MY SIBLINGS' FATHER
                       
other children feared monsters under their bed
i feared the one living under our roof.
his hair was nimbus black  
with a storm's thunder in his voice
his fists were freight train brown 
ball bearing knuckles 
frostbite blue was his touch
with empty icebox eyes 
his smile untrusted growling words 
spoken like tangled spaghetti 
he was my mother's husband  
my siblings' father
a childhood of baseballs never thrown
bruises and shattered bones medicated with lies 
happiness diluted with tears 
in a house with screams undetected
when asked what i wanted to be i testified "far from here" 
now, fiber optic home front news faceless words
cancer eating away at your life 
with the fury of a piranha
your disease now my champion 
fighting with the courage i was unable to muster 
your epitaph written in my adolescence 
while plotting your midnight homicide 
again you leave unaccountable for your actions
i'm left to wrestle with the demons 
not the strength to forgive 
my memory too scarred to forget
i'll keep the battle lines drawn as your monument 
let the puzzle piece fall where it may
good bye old man you'll be missed like a pit viper's bite 
your pain can no longer touch me 
from the grave.



DESOLATION ANGEL


Just got out of prison Los Lunas, New Mexico.
She was smoking crack back in Chicago. 
I was headed there to get my life on track.
She was living each day at two C-Notes a whack.
Oh mercy, 
Sometimes it gets so crazy.
I'm dirty used and wasted 
wearing turn around shoes. 
Her kitchen's full of garbage. 
Her curtains all peeked through. 
The dogs of years nipping at my heels. 
I'm cheating sisters of the dice. 
She's all dolled up like Chinese food. 
And l'm fool fried twice. 
Lordy, 
It can all get so damn crazy.
The best part of truth seems to be the lies 
god gives his left-handed smile. 
I can't live life in the middle of the road. 
Traffic comes at me from both sides. 
There's nowhere to hide. 
Desolation Angel  I'm a Desolation Angel
Last time that I killed myself. 
There were no vacancies in hell. 
And she was doin' Jesus 
in some stained sheet motel. 
Life's a bitch, and she's in heat. 
Looking for someone to screw. 
Time's cracking his knuckles. 
She's out working the avenue. 
Tell me how'd it get so crazy?

I'll play the hand that's dealt me 
Choke down what's on my plate 
I drew a crooked Tarot card to my inside straight. 
She whispers to me like shuffling dollar bills. 
Her banjo eyes are waning. 
Come on take a hit it could be worse,
It could be raining.
Did I just feel a raindrop? 
Thought I heard the thunder roll.
Another junkie that can't stop. 
Another addict outta control 
Oh I sold my soul 
Desolation Angel Desolation Angel
Now the storm has ceased. 
And I'm back in prison up here in Chicago. 
How'd it ever turn so crazy? 
I'm sure I'll never know. 
Desolation Angel  Desolation Angel
                    


I NEVER WRITE LOVE POEMS

 

You say I never write love poems.
It doesn't mean I don't feel that way.
With all the love you've shown me darling
You are my reason to live every day. 
When we're lying holding each other 
We feel the moment 
We don't need the words.

You say I never write love poems. 
I know you've given me reason to. 
It's not that I'm uninspired 
There's just no poem that comes close to you. 
When you kiss me it's such a feeling, 
Words can't express 
What you do to me.

You say I never write love poems, 
Declaring my desire for you. 
You are my living poem 
A breathing Sonnet
I'm just a sentence lost within a verse. 
My pen is idle while my heart beats in rhythm
To the sound of your voice 
Like the melody of a song

You say I never write love poems 
I plead you forgive my indigent hand 
Empty of words to create a love poem 
Filled with the emotion of a Cupid's scribe. 
After all the love we've shared together 
You can read the story 
Written in my smile.

Some day the words, 
They may come easy. 
In the whisper of a gentle breeze. 
Until then I live with the sin 
Of the love poem my soul has kept hidden 
Your love poem 
The one, 
That was never written.

 

 

 

Too Good For Me

 

You want me to be a dancer
But my rhythm's in my speech
Always asking me for answers
When the words are out of reach
You say I've got no angel 
Watching over me
She left to be a hooker
Turning tricks out in the street
You think I should step careful 
And not talk so loud
You say I'm hard to handle
I lend no comfort in a crowd
Look at you standing naked in the rain
Yeh you, praying for lovers that never came
You, you can't dream beyond your pain
You, you're too good for me

I live without direction
My compass is the breeze
A mirror with no reflection 
My song has no melody
The bottle feeds my madness
My denial cures my pain
My storm lends only thunder
Never brings the healing rain
You say I'm wild and restless
I live life for the now
My Genie granted a death wish
I'm more than the law will allow
Look at you a toxic valentine
You, your dozen not worth a dime
You, your poetry always rhymes
You, you're too good for me

Time is such a skilled thief
Steals what we never know is gone
There's no future in a tea leaf
Always sacrifice your pawn
My handshake hides a clenched fist
My smile disguises my disdain 
My love breeds an infection  
With no cure for the disease and pain
You, your candle burnt out long ago
You, always doing what you're told 
You, your promise bought and sold
You, you're too good for me

 

 

 

SHE BLEEDS FOR BROOKLYN
                

She lives with low rent day dreams, on no name backstreets. 
Dirty sidewalks made from quicksand concrete, 
There's no yellow brick road.            

In this city like a desert without an oasis.
Hope a disease that breeds in places,
Where God wouldn't go.

In the air there's a stench the smell of desperation.
And lives are stamped with a date of expiration.
The Devil's grip on their souls.

Night crashes down with the sound of a train wreck.
She's on the prowl for love and everyone's suspect,
But they just leave her cold.

She cries with a sound that no one hears.
Her eyes lost their voice
Now she can't speak without tears
She wonders 'bout life on the other side of the mirror.
Kneels down for one more unanswered prayer.
But there's no one listening out there!

And she bleeds, she bleeds for Brooklyn
She's hemorrhaging lies and alibis.
She bleeds, she bleeds for Brooklyn.
Break free Persephone
Brooklyn left the front porch light on.

   



Invitation To A Funeral

 

The night cold with its sharp corners
Cutting comfort through my skin
With drunken footsteps of a soldier
I'm a tourist at your door again
My knock is full of empty 
A vacant echo its reply
Consequence provides the  answer
Circumstance the reason why.
Can't mend my bleeding ego.
Pieces of me cupped in the hands of my mind
Memories dripping through my fingers 
A painful pleasure suicide
Your broken promise cast away upon the waters
Now washed up on desolate shores.
I've become the company 
That misery enjoys 
My imagination without wonder
Muffled thunder in broken skies
Love is an invitation to a funeral
A memorial service where death is eulogized.

Judge Burdon

 

Bio:  On an unseasonably cool July morning in Chicago, equivalent to Dickens' David Copperfield, Judge Burdon was born on a Friday. His mother theorized it was so he would be in time for weekend festivities.  His fascination by the predominance of the written word inspired his study of English Literature. He attended universities in the United States, London and Paris to continue his life's scholarship focusing on Victorian novels and authors. His writing career to date has been devoted primarily to poetry and songwriting. Short stories and poems have been featured in: The Remnant Leaf, Stay Weird and Keep Writing, Independent Writer's Blog, Spillwords, The Beatnik Cowboy and Anti-Heroin Chic. He is presently engaged in finishing his book "Imitation of Myself," a non-fiction story encompassing his experiences as a drug runner for a Mexican cartel. Judge celebrated his 65th birthday last July and lives modestly in Costa Rica.