Choices

Choices
By: James Dubeau

When the month
Grows short
And the eyes
Grow heavy
My mind starts to wonder
Down the many paths
It has been down
Before
Sorting and deciding
That which has been
Set upon
Way back when
But the mind
Is a fickle thing
Never happy
With just one choice
Maybe some day
I will sleep easy
Knowing that my mind
Has been made up
But tonight
Is not
And will not
Be that night

Unproductive

Unproductive
By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Drinking a beer
The words do not flow
They do not pour
From these fingers
Upon these keys
Could it be
Due to the noise
Rippling from
The room next to me
Distracting me
From what I seek
Or could it be
Because I am tapped
And no more good
Can come from this mind
For all my ideas
Have found themselves
Upon the page
Leaving me an empty shell
With no more to say
Or could it just be
That it all was just a sham
And that my muse
Has been gunned down
Long ago
And her last
Dieing breath
Was for me to go on
Without her
Even though
I am nothing
Without the guidance
The direction
She provided me
Only time will tell
If things will change
And if it will be
That I may find another
My search will continue
Until the end of time
For a new muse
Must be
Has to be
At the bottom
Of one of these
Bottles

Hammock Built For Two

Hammock Built For Two
By: James Dubeau

Here I sit
Swaying in the wind
In a hammock
Built for two
Leaves rustle
Fall from the sky
As I lay alone
In a hammock
Build for two
The sun hangs high
Casting light in my eyes
My cap pulled low
As I sway about
In a hammock
Built for two
Why don’t you join me
And sing a tune
Of joy and happiness
In a hammock
Build for Two

When I Blink

When I Blink
By: James Dubeau

When I blink
I can see you
Ghostly white streaks
Rising from my computer
Haunting me
Taunting me
As a blank page
Devoid of words
No ink stains
Or pencil smudges
Crafting prose
Oh no
You are here
To tease and jeer
As I struggle
And think
And lose myself
In this block
That is closing in
Suffocating
Killing me slowly
Through lack of sleep
And malnutrition
Only quick wit
And a cold beer
Can fight
Strangling fingers
As my vision glazes over
With portents of death
In a dull
Gray
Vale

Pricetags

Pricetags
By: James Dubeau

Dangling from those toys
Upon high store shelves
Are a much dreaded enemy
Pricetags
Small sticky fingers
Dive through pockets
Tightly clenched fists
Retrieve the plunder
Only to unveil
Lint
Buttons
And a single solitary
Quarter
Not enough for the shiny
Gleaming red and blue plastic
High atop the shelf
Only one respite
From gloom and doom
Is a giant gumball
From the machine
At the front of the store
The only place
Where happiness can be obtained
Without fighting evil
Pricetags

How Can It Be

How Can It Be
By: James Dubeau

How can it be
That I enjoy
This tall dark glass
Filled with foamy goodness
When only a few long years ago
I would have spat it out
If it touched my lips
How can it be
That I drink this drink
In the search of inspiration
Which always seems to leave
When I require it most
How can it be
That my thoughts and dreams
Are not enough fuel
For my stories to be written
And that assistance is needed
For the words to hit the page
How can it be
That is all seems so poor
When I go back to see
What I have done
In days bygone
How can it be

Mechanic Falls

Mechanic Falls
By: James Dubeau

The west was a land
Untamed by man
Until the twin iron trail was laid
Across the plains
Through the mountains
Over the ravines
Finding the way
Bringing man and beast
To the land of
Gold and plenty
Was the iron horse
Upon the trail
Even though it breathed fire
Belching thick black smoke
The beast thirsted for that
Which quenches you and I
On a hot summer day
Cool
Crisp
Clean
Mountain spring water
The men of the Union Pacific
Felt it was wise
To provide a respite
For their iron machine
So a tower was built
And maintained by a man
Who was very serious
About his job
Until one day
When up on the tower
An eagle that dared
Mistook his bald head
For a bit of lunch
He tripped and he slipped
Hitting that shiny bald orb
Upon every rung
Of that forty foot ladder
And that is why
My hometown
Goes by the name
Mechanic Falls

My Eyes Are Closed

My Eyes Are Closed
By: James Dubeau

My eyes are closed
But my brain can’t see
The images playing out
In my mind
All that appears
On the blank screen
Is swirling black
And gray
Not the rolling green hills
Or white picket fence
Or even the little white sheep
Bounding here and there
Over the fence
To escape the world
Of my pre-dream
Fantasy

Blood On The Sand

Blood On The Sand
By: James Dubeau

Harsh footsteps fall
Upon the soft ground
Leaving a lonely trail
Through the desert
Wearily making his way
Away
Away from death
Away from life
Away from it all
Blood on the sand
Pools behind him
Dripping
Oozing
From fallen comrades
Friends in arms
Corpses now
Littered across the valleys
Of the dune sea
Only one remained
To tell the valiant tale
Of those few who stood
Against the many

Mental Vomit

Mental Vomit
By: James Dubeau

My eyes are heavy
With the sleep
That eludes me
For several days now
They burn
With the fire
Of a thousand suns
While they are open
And the fire
Of two thousand
While closed
Only one thing
Can cool the burn
And bring the sleep
Which I desire
If only I could
Open my mind
Letting it all
Vomit upon the page
Any and all
That my heart desires
Love
Hate
And everything in between
In a spurge of creativity
Allowing my brain
Some space to relax
Stretch its legs out
And have a beer
While my body rests
Deep in slumber
That has been due
For quite some time

Huzzah!

Huzzah!
By: James Dubeau

Huzzah!
Behold bewilderment
Methinks naught
Yonder forest
Besmirched daybreak
Jest not
Neither faerie
Nor
Physic conjured
Tranquil caring
Whose motley pardon
Has forthright measure
Where a resolve
Stages
Majestic kindness