Sad Eyes

Sad eyes

don’t lie

to tell

the truth

sad eyes

build homes

of proof

sad eyes

longing

for day

sad eyes

just dream

life away

sad eyes

that steal

my heart

and leave

my soul

in puddles

beneath

the wind

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Been A While by Ian Gordon Galbraith

Here’s a slice of my life:

There’s a super moon tonight with an eclipse and I’m hoping we can see it but I love you enough to hold you close and then also to let you go.  I don’t pimp a butterfly, you know?  There is so much to write about.  the junkers next door who gave the dog urn that you use as an elegant ash tray even though it usually stands proudly on your desk like some grim chalice of unknown power.  There is the time we found the dog and we almost adopted him but his mother came and took him away.  Was that symbolic>  I hope not.  I like you.  You make me nervous.  It’s the best.  People have started photographing me, us, I don’t know what it is or what’s up but it keeps happening.  usually in coffee shops.  Doesn’t seem fair, shouldn’t that be a safe space?  People are strange.  I am a lover.  I am fighting desire and oppression I am practicing detachment but I love you all too much to give you up.  Is this the beginning of something or will my life finally end.  I’m twenty-five, they say I’m just starting but than again, I feel so much older than I used to.  It’s disgusting how much I miss you.  I’m never angry anymore but sometimes I don’t feel like… still I won’t give in you know?  I’ve yet to sit down and write.  I get poems out, or spit songs that could one day be good yet right now they still are doing the whole semi- sucking thing.  And I think about all of you back home and I wonder what you are going through, is everything alright in San Diego and Orange County?  Is LA being kind to you?  Will Newport make you feel satisfied and whole after a lifetime of insecurity and depression?  Does the spectrum pay you enough for the lifestyle you like to live?  It seems like you are always spending.  Mangos and ice cream, beauty products, cocaine.  Always the cocaine.  And then there’s you in west Hollywood and you out in north Hollywood and you out in Inglewood suddenly and finally maybe leaving for good?  Are you out?  Are you leaving?  Jack be quick, jack be nimble, I love you too.

What can I say what can I do?  I left my native land and went to the north to fight against something.  Capitalism?  Convention?  Maybe I’m still just at war with myself.  Hopefully not at war with love, feeling it, feeling fine, so good, so good, so good, almost, yes, divine, divine, amazing, ecstasy…. please let me be the only one for you.  But I forgive you if I am not enough.  It is enough.  I can stay here, I can move on, I can do both I can do nothing, let me sing you a song.  I can get better I will get better, don’t let me do no wrong.  Tomorrow when I wake up, let me be a better one.  Godspeed you me, godspeed you you.  I should capitalize more.  God is watching.  God is me, God is you, I am God, I am Buddha, I can do anything.  Those words from a cancerous professor who pretty much just hated me.  Said I tried to hard.  I tried to kill myself but not hard enough.  I am still alive and I always will be but you’ve got to outlive me because I really love you.  Do you get it?  Don’t give up.

Goodnight

Ian Gordon Galbraith

Forever exhausted (every day)

I wake up early
Like a youngster
Ready for toons
Even though
I sleep so little
I get on my feet
Even though
Five days a week
I can’t get sleep
On Saturday morning
I rise early
And get on my feet

I guess you’ll find me racing sunrise
There’s nothing I can say
I wake up this time
Every day

writing

writing these spells

I recognize

the dusk is fading

As I take wind & sea

forest and jungle tree

deep down into the orchid

abandoning the magik of death

as best I can

Death still like a swamp

a stinking smell

that lingers on

festering

perhaps I will wash it away

perhaps I will grow strong

Bloodstains and echoing footsteps in the doors of eternity

bloodstains and echoing footsteps in the doors of eternity

I am not known

nor ever seen

my words carry dead weight

my tongue speaks dead names

I call on the vampyers of olde to rise anon

and stryke free these chains

to starlight

dawnrise

sunset

and immortality

A pair of Cadillac keys in her hand

She would be playing Jazz at this hour
silly girl. Too young.
Much too young
Too young for this quiet witching hour.

She was a wash of a thing-
A waste of time if you ask me.
She was halfway in the grave with-
One foot in a bubble bath and….

A pair of Cadillac keys in her hand

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Feel- my bones!

I feel it in my bones-
The lonely old heartache
The press of time
No less lessening
As a quickening comes to call
Comes to order
Amidst the brawl

I felt it come to order
in my bones
Thought you would-
Knew it should-
To have been brought forth-
Forward thinking!
In such a hall

In such a hall as this
Yes
I feel it in my bones