Tommy Lucas Writes!

If I Had Only Known

2011-08-26T14:48:00.001-04:00

I have not been to this blog in some time. I kinda wish I had. It looks like I have had some people stop by and I would have enjoyed your comments. Please, should you stop by, leave a comment and let me know what you think!

Thanks,
Tom

The Darkened Path

2007-10-04T19:56:00.000-04:00

Lately I have been enjoying the fantasy genre, both with reading and gaming. Here's a stab at creating a kind of fantasy vibe...

So in the grace of all that has passed I stand
in snarling mania wondering
how the clouds will form

I don't know this forest or its paths,
It's too dim to see the low branches or the
unevenness of the road

Grant me this one request that when
a sliver of light slices through and falls to eat
a search party will track my travels

For alone and stumbling in foreign land
has been my way and my fate but I know
my isolation is artificial in a thick of being

Poison spiders weave taut webs far ahead
in unmapped land -- forward I forge
unknowing of their surprise

Denizen troll and violent predators awake
behind nearby trees and vines -- I am an
unexpected victim they so randomly kill

Save from special attack and grip your
weapon tight because it's not about
heroism but simple survival

When the moon is high and you just don't
stop moving think of my jungle
and its numerous pitfalls

Because no path is free of traps and
craven foes lurk about
I carry my soul's protection about my neck

Time to Fade

2007-09-16T18:13:00.000-04:00

I was dirty and damp
when I finally rode in
I took my sword's hilt
and banged heavily
upon the gates of home

And they did open
the worn and the sick
sang my praises
the leper choir
honored their protector

Another pilgrimage has
been finished
another score have seen
the power and the light
and my weathered face gleams

Success has been hard
my once glowing armor
has tarnished and chipped
bent, its regal crest
hidden by filth and blood

How the bandits
have fallen in pagan charges
and the heretical and insidious
have struck fiercely
in the battle for the soul

I raised my weapon determined
and gritted my teeth
bathed in the gore
showered in the screams
because I was armed by rite

They fell in ferocious torment
the pilgrims offered thanks
but the magnitude of the favor
was beyond their concept
I always fight alone

Alone the protector
Alone the savior
none of my host have taken the blade
from my tired grasp
or wiped the grime from my eyes

My nature predetermined
I shoulder this crest
and accept the object of
my fight -- for this only that
which sums my form knows

That road and its beaten trails
Took my people through turmoil
I watched and checked them
Tirelessly for what can only
be an infinity of exasperation

So now I have dismounted my beast
And my feet have finally touched
The ground of my memory
and I can set my sword down
drop my shield and breathe deep

My chest heaves and I cut
The ties which hold my steel
It rings as it hits the stone
The village gasps collectively
As I fall to the earth

I cannot help anymore
I have fought beyond my reserves
I cannot witness death
At my hands again
My eyes well in relief

I don't have to fight anymore
My realm has tightened to
Only my senses and as this
Warrior passes and the protected panic
I silence the screams for good

Who's up to Bat?

2007-09-16T18:06:00.000-04:00

A sinister flash of teeth caused an agreement to happen without cautious glances.
Now, a fortuitous hero wills his rise from rusted ranks and former idolizers.
Now condemn last-minute strokes of genius.
Yes, genius or brilliance in simplicity.
Could lasting actions build tradition or shore up ethical balloons in a corral to prevent
exposure to incongruent elements periodic in definition, organized in the hardened bones of ashen disaster.
Yes, former chiefs can create new obedience in tired fists.
Blasting caps fuel memory armed with apology.
Could forgers pose as the hold in retribution of the convicted?
These queries move in the sky above all.

Everything has forced the hand into solution.
Hold your head by the temples and spasm blindly into the night,

For they are coming for you next.

Nothing

2007-09-13T18:06:00.000-04:00

This is a poem about missing someone so much it feels like you have a massive void that nothing can fill, except for maybe hope.

A blank desert stare
Turns bloodshot red
as sharp grain
meets fragile eye

flow salt flow
futility blinks slowly
hands clench white
jaw grinds tightly

there is no pain like vision
past knowledge
is a forgotten tool
to break frozen gears

rusted shell of machine
ancient and abandoned
buried by ghosts
operated by memory

the dried mud cracks
underneath worn soles
dust piles formed
by eroded hands

it is all gone now
thought but a whisper
that which was never known
was erased as it was written

Well at last the clock
is ticking off time
softly then loudly
present yet subtle

moments have melted
fusing splinters and rubble
shadows stretch over ruins
bloodshot eye sees horizon

wait wait wait to see
if only it could grow nearer
a voice in the ear daily
could be a body close tomorrow

Past Deeds

2007-09-09T16:20:00.000-04:00

This poem is about being haunted by your past. I think most people have something in there lives that can cause a shiver or grimace when reflected upon. In the case of this poem's subject, it is the rigors of war. However, I think it can apply to about any kind of regret.

Past Deeds

His sword sat on its dusty mantle
Singing whispers to him in the night
How long has it been, friend warrior
Just how long has it been

He has not slept a whole night ever
Always resting with one eye open
Hand slightly clenched in a terminal cramp
Holding the sharp steel of his might

It sings soft murder harshly
I am so thirsty tonight it says
It seems that I never drink anymore
Why must you just lay there, warrior

Too many voices have been ended abruptly
Mad foes struck down continuously
Orders followed no matter how much blood
That is but one reason the warrior lay fitful

In the shadow and dim light
A slight gleam rides along the blade
Calling out pockmarks and scars
Where unfortunate flesh and bone were scored

The quiet breaks again with the weapon’s call
You are not whole without me
Deathvoice taunting him quietly
Angered that the warrior will not grasp it

For regardless of his master’s orders
This soldier will not fight again
Too many screams ride his mind
Too many echoes of shallow graves

Quiet the bastard blade
Toss away the worn and wasted armor
Splinter the shield into dust
Still, the fight is never over

Enter the hero in the desperate night
And allow him to walk the dawn
For when all you know how to do is fight
Peaceful sleep, when had, must be respected

The Omega Man

2007-09-02T21:30:00.000-04:00

Some people think they’re so smart, don’t they? Supposedly we have the greatest minds making the biggest decisions to tackle the largest problems. What if being smart isn’t the answer to changing the world?

The Omega Man

Oh so it has come to the Omega Man
Docile in his simplicity
To pilgrim forth to fetal plates
And carve the truth upon them

Read his somber face
For some hint at deep reason
You’ll search an eon
Lost in blissful ignorance

For treasured purpose
Is eternal journey
On a landscape untraversable
By such meager beasts

Savant prophet, oh inscribe for us
The where and the what fors
Ghost hand guided to chip stone
Into elegies of meaning

For these ants busy their hills
Pacing circles in the sand
Wrenching claws into soreness
Coping with the question why

Fool, deliver us the knowledge
That our time is not wasted
Stretching, groping to touch
The face of God.

Are our minute gestures
Strong enough to launch us from
Our material platforms
Into the omnipotent embrace

Creator limbs of cosmic fabric
To wrap around us
And comfort us with pillows
Of miracles and forehead kisses

A simpleton it must be
For our vessel could never be
A troubled or busy mind
Of genius intellect complicated by design

Too many equations create log jam
Significant to render high thoughts
Jig-sawed into corners and cul-de-sacs
Of theoretical answers needing more proof

We could wait here to infinity
Mucking and making it complex
While a simple man’s steps
Walk forward diligently

So such a creature should usher forth
To stride foot before foot
To monolith billboard
To chisel our final truth

Move dear brothers aside
And make room for him
For his actions will take a moment
And remain for all time

All Praise The Moron
All Praise The Idiot Savior
To Know
Is Not To Know At All

THE PRESSING CONCERNS OF THE INSECTS

2007-08-26T11:37:00.000-04:00

The purpose of life
Forever sought for
The sacrifice of the old ones
On the altars of their convictions
To their theories
Which exist as gods
Their worship – their search
Their prayers – their documents
Their ritual – their research
All beings
At all times
Seek the meaning
The point
The reason
The answer
To why
And where it is going

We are the living ghosts
The wandering Jews
Whose individual sins
Betrayals
Conspiracies
Force us to meander
Never to put our feet on the ground
Even if we did
They would be as mud
Giving to our weight
But slowing our explorations
In all art
In all approaches
The subconscious foundation
Is the reaching out
By the insane
How pathetic
How tragic
How ironic
That our saviors
Would not rise above us
Wearing crowns
But straightjackets instead

Dubious to all
In the end
All biological function
Is what seems automatic
A part of the anonymous program
That runs it all
What is the construction of
Our struggle
The hauntings
The forced leases
The silent laws
That we follow
The monitors that observe
The omnipotent voyeurs
Document our peril
Our unique despairs
There are no sympathies
There are no judgments
That which creates pain
Is a molecule in the movement
Too basic for ethics
And less than dust to god

So is our breath
As is our lives
Minute to the immortal
And crucial to the insects.

How was your summer?

2007-08-19T14:29:00.000-04:00

Ever since I was very young, summer was important. I am sure that I am not alone on this. Maybe it was the fact that there was no school to attend and I was able to run around and have fun all day long. Maybe it was the magic (sarcasm) of living in Michigan, where the near-psychotic depression of winter is give a reprieve and everyone runs out of there houses screaming. Regardless, summer was important.
I have never let go of those feelings, and even though I now live in a place that is always warm and sometimes ridiculously hot, summer still has a feel.
This summer rocked. I caught up with so many old friends, worked a ton on my writing, and managed to get out of town a couple of times. I spent time in dear old Michigan, hung out with Mom (who by the way, is cooler than your mom), and read more books than I have in the last two years combined.
Summer was good. So, how was yours?

ALTERNATE FORTUNE COOKIES #2

2007-08-15T19:11:00.001-04:00

The road to Cleveland is paved with redundancies

Glen Frey has no qualms about cheating at cards.

It’s hard for me not to miss you.

You have learned everything and nothing.

You cannot leash a dog that ran away years ago.

The first mistake can sometimes be the last mistake. Hope to see you next week.

Beware any white van that pulls up in your driveway.

Behind every village idiot’s smile is truth beyond pain.

A stone’s throw depends on its target.

Did you lock your car doors?

What if every hang up on your voice mail was a shrug from God?

Monotony is freedom from interest.

Just when exactly did they get rid of knobs on TV sets? Didn’t you just love that rapid-fire clicking noise they made?

Did microwaves just kill Jiffy-Pop or what?

Side dishes are entrées without aspiration.

Keebler elves are really tree-masons.

If the Amish mistook towels for dowels, and then built a barn, there would be trouble for sure.

Watch Your Step

2007-08-10T14:52:00.000-04:00

Cold winter night
Young lovers a moment
In his car
Outside her door

Flushed with emotion
He delivers his sentence
“One year from now my dear,
A ring will be yours”

If you could have seen
Her face
That moment contained
The greatest words he had ever said

One year or so later
He lay in bed alone
Someone should love him
Someone should love her

Wounds slowly healing
Insomnia nights
Replay the regrets
Asking what if

Clutch that pillow tight.

I'm Not Saying a Word

2007-08-10T14:50:00.000-04:00

The old women at the fence
Mention that I never have nice things
To say about you.
That’s because they will never hear
Such a boast
And never will.
Their ears are not good enough to
Field my praise for you.

Can't Find This Place On a Map

2007-08-10T14:49:00.000-04:00

LOVE.

So easily thrown about like dwarves in bars.

Ha ha.

I’m sorry, you MUST excuse

My flippant attitude.

It’s just that love, for all that it is

And all that it isn’t

Is a stage for the pretentious

And a target for abuse

That every single being puts it through.

Whatta ringer, whatta iron maiden

One must endure.

Such a basic and economical word.

All but four letters.

I imagine that other languages,

Terrestrial or otherwise,

Offer much more than four simple letters.

But this is all we have to capture

Pain

Pleasure

Satisfaction

Frustration

Protection

Purpose

Instinct.

An all-encompassing word for an all-encompassing emotion.

So what about it?

How many other words have been thrown at it?

How many deeds in its name?

How much blood, sweat, and tears (heh, forgive the clichés)

Have collected in effort to capture this small word but massive concept.

Should anyone try?

No definition is complete,

No expression is sophisticated enough.

No treatment or analysis will present conclusive results.

The word is a ghost –

Spiritual and immaterial

A vision of the beyond

And an example of what was

What is

And what will be.

Always search but have no expectations

You might find it,

Or never find it all.

The whole of nothing

And a part of everything,

The crucial gear that drives the machine of all.

On Taking Reponsibility

2007-08-07T03:00:00.000-04:00

There was definitely a time in my life when I did not take responsibility for my life and the events that occurred in it. I thought of myself as a victim of circumstances or people. It made sense to me to throw blame onto others. I was what I thought was a "good guy." I didn't deserve the crap I suffered. What I have learned since is that unless you find yourself in seat 17C on an airplane about to slam into a snowy mountain, you're not really a victim. And hey, if you don't mind roasting up the pilot, you might even survive the crash. Waste not, want not.

When people consider themselves to be victims it is a convenience of ego. When we allow others to be responsible – “it's all their fault” - our fragile, feverish self-image remains intact. God forbid we should get a stain on the good shirt of our esteem. Maintaining this character protection program robs us of the bravery of living our lives and owning sense of self.

Whenever something happens in my life today, I take a step back. I gotta look in the mirror and account for my participation in the situation. Whenever two people are in the room, they both play a role. More than two? Same rule applies. Each and every person walking and breathing today is responsible for what happens in his or her lives.

Relationship problems? Well, whom did you choose to get involved with? What did you do to get to whatever private hell you are unhappy about?

Money problems? Maybe it's time to budget. Maybe you need a second job and you are going to have to work harder. Sorry, you can't buy what you want this week. In another part of the world, people wear mud for clothing.

Unhappy? Maybe it's time to act instead of react. God can move mountains, but he gives you the shovel. If you are going to sit and whine about it, but do nothing - buddy, here's a bus ticket. Get out of here.

I'm not saying that I handle everything with perfection. Hell, I'm not perfect. In fact, if I were taking a road trip to perfection, I would still be at the gas station fueling up. Sometimes I have to be in an avalanche of emotional pain to get going.

The difference today is that I will take ownership of that pain. I own every positive trait and negative defect. I own my place in the world, and what I do with it. I own my successes and failures. I own my part in every relationship - friend, lover, or family. Sometimes it sucks and sometimes it's great, but in the end, it's all mine.

Where have my old friends gone?

2007-07-26T23:05:00.000-04:00

As I watch you
Yelling and screaming
Your brow twisted
Your manic frustration
Putting your eyes in focus
And your brandished teeth
Flash grimly
And fist clenched (typically)
Around an old microphone
I wonder what will become of you
Where the future goes
These questions and others
I often ask myself
You, my mirror
Fate or precise plans
Cannot be counted on

Where do the souls go?

These old souls who have
Marched in line
Lead and fell
I recognized your soul, sir
Although from where
I do not know
I cannot shake its familiarity
And so old souls go
To find each other
A necessary direction
That brings a brief passing
And momentary comfort
In this world of strangers

Uncomfortable

2007-07-26T23:03:00.000-04:00

Slightly warm dry wind

Wood creaking

Crowd roaring

Heart pumping faster faster

How did it come to this?

Hands grabbing

Arms shoving

Legs kicking

Their hatred is a physical force

How did it come to this?

Palace gorgeous

Pillows comfortable

Coffers overflowing

It is very far away now

How did it come to this?

Falling forward

Straps tightening

Bloodlust overwhelming

They must have their justice

How did it come to this?

Sound deafening

Fingers taunting

Eyes staring

The blade is quite thirsty

How did it come to this?

Rope pulling

Sharp edge falling

Time freezing

It’s all so quiet now

How did it come to this?

ALTERNATE FORTUNE COOKIES #1

2007-07-23T15:50:00.000-04:00

I eat Chinese food all the time. Therefore, I have lots of fortune cookies. Here’s a few I might make if I was running the cookie factory.

Write the story of those who have knocked on your door and walked away before you could answer.

If you build walls, be sure to build them properly. Don’t use drywall. It is too easy to punch through and thin enough to hear through.

When baiting a hook, never make plans.

Kickboxers should get the respect that anyone with calloused temples deserves.

The ill are the first to condemn the sick. Take your vitamins.

A pirate might have to walk the plank. If you are planning to be around pirates, learn to swim.

Canoe trips are fun unless you’re Ned Beatty.

If you think your life is a TV show, pray for syndication.

Child stars live a life of monitored potential. Adult stars live a life of hopeful contribution. Old stars just want scripts.

Ghosts haunt those who need to be warned.

If a ghost should smile at your denial, your wasted ways are numbered days.

What flag would salute you?

If the fool stops dancing, chances are that you should leave the party.

A craven raven will often say inappropriate things. It is hard for them to be appro-poe.

Old Envelope Decorations

2007-07-15T21:35:00.000-04:00

There was a time I was in Texas working on a movie. I sent some mail out. Sometimes a plain white envelope is so boring.

They Came Out Of The Woodwork

2007-07-13T20:07:00.000-04:00

A mental crackdown
revealed that the floorboards
were loose.

He could hear his thoughts creak as they walked across the room.

The patter of their little footsteps brought
great concern to the mayor of his mind.

"I CAN'T WORK WITH ALL THIS RACKET!"
"HOW THE HELL WILL I GET ANYTHING DONE?"
"SOMETHING HAS TO BE DONE ABOUT THIS!"

True, there was a level of chaos
when it came to the frequency and the weight
of his thoughts.

He needed silence. Otherwise what good would that be?

He was the mayor and something had to be done.
A silent death by poison was decided upon and administered.

One by one, the thoughts died.
It was quiet for a long, suffering time.
However, at least the mayor was happy.

Caretaker of Dust and Prayers

2007-07-13T01:57:00.000-04:00

The pious bother had been
deep in the caves
for some time now

Tending to the graves and tombs
shrines of the soldiers of faith
that came before him

Nonsecular views know they were
just men in a power scheme
full of secrets, lies, and sins

The brother knew this
he knew the caves
he knew where the demons hovered

Tending to the saintly shadows
maintaining those that did not decay
and hiding those that did

The brother was safe there
the world outside had moved on
he didn't have to concern himself

And in turn, most of the world
outside, in progress
did not concern itself with him

But like most things
it could not last
he would have to surface

Every reason and excuse played out
for some time he stalled
but in the end

the dead can always wait.

How Long Have I Missed You?

2007-07-06T16:43:00.000-04:00

How long have these rough, hardworking hands
Blurred in motion
Tools of all kinds used to build
Board by board, nail by nail

How long have I missed you?

How long have I been building our home
Tightening screws and painting walls
My watch has never worked here
No days or nights, all things just are

How long have I missed you?

Ever since I got here I have done what I always did –
Build and fix and repair
in this lush garden, a home for us to live
A green and fertile land, fresh water, clean air

This is the place for us to live forever
This has always been the place
And always will be
By the love and grace of God

How long have I missed you?
Warm days under a perfect sun
Humming the songs the birds above sing
In harmony with all things
I have been building our home

Missing you, waiting, building
Our place in eternity
I have been busy making things ready
And now they are

Now I no longer have to miss you, for our time is here
On one of God’s perfect days
I open the door to our beautiful world
And we can finally embrace

Together in spirit for all time and in all ways…

Mother's Day 1969 or 1996

2007-07-06T16:41:00.000-04:00

Spring
69
Woodward cruises
Beatle beats, young and pretty, blonde hair
reflecting golden sunny glow coming down from jewel-blue skies.
“Can you feel it when it passes through you?”
Skinny, Rock & Roll. Oh he’s so dangerous. Rebel rebel on the street,
friends keep asking you why he’s not a normal American guy.

Spring
69

Warmer days and cooler nights, school concluding, future plans ideas
at best. Why do you like this bad little boy, fringe leather long hair and
shit-eating grin?
Fair skin, gentle smile, Berkley girl
Who could hang for a while
Cool kids in a fragile moment
It’s not so bad in this shrinking spring 69

It’s cool and that’s all
anybody needs in the treasure of youth. He’s a perfect pirate at best.
But for a sliver a bit it had all been a returning smile a gentle wink and a
walk around town.

Detroit and its almost summer. All right. 69. Xtra life in your belly.
Sweet mode, the summer of love upon you and its greatest sum is your
equation.
Maybe now it’s not a rebel you seek, but there he is.

Summer
69

You feel fine. All the love of the world grows inside you.
Who was that young glowing mother whose sandaled feet strolled under
that warm season sun. Fresh and full of life, scared but hopeful, optimistic
but cautious, courageous and poetic.
Suddenly it’s not so simple, but beautiful none the less.

Music comes out of convertible cars rolling slowly down Woodward
in proud De-troit style. How life’s course changes in an instant. People who
might have been a night away from can affect the events of decades to
come.
Slowly turning tires on flashy cars, music, the beat--the heartbeat of
the street. Young girl, the mess of love, now with belly swelling dire. A
range of emotions like light through a prism.

Summer
69

Late August humid nights. Young boy and young girl in the face of
life. A knuckle down in the sacrifice
for the upcoming
and now the price.
Random like the leaves off the trees. No one can plan their fall.
Design beyond our reach. We can only sweep thereafter.

Fall
69

It’s colder and bolder in the heart of the city. Big world has come, ready or
not, it is quickly becoming time for the big game. He’s staying for the game.

Darker skies and November chills your boy(?) is almost upon you.
How the days have passed, I can only fictionalize. Summer of loved passed
to fall nights, Berkley taillights. What nerves danced behind your doe eyes?
Were you dying or lying or crying behind them or did you laugh and smile
and await your child?

Fall
69

It’s coming up in just a while.
It’s crisp and cold. It’s a Michigan winter. Loose long cotton sheets give
way to thick dark wool and pile on the duck feathers. The wool scratches of
young love are contrasted with down comforter sympathies.

Winter
69

Oh will it be alright? Will it be good? she asked herself.

Young pretty mother soon had watched other mother’s daughters
engage in ritual in local parks and hilltops. Happiness rained down on these
hills moments away.
Slide down and away on billowy coated snowcaps.
Whisping, swirling snow. Soft and flaky, gentle bed. Young will-be-mother lays down in it.
Starts making snow angels. Sometime after Christmas (she smiles)

It WILL be alright.

Mr P! and His Damn Dog: number one

2007-07-02T23:34:00.000-04:00

.
.

Another Command Will Follow

2007-06-29T16:27:00.000-04:00

A sinister flash of teeth caused an agreement
to happen without cautious second glances
Now, a fortuitous hero wills his rise from rusted ranks
and former idolizers now condemn last minute strokes of genius
Yes, genius or brilliance in simplicity
Could lasting actions build tradition or shore up ethical balloons
in a corral to prevent exposure to incongruent elements
Elements - periodic in definition, organized in hardened flesh of sheer disaster
Former chiefs can create new obedience in tired fists
Blasting caps fuel memory armed in apology
Could forgers pose as the holy in retribution of the convicted
Tattoo change on the base of the necks of the leashed

A Day in Your Brickyard

2007-06-27T21:08:00.000-04:00

rolling stringy mealyworms
in cracked layman hands
spell a manifesto
of strange proportion
wringing in the ash
a ripple effect
sound as light
arms raised in futility
offer nothing
but roughshod thoughts
and backslide wide
question marks
leave it and begone
a long wait
ending with gray hair
who needs a glorious statement
a mangled aspect
a damaged mind
the blinding light
can't stop the voices
can't stop their music
can't
shield my eyes
or block my ears
with bloodied stubs for hands

The Growing Crisis Under the Billboards

2007-06-27T20:43:00.000-04:00

A treacherous web of viens straining under
sloughing skin as wet drops glisten
cool damp earth dig in as
a question develops out of frantic need
a causal nod and wink
a gesture a thought or two
give cause for
these clammy hands to
cramp with excitement
doubt could be their name
and the cracking of tired knuckles
awaken an old world recycled
from a quilted skin and weathered bones
BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE
a concern of identity and
a loose snug fit
give birth to confusion
distracted eyes blink in unison clearing a
speck of irritation as glorious
condemnations reach out a neck
a neck a yoke a broken wish
is under this rubble and damnation
run, run forward as the ground
dissolves to reveal an ever growing
blackness and stunted wonderment

a sense of loss
a survival instinct
primal urge
stop, drop, and roll