Al Stone September 20 near Jacksonville Title; Pen Like A demon Poem by; Al Stone 2013
My pen is like a demon that awaits my hand, As my heart beacons, my eye’s must see The words that are like an unsolved puzzle, For my spirit, there meaning to set free To unlock there story, Or forever lost they will be Lost in time, Adrift in the mind, Of a mad mans legacy A legacy, unknown if not to the pen I arrive, To write these sweet poem’s or melody’s ! Surly there was a spell Cast in my name, One of puppetry Mastered by the words that haunt my soul Never will it set me free From with in the dark and solitude of my minds chilling darkest nights I will take the pen in hand From this spell I will begin to write And from the fear that tears at my spirit I will forever give in to the call, To words, pen, ink, and paper, My heart is forever owned.
Title; Love Free Verse By; Al Stone 2013
A sudden pause in the rhythm of my heart beat, that vary first second I laid eyes on her. As she moved with grace and ease slowly across the floor with every step my heart began to beat as if it had found her steps to be its master. She was not an imitation of beauty but beauty its self had found her to be its defining moment. Feeling as I didn’t want this moment to ever stop nor forget this moment of love breaking through to me and branding my heart with its name. I felt my mind as free, and arms weaken. I stood unaware of my self in a state of inner silence not willing to entertain any other emotion or feeling, I dropped my Glass and as the glass fell to the floor all a shatter so this wonderful moment did same shatter, only to be ever lasting in memory for I will never let go of that moment of bliss. Love has a mystical power about it, until it is found one knows not its way. But when it has fallen on your heart there is no mistaking it, but only certainty that it has found you, as it locks its self to your soul. This moment lives in me, for now I know of loves joys. And with out this moment of bliss, I would be but a loveless lost soul, waiting to be found by the most wonderful of all life’s feelings. Waiting for love to make me one of its own.
By; Al Stone 2013
Title: The Mask Free Verse By; Al Stone 2013
The mask that hides the truth, distorts those truths which I am bound by, you see me from the outer side of image, but not from the inside of truth. I am a torn soul, the one who needs. I am the winds of love lost, I am of time past, of time lost, still in the hearts of many, yet, left falling,, from the pages of history. And now for a new beginning. Were might I find the courage and spirit, to command the power to bring forth that which i have become? I am but a drifter consumed by, thoughts that spring from the darkened hollows of passion, yes!! Were might I find this courage and spirit, to bring forth that which I Am and present myself for a new slaughter!! If failure is my own to be, will I see a grim face in the mirror!! I think not, I am Freed by the saving grace of comfort found in accepting the truth of failure, for with out failure, we would not recognize our success, and with great failure, we judge and weigh the value of our victory to be its equal. Yes! Yes! This is Truth!! At that vary moment of Joy as I read the words I have spilled like my life’s blood from an open heart to this paper. I begin to contemplate; I am faced with a question that reveals its ugly face to me as it is born of Fear. A question that has exited threw the gates of its home of fear and finds a place of stay within my mind. Ripping, swirling, spinning, within my head I feel sickened by the dizziness of its threatening affect on me. Addressing the Fear that enshrouds this question, I ask my self am I ready. Can I endure the pain of it all? Will I go down, as only a faint memory dwelling in the minds of few, as so many a fellows of past. For in the shallows of my mind I see this as a possibility of truth that I cannot except, nor endure, and must hide from in my darkest moments. Do i get up and face the blackness in my heart? Do I turn away in silence, to be shuffled with the others like so many cards in a deck? From behind My Mask, I turn to the darkness that has cast its shadow on the passion pouring’ from Heart, Mind, and soul and ask please, I know not my way, or how I feel. Unveil to me thy Truth, Truth is all I have. Unveil to me thy truth.
By; 2013 Al Stone
Title; My Dark City Free Verse By; Al Stone 2013
In the city’s dark streets I walk Dressed with suit, hat, and over coat, in a fog filled damp loneliness, searching to find lost dreams. In the dark of the night under the streetlight with cigarette in hand hoping to find a new, spark of Salvation. As I slowly pace my steps and walk down the dimly light street, the light from the wolfs moon peeks around from behind a night sky scattered with ghostly clouds and comes to life as it begins to light my way where the street lamp fades. I can hear the Gently whispering rhythm from the lonely beat of my heart in the ever so silent city night. As I continue my meandering journey with no direction, staggering, floating aimlessly like a lost ship adrift at sea, I hear the distant cry of cats echoing from a cold corner of an alleyway. I here sounds of the late night prowl of teenage adventures playing there teenage tribal music. As I pass a door with faded and chipped paint, I smell the dank of smoke, pouring from both window and door, slowly cascading to the street as it hangs like a cotton white sheet on top of the cool damp air, and carrying with it the stench from the whiskey of a filled bar room. Lonely in my city of dreams, Lonely with out a destination, thinking what’s next? As I stroll slowly on my way, taking in the many sights, sounds, and smells, I notice a man and woman locked in a moment of passion with moon all a glow, casting shadows of a romantic image fit for the sliver screen of old. As I approached a stylish canopy over hanging a brass adorned double door with the most beautiful of etched glass, I see the sign; “ Jazz Here Tonight “, and the door man dressed in a blue evening jacket with velvet collar, tips his hat to me and holds the door open, and I can see as I take a moment to peek inside, a party of fine dressed people, silken gowns, suits and fedora holding up there martini glass with all the laughter and hooeys of the last Gin soaked hour of the night in a salute to the band. Nevertheless, Still wondering why, with all this I am still empty in the dark of my city. So I continue my walk and light another cigarette As the fog thickens and I come up to lands end. I hear the blast of a ships horn, I see the break of daylight as it slowly creeps up on the horizon and shines down on the water, creating its mirror like shimmering with a most wondrous glow of silvers and blues. Yes, it is another day, and the night has once again passed, and I am delivered from this never ending dream, My dark city.
By; Al Stone 2013
Title; The Little café [return, Part # 2 ] Free Verse By; Al Stone 2013
The Little café. A place were I can go when I need a moment, to fill my soul with visions, and add to the poems I put on the shelf, As I cast my eyes on the wall, adorn with the art of a strange soul, as I look across the room I see many faces, some are deep in thought as am I, others have a sadness to them as they seem to reflect there innermost feeling. Oh I gaze with eyes of glass, like a stalker in the night, hoping to get a look at something new to fill my mind. Yes the café a place to have a kinship with others some deep in thought, some lost or a lonely heart searching for salvation in a glass of wine and the spice of life. Maybe ill just sit and pretend to be reading a book as I peek over the top of the page, so as not to be noticed and just observe the beauty of it all to cast my eyes on the many caricatures that are bound to there roles in life. I sometime wonder who they are, as I play a game to see if I can guess, a carpenter, fire man, a dancer, a house wife, a secretary, artist or poet. I can’t help but think is this a commonality of people at the café, do many wish to be alone in a crowd as I. Does it some how fill the void in a heart, is this the family of lonely hearts. Is there a secret hand shake communicated from soul to soul by way of thought. I hear the sounds of gentle soothing music, ringing softly in my ears as it sets the mood for a dance of peace while I sip from the drink in my hand. Does it offend to strike a conversation? Does it crash the private wonderings of another’s mind? Shall I take the risk and speak or just nod my head with a slight smile of approval. And acknowledge there existence. Will it cheer them up and warm there heart. The Little café, a world of dreams, a world of thoughts, a world in a world, a world were the observer becomes the observed. A world were we can share with out words, if only a smile, a nod. I social place to be in and part of a real life community, but always a place to find the inspiration of life. The little café.
By; Al Stone 2013
Title; The Little Café [ Part # 1 ] Poem By; Al Stone 2013
The little café. As I walk down the street of brick from old. I see many people out on this fine day for a stroll. I came to a place with brass knobs on the door, etched glass and a bell that sings the toll. I am greeted with smiles and a glass lifted in cheer, A welcome from the bar maid to show me she knows I am here. As a step to the bar to gather me drink, I am asked my fine Sr. what will it be. I say with out gilt and I let it be know, A fine glass of wine I will drink all alone. So I find a place to be my seat for a spell, As I look around and stay for a while. I finish my wine with solute that I owe I gather my things as it is time for me to go, Ill remember the place of nor friends or foe and the cheer and smile I received at the door. The Little café.
Title: The Poet Free Verse By; Al Stone 2013
Tripping the life fandango, Dionysus as my guide, and in my drunken madness I hear the voice of my past shouting out to me, and the words are in a rhythm that dance in step with the free spirit at hand. Do not expel me from society for my rants on love, life, spirituality, hate, despair. For I am the poet and in my folly I rejoice and shout the sound of truth. I refuse to let it sink slowly into the past to be forgotten as if it has not the ability to endure. Bring forth thy truth, bring forth thy words of truth, spill them unto the wicked, let them not commit lies and hide behind there mask. Grant me this as I prepare for my departure, let the sound of truth ring forever and a day and I will pass from this existence in peace, I will be silenced ever more. Remember these truths I write, speak them loudly, and unmask those who run with evil on there tongue’s and torment our living souls in the name of greed, hate, love. Yes, even love can be used for evil when not from truth. On my passing I will summons the power with in, and as in life also in death, I will as my last creed commit my name and soul to truth. On my stone when I go, write a passage with the sweetness of a true heart. Remember me when you make ready to battle and encounter those with evil tongue’s that spread I twisted tail to suit there needs. Remember me!! Call out my name one and all, like a holy chant to the gods, as I will in spirit, be with you, reborn into the hearts of righteous men, to lead the fight.
By; Al Stone 2013
Title; With Out Love Free Verse By; Al Stone 2013
When asked, I can not answer. When it is expected, I can not give. Being tormented by this is were I live. Hiding, and if I expect that I might be approached I quickly turn my head hoping to not be noticed. When asked why, it is to painful to discus and an out burst of discord and the cry of a Mad man rumbles of objection from within, cutting the air like a knife and stills the rage in my mind. There is a force that dwells with in my soul, that pushes me away from every one and every thing, but yet I still try to fight for the recognition that I am! Trying, crying, hurting on the inside, needing but denied. I am less than a shadow for even a shadow is sometimes noticed. And as I endure this pain of a constant battle to try and be. The wounds are many, the scars are many, and there is a buildup of an ever deepened conflict that hardens my heart, as I move farther from every part of life. I live alone, in the dark of an alley, not even sure what city or town, what day is it, or time of the day. My cloths are a tater, Shoes are worn, hands chapped with hardened skin, I can not enter the lowliest of stores. Can you spare some change. People seem to be afraid of me, the look away in fear, think of me as trash, think of me as if I am a waste of a person brought on by drunkenness and laziness, a reject of mankind. But I tell you, that I have been beaten down by that fight to be, and have lost the will and passion to keep up and find salvation. This is my journey and from this I have learn the most beautiful thing. Some times the hardest people to love are the one’s that need it the most. I am without Love.
By; Al Stone 2013
I have, written poems in a style i call... " Free Verse ", for almost 13 years I perform to audiences and read it from the page, it is for me , a Short Think piece, Free verse is an open form of poetry that does not use consistent meter patterns, rhyme, or any other musical pattern. It thus tends to follow the rhythm of natural speech.
Title; Passion of the Soul Free Verse By; Al Stone
Every once in a while we are blessed with a glimpse at passion, spilling out of a soul. Oh how wonderful it is!!! In the focus, and solitude found while in a creative state. We are the closest to a connection, with the universal spirit that is also part of us. There is no doubt, that it is why it is so addictive, it is the highest of highs, it is a magnetic field of energy drawing on us, like a moth to the flame, a bird to the highest perch, the smoke that finds us, the flow of a raging river, pushing us to a sea of tranquility, ecstasy, cosmically stoned immaculate. This is when your mind, body and spirit become one, as a conduit to channel from the deeper reality of truth, UN-bound by others just truth.
Al Stone 2012