Good night... sweet good night girl...

Another year has come to it’s last nights... and it takes away all the chances it came with. It leaves with the moments of love and those sharp pains of disappointment, it fades away with dreams and hopes that never came true and taunts us with the challenges of all the wishes that blow in with the Spring and poured on us with the rain - Destiny is a cruel mistress - treat her right and she will make you a king... a king of sorrow, ignore her and she will dangle all that could be yours but a decision away... avoid her and she’ll send legions of angels to the front lines of the battle fields in your mind. Destiny will catch you no matter what. There is no place you can run and hide to where she will not find you - I know, I have run to the point that I find myself running toward her, and now it is I that must leave so much behind - but she has promised me the world and everything in it... and where will you be? Far from my dreams? Will you have drifted so far that not even the memory of my arms will be able to hold you... will I be forgotten... cast aside as a random thought... a gossamer, floating in the breeze? Will I be washed away with the daylight - just a shadow of your destiny... a drop of rain in a sea of your tears... What will become of me in your memory?
I stroll down the streets of a city I once new so well. I stumble into the ally ways of my youth, and I find myself crawling out of the bordellos on the corner of the abyss and the light of hope... good night strange and lovely creatures who have loved me for an hour or a week... those lips that kissed away the memories of others... and those arms that rocked me to sleep and gave me comfort from the spinning roller coaster driven by Jose Cuervo... good night sweet lovely song birds of the night whose music still linger down the corridors of my crowded mind... so many good nights... I label them and write songs about them and stuff them in envelopes... and send them through the post to a friend on the other side of the world who moved away long ago and never left a forwarding address... who exactly is reading the fragmented pages of an unfinished life... I do not know... What will they say when I have written about my last good night... good night? Perhaps they frame them and hang them on the wall displayed as art... a tribute to love unrequited... love abandoned... love bought and sold... and traded... for another sweet good night... another chance at hope... another chance at destiny... another chance to find a pair of arms that will wrap around you and fit perfectly... fingers that will fall into place between your own as if they have done so for twenty years... lips that know how to breath to the rhythm of your kiss... a tongue that knows how to sway back and forth with the tide of your love. Those pages... perhaps they are stuffed into a shoe box wrapped in ribbons the color of crimson... hidden under some ones bed... some one who waits for the rest of the world to fall asleep and by the soft glow of a candle loosens those bloody ribbons and reads the words I wrote for another in a whisper... that gets picked up by the wind and carries it through the night... a sweet good night... around the world back to my door to echo in my mind in the dark of my room... the whispers of the ghosts that linger... the phantom touch of those seductive fingers... the kiss of the succubus... that torments my nights and robs me of sleep and leaves me at dawn, weak and humble and on my knees... begging for more... to leave me a broken man... beaten and bruised by mad passion in the dark... crumbled and conquered by the punishing lashes of lust... trampled and abused by the hopes of finding the one that will get me through the night... and I remember... we never said good night... my sweet good night girl... good night...

We never said good night


We never said good night when the night comes to an end
we never made any promises to always be friends
we never whispered words we never meant to say
and we never said good night at the beginning of the day

We never held each other without feelings that were never there
we never started kisses that weren’t going anywhere
we never gave up hoping this time it might be real
and we never found a moment that we could not steal

We never said "I love you" - we would never dare
we never tried to hide the truth or not show how much we care
we never played those silly games that many lovers play
and we could never say good bye when the night turns into day

We never said forever - we never looked that far ahead
we never could get past the nights of passion in our bed
we never could let go of all the kisses that we never gave
and we never forgot the I.O.U.'s for the love we never made

We never said good morning at the beginning of the day
we never planned out the moments we went our separate ways
we never held each other tight the night it came to an end
and we never said good night when the night fell upon us once again.

Dash.

should I fade away with the night?

I should be packing for tomorrow’s trip. I should be finishing work I have avoided all week. I should clean my room and put my books away. I should organize my journals and my poems strewn about the floor... my closet is the only place which has any order left - if I could shake my head and find my mind has transformed to the neat and well planned little room that holds my clothes. Suits and sports coats fade from dark to beige and a little blue in between... pants in the same order flowing into shirts... black and grey...blue and suede... poplin and cotton... silk and linen... sweaters and denim and t-shirts on the top shelf... shoes lined in a row on the floor and on top of boxes of books that may never be read again... but they stay boxed away for rainy days and winter storms that might find me in despair - with no wine... with no woman, no money and no friend. I want to call you on the phone but you are deep in your sleep... what did you think of before you faded away... we wont speak tomorrow before you fly off to the East and I drive off into the South Western horizon... so many things I want to say to you... but you know those words just wont come out... no words dangling in the dark to pull out of the night and write some melancholy poem for you... I just can't find the words... how can you not know what it is I feel... what it is I can not say...? I know what you want me to be - I know you would like me to conform to the ways of society... be more...what I was fifteen years ago... I know you want me to be an image... darling - don’t forget that you fell for an image... you fell for the person I am becoming - the person I am meant to be... for me to go back to the flash and the status would be a joke... does it embarrass you? That would be too funny, since I have done more, seen more, made more and lived more than the people you would like for me to impress...you might be too young still to know why I walked away from the status... you might be too caught up in trying to pay your credit card bills.... Should I buy a BMW? Would that make things easier... lay down some cash on a condo...? give up the thing I am chasing... it’s going to take a lot to get me to do that... your insecurities are making me crazy... are you just pushing me away? Do you want to let it go? Should I fade away with the night... drift away with the clouds rolling off the mountain... fall off the page... the words that couldn’t find space on the last line... the words that could have made a difference... the words I cannot find... the words I cannot say...
I should be packing for my trip tomorrow... I should be sleeping by your side... I should be in Buenos Aires... I should be writing you a letter that would make you feel better... I should be deleting this entry... and pack... none of this... is anything I really wanted to say.

Paris Tonight

a Christmas poem

Snow is falling in Paris tonight
Christmas carols by candle light
I thought we’d be together by now
I must have got it wrong somehow
Pere Noel is on a crusade I hear
Mending all the broken hearts before the new year
In the paper I read "True love never dies"
They must have gotten a photo of the hope left in my eyes
My heart is calling me back to Mexico
Someone said the London rain has turned to snow
I rise from a storm in time to feel the thunder
But the kisses of a stranger pull me back under
Pere Noel wont get to me on time
In my own fantasy I’ve been left behind
Bon-Jovi once told me "true love is suicide"
Well, if this blonde doesn’t kill me
There’s no place left to hide
Snow is falling on Paris tonight
Still no winter angels in the city of lights
I thought we had a love that was strong
Even that one I think I got wrong
Pere Noel deliver this letter for me
In Mexico city is where she has to be
In tomorrow’s papers what will the headlines read
"Dash Deringer proves paper hearts don’t bleed"

Coffee and Kisses

I stumble out of bed after you like a phantom of your past - unable to let you go for fear of learning there is no God... or worse... there is a God and my eternal destiny is Hell.
I follow you down the hall like your loyal pet... your dog in need of a belly rub... a scratch behind the ear... a quick game of fetch before you leave to whatever it is you do when you are not with me...
These past few nights have been rough on our emotions - I will not lie to you... you have left your scars on my heart... and your nails did pierce through the skin of my back in the throws of mad lust that you ripped pieces of my soul and nothing nor no one will be able to take the memory of your face from my mind. You’ve never had to compete with the ghosts I cling to - you silenced them - you kept them at bay - and you managed to chase at least one of them away. There has only been you since the first night. I haven’t strayed and I haven’t wandered off... I haven’t wanted to... but these past few night have been rough... your words... have become daggers... stabbing at the part of me I keep hidden from you... the part of me you wish to claim as your own. Your words... echo in my mind like the cold chill of Lake Michigan smacking me in the face the way it did when I stepped out of my door onto Grand Avenue in the days of my mid-Western winters... and it is not so much the things you say but the things you don’t say and the way you say them... and the way you don’t... I know you have started to build that wall around you to protect you from the words you don’t want to hear... "It’s time for me to go"... I know this is your way of trying to push me away before I hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you... you know that... you know that.

Before our first kiss I had told you - I’m just passing through... and you have always known I did not want to be here and that I was making plans to leave the country... I haven’t left yet... and I don’t know when that will happen... but it will... and I asked you if you would run away with me... but I know you can’t leave your life behind... you own too many things... you make some good money... you have a good position... you have fancy friends... that is a lot to leave behind... I.... I could leave tonight... but I would rather lay here next to you and listen to you breathe as you sleep... and try to make sense of those words you mumble from your side of the bed... I would rather stay and trace poems on the back of your shoulder in the glow of this lap top’s monitor... and every now and then lean over to kiss your neck and smell your hair. I would rather stay... and go through the morning routine...

I stumble out of bed like a phantom of your past... and I gather your clothes together and help you dress... as you recite your schedule... "like a well planned alibi..." non of it makes any sense to me - by the way - but I like that... the things that don’t make sense about us that we can’t put into words for the other to understand... and when you are dressed I leave you to make your coffee. You have learned to drink it the way I make it... that cheap instant coffee that I found at the bargain market that turned out to be better than we both imagined it would be... one cup of those magical crushed Columbian beans and three spoons of sugar... stir till I get a floating island of foam, ad Vanilla flavored soy milk... shaken like a martini... and stir... more foam... done.
I return to the room with your coffee and wait at the door for you to finish talking to yourself... you do deserve everything you have... you are good enough... you are strong, you are smart, and you have confidence... I let you do what you have to do to get you through your day... you eat your bagel or toast or croissant... whatever bread of the day I bring you and you finish your coffee. We’ll walk down the hall holding hands and we’ll stand at the door and go through that routine... until I have convinced you I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the day... like your dog...who needs to be reassured as well... that big white cup that you drink your coffee out of every morning - with the big red apple on it... is the same one I will use through out the day... I wont wash it till I have had my fill... you leave traces of your lipstick on it and I get to taste you... little pieces of you with every sip I take until I have totally devoured that sweet taste of red...Chanel?
Coffee... the last kiss you give me before you leave tastes like coffee... I taste you all day long...I am tormented by the last kiss you give me and I punish myself all day long with my own coffee... drinking you... wanting you... drinking you... missing you... drinking you... needing you...drinking you...

drinking you...

Some kisses...

Some kisses are thunder
Some kisses are rain
Some kisses leave me
Not knowing my name
Some kisses are roses
Innocent and pure
Some are wild orchids
Whose spell has no cure
Some kisses are rivers
Of desire and lust
Some kisses leave your heart
Crumbled to dust
Some kisses are fire
Some kisses are snow
Some kisses are dreams
You can never let go
Some kisses are magic
- A gift from above
Some come like a curse
- But only one is true love.

For Shupe...

No dear Shupe, it is not just the women, it is how they were captured on film. Imagery is poetry without words... poetry in motion. Beauty is not always what you see but how you see it. This is beauty as well. I hope you like it.
Dash

Trapped in your arms

I want to be trapped in your arms
Like the wind caught in your hair
I want to be the missing piece
That has always been there

I want to be the secret
Hidden in your soul
I want to be the dream
You can never let go

I want to be the words
That you long to hear
I want to be the whisper
To silence all your fears

I want to be the star
You wish upon the midnight blue
I want to be the angel
That makes your dreams come true

"Thunder Perfect Mind" - What is Beauty

Maybe I'm crazy

...for a girl named Sandy


Do I have to write another letter
And post mark it with my heart
When can we get together
Or will it end before it starts
Do I have to write another love song
To let you know how I feel
How much more must I hold on
Before I know it’s real
Do I have to climb to Heaven
And jump from the stars
And if I fell once more from Heaven
Would I land in your arms
Do I have to fly to Venus
And carve your name on the moon
Distance and time between us
Has taught me to sing the blues
Do I have to hold back the oceans
And tie down all the clouds
Lock up all my emotions
Or scream your name out loud
Do I have to wait for ever
Before I can taste your kiss
But I would wait for ever
To know if true love exists

What is Beauty?

What is beauty...
is it the color of her eyes... or is it the way she looks at me?
is it the shape of her lips... or the things she says to me?
is it the contours of her ears... or is it the way she listens to me?
is it the way she wears her hair... or is it the way she lets it fall on me?
is it the color of her skin... or is it the way the candle light bounces off it?
is it the curves of her body... or is it the way she wraps it around me?
is it the clothes she wears... or is it the way she takes them off?
is it the way she walks... or is it just the way she comes to me?
is it the way she sits in silence... or is it just the way she seduces me?
what is beauty?
it is nothing without her.

She Wears Paris

for Danielle

She wears diamonds and not much to bed
She thinks angels dance inside her head
She drinks whiskey and smokes cigarettes
She laughs at headlines and has no regrets

She likes Bon-Jovi in the morning and Pavarotti at night
Has to have the last word and she’s always right
She likes Italian operas and setting alone in the dark
And she wears Paris when she breaks his heart

She’s silk and leather, velvet and lace
The Wall Street Journal and Lost in Space
Chivas Regal and Edgar Alan Poe
With Billie Holiday when she feels alone

She is all woman and she needs a real man
But she’ll leave him begging because she knows she can
She’s always in control right from the start
And she wears Paris when she breaks his heart

Another one bites the dust

Starting over

Doesn't it feel funny
starting over again...

an opportunity to start from nothing and see where you end up - take a left turn... or take a right turn? It doesn't matter how you get there as long as you get there. It doesn't matter how you get there as long as you have a chance to meet new interesting people along the way and as long as you get to keep in touch with those you leave behind. It doesn't matter how you get there as long as you get to experiences new views and different opinions... new sounds and smells and faces... new places...

No, it will not matter how we get there as long as we get there on our own terms... free to choose... free to say when we've had enough and it's time to move on... free to stay and linger for as long as it pleases us... free to come and go...

So... come as often as you like... but don't leave a mess... and take a little joy and leave a little joy behind when you leave... if you want to leave... or you could just linger quietly in the background... you're free to choose...

Dash.