Sammas

Jocular Musical Approach to a Sordid Topic

2010-02-09T07:30:00.001-08:00

“He could be a murderer you know… kill you with a silver hammer…”
With every step, the rucksack pulled me down to the pavement. Like the second-hand on a clock, my thumb uncontrollably rose with scattered hesitation. The car approached slowly as my heart speed away. The tinted window receded.
“Um, hi Dad.”

12 Ways of Looking at a Flame

2009-12-10T07:33:00.001-08:00

A flame covers the wick of my candle,
lighting each letter of my book.

A flame cooks the fish
that I caught upon my hook.

A flame lights a miracle
for those of Jewish decent.

And a flame accompanies the future
for those who do not repent.

It was a flame that lit the cannon
that barreled down my brother.

And a flame that lights the cigarette
that lends comfort to my mother.

A flame catches the branches
that grow a full-blown fire.

And the flame that sails across the lake
to illuminate the pyre.

The flame that lays upon her grave
is sheltered by red glass.

And the flames has lit the brown boy’s sky
for almost nine years past.

This flame that has withstood traveling
from mere cave to worldly man.

And this flame is with me eternally
with the almond- shaped scar on my hand.

2009-12-05T14:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Pioneer,

2009-11-20T13:49:00.000-08:00

Verse: Dm F C Dm

Dear Pioneer,
You one-note wonder. Please forget expectation and remember exhilaration without hesitation.
Your confessions are dreamt only in pictures, that’s the only thing that ever really meant anything to you.
They make claims to an addict, ‘so soaked within his own talent’ and I cant keep what I have found, you‘re only sewn down to the ground.
But you, the pathfinder, reject that hallow threat. Even a film can have it’s off days, I bet.
And to a world only seen through a two inch screen, you see only in black and white.
You’ve become a bicycle wheel detached from the frame, aimlessly drifting around, that dull pain beating on the back of your brain.

Chorus

You stopped believing and the better man bloomed, it’s hard to imagine you strings have went out of tune.
You make soft sounds, like sugar pouring into coffee. I have pictures of you, but they don’t stare back at me.
And now you spend your most exciting nights in ever-increasingly convoluted ways, convincing yourself of the rightness of each and every frame.
To every king a crown my friend, call me when your kingdom comes crashing to an end… and I’ll be there waiting.
You one-note wonder, please sit besides me, and stare at this film blindly, because I cant bare to look, it’s far too grotesque in my book.

So if you'd care to come along, I’ll curb all our never-ending, clever complaining,
Thoughts have depleted to a tea bag on a saucer, all the flavor gone,

and our vocabulary's draining.
Every book has been discarded from the bookshelf
And I find it rather funny how you think I do this for my own health.
You just cant stop thinking about yourself.
And with every book I look for you, every nook I look for you,
And with this much time on my hands, oh what am I to do.

F Am Dm C

Chorus:
My Pioneer,
My dearest Pioneer,
Please take this wheel and you steer,
It goes on like the record needle in my ear.

(Oh Dear)

End:
And if seconds are what's holding us here, then you, my dear, are the one I fear today.
We've built enough airplanes to fly away from here, my Pioneer.

(Dm)

The End

2009-11-09T18:37:00.000-08:00

Needed to make use of the words: Panic, Subway, Notebook, Language, Economy, Crouch, Fist, and Environment.

The subway approaches my door like clockwork,
on the hour,
every hour.
My fist clenches my blankets
as the light crouches into the keyhole.
Five seconds of panic,
Twenty-one seconds of flight.
Its a spindle of language,
turned into a collection of sentences.
Two-thousand-and-twelve words my bookshelf-notebook
will never invite in.
Economy, Environment, Destruction.
Burn it to the ground.

I am You

2009-10-15T07:31:00.000-07:00

I am from the same place you are,
The same sunlight, the same moonlight.
The same unintentionally ripped blue jeans,
With the lecture that followed soon after.
From waves that would cause battles
Between my logic and my motor skills.
I am from plywood that would glide over the pavement
With its four ambitious wheels.
From frayed paintbrushes,
Leaving askew lines in the smooth canvas.
Bleeding,
Callused,
Passionate,
Fingers.
Guitar strings that give just as much back to me
As I give to them.
I am from the same place you are,
The same sunlight, the same moonlight.