Notebooks and photo albums

The darkness creeps along an icy road

Shattered lights seep, lost in ebbs and flows

Of blackened pot holes and washed out dashes, so old,

And worn from years of tormented tears, I’m told,

They drop from the skies like buckets so cold,

Blood and sweat ruptures from balloons, to mold the streets

And they now resemble the red cheeks, of sweet innocent girls, they weep,

Until the pain subsides for just a moment

As the loss is forgotten, memories open,

And they seem real, it seems right, you want to steal

The picture from the paper, the silhouette is in sight,

And you watch as the clay hardens to touch, to feel, relive the same smiles

You remember from that frozen December field, that night

The crash was heard miles away

Breaking bones and shattering hearts, they say.

I sit and I wish I was there

But my fear was lost in the chaos, panic attacks, you’re lonely stare.

Emptiness I couldn’t resist.

It used to put the sheep back to sleep and I persisted to believe this,

Back when I thought happiness was sign of weakness.

Soldiers march on in war

Much like ants hunger for 10 times more

Than what they should actually carry, they work

And ignore the storm that approaches

A certainty of washed out homes, torn from

Tiny rivers filling the holes, drowning

Millions of innocent working class drones.

And I watch as it happens in silence, no moans,

I am so interested in the madness

I pray that the oceans do the same to us,

Just to see if I scream

When the reaper touches my hand,

Or if coping with fits of depression has desensitized

Me from the ending that we are all going to have,

The fate that hangs like a question mark over even the young, the loved,

The happy, the numb, the dumb, the blind, the innocent and the deprived,

The intelligent and the criminal mind, the talented and the wasted life,

The artistic and the selfish alike,

And we all walk like busy bodies in a cage, a den,

We hate each other for differences even though our lives depend

On those same journalistic questions that pen the who, the what, the where, the how and the when.

Silliness creates giggles, self-medicated to cure loneliness,

Forgive and forget

Because we all need friendship

In a world where death is the only constant.

She sweetly kissed me with compliments

And I said goodnight,

She walked off into the waning light

And that was the moment,

that was the moment

I broke free from my pain.

I learned to cope, to live, to crave

The small victories and save

Anyone that ever felt insane,

That was also the moment when the intense weight on her world subsided

In silence, no cries, no bitching, no notes,

She just had enough, was sick of being tough and gave up,

And even though I know she could never be saved,

I only wish I was there, still to this very day.

Insomnia-tic sheep

Polished shoes.

Fancy hats.

Jackets and martinis.

Classy and yet lonely.

Sleep is a dream,

But used to burning eyes.

Sex is real,

But imagine one-night stands

and no feelings.

A drain, a bore, unadventurous 

and decreasing.

I just don't care anymore.

Just another reason, a lesson.

A person doesn't even know they

mean the world to you.

Their sadness is a knife,

Their smiles, their laughs, a crush.

So I continue on a road to nowhere,

Knowing nothing will ever come to pass.

But in a moment of weakness,

I think of them.

Yes I lust, but I also trust

and I feel that their drug,

is what will put the sheep

back to sleep.

The many faces of Spring's glory

Sweet smelling colors over budding leaves,
odiferous breaths, droplets of wet, heavy wind.
Splash, splash, splash.
Tiny rain boots wake up sleeping puddles.
Rustle, rustle, rustle.
Barren branches turn into tiny cities
naked to the world below.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Masterful mothers use creepy crawlers
to turn cries into songs.
Sunny skies open the cloudy curtains as
light punctures holes into the puffy marshmallows.
Coats hibernate; hats and gloves run away
to the land of dusty boxes.
Lying in marshy warmth, bitter tea,
worries melt away like ice cubes on fiery rocks.
Lungs full of springy air, and I can sit with
my eyes open and dream.

Lost inside splintered time streams

Sometimes we run,

but all catches on

in a static rift, in time.

A poet’s rhyme,

carved into the splinters, before the sight,

hovering, what a height.

Watching, all the ants below,

sweep the valley, blue-green maroon hills roll,

glow, reflect hope.

The dark side of imagination

Night terrors

A ball of yarn

Knitting into

Images

Synergy, electricity

Movie reels projected

From thought

Mixed with fixed stares

Eyelids bare

Instead of hiding

Behind a brow

But sometimes things go wrong

Pain hidden

Insane, no one to talk to

It unleashes

Like a beast, a dark animal inside

Takes over

Makes you see what it sees

Misery and hate and fear

You’re scared

But all that is left

When the scene goes black

Is a memory, holes punched in like notebook paper

Your visions adjusts to the dark

Cold sweat

What was it that woke me up?

Like the silence, it erases

Stays buried in the string

The ball of yarn hides

Until slumber

Creeps in again

Like a dense fog on a wintry night

Random thoughts from a single person on V-Day

Photo by Anthony Iozzo

It has been a long time since I was single on Valentine’s Day. So today, I plan to celebrate with myself.

And that is important because to love another, you have to be secure and love yourself.

Modesty is, by all means, a great virtue, as it keeps us striving for more, never satisfied with what we’ve earned.

But, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be proud, happy and confident with our looks, our mind and our abilities.

Embrace who you are, and love will surely follow, whether it is romantic or platonic, friendship or hot nights with lovers.

This day shouldn’t just be for couples, as that would mean being single is somehow wrong, that those who do not have a partner are worse off.

That is not true, and to force such things only leads to lies and false hope.

I have been in love many times in my life, and only twice was with a person. The rest were times were with music, writing or just moments during legendary, epic nights when I looked around and said, ‘Yes! This is my life.’

You see, we all are worthy of happiness. It is just up to us to welcome it.

Nothing should be expected, not much can be planned.

Life is improvisation. We choose the path, but we find the nooks and crannies to wander off and discover and adventure and be free.

This is what this day should be, a time to reflect on the present and learn to not only love others but to begin to love yourself.

Then, and only then, will hearts align, real and true. 

Smirking at the inevitability of change

It is funny how life changes.

People love you, hate you, want to kiss you, want to kill you.

Buildings are razed, trees excavated,

ground and spread like sage

on the plucked bodies of chickens.

One minute you are laughing in bed,

the next, drowning in sheets, alone, empty.

So funny,

How as years pass, hours feel like minutes, years like days,

color to grey, the balance of growing old.

Cities grow as people, gaining new life,

Learning from mistakes,

graffiti washed in the rain.

One minute, a swamp,

The next, a metropolis,

Damp with tears of a million lonely eyes.

Funny, isn’t it?

The earth is going to be reshaped, humans destroyed,

by asteroid, sun spot or nuclear war.

Nothing can save us, no reason to show anger.

Inevitable firestorms that erase us.

One minute, a glorious species,

The next, a skeleton in a history museum.

Miniscule, funny little lives.

And yet, we hate and murder and discriminate.

Instead of joining and putting all our minds to the task,

We waste brilliance with ignorance.

One minute, optimistic,

The next, celebrating the tidal waves that wash it all away.

Erasing this funny, little joke. 

Expedition into the Lost Forest of Praeclarus

I made this picture-story poem/music video a few years ago, but I thought I'd share with you guys for those who never saw it.

Note: Praeclarus is Latin for beauty/beautiful.

Sandstones and fossils

Rushing ocean,
Soft words spoken,
seagulls, white caps, static and falling,
into an empty mind, just eyes watching,
a picture without a caption.
Soft sand, what was the plan?
Sinking further, am I supposed to stand,
or let go and lie down covered,
Pen and paper in hand.

Animal instincts, sex, escape,
No love.
Shivering sun,
meditate as granules wash and run,
off my feet, through my identity,
Cleansed, freeing the sanity.

Awaken, lost,
hidden from what I could touch
taste, feel.
An imprint is all that remains,
a fossil, an archaeological voice mixed with evolutionary change,
slowly dissolving in the wake,
of the tide.

When I’m gone, will you remember me?
Or is my memory,
just a caption without a picture.

Escaping the clutches of routine

Anthony Iozzo sits in his workstation contemplating the future
and his power to mold it into what he pleases.

Waiting for coffee, I sit and plan my workday.

It is going to be many hours until I am back at my workstation, but music blares in my headphones and ideas come out on paper – lyrics, notes, thoughts; both internal and external waves.

This is not like every other Monday, however. Something is different. Yes. There will be coffee or tea. Yes. There will be writing and page design. Yes. There will be cold and snow on this February day. Yes. From a far, everything seems normal, routine. But it isn't. I'm not.

Sometimes depression leads to drama, anger, fear. Sometimes it leads to lost friends, lost love, lost humanity. Sitting alone in a basement, in the dark, isn't exactly the medicine to cure those feelings, those truths.

And talking isn't always the best. Random e-mails and texts usually push people away, and the goal of gaining a simple smile becomes quicksand as the sadness engulfs me, pushes me downward – a struggle to get free.

Today is a Monday where I am not like this, but last week was a week when I was. And just like before, I alienated and annoyed and drove wedges into relationships of people I care about.

But the day after, when I am free of the sad sand, when I am back to reality, it is a time of regret and of planning for a way to reconcile and make right. This only lasts a while. I continue to be myself, and I am happy again.

This time, this odd day, there is no regret. I am just happy.

Maybe it was the eventful weekend of concerts, random conversations, phone numbers, best friends, beer brewing, music creation and bourbon in a glass, always full. However, that wasn't something totally new.

I have had many weekends of fun and adventure, maybe with different additions and transitions but they existed through dark days and through bright ones nonetheless. So why then am I feeling different today? Why is there no regret of being clingy to a concept of nothingness?

The answer hits me like the hot water in the shower that bursts out and makes me turn it cold as the scalding droplets tingle my skin. Realization. Truth.

I have been against routines my entire 27-year life, and I always will be. But the truth is that my cycles of ups and downs have become routine. That is why people might be alienated or annoyed. That is why this day is different.

I broke the routine. I have no regrets because the past cannot be changed, altered maybe, but not changed. However, the future can be molded. The future can be painted, sculpted, written with positivity and happiness and love.

I am endless possibilities. So are you. Everyone reading this and everyone that isn't. Together, we hold the future in our clutches. We are the designers. We are our own gods. It is us who can turn the past into something better and new.

Today, I am not only happy, but I am breaking a routine. This time I learn from the past. This time I break free of the quicksand for good.