All posts by Mr. Flying Pig

Writing is my way of dealing with the ups and downs of this thing we call life and trying to make sense of the crazy things, good and bad, that go on in the world. Sometimes I also do it just for fun. In addition to writing, I also like to ride my bike, read, play around on guitar, spend time with my family, and occasionally gather with a small group of friends to play games for the evening. I work in Information Technology, and even though it is my livelihood, I try to not let technology run my life, savoring the more simple things. My guilty pleasures include enjoying a good cup of coffee in the morning, eating spicy food, and occasionally indulging in a quality brandy or bourbon in the evening,

Poetry of love and life

I havent been writing too much poetry lately, but I have been writing, nearly every day. It’s no long lost secret that the easiest way to write is to write about what you love, and I love music. When I write poetry, it is really just an extension of the lyrics to the music in my head. Although I may have my moments, I know I will never equal the talent of the artists I revered in my youth.

No, I haven’t been writing poetry lately,  but I have been writing – writing about poetry. Writing about you, about me, and about the one thing I know we probably have in common – music – the poetry of love and life. Please check out my other blog: The Vinyl Jungle.

If you love music as much as I do, I’m sure you will love it.

My new Blog.

Being as the inspiration for poetry and writing can be sporadic for me, I decided to start a second blog that I hope to contribute to more consistently. It is founded on both my love of music and my love of vinyl records. I will always own a turntable, and I will always prefer the sound of records played on a turntable over the sound emanating from a CD or MP3. TheVinylJungle.com will guide you through a journey of musical discovery and appreciation as I listen to the records from my personal collection. Because I believe that like life, music is all about the journey, not the destination.

I hope you enjoy it.

http://thevinyljungle.com/

With The Book Of Rules

August turns to September’s matrimony
An ending that was made too soon
Walk across the floor to the center of the room
Back steps are impossible in time
Move forward
Take the hand of desire
Dance across the floor
Then walk out of the door
With your foolish pride tucked away in your back pocket
With the book of rules you hold so dear
A night that can’t end too soon
Staring at the moon
Wanting to bend what you made
The tears cascade
Push them aside
With your foolish pride tucked away in your back pocket
With the book of rules you hold so dear
September expires all hope with that beautiful smile
That used to look you in the eye
Now it stares in the other direction
Now it dances across the floor
And walks away
Leaving you to die alone
With your foolish pride tucked away in your back pocket
With the book of rules you hold so dear

Not Complicated

I wish
For what I souldn’t wish for
I desire
For things that shouldn’t be
I long
For words I should never hear
I want
The love I need to conceal

It’s not complicated
Like a knife serrated
Its overrated
Like destiny fated
Perfectly mated
To what’s been dated
It’s not complicated

I dream
For the forbidden nights
I fly
To the unbearable heights
I side
With the impossible odds
I wish
For what must be nevermore

It’s not complicated
It’s never complicated

Fair Winds

If you had ever had sailed in the storms
You would have known how fair winds circumvent a Brother
If you’d ever looked at where the road bends
You would have realized where the story ends

The embers burned deep inside
I wanted to die
But there stood my pride
Waltzing away without dischord
I called you a whore
I meant so much more

If you ever looked over the valley
To a place where even the darkest shadows can’t hide
Placed between peace and calamity
Reserved for the likes of you and me

Smoldering in the still of night
With bloodlet stains
Tied down in chains
From memories desire still burns
From torrential churns
To n’ere ending yearns