purge
the wine warming your veins
but a part never wants it to end
the warmth the numbness
the room spinning
the spinning thoughts cannot be purged
the bottle overturned to suckle each and every drop
parched at the wellspring of despair
panic when there are no drops left



for decades the words have got me through
catharsis through ink or type
until now
no words come close to describe the depth of darkness
no eloquence to trap the despair within a page
to make it mine and move beyond
the golden noose binds no more
i cry for the children
punished in their innocence
for what was never meant to be



shivering on cold sheets
the winter wind
or the ache within
the space beside him empty
she warns him of the fire
consuming as it rips
through the brush
he'd welcome that death
with a kiss
if for but a moment
the cold would abate
emptiness overwhelms
no tears left to run
how can this be what
was meant to be

five five

grey sky brushed
bloated with rain
wood slat fence
before my face
unfinished pine
beneath my back
my birthday
buried alive
i wonder if
based on the occasion
you could forgive me
for saying i love you