Category Archives: storyteller

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22 January, 2014

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determination, poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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Peddling into Hurricanes

This is not [just] about childhood.

Peddling into Hurricanes
JCD Kerwin

At twelve,
you biked faster than
wind storms;
made twisters
turn up in your wake

you turned blacktop
into neverlands and
neverwases just because
you made believe
it was far from here

Now,
you’re made to think
you’re a fool ‘cos you
only want
to feel your heart
beat in your throat
again;
maybe feel the stars
again.

because you went to Jupiter,
once.
don’t ever let them tell you
it isn’t true;
that it was a game;
that it was all just
play, pretend…

I want to feel
that wind
again,
and scare them all
when i laugh
at hurricanes.

people should
run from
super storms, but i
want to make history
in rain clouds.

i want to hold my hands
high above handlebars
again;
make the wind
jealous of my might
again;
and hear the whole world
move.

Maybe i can believe,
(once again)
that having all these dreams
is still worth peddling
into hurricanes.

(January, 2014)

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13 December, 2013

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poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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Meta-alert

[it’s a metaphor, metaletitpour]
JCD Kerwin

stab the stylus
into skin
[rip];
place the paper
‘gainst my heart:
pulp and fiber flitter
[drip].
sanguine rivers
slip
‘round my toes:
mix it with
ink to turn
my veins to black.
fill the room with
keats’s breathings from
my asphyxiating
lungs
while you
feast on dusty bones.
cover your painted eyes
with
masks to hide
death falling new
upon the floor.

(December, 2013)

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22 August, 2013

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poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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City of Angels

“City of Angels-City of Light” by M Bleichner (acrylic)

El-ay, El-ay
JCD Kerwin

I want Hollywood and a high-rise,
palm trees and SoCal skies.
Wish I could slam beats
into sand
and scream songs
with my eyes closed.
I want the glitter and glam
of rock stars
I wish that I could be.

Wanna walk down streets
reciting poems,
and write stories
in cabanas,
sipping coffee without a coat.
Wish I could stare at stars,
and talk all night with friends
in Santa Barbara bars.
I want to skip across the water,
and tightrope the suspension
of the San Francisco bridge.
Wish I could run across
the country,
leave the mirror behind
and never buy another
again.

(Dec. 2010, rev. Aug. 2013)

About this…I’m not saying I want to up and leave to California.

This is about the fact I have, and have always had, a “travel bug” in me. Ever since I was a kid. I think a lot of writers do. Kinda goes back to the fact we’re all dreamers. I’m an explorer. Always wanted to see and do everything I could. Explore the world…Fight monsters…Slay dragons…All that.

You know what I mean.

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21 August, 2013

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determination, poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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Scattershots from the Clouds

Ice on the Rocks, from blog: http://gd-imagesof.blogspot.com

Scattershots from the Clouds
JCD Kerwin

I may stumble ‘neath the weight of these,
these boulders on my shoulders,
but I won’t set them on the earth
to form mountains.

And

I will open wide my arms and laugh,
waiting,
for sneering gods to drop
icicles down from Heaven.
Let them come.

I’ll take the best of all you’ve got.

(August, 2013)

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19 August, 2013

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determination, fiction, poetry, prose, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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Waltz of the Flydragon

Had something. Then I didn’t. Then I did. Still not sure. All I know is I was mad/upset about something at the time. Also, “fly” ‘cos its usually considered insignificant, but a dragon isn’t…Yeah…Get it? I tried.

And I this still needs work.

Waltz of the Flydragon
JCD Kerwin

I pound fists against the wasteland like I’m beating out the reflection on the windowpanes, the reflection I don’t want to see that the world keeps shining back; the one I want to make fade into a thousand shattered Neverwases and Yestermemories. I phantomdream. I phantomdream in the claustrophobic every days, silently dreaming everyone’s pandemic voices into some sort of half-assed remedy for the moment’s pain. I make-believe. I make-believe of happy fucking butterflies and hackneyed, skipping stones gallivanting across Walden pond made tepid and trivial in every grownup’s dead and buried imagination. Maybe I will take a boat and sail, stop and drop an anchor, and wait until the whole damn vessel sinks. The dead water to carry us home like all the ships before.… (The sea maiden and me: We will dance in suspension like the frost fish.)

But I am not finished.

I light up cities and jump-start my own heart, shouting at gods like I’m Oblivion. I will stare at you with glowing irises, like I am captured, freeze-framed in the night by a thousand spotlights. Catch your own lost dreams within my eyes; count your memories and fairytales within the spark. I make supernovas collide. But someday when I’ll dance on cosmic stars, you won’t see because you never opened your eyes. My heart will skip beats and you will miss it when I leave the room, miss it when I grab hold of whatever dragon I dug from whatever faraway mountain I dreamed, once upon a time.…

Now I inhale, breathe ink dust, and explode.

(August, 2013)