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Brbadpenny

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Staten Island, NY, US

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Motionless With Louise (tonight only radios speak)

by

Brbadpenny

Under porch lights I can barely see people I used to know.
Maybe on park benches, scattered under trees, upon hoods of cars.
Louise used to say that radios created boredom.
I always agreed.
"Still something must be done about this music," a voice
would say somewhere from the middle of another crowd.
The station would heroically be changed.
Conversations and farewells never stopped us from complaining. Louise always complained.

Friends would wander by with girls who were either spoken for or didn't care. Nobody cared.
Louise would say that last night more people came around,
leaving the after thought that she felt tonight was not as good.
I listened to the song that played on the radio, not
realizing that years later whenever that song played again my mind would immediately go back to that night when we sat on that car and stared into the porch lights.
My maroon '74 Mercury. "Late For The Sky."

Now I listen to that same song with someone who only sounds like Louise. Almost looks like Louise. And who I barely know or talk to anymore.
"Can't anything be done about that music," my wife says somewhere from the middle of another world.
I heroically change the station.
My grey life. "Late For The Sky."
I imagine Louise sitting on the hood of my car. She leans forward and while lighting a cigarette she says, "radios
create boredom." Of course I would always agree.


All By Heart

by

Brbadpenny


In the quiet late night hours young people sit in the dark.
They hide in the doorways, on corners, wooded areas
and back seats of cars.
They whisper their feelings and laugh at themselves.
So sure and yet so innocent and flawed.
Too cool. Too foolish. Too naive and mistake proof.
Rebels Without Their Claws.
As if no one could ever be like them.
The old look versus their fresh new start.
But I used to know those feelings, in fact, I knew them
All By Heart.

Like a storm that tests everyone's patience my daughters
teen year is right in tune.
She rolls her green eyes and shuts out the world.
Her threat hangs silent over the room.
Before she leaves she throws out her attitude and stands
back to see what she'll win.
Too cool. Too foolish. Too naive and mistake proof.
I'm too tough but sometimes, I admit, I give in.
We square off and I smile to myself when I know that she's played out her final card.
Because I used to know that attitude, in fact, I knew it
All By Heart.

There's a schoolyard where the ghosts and shadows remain.
Stills from another time. I go there and sit off to the right. Imagine THIS place but in MY prime.
It was on those nights that I gradually became who I am.
I was always there.
Too cool. Too foolish. Too naive and mistake proof.
The best years although we were all unaware.
Now the years have caused a long intermission and friends
somehow have drifted apart.
But I used to know this place, in fact, I knew it
All By Heart..


Othello Takes His Bows

by

Brbadpenny

Fountains and lone believers.
Has all of this passed right before my eyes?
Inside it seems to unravel. The plot thickens.
And the characters begin to perform.
See Othello take his bows for a fifth time.

Leathernecks and Virgin Mary's.
Have they brought us any news?
The chapel remains filled with hostages. The altar explodes.
And the confessional lines are wrapped three times around the building.
See Othello take his bows for a sixth time.

My acquaintances and my string of disappointments.
Has this too been ridiculed and scorned?
My adventured fugitive suitcase. The porch light remains on.
And the romance circuit shows me hysteria.
See Othello take his seventh and final bow..


The Difference

by

Brbadpenny

The fear of losing touch with everyone I've known throughout my life.
Maybe relationships are valueless and mean nothing in the night.
Sometimes I moan when it hits me hard.
The thought of years forcing last regards.
Surely when feelings are so open they must be forever definite and right.

Havoc, chaos, confusion, unexpected ventures and dreams.
Emotions created cliques when just juveniles and teens.
Sometimes I moan when I think back.
The thought of uncontrollable fits from laugh attacks.
Surely the awareness we have now were the results from past adventures and past scenes.

The fear of the in tuneness disappearing too sudden. Too soon.
Repeating a cycle that's too familiar and that part of life that everyone goes through..


Pistols & Sometimes Wandering Helpless

by

Brbadpenny

Occasionally I'll patrol the area. Sometimes with or without someone's shoulder. Sometimes with a pain from a wound that will never heal.
The last time I staggered to the place where we once stood it was painful to recall what was then so easy to feel.

Several porch lights shine through the night.
Silhouetted figures in windows.
Sometimes I sit and think and drink about what I should have said. Sometimes I speak through a voice which is my own now instead of what was my own then.
And it makes me feel better.
But the borrowed moment is soon abandoned.
The last time I stumbled too close to the place where the ghosts and the memories run wild, it was too much to handle.
It was painful to recall a time when I took everything for granted.
Why was it all wasted on one so young and naive.
Now I'm left to revisit a place that I never wanted to leave..


Heated Sounds&Simple Words (confessions,tantrums& then nothing)

by

Brbadpenny

Listen as the tunes play out twice as fast. Like broken glass. Sometimes making the sounds that only empty rooms
and wasted time notice. I don't believe the state I'm in.
Completely alone with nobody but Silent Gerard left sweeping up the songs that play out of the radio. Twice as fast. Like broken glass and wasted time.
I can't remember anything at this point.
Confessions, tantrums and then nothing.

Simple words humiliate themselves. Like contests and stupidity.Only the beats contain the talent that charmers and greasers notice. I refuse to listen to such ridiculous lyrics.
Completely disgusted with nobody but Fearless Betty left sweeping up the words that only insult your intelligence. Then humiliate themselves. Like stupidity and greasers.
I see no importance to such obvious rhymes.
Confessions, tantrums and then nothing.

Nights call out for fevered cars and radios. Like questionnaires. Always taking names and then taking prisoners. Hoping someone will notice. I used to belong to such a night. Left only to bark and howl at the moon.
Completely worthless with only Crazy Wanda seen sweeping up these places. Looking for the most heated sound in the most fevered cars. Like questionnaires and prisoners.
I only pretended to fit into those back seat adventures.
Those erratic radios. I hated the noise as much then as I do now. Confessions, tantrums and then nothing..


Romance At The Speed Of Reverse

by

Brbadpenny

A Romance Novel but with a twist. The Author doesn't believe that even I have circus relations.
So they'll applaud, laughing and pointing. Standing in the alley. Call me a cab. I think I better leave.
These people are finally realizing that there's nothing to realize at all. And then there's you.
With your locket and your lack of committment.
Glance at me and expect me to walk over.
I can hear them whispering, hear them snickering behind
their smiles.
"He would have been the proud grateful father to that
other guy's child."

The Ivor burns at midnight. The owner doesn't believe that even I have been seen staggering down the aisles.
So they'll call the Fire Department and stare.
Keep their distance. Trying helplessly not to look guilty.
Call me a cab. I really can't stay here any longer.
The tension and the static finally realizes that there's nothing to realize at all. And then there's you.
With a matchbook and a dalmation.
The promises, the lies, the humiliation.
See the diseased Con Edison man cough loudly.
The old women scatter off in different directions.
Hear a voice speaking at me from behind.
"Didn't you used to go with that girl for a while?"
"Yes and I could have been the proud grateful father to that
other guys child."..


Silent

by

Brbadpenny

See me walk the hall through silhouetted light.
Hear the corridor crudely sing.
Catch a fast glance of still cursed Gweyaplain
laugh about everything.
And the moon appears so heavy in a sky filled with
Seagrams&Rum.
The Cheat appears on the television screen
as Pola Negri grabs the gun.

The maitre'd witnesses miracles.
Melodrama scenes explode.
Lon Chaney crawls beneath the wreckage of old news reels
and Opera shows.
And the moon appears so eager.
It confesses that it's love is one.
Then it's hoisted up to the rafters
as Pola Negri grabs the gun.

Thespians, thieves and jugglers stroll around the backstage door.
Our feelings are forever Silent. We don't talk much anymore.
And the moon is terribly sorry but it agrees
that the harm's been done.
The Cheat and our love is extinguished
as Pola Negri grabs the gun..


Lovers Lane (howls & disfigurements)

by

Brbadpenny

Moon lit & amused.
Was it this same place not too long ago?
The night appeared so recluse. The dark street recalls a time when it was so special and slow.
Was it the rain? The naivete? Was it the dreams that made it so different and new? The sounds of their names spoken together? The virginity? Was it the songs with it's poets and blues?
That night two pretenders haunted the terrain.
Balancing curbs and dancing down Lovers Lane.

Moon lit & confused.
Lies spilled out like water from a broken vase.
Differences like numbers screamed out offensively without haste.
All the games. The embarrassments. All the whispering however inaudible or slurred.
All the while they complained about the feelings they were missing. Feelings even pretenders deserved.
They walked soundless among their boredom and their chains.
Like an explosion that could rip the boundaries off of Lovers Lane.

Moon lit & refused.
Witnessing the argument.
Heated words broke loose beneath exaggerations and vows never to speak again.
It's the pain. It's the problems. All the places he don't want her to go.
The blames. The targets. Accusations shoot out almost haphazardly and personally low.
All at once the words seem incredible and profane.
They're seen staggering separately down Lovers Lane..


Bad Dreams (a night of wanderers&echo's)

by

Brbadpenny

Tonight wanderers drag their feet and say nothing.
As if they belonged only to themselves.
Words like "desolation" and "shadows" are written upon their hoods that are worn over their heads.
Some nights the wanderers stop and stare, then move on.
Like dreams they disappear around corners.
Cut off, voidless, never really existing in the first place.
Haven't I sometimes felt this way?
As if when walking too close to a place I once knew I was being watched by the same expressionless stares.
Perhaps old haunts and old friends still exist on once so sacred porches and car seats.
Evenings that were wildly celebrated and then found hard to believe.
Such places now echo with the funniest moments and the most memorable nights.
Forcing wanderers, like myself, to stop and stare and then leave.

Tonight echo's scream out over the sounds of closed doors and rain.
As if this could be heard throughout the world.
Words like "still" and "restless" are written on the sidewalks and on the brick walls in schoolyards and alleyways.
Some nights echo's can be heard too clear. Too loud.
Like whispers they leave you leaning forward. Trying to listen.
Haven't I sometimes heard these sounds?
As if those sentimental words and laughter could be heard once more. Even though they could never be repeated again.
Perhaps the words and dialogues still exist.
Like old love letters and names with dates carved in trees.
Stories and tales that were never true yet never believed.
Such places now only echo with the voices of those that were dear to me then and which have somehow disappeared.
Forcing echo's to scream out and then leave..


To The Wrong Extent (enrollment of a bleeder)

by

Brbadpenny

Warped I pittle onward like a grape and lander duffy.
Knowing not a wipper, bravely loitering and scruffy.
But dith I not forgive myself from the squalor that I caused?
Twasn't I so sorry when I crawled upon all fours?

Melon angel roustabout. The lover that I was.
Who slurred the damn transvestite. Then gave the finger to the fuzz.
But dith I just hallucinate when those hours made me sore?
Twasn't I so humble when I crawled upon all fours?

So lollied cross-eyed witches. The wretched and the tame.
Who found themselves a bleeder who then mumbled them my name.
Now doth I dare explain myself to the nurses and the whores?
Dinth they say how cute I was when I crawled upon all fours?

Thy fevered anguish evenings with my troubles and my friends.
To confess to drug filled escapades and how the world will end.
Like a head first full fledged volunteer through inebriated wars.
Left my trousers zippered backwards as I crawled upon all fours.

I sat ragged wept and studdered. Shamed my neighbors with distress.
Her crusty brown stained underware beneath her birthday dress.
But dinth she have me persecuted begging on the floor?
Twasn't I hysterical when I crawled upon all fours?


Daddy's Girl (we are all still children)

by

Brbadpenny

Inside I know that we are all still children.
Off to the Drive-In.
Packed in the backseat of Dad's old car.
Although at times we may forget where we came from.
And pretend to be all grown up.
It takes a Funeral to remind us and see the children that we really are.
For even though he has passed on I will always be Daddy's Girl.
On display my heart will forever be encased in glass.
My life is a museum of large rooms and treasures.
My father's strong but gentle hand has led me around every corner.
The exhibits are the moments of my past.
This is my first tooth. Here is my first bed time tale.
My first frightened day at school. The first test I failed.
My first pet. My first fall. My first big girl dress. My first dance. My first kiss. Now I recall.
He was there for every first experience and gave me every second chance.
My first car. My first date. The first night I stayed out late.
The first big affair that we walked arm and arm.
My first broken heart.
His brave but sad face in a captured photograph outside our house on the night of my Senior Prom.
Life's subtle surprises and how he always tried to give me warning and that secret smile that only I seen when I was the first to wake on just about every Christmas morning.
Inside I know that I will always be that child.
Asleep at the Drive-In cuddled up in the front seat of Dad's big car.
Although now life's pressures force us to become scattered individuals.
Little by little we become our parents.
But it takes a Funeral to remind us and see the children that we really are..


Another Sad Love

by

Brbadpenny

So I think about her still. I say it'll be like it was
but I doubt that it will. Nothing much important to me
except a minute of silence for how it used to be.
So i'll fall into another escape.
Sit and watch the clowns parade.
Jukebox is playing so soft. Music set. Let me forget.
How I'm sitting here with Another Sad Love.

Funny how it never does last. I thought I had her for a while but I got nothing real fast.Isn't anyone going to
pretend that it all gets better and that it's happened to them.
So I lean into a Jimmy Dean stance. Forcing my hands in my pants.
Another lonely moon above. Just like me it can't believe.
That it's been dealt Another Sad Love.

And so I think about her still. I say I'll get her off my mind but I doubt that I will. Listen to the loser's refrain.
I guess money's no object when your feeling no pain.
And it's the last call as last regards are paid.
And this is the last time I give my heart away.
Please God I think I've had enough.
Nothing's changed. Another picture. Another dated chain.
Another rebound off of Another Sad Love..


Desperation Bar&Grill

by

Brbadpenny

The jukebox once again saves my life.
Seated here in the forgotten booth. Hours away from the window. Hours away from anybody who remotely resembles a friend or lover.
"And tonight as I stand here in the rain."
Funny how the words suddenly make so much sense.
The waiter brings me a pitcher and a glass.
Eldiablo, the great fire eater, once more staggers down from the bar. As some girls from another booth glance over and begin to whisper.
"Everybody knows baby's got new clothes."
But I can't remember if her shirt was green or blue.
Participants enter through the backdoor.
The cash register jingles.
A woman who is incredibly intoxicated once more staggers down from the bar as the girls at the other booth glance over and begin to whisper.
The beer is warm. The pizza is cold. I am frozen and my wallet is thirsty.
"One more pitcher when you got a chance," I plead.
I guess I should leave but I don't want everybody staring at me when I stumble up from my seat.
I guess I'll wait until everybody leaves.
"She fakes Just Like A Woman."
My cigarettes have gone AWOL.
"She makes love Just Like A Woman."
My conversation is no doubt limited and ignored.
"And she wakes Just Like A Woman."
The girls at the other booth glance over and begin to laugh.
"But she breaks just like a little girl.."


A Picture Without The Sound

by

Brbadpenny

Staring eyes cool quickly. Starved and hungry.
My dreams are so foul that they're not worth the mention.
Late Thursday night blues on a coat hanger.
Then the radio sings.
"I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before."
Late night T.V. goes on and on.
The Picture Without The Sound.

Summer breezes smooth swiftly. Ragged and light headed.
Frozen dinner's cooking. I'm getting tired of looking at the same four walls. Strong stomach and a weak ego.
Too much compassion equals not enough sleep.
Then the radio croons.
"I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before."
Channel 11 winds out it's scheduled programs.
The Picture Without The Sound.

Sorry eyes brooding. Tear stricken and full of apologies.
Red circles and questions. Always questions.
But I don't care about the lies she has to say.
Shot down leaving me bewildered and confused.
Tearing out my heart and literally throwing it on her doorstep. The long walk home hearing in my head the
"I told you so" voices of everyone I know.
Then a parked car radio screams.
"I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before. I know I'll often stop and think about them but In My Life I love you more."
Just sitting at home watching an old John Garfield movie.
The Picture Without The Sound


Swashbucklers Retreat

by

Brbadpenny

Once upon a time. Twice I've been the victim.
And three times I've been refused.
All in all I see no light. Beginning to wonder if there's even a light to see. And if there is a light and I do come in hold of it will it be taken away and broken into pieces like everything else.
A couple of years ago I might have had the same problem but I just can't remember that far back.
The executioner waits for the green light as a chorus of overweight gas station attendants reminisce under the podium.
I've lost all feelings from the heart up. Incapable of love as we know it.
I feel just like the moon.
Just like a broken glass.
Just like a stain on a floor.

A romantic screams for help and attention.
Even now thoughts and memories are becoming difficult to put in alphabetical order. Leaving me helpless and avoided.
Never to forget.
But left only to remember every other word.
Vagabonds witness my execution.
The burlap sack. The comedian. The drumroll.
I think about my lifelong dream of jumping on Anita Ekberg.
Maybe sometime in a past life it might have happened but I just can't remember that far back.
Pretenders continue to wander the streets as I sit beneath her window and refuse to leave until every word she ever spoke to me is repeated in my mind for a second time.
I feel just like the moon.
Just like a broken glass.
Just like a stain on a floor.
I'm constantly reminded.
Just like a stain on a floor..


This Heart For Sale

by

Brbadpenny

What happened to my Heart? It was here a while ago.
I seen it leave and it never returned.
It's somewhere trapped in the front seat of someone's life.
It has put himself up for sale.
My Heart seems to be of no one's concern.
My Heart sits in the rain on the curb reading a letter that says goodbye.
My Heart has been told to go away so many times that it's afraid to come back.
My Heart was seen leaving the Theatre alone. Hands in his pockets, shirt collar up inconspicuously shuffling under the marquee trying not to be noticed.
My Heart was caught lying, handed out as a door prize, lost in a card game, forgotten in the isolation booth, left behind at the carnival and promised but was never delivered.
My Heart has been dangled in front of a mob of torch carrying villagers hunting down a murderous wolf in a European town during a fog induced night.
My Heart was placed in a lineup and suspiciously asked to turn left, turn right over and over. Nervously watching as all of the other Hearts were excused one by one.
My Heart escaped at midnight and slipped past the guards disguised as a Heart that was wanted and loved.
My Heart was in drunken fist fight at a downtown bar with an arrogant Poet arguing over the ignorance of machoism.
My Heart was shot out of a cannon to the amusement of paying customers and given a standing ovation when it hit the bullseye.
My Heart makes too many mistakes.
My Heart caught the last train, was caught cheating, was the last one picked to play, the first one to lose, was the least likely to fall in love and the least expected to leave in one piece.
My Heart was last seen standing outside a Cantina in Mexico City panhandling and crooning eleven choruses of Besame Mucho as Bullfighters and dust bowl Senoritas tossed nickels and dimes into an open guitar case.
My Heart has retracted his story so many times that he can't possibly tell the truth anymore.
My Heart gives himself up too easily.
My Heart has caught fire, was caught sleeping, caught stealing, called in sick, called for help, was recalled, recapped, remodeled, reinstated, understated and misunderstood.
My Heart is wanted for questioning by a Sam Spade detective lookalike character who pulls up with a classic bubble headed blonde in the front seat fixing her make-up in the rear view mirror of a 1961 El Camino convertible.
My Heart has never been away from home this long.
My Heart was under house arrest and slipped down the drain pipe and was heard running through the streets crying into the night.
My Heart is considered dangerously romantic and capable of breaking other Hearts at anytime.
My Heart hasn't been seen since last Thursday.
If you want I'll make sure that My Heart never bothers you again.
But if you see My Heart please send it back to me it can't possibly survive too much longer on his own..


Make Believe Girl

by

Brbadpenny

Sleeping sand and the Make Believe Girl.
White shells and gulls gliding.
Fishermen stare. The salt water air.
Blue wharf. Blue scarf. Blue heart still hiding.
Their lives stay still, regardless of the weather.
But your heart stays hidden forever.
Only you know if this is true.
You won't let anyone get close to you.

Close your eyes my Make Believe Girl.
Distant bells from boats alone in the bay.
Beachcomber glare in the salt water air.
Blue move. Blue mood. Blue waves.
Your laugh. Madcap and wild.
Hidden behind that innocent smile.
Only you know if this is true.
No one can ever get close to you.

Fall apart my Make Believe Girl.
Off shore morning. Breeze of emotion.
Golden hair in the salt water air.
Blue skies. Blue eyes. Blue ocean.
Your dreams are quickly washed away.
Like sand castles taken by the tide.
Only you know if this is true.
It seems no one can get close to you..


When All Else Fails

by

Brbadpenny

I never understood why first impressions lasted so long.
A first mistake can be fatal.
The apology can be a life long try.
A good liar must have a good memory.
So to me it seemed easier to confess and move on.
But now When All Else Fails. Deny. Deny. Deny.
Hitch up your skirt. Hike up your trousers. Circle the wagons.
I am so romantically impaled.
When I set out on a seek and rescue mission to save my heart and find true love.
Why do I always end up chasing my own tail?

I'll never understand what the mentally subdued has known all along.
I guess I should stop trying to analyze why.
It seemed to me the best way was brutal honesty and blatant truth.
But now When All Else Fails. Lie. Lie. Lie.
Empty the accounts. Pull all the punches. Force the issues.
Romantic roadkill. Patience is to no avail.
Place my heart in the Lost & Found.
"Wanted and missing: Seeking true love"
Why then do I always end up chasing my own tail?

I can never understand why I am so mis-understood.
When did YES mean No? A paradox of opposites collide.
Keep them laughing. Keep them guessing. Keep up the silly moods.
But When All Else Fails. Cry. Cry. Cry.
Ride the storm. Surrender to the enemy. But stay true to form.
I am do romantically offtrack and derailed.
I always felt that the thrill of the chase was where you eventually found true love.
So then tell me why do I always end up chasing my own tail?


Pink Daisies & The Impossible Girl

by

Brbadpenny

Twenty thousand kisses and 15 broken hearts later.
The Impossible Girl & The Sensitive Guy.
Off route. Off course. Hardly flying.
Two lost shadows in love waiting to be. Or not to be.
As soon as Pink Daisies appear in the room like a trigger someone will have a bad mood, someone will have the last word and someone will end up crying.
And one of these someone's will probably be me.

The Impossible Girl & The Sensitive Guy can't be blamed for not trying.
This coincidental twist. Our search for the truest love as hopeless as it could ever be.
Pink Daisies will coincide with someone hurting someone and someone will eventually break down crying.
Most likely one of these someone's will most assuredly be me.

The Impossible Girl & The Sensitive Guy dance out their moments and eventually vanish.
Back to the arms of the usual strangers. Both their hearts untying.
In A world where thinking is an option.
Truest love too hidden to see.
Somehow Pink Daisies will have a hand in their disappearance.
Someone will accuse someone and someone will run away crying.
And one of these someone's unfortunately will be me.


Restless Night

by

Brbadpenny

The cool of bamboo invades my room;
moonlight from the fields fills the corner of the court;
dew gathers till it falls in drops;
a scattering of stars, now there, now gone.
A firefly threading the darkness makes his own light;
birds at rest on the water call to each other;
all these lie within the shadow of the sword--
Powerless I grieve as the clear night passes.


Crescent Moon

by

Brbadpenny

The moon poured full above our lovers waltz.
But why am I not still? Because. Because. Because.
The burning page. A doubting phase I suppose.
My threatened Heart. A reckless pose.
Croons a foolish tune.
When half of love goes blind a jealous sky will only find
a lonely Crescent Moon.

Lunar children reaching out.
So full of love enforced.
But why can't words explain the insecurity that I caused?
Perhaps from years of broken passions I guess.
My Heart unchallenged and suppressed.
I crossed the line too soon.
When half of love turns an angry eye the jealous sky will catch a tearful cry from a lonely Crescent Moon..