Friday, July 31, 2009

Pathetic Failure

Pathetic Failure
By: James Dubeau

There you go
Walking through these streets
Thinking that you are so smart
So cool
So sophisticated
But deep down
You know it is not true
Only lies you tell yourself
To keep the daemons at bay
For you are getting older
And none to wiser
Nothing can be said
About your accomplishments
They have not moved you
Not one bit
In the past five years
Or even ten
Going round in circles
Taking two steps backfor every one step forward
Keeping you from achieving
Making sure you are nothing
Nothing more than what you are
Pathetic failure

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

If Only

If Only
By: James Dubeau

If only
If only things were different
If only there was peace in the world
If only everyone was happy
If only you were happy
If only I was happy
If only there were no problems
If only money was no issue
If only there was no hunger
If only there was no disease
If only the sun revolved around the earth
If only I could sleep
If only beer was cheep
If only I was not who I am
If only you were not who you are
If only a magic wand could be waved
If only everything could change
If only
If only
If only

Monday, July 27, 2009

Sand Through My Fingertips

Sand Through My Fingertips
By: James Dubeau

Sand through my fingertips
Flows as a waterfall
Mounding a hill
Beneath my hand
No matter how hard I squeeze
Or softly I caress
Sand finds its way
Through the cracks
And crevices
Escaping to freedom
Away from me
Each and every time
Each time
Sand is scooped
Piled high in my hand
With hopes and dreams
But the same happens as before
Beneath my hand
Mounding a hill
Flows as a waterfall
Sand through my fingertips

Friday, July 24, 2009

Midnight Visitor

Midnight Visitor
By: James Dubeau

Floating high above
She looks down at me
Illuminated within
Trying to move
My body wouldn’t respond
Couldn’t respond
Not my arms
Nor my legs
I lay pinned
By the very air I breathe
Her teeth turn to fangs
Fingernails to claws
Face becomes disfigured
In a savage snarl
As she descends slowly
Upon my laying body
No I shout
But my lips wouldn’t move
Sound did not come out
No I shouted again
My lips did tremble
Sound escaped
Forming into words
Fingers clench
I shouted
She paused
Taken aback
As quickly as she appeared
She was gone
Through the window pane

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Map

The Map
By: James Dubeau

Frank gritted his teeth as pain shot through his side; his grip on the cold hard steel in his hand only became tighter. The dark figure in the doorway lowered his still-smoking gun and gave a shrill, oddly familiar chuckle.

“We meet for the last time, Frank. This time, you won’t be able to follow me and repeat pathetic attempts to gain the map.”

Frank fell to his knees and smiled awkwardly. He knew something that his would-be murderer did not. “You only have half of the map…”

“True,” the shadowy figure replied, “but I know you left your half with her – and I don’t need a map to find her!”

“Well, you may,” said Frank, as hot liquid dripped down his side, “the bottom of the lake is broad.”

“You’re lying,” the figure shouted.

“You’re worried,” Frank spat with his last breath.

“I know you let her escape through that cave,” the roar of a single gun shot punctuated his statement. The figure smiled knowing that the full map would be in his hands soon enough.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Breakfast Safari

Breakfast Safari
By: James Dubeau

“That smell is just intoxicating,” Mike said as Sharon walked past him. His bowl of cantaloupe in front of him was half empty.

“Thank you,” she smiled. Her hair was still wet from the shower, scents wafted through the air filling the kitchen in a veil of flowers and springtime freshness that were mixed with soft scents of caramel. She searched the cabinets for a moment, opening one then another.

“What is it that you seek, dear?”

“That capsule of basil, I was thinking of scrambled eggs for breakfast.”

“You mean this one here?” Mike asked with a whimsy smile. “Your cataracts must be acting up again.”

“How could I see it with your newspaper strewn about the counter top. One would think the paper was indigenous to the counter top savannah. That it creats shelter for the wild spices that roam the granite plains.”

“Here, let me clear a space for your breakfast safari,” Mike chuckled as he handed over the basil and kissed Sharon on the cheek.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Hunting And Gathering

Hunting And Gathering
By: James Dubeau

Hunting and gathering
Under the mean stars
Tonight I stalk my prey
Pursuing a most dangerous foe
An entire village will feast
Upon the carcass of my fresh kill
I’ll bring down the mighty beast
With my cunning
And guile
And pocket full of cash
A foot long sub will be mine
To feast on
Full of meatball goodness

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

A Fire That Burns

A Fire That Burns
By: James Dubeau

A fire that burns
With the white hot rage
Of a thousand suns
Engulfs my soul
Radiating out
From my core
Burning my arms
I reach back
Trying to sooth the pain
Between my shoulder blades
It is too much to bear
The shooting pain
Of the knife
Permanently lodged
Where I can not reach

Monday, July 13, 2009


By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Sipping my beer
Excitement wells up
Last night it started
Percolating at first
Not too bad
Somehow I got to sleep
Morning awaited me
In all of it’s glory
Sun shining upon my face
Did not send me diving
Under covers and pillows
Instead it beckoned me
To venture from my bed
Excitement welled up
From the moment I got to work
Making my stomach tingle
And turn
And churn
So now I sit
Just finished up a small lunch
Drinking a beer
And waiting

Friday, July 10, 2009

Out On A Limb

Out On A Limb
By: James Dubeau

Scampering along
The outstretched limb
A squirrel makes his way
Dodging leafy twigs
As the branch narrows
Flexing under his weight
Bobbing up and down
Throwing him off balance
Grasping at twigs
One reached out
Catching his weight
Stopping the descent
Pausing for a moment
The squirrel slowly pulls himself up
It was a close call
Being stranded out on the limb
But he had been saved
From the crushing ground below
By the very limb
He had climbed

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Kentucky Hills

Kentucky Hills
By: James Dubeau

Blue green hills
Soar above
Thin ribbons of
Concrete and asphalt
Bob to and fro
My grandfather and I
Ride in silence
Wind whistles past
Tires rub against the road
We are awestruck
By this country’s beauty
A brief respite
From the day’s conversations
Which will begin again
As soon as we hit
Road construction

Monday, July 06, 2009

As I Drift Off

As I Drift Off
By: James Dubeau

Pale moonlight
Filters through the window
Illuminating your features
Your body
As we lay together
My arm under your neck
Supporting your head
Upon the pillow
Our fingers intertwined
Silken breaths brush against my arm
As your chest rises
And falls
My other arm lies
Wrapped around your waist
Caressing your stomach
Holding you close
Skin against skin
Legs wrapped together
Under the sheets
Lips pressed against your shoulder
Softly placing a kiss
Your scent fills the air
And my heart
As I drift off

Friday, July 03, 2009

My Little Editor

My Little Editor
By: James Dubeau

Drifting off
As the night surrounds me
My fingers want to dance
Need to dance
Upon the keys
Laying out my deepest thoughts
And feelings
And emotions
Bare to the world
In the far back corner
An tiny little man sits
Horn rimmed glasses
Perched upon his tiny nose
“No!” he shouts
Slamming down his pencil
“The world is a dangerous place
One must not bare their soul
Or else they will suffer
The consequences of actions”
Words have never been so true
Keeping me contained
Protected behind this wall
Built of concrete
Three feet thick
Safe from the outside world
The dangers
And ridicule
In this cell
Built up
Around me

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Muse That Once Was Known

Muse That Once Was Known
By: James Dubeau

Muse that once was known
Fluttered by my head
Again this evening
She held me tight
Caressing my heart
With her intoxicating touch
Whispering in my ear
That she cannot
Be my muse
From this day forth
My pen shook
Falling from my hand
At the sound of this news
No more could beauty flow
From the tips of my fingers
Upon the page
Nor from my lips
Or mind
A part of me has been ripped out
Left to wither and die
In the wake
Left behind
My muse