#DAMCOld$

A La Boom Boom (knot a poem)

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When the doves sing in the willow trees

Or when they croon with

One

Another

As each day

Becomes dusk

Do you think they tweet about love?

I have my doubts…yet

Their sounds are sweet to the ear

And Lord knows you don’t have to try

To hear

A

God damn thing

That is whispered, murmured or mumbled

In your zip code

See if you can hear this…

My love for you is not a song

That for a spell

Is

Sweet,

Then in a moment,

Gone

My love does not

Spill all over you

Like a vanity fair

With compliments,

Promises and

Flower petals.

I will not write

stanza after stanza

About your eyeballs

Or the sound of your voice

I won’t become fanatical with the length of your legs

Nor will I stir up hysteria with lines

About the contour of your hips,

The delicate breath,

The end of winter

Or the last time we danced.

I will not place upon the page

That which has been said

By all the other

Monkeys

Concerning love and its many traps

I will only say this,

I see your spirit

And

It is a flawless

Diamond

The magic between you and I

Is that our spirits dwell together

And they have known one another

Forever…

D

Ain’t nobody home

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Ain’t nobody home,

she said and pulled her nightgown

into the shadow of the brown wooden

door frame.

I used to live here,

I said and tipped my baseball cap

as I stepped off

the stone porch

into the nightlight

that kissed all of my grandfather’s plumerias.

Then it began to rain

all over my face

as I walked the down the streets

of my hometown.

Snow White and the balanced self-monitoring dwarves

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Psych Paper Fun….

I have written numerous indictments against the Snow White story including fair and unbiased appraisals of the sub-text to humor my chick and two daughters, warning them, in my own whimsical way, about the dangers of conformity, being too pretty and living with seven men. In an effort to kill two scales with one Apple (hahahaha) I will attempt to incorporate the answers in the exercise into my reaction which according to my Self-Monitoring Scale seems to be quite balanced.

After living on earth for more than forty years I have gleaned some wisdom from poor decisions and have made a firm resolution over ten years ago to strive to become a fine specimen of manhood, a true human being, a devout reader of books whilst completely disconnecting myself from the “Watchbox” and Its subtle trickery.

These choices have led to a new found balance in my life I had never experienced in the prior 30 years of life. Teenagers, in my humble opinion, are faced with the internet and the television land where the truth is hard to find and creativity wanes.

When creativity wanes it is usually replaced with cheap forms of sex and sexual innuendos leading the youths to believe that pop songs about mounting one another in some unknown club where women with bubble butts sip champagne is reality and will somehow, someday manifest itself in their tiny world of texting.

Of course there are some youths who shun the modern schema and form their own opinions about the way they look and the way they feel about sex. (They usually don’t fit in)

Personally, I have conceded to good health letting the wrinkles lay where they may. My intellect has taken the baton from my weary frame and flesh intent on becoming a complete man; body, mind and soul.

D.A. Medina

On the deep grammar of the White House Correspondents Association Dinner 

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Friends, White House Correspondents, countrymen lend me your ear…pass me a beer and a small plate of fear. The rotten part of me loves the hypocrisy of folks running around the District of Columbia with “Press” badges on. If it wasn’t for all the social lubricants in the rooms and after parties the entire experience may as well be Chaplin flick with ragtime jazz playing in the background. The White House “Elite” rubbing elbows in a silent movie where everyone is smiling and not one soul dares to flick the “mute buttons” off their collective lapels as the whole show would go from Barnum and Bailey to Bobby and Whitney (which in my humble opinion is/was the only real reality show).

It is very difficult to behave as a journalist at the White House Correspondents Association Dinner when your mouth has been sewn shut, your arms have been chopped off and you need an IV in your neck to get anything into your body that resembles a “spirit”.
D.A. Medina

Don’t bring me Down

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Don’t bring me down

Don’t bring me down with you

to stare into the hole of regret,

where the light switch is cemented

and still smoldering from the heat of my failures.

I am alone in the dark

searching for you

to bring me some light

and a blanket for my bed of stone.

Don’t step on my heart

that beats only for you,

that swings and sways

to the rhythm of your golden spirit.

Please don’t coax the worst words

to come flying from the blackest caves

of my mind,

they only live to bring destruction.

Remember, in their stead, when you were hungry

and I was your world.

I brought you food and shelter

with every piece of my soul singing;

“I love you my Angelitas”

Love is patient and kind;

it has no room for elbows

of spite and vengeance

or dull knives that woodpeckers hold

When you were naked and afraid

I clothed you with my warm hands,

bathed you in oil

and spoke words of comfort and peace

into your tiny ears.

I fed you truth and made you strong again,

I held you when you came to me in tears

with a broken body and mind.

Now I am the one who comes crying to you,

I am the one who has perpetuated a pain

in your soul spawned by the seeds of evil men.

I feel nothing but shame and loneliness; wearing the guilt

like a guilty man should

as he looks at his hands covered in blood

from the only true heart he has ever known.

I would never ask forgiveness for that which is unforgivable,

I only ask for kindness in my time of need.