Lyrical Heartbreak: Exploring my lyrics as poetry continues in latest digital-only poetry collection TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF HEARTBREAK available on Amazon and Smashwords

My latest poetry collection, TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF HEARTBREAK, out today as a digital-only release on Amazon and Smashwords, continues an experiment explored in my previous poetry books, BODY PARTS, and THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS. In addition to my novels, short stories, and poetry, I have also written song lyrics since my mid-teens. A few years ago, I came up with the idea of turning my lyrics into poetry and putting them out as a series of poetry collections. This is the third volume of poems based on my lyrics and is my sixth poetry collection overall.

As with BODY PARTS and THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS, I mostly maintained the original content in converting my lyrics into poetic form. The rhymes and verses were nearly kept as I had written them, but the lyrics are laid out in stanzas, and choruses and verses are not spelled out. I also didn’t try to turn these poems into free-form poems or follow the rules of rhyming poetry. My main objective is to share the content as honestly and straightforwardly as I could.

However, as with my previous collection BODY PARTS, this is not a compilation of my top lyrics. The lyrics and poems that are featured in TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF HEARTBREAK were written in the late 1990s and early to mid-2000s—after I began writing again in early 1998 following a long hiatus. Still, I believe the lyrics and poems in this collection hold up well all these years later and remain timely commentary on our recent political situation. I have also discovered this when sharing a lot of these lyrics as tweets on Twitter.

I have loved music and songwriting for as long as I could remember. However, hearing Bob Dylan’s album HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED at the age of 18 changed my life. That level of storytelling, and the wild, powerful descriptions I found in novels, films, and poetry, but in song form, fascinated me. Also having a similar impact and influence on me at this time and later were Bruce Springsteen’s BORN TO RUN, DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN, and the RIVER; the late Tom Petty’s DAMN THE TORPEDOS, HARD PROMISES, LONG AFTER DARK; The Band’s first two records; John Lennon’s solo works and work with the Beatles; Curtis Mayfield’s SUPERFLY; Chuck Berry’s GOLDEN DECADE and THE GREAT TWENTY-EIGHT compilations, Willie Dixon’s songwriting for Chess Records with Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, Elvis Costello’s MY AIM IS TRUE, THIS YEAR’S MODEL, ARMED FORCES, GET HAPPY, TRUST, IMPERIAL BEDROOM; Sly Stone’s THERE’S A RIOT GOING ON, STAND; Marvin Gaye’s WHAT’S GOING ON, SEXUAL HEALING; Stevie Wonder’s INNERVISIONS, TALKING BOOK, and SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE; Joni Mitchell’s early records; Patti Smith’s HORSES and EASTER; Paul Simon’s early solo records; Neil Young’s RUST NEVER SLEEPS and TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT; the Clash’s debut record, GIVE ‘EM ENOUGH ROPE, LONDON CALLING and SANDINISTA; the Pretenders early albums; X’s LOS ANGELES and WILD GIFT; and Public Enemy’s IT TAKES A NATION OF MILLIONS TO HOLD US BACK and FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET, among many others. There are too many to mention. Music continues to be a huge influence on me. It is more than an obsession.

My lyric writing is different from my poetry. My lyrics explore more storytelling techniques, focusing on tales of the down and out, disenfranchised, people on the edge, and those left out of society’s prosperity. For them, the American dream and the promise of prosperity are both a sad illusion and a crushing lie. In these lyrics, you’ll discover stories about the lingering damage of heartbreak (TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF HEARTBREAK, HEARTBREAK BURNOUT, SHE’S WAITING AGAIN, POISONED HEART, and THE DREAMING SIDE OF ME); corruption at the highest levels of government (IMMORAL VALUES, THIS IS NOT MY DEMOCRACY, CLUELESS AND NOT PRESIDENTIAL, DEAR MR. SECRETARY, STATE OF OUR DISUNION, GONE WITHOUT A TRACE, IT’S INAUGURATION DAY, YOUR INSIDE JOKE, FAST-FACT THINKING, THE LIES THAT GO DOWN EASY, BROKEN TRUST, YOUR BEST INTENTIONS ARE MY WORST NIGHTMARES, CHOKING ON THE ASHES, COME CLEAN, and SHALLOW IS AS SHALLOW DOES? ); disillusionment with the Iraq War (16 WORDS, HEARTBREAKS AND BODY BAGS, WORKING ON ANOTHER AMERICAN DISGRACE, FREEDOM IS NO LICENSE TO KILL, NOBODY TOLD US IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS, SAY IT’S GETTING BETTER, LIVING VICARIOUSLY THROUGH AMERICAN DREAMS, and TAKE IT ON FAITH?); love’s darkness (RATHER BE ALONE THAN IN LOVE WITH THE LIKES OF YOU, MY PRIVATE VALENTINES DAY MASSACRE, LOVE AS SUFFOCATION, POISONED HEART, SAD ROAD, YOUR JEALOUS WAYS, YOU’RE A MYSTERY WITH NO CLUES, BEYOND BLUE, and LIVING ON YOUR LIES); fake friends and liars (BACKSTABBING GRIN, TRUSTED FRIENDS, DEVOURING YOUR SOUL, ARTIFICIAL HEART, SPRIT CRUSHER, TARGET PRACTICE, YOU’VE MADE AN ART OUT OF LETTING ME DOWN, NOTHING OF YOU, NO SHAME, YOU’RE ALL TALK, SOME PEOPLE, PLAYING THE MARTYR, LESS THAT THE SUM OF YOUR PARTS, and A PHONY SMILE CAN GET YOU ANYWHERE); forgotten souls (UNKNOWN CITIZEN, THERE’S NO LIFELINE, and ECONOMIC SUICIDE); those grappling with the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina (CRESCENT CITY FLOOD, LOST MY DREAMS TODAY, and THIRD WORLD SCENES IN NEW ORLEANS ); death, wasted time, and confusion about modern life (NOBODY HERE, OUT OF PLACE, RESET BUTTON, LIVING IN THE PAST, RERUN DAYS, LOSING TRACK, DANCING IN SILENCE, FRAGMENTS, LOSING MY NERVE, IT CAN HAPPEN, DULL ACHE, IT WILL ALL SLIP AWAY SOMEDAY, PROCRASTINATION BLUES, NO ONE, GOT NO INSPIRATION, CAN’T GET BACK THE DAYS YOU LOST, ENDING CREDITS, and DEATH WILL FIND YOU ONE DAY); a suicide bomber (TWISTED PRIDE BURNING IN A BOMBER’S EYES); the hidden dark side of living in L.A. (JUST OUT OF FRAME, LOST AGAIN, and CITY WITH NO PAST); and forgotten history and genocide denial (HISTORICAL AMNESIA, and MORE THAN NUMBERS).

Samples lines from poem TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF HEARTBREAK:

When you’re traveling

at the speed of heartbreak,

everything seems hollow and fake.

All of your heroes appear insincere

and on the take.

All of your decisions seem like

such a tragic mistake.

…

When you’re traveling at the speed

of heartbreak,

you can’t shake off the past

and nothing seems to last.

Haunted by ghosts from memories

you no longer know.

…

She had a tattoo that read “no regrets”

on the small of her back.

All she did was give you regrets

for the wasted days and nights

you can never get back

as you ignored all the passion

your love lacked.

…

When you’re traveling at the speed of heartbreak,

every bar room is a battleground.

Every hotel room

is a graveyard.

Every new lover is a liar.

…

Everything is dark and shady.

All you feel is bitterness and rage.

Everyone is a potential enemy

to cause only more heartache

when you travel at the speed of heartache.

From RESET BUTTON:

The emptiness I feel

is reaching another

dead end in my soul.

…

Realized I’ve been

sold short like so many

times before.

Just another breakdown

in my heart.

Aching for a new start

that never comes.

…

Looking for a reset button

to restart my dreams.

Seeking a reset button

for my soul.

Need a fresh start.

Crave a new beginning.

…

Battered with heartache

and disappointment.

Seeking to recapture my

sense of joy.

Struggling to remember

what I am living for.

…

Shaken through

to my core.

Hoping to find a reset button

for my soul.

From LOST PIECES OF YOUR SOUL:

Stranded out on the road

tonight.

Feeling so disowned.

…

Left pieces of your soul

in too many hotel rooms.

Aching like a dying flower

that has never bloomed.

…

Once you lose pieces of your soul,

you can’t get them back.

Thought you were doing so well,

but you’ve slipped off track.

..

Gave away pieces of your heart and soul

at work

until you felt like a lifeless phony jerk.

Forgotten what you’re worth.

…

One morning you woke with a sinking

feeling you couldn’t face

that your soul has vanished without

a trace.

Got no more of your soul to give away.

Stripped.

Left empty and dead inside.

…

Left pieces of your soul

on the boulevard,

in an old truck stop on Highway 1,

in a locker at the airport.

Out on the road

heading to a destination unknown.

From THE DREAMING SIDE OF ME:

Trying to recapture the past

in Santa Barbara.

Wondering where that

magical feeling has gone.

I feel like my soul has been lost.

…

Feeling out of touch tonight with

the dreaming side of me.

I can’t reconnect with

the dreaming side of me.

…

Ground up

and torn apart.

Everything turning dark.

Lost my way

back to the dreaming side of me.

…

Remembering back when everything seemed possible.

No limits and heartache.

The cold grave was a distant thought.

…

Only a glimmer of passion

remains in a look,

a smile.

Hints of past lives and joys

eludes.

…

I am destined to chase my past.

Caught up in empty nostalgia

based on dead dreams.

From DANCING IN SILENCE:

Tell you what life is,

even though they haven’t a clue.

Say living is just a dance.

Ignore the truth

that no one knows what the music is.

…

So, we stumble and fall.

Struggling to learn the steps.

Dancing in silence.

Going from wreck to wreck.

Never knowing what to expect.

On our own.

So all alone

at the end of our days.

…

Tell you what love is,

but they haven’t a clue.

Nothing but an illusion.

A sweet confusion.

Distracts us from what is

really going on in our souls.

….

Disconnection.

Disaffection.

Disillusionment

underneath our gestures,

conceits, and beliefs.

…

How long can you keep up your nerve

with all the heartache you’re convinced

you deserve?

Say it’s the only way you’ll learn.

All their good advice

won’t help you get any closer to

peace of mind.

…

Only a conceit that gives you

a temporary reprieve from your

heartbreak in the middle

of the night.

From DEAR MR. SECRETARY:

Dear Mr. Secretary,

please send more

protection and body armor. 

Tired of rummaging through

Iraq junkyards

to outfit our Humvees

to stay alive.

…

Dear Mr. Secretary,

heard you say we go to war

with the army we have,

not the one we wished we had.

We need basic supplies.

Every day here we’re on the firing line,

and all you offer is more excuses and lies.

…

Dear Mr. Secretary,

do you understand what

I am feeling?

Shell shocked and torn up.

Signed up for a weekend hitch in the reserves.

Now, I don’t care anymore

what we are fighting for.

Haven’t seen my family in so long,

can’t remember what they look like.

…

Dear Mr. Secretary,

cold and arrogant.

So sure of everything.

Pushing your clever lines,

but this comes from the boots

on the ground.

When it all goes to hell,

you’re never around.

…

Dear Mr. Secretary,

all we need is a little more

help and protection to fight this

insurrection.

You say everything is OK,

but more of my comrades are

dying every day.

…

Dear Mr. Secretary,

walking tall down your

Pentagon halls.

Never saw the writing on the Iraqi wall.

Don’t know what is going on

over here at all.

From NOBODY TOLD US IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS:

Never know who the enemy is.

Rumbling down Ramadi’s main drag in Iraq

on a makeshift armored truck

and a prayer.

Hoping to avoid the roadside

bombs placed everywhere.

…

Inspired by stories of glory.

I was so eager to enlist.

I can’t remember anyone telling

me it would be like this.

…

Snipers in burned-out buildings

taking down anyone they can.

Hard to tell the good guys from the bad.

Have a sinking feeling we’ve been had.

Seems like nobody has a real plan.

…

Never know who the enemy is.

Nobody told us it would be like this.

…

What are we doing here?

So much hate and fear.

Not much freedom.

That is clear.

Got the red, white, and blues tonight.

Had us believing might was right.

…

Yesterday a car bomb killed our captain.

Our platoon is left to pick up the pieces again

while politicians back home talk about us

with pride.

…

None of them knows how hard it is to get

through another day here alive.

It’s the worst at night,

waiting for the sunrise.

From HISTORICAL AMNESIA:

How many genocides

must we witness before

we remember not to forget?

How many wars must we

wage before we realize

it is all a tragic waste?

…

We’ve got a bad case of

historical amnesia.

Living our lives in a tragic

replay of cruelty.

Closing our eyes won’t

make it go away.

…

How many mothers and fathers

will have to bury their sons

and daughters before we know

the real cost of foreign excursions?

…

All the broken dreams

and shattered lives we’ve

forgotten.

Tossed away from our collective

consciousness

like yesterday’s newspapers.

…

The loss beyond the numbers

can’t be estimated.

We have a bad case

of historical amnesia.

From CITY WITH NO PAST:

Lost in a city with no past.

Nothing ever seems to last.

Even the people here

make up an ever-changing cast.

Discarded like trash.

..

Lost in a city with no past.

The landscape resembles a constant

facelift.

An isolated nightmare of

self-improvement gone awry.

…

A city with no past.

Never knowing what we have until

it’s too late.

Another piece of history has been bulldozed

to make way for another mini-mall or luxury apartment.

…

Lost in a city with no past.

Nothing ever seems to last.

A failure of imagination is all we have

in the end to grasp.

From SOME PEOPLE:

Some pain can never

be washed away.

Some heartbreak

never fades.

Some lies you’ll carry

with you till the day you die.

…

Some people

never come clean.

So afraid to share

their dreams.

…

Everyone filling their lives

with distractions.

Not trying to dwell on

their private end.

…

Some people never feel

anything at all.

So battered down by life.

Reduced to a broken crawl.

Fearful and waiting for their

next unforeseen fall.

…

Some people take to

cruelty like breathing.

Oblivious to the pain their causing

and the souls they are plundering.

..

Some pain can never be washed away.

Some heartbreaks never fade.

Haunting us through our broken days.

Emotional echoes through

our memories

of scattered,

lost dreams.

From SHOOTING STARS:

We’re just shooting stars passing in the night.

Our blazing fire is fading now

into a distant light.

…

My mind burns with memories

of the sweet fire we created together,

but I realize nothing lasts too long.

To cling to your fire would be wrong.

…

We’re shooting stars flaming out in the morning light.

Your eyes are still a breathtaking sight,

but your spirit has gone dark like the night.

..

It is time for us to burn across other skies

with no expectations.

No limits.

No jealousy.

The same fire burns in us

but apart.

From JUST OUT OF FRAME:

Just out of frame.

Beyond the smiling faces

and pristine sunny locations.

We live in screaming desperation.

…

Just out of frame

is where our heartbreak lives.

…

Just out of frame

are the movie scenes of our lives

you’ll never see.

Just out of frame.

We cling to faded dreams

that never come true.

Just out of frame

is where the real story is.

…

Just out of frame.

Beyond the smiling faces

and pristine sunny locations.

We live in screaming desperation.

From ENDING CREDITS:

Feeling nervous.

Body failing me.

See the end lurking in the haze.

Struggling to reconcile my days.

…

All the abuse I left in my wake.

All the souls I bought and traded away

are haunting me with each passing day.

Trying not to think about my end,

but all my days seem misspent.

…

What are you going to do

when you reach the end?

Will you think about those

you’ve left broken and bent?

Will you think about your days empty and

misspent?

…

I cheated death again.

My ending credits will have

to roll another day.

You think I would learn my lesson,

but I’ve gone back to my old ways,

abusing anyone in my way.

…

I’d do anything for another chance

as the ending credits on my empty life

are soon to roll.

From CRESCENT CITY FLOOD:

Floodwaters are rising.

The levees didn’t hold.

My whole life was washed away.

I don’t know where to go.

…

Hungry and thirsty.

Stranded on my rooftop.

I don’t know if I can make

it through another night.

I can’t find my wife and daughter.

I think they were lost in the flood.

I couldn’t get out of our home

before the water rushed in.

Swallowed our lives whole.

…

Floodwaters rising

from the French Quarter to the Superdome.

Just trying to keep our heads above water

as the levees didn’t hold.

Now we’re truly on our own.

Left with sadness and heartbreak

I thought we’d never know.

…

The night is falling.

Floodwaters keep rising.

Dead bodies floating by.

Crescent City is full of tears and

heartbreak tonight.

From DEATH WILL FIND YOU ONE DAY:

You think you’re so hard,

but death will find you one day

when you least expect it.

Just when you thought you had it made.

…

You think you’re

so smart,

so cool,

but death will find you one day.

…

Your theories will crumble, and

all you’ll think to do is pray.

Death will find you one day anyway.

…

You believe compassion is a weakness,

and love is a bitter lie.

You thought your wealth would save you

but one day death found you too soon.

…

You think you’re

so clever,

so smart,

but death will find you one day.

…

You’ll be lying on your

deathbed struggling

for something to say

about how you spent your days.

…

You think you’re so holy,

but death will find you one day,

full of regrets.

Whether you’re lying in your bed

or caught on the freeway,

just when you think you’ve got it made,

death will find you one day.

…

Gasping for a little more time,

another day

as all you know fades to black.

These 100 poems continue my poetic journey into the dark side of love, loneliness, Hollywood dreams, life in Southern California, economic inequity, death, and life’s mysteries and hard-fought victories. I never try to sugarcoat life in Los Angeles, which is both beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. You can read these as poems, but don’t forget these are lyrics as well. My book’s subtitle, “Lyrical poetry or poetic lyrics for a band to be named later, Vol. 3”, is partly tongue-in-cheek but also truthful. If any singers or musicians out there are truly serious about collaborating to transform these lyrics into songs, I would, of course, welcome the opportunity.

This is the third of many of my lyrics/poetry collections to come as I have written more than 1,000 songs over the years. I can’t wait to share them all.

Enjoy.

You can also find out more about my provocative novels, short story, and poetry collections on my Amazon⁠ ⁠authors page and on my Goodreads profile, which features past book reviews.

Look for many more of my indie books to come.

GP

Are Lyrics Poetry? My Ongoing Experiment with Lyrical Poetry or Poetic Lyrics is explored in poetry book BODY PARTS available on Amazon and Smashwords

Are lyrics poetry?

It’s a question that I have heard many ask through the years.

I do believe lyrics can be poetic and also can be an immediate form of poetry driven by music.

Art is for breaking the rules and we shouldn’t be stuck in definitions of what is or isn’t poetry.

I took the notion a step by further by turning my lyrics into poetry in my poetry collections, BODY PARTS, available in digital versions on Amazon and Smashwords and as an Amazon paperback, and THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS.

In addition to my novels, short stories and poetry, I have also written song lyrics since my mid-teens. A while back, I came up with the idea to turn my lyrics into poetry and to put them out as a series of poetry collections.

As with THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS, I mostly maintained the original content in converting my lyrics into poetic form. The rhymes and verses were nearly kept the same way as I had written them, but the lyrics are laid out in stanzas and choruses and verses are not spelled out. I also didn’t try to turn these poems into free-form poems or follow the rules of rhyming poetry. My main objective is to share the content as honestly and straightforward as I could.

However, unlike THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS, this is not a compilation of my top lyrics. The lyrics and poems that are featured in BODY PARTS were written in the late 1990s and early 2000s after I began writing again in early 1998 following a long hiatus. In fact, the poem FREEWAY HEART, written in 1998, was the first set of lyrics I had created since the early 1980s. Like all of the lyrics and poems in this collection, I believe they hold up well all these years later and remain timely commentary on our current political situation. I have discovered this when sharing a lot of these lyrics as tweets on Twitter.

I have loved music and songwriting for as long as I could remember. However, hearing Bob Dylan’s album HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED at the age 18 changed my life. That level of storytelling, and the wild, powerful descriptions as I found in novels, films and poetry, but in song form, fascinated me. Also having a similar impact and influence on me at this time and later were Bruce Springsteen’s BORN TO RUN, DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN, and the RIVER; the late Tom Petty’s DAMN THE TORPEDOS, HARD PROMISES, LONG AFTER DARK; The Band’s first two records; John Lennon’s solo works and work with the Beatles; Paul Simon’s early solo records; Curtis Mayfield’s SUPERFLY; Elvis Costello’s MY AIM IS TRUE, THIS YEAR’S MODEL, ARMED FORCES, GET HAPPY, TRUST, IMPERIAL BEDROOM; Sly Stone’s THERE’S A RIOT GOING ON, STAND; Marvin Gaye’s WHAT’S GOING ON, SEXUAL HEALING; Stevie Wonder’s INNERVISIONS, TALKING BOOK, and SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE, Joni Mitchell’s early records; Patti Smith’s HORSES and EASTER; Neil Young’s RUST NEVER SLEEPS and TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT; the Clash’s debut record, GIVE ‘EM ENOUGH ROPE, LONDON CALLING, and SANDINISTA; the Pretenders early albums; X’s LOS ANGELES and WILD GIFT; Public Enemy’s IT TAKES A NATION OF MILLIONS TO HOLD US BACK and FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET, among many others. There are really are too many to mention. Music continues to be a huge influence on me. It is more than an obsession.

My lyric writing is different from my poetry. My lyrics explore more storytelling techniques, focusing on tales of the down and out, disenfranchised, people on the edge and left out of society’s prosperity. For them, the American dream and the promise of prosperity is a sad illusion and a crushing lie. In these lyrics, you’ll discover stories about society’s obsession with looks and fame in the pursuit of elusive happiness (BODY PARTS, CELEBRITY DISEASE, MYSTERY FOOL); government oppression and the true violence of silence (A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE, UNMARKED GRAVES, WHEN BULLETS FALL LIKE RAIN, NO SUNSHINE HERE, LET’S DO THE CRAWL, LET IT SLIDE, FREEDOM LIE); an innocent man on death row seeking a last-minute reprieve (DEATH ROW DREAMS); a gambler stranded in Sin City (LAS VEGAS BLUES);  government power hidden in the shadows (MISERY, INC, SHADOW GOVERNMENT); souls forgotten on our city streets (WALKING WOUNDED, DEAD EYES, OBLITERATED); those left behind by the economy (WISHFUL THINKING, NO SECOND CHANCES, NO TRACE, MOONLIGHT OVER MISERY, LIVING IN A WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN, BOTTOM-LINE DISEASE, SOUL OUT ON LOAN, I AM A GHOST HAUNTING MY LIFE); love gone wrong (CRIMES OF NO PASSION, OUR POINT OF NO RETURN, LOVE TROUBLE, SENDING YOUR BITTER REGARDS, FREEWAY HEART, STRANGERS STILL, A DIVIDE-AND-CONQUER LOVE AFFAIR, YOUR KIND OF PASSION, BREAKUP DAY); infidelity, heartbreak, and the confusion of modern love (FORBIDDEN LOVE, OH, ANNA, WE’RE NOT FRIENDS, WE’RE NOT LOVERS, SHREDDED SOULS AND JADED HEARTS, BORED AGAIN); those grappling with aftermath of violence and societal indifference (I DON’T KNOW, SLEEPING RAGE, WE’RE NOT BLAMELESS, VICTIMS OF RAGE); spin doctors (A LIAR’S LIAR, SPIN THIS, KING OF SLICK); those turning to alcohol to hide their loneliness (BARROOM EYES, YOUR DRUNKEN RAGES); seedy politicians and powerbrokers (LOWLIFE, YOU GIVE ME THE CREEPS; THE REAL FREAKS, POSEUR), a mob boss (GANGSTER STAR); faded dreams of youth (GROWING COLD, THINGS WE THREW AWAY, LETTING GO, DON’T BLAME YOU ANYMORE, A STRANGER IN MY SKIN); police brutality and murder (WHO CAN YOU TRUST? SHOT IN THE BACK); and Hollywood illusions and lost dreams (HOLLYWOOD LIES, DREAM-BUSTED, BITTER SMILE, SUNBURNED, DREAMLESS, DREAM-SHY, AN EMPTINESS I CAN’T FILL, THE BIG KISS-OFF, FADE-AWAY TIME, HOW MANY MORE HEARTBEATS?, DRIFTING).

Some samples lines from the poem BODY PARTS include:

Yesterday you sold off your heart,

today you’re auctioning away pieces

of your mind.

…

Discarding hopes for a better life

you can never seem to find.

Tomorrow you’ll no doubt barter away

your soul.

…

Are we nothing more than body parts

that never quite fit?

…

Are we nothing more than body parts,

broken and reaching for a happiness we’ll never know?

…

In the end

everything comes down to commerce.

Charging for new body parts

that never seem to fit,

like trying to piece back together shards of broken glass.

The jagged edges always show through.

…

Everything we hold dear eventually

ends up on the auction block,

worn out and refurbished dreams

from a time long since gone.

From LAS VEGAS BLUES:

Nothing is quite real here

from the New York skyline and Pyramids to the Eiffel Tower.

…

It’s just a mirage

except for the money and hopes you’ve lost.

…

Beyond the flashy neon and gaudy opulence,

are broken hearts and shattered dreams,

as life fortunes are won and lost in moments,

leaving you with an unspoken emptiness

called the Las Vegas blues.

…

It’s a burning feeling of unrealized expectations,

comes from longing for big dreams

that never come true,

leaving you with the Las Vegas blues.

…

Too many days spent here waiting for the next jackpot in vain

can turn your heart into a slot machine.

Where the sound of money consumes everything

because the real heart of Vegas

is as empty and arid as the desert.

…

There’s a malaise in this town

no one wants to talk about,

can’t be eased by the neon displays, flashy floor shows

and the teeming crowds.

It’s the Las Vegas blues.

…

Even Elvis was lonely here,

trying to recapture his youth and overcome his fears,

but he was left empty and wondering what to do

haunted by the Las Vegas blues.

From WALKING WOUNDED:

There are gaping holes in my soul.

My heart has been broken so many times,

I can’t feel heartache anymore.

…

Trying to pick up the pieces

of my shattered life.

Not really alive,

for too long I’ve been

dormant and dead inside.

…

I am one of the walking wounded,

afraid to feel anything again,

retreating into numbness.

…

Feeling plundered,

crawling,

hiding my confusion,

always so guarded.

My heart is grounded.

I am like a bird whose wings have been clipped.

…

My life is in ruins.

My dreams are burned out.

I am one of the walking wounded.

I am not alone.

I see walking wounded all over this town.

Got broken eyes that see through

the lies we all tell ourselves

just to get through another night.

…

I see walking wounded,

in a halfhearted smile,

in a broken frown,

in another stab at romance,

on a dance floor

in a desperate dance,

among strangers

in a crowded bar,

locked in an empty embrace,

wary of more heartbreak.

From LOWLIFE:

Lowlife,

you soar so high

while everyone around you falls so far and divides.

…

What’s yours was once mine,

it’s your hatred you can’t hide.

…

Lowlife on Rodeo Drive,

nothing more than a slick guttersnipe.

What goes on behind your dull eyes?

…

It’s yourself you really despise,

only it’s everyone else you deride

with your hidden rage

and remarks cleverly snide.

…

Everyone is fair game

in your heartless game

as you attempt to conceal your guile

in an empty smile.

…

Just another political mistake,

you thought you could buy taste,

couldn’t leave behind your taste

for blood.

…

Lowlife.

Just another parasite.

When you sleep at night

do you dream of bigger money-stealing schemes?

Or do you ever dream?

…

Lowlife

in high places

never leaving traces

of the souls you’re wasting.

..

Lowlife,

parasite

living the high life

but never really alive.

Feeding off other’s hopes and dreams,

taking everyone for an empty ride.

From DEATH ROW DREAMS:

Don’t know what I am doing here,

torn to pieces by a constant suffocating fear.

…

Every day I tell everyone

I am an innocent man.

They just laugh

and remark “everyone says that on the row, man.”

…

At night when I close my eyes,

I see bars and concrete

in my dreams.

An innocent man

haunted by death row dreams,

my everyday reality.

…

I was put here on the lying words

of the county DA and a cop.

Said it was a little girl I shot.

Claimed an old woman saw me in the dark.

What chance have I got?

…

Hoping for some new evidence,

some new DNA

to save the day

before they put me out of my misery.

…

Each day on death row

I die a little a bit more,

wondering what my life is for.

This waiting game is worse than death,

worse than anything I could have imagined.

This aching hope will kill me long before

the lethal injection does.

From CRIMES OF NO PASSION:

Something is broken

inside of you.

I know,

as it’s broken inside of me, too.

…

Kissing like strangers,

fake love reactions,

no real feelings

in our hearts and souls.

We commit crimes of no passion,

we’ve been sentenced to a dead love affair

with no compassion to share.

…

It’s in the way we kiss,

in the way we make love

by the numbers.

Our fire and bond

is long gone.

…

We commit crimes of no passion,

we’ve been sentenced to a dead love affair

with nothing but apathy to share.

…

How many more years

can we go through the motions?

Retreating into familiar situations,

living like zombies.

Our love has died so many times.

From I DON’T KNOW:

She lied to me from the first day we met,

didn’t realize until she ran off with my best friend.

Those restless feelings

she kept hidden inside

as she looked me in the eye

and said everything would be all right.

…

When I asked her why she did what she did,

“I don’t know” is all she said.

…

Johnny shot up his schoolyard,

left his teachers and classmates dying.

Later when they asked him why,

“I don’t know” is all he replied.

…

Confusion is the order of the day

as we struggle for meaning in this broken age.

Living with diminished expectations,

we embrace easy answers with no hesitation,

but don’t ask us why we live like we do,

“I don’t know” is the only answer we’ll use.

…

When we ask our leaders,

why poverty and violence keep rotting our cities

why they drop bombs for peace

why they pollute our rivers, oceans, and streams

why they lie about what our lives really mean

“I don’t know” is their only reply,

as our dreams for a better world slowly languish and die.

From SPIN THIS:

You’re so smooth

shading truth.

Just another clever ruse

you pulled over our eyes.

…

Your pitch,

your program is

built on manufactured emotions and cruel lies.

Spin this if you can

pretending you understand,

it’s all part of your wicked plan.

….

Spin this,

it’s only my life.

Spin this

into another provocative sound bite.

…

My life is unreal,

I am just a media invention struggling to feel.

You twist and distort the facts.

I am another story,

another circus act.

I live on memories that aren’t mine,

and I have nowhere to hide.

…

Spin this

it’s only my dream,

displayed in twisted and distorted scenes.

…

Spin this,

for you,

my life is just another sordid scheme.

These 101 poems continue my poetic journey into the dark side of love, loneliness, Hollywood dreams, life in Southern California, economic inequity, death, and life’s mysteries and hard-fought victories. I never try to sugarcoat life in Los Angeles, which is both beautiful but heartbreaking at the same time. You can read these as poems, but don’t forget these are lyrics as well. My book’s subtitle, “Lyrical poetry or poetic lyrics for a band to be named later, Vol. 2”, is partly tongue-in-cheek, but also truthful. If any singers or musicians out there are truly serious about collaborating to transform these lyrics into songs, I would, of course, welcome the opportunity.

Since I published BODY PARTS, I have also released the poetry collection, THE TRUMP YEARS. Many more lyrics/poetry collections are planned as I have written more than 1,000 songs and poems through the years and I can’t wait to share them all.

You can also find out more about my provocative novels, short story, and poetry collections on my Amazon⁠ ⁠authors page and on my Goodreads profile, which features past book reviews.

Look for many more of my indie books to come.

GP

Lyrical Poetry or Poetic Lyrics? A new form of poetry? Poetry Collection THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS available on Amazon and Smashwords explores these intriguing notions

Lyrical Poetry? or Poetic Lyrics?

I explore this notion in my provocative collection of poetry titled, THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS, available on Amazon and Smashwords.

This poetry collection was an experiment of sorts. In addition to my novels, short stories, and poetry, I have also written song lyrics since my mid-teens. However, not being much a singer and possessing no musical skills, my lyrics stayed hidden away in file cabinets or inside my computer. I was fearful to show them to anyone and had no way to share them not being part of a band or knowing any musicians with who I could collaborate.

A while back, I came up with the idea to turn my lyrics into poetry and to put them out as a series of poetry collections. The idea seemed so obvious and I have no idea why I didn’t think of it many years ago. However, I mostly maintained the original content in converting my lyrics into poetic form. The rhymes and verses were nearly kept the same way as I had written them, but the lyrics are laid out in stanzas and choruses and verses are not spelled out. I also didn’t try to turn these poems into free-form poems or follow the rules of rhyming poetry. My main objective was to share the content as honestly and straightforward as I could. This is a compilation of the top lyrics I have written since I began writing again in early 1998 after a 10-year hiatus.

I loved music and songwriting for as long as I could remember. However, hearing Bob Dylan’s album HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED at the age of 18 changed my life. That level of storytelling, and the wild, powerful descriptions as I found in novels, films, and poetry, but in song form, fascinated me. Also having a similar impact and influence on me at this time and later were Bruce Springsteen’s BORN TO RUN, DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN, and the RIVER; the late Tom Petty’s DAMN THE TORPEDOS, HARD PROMISES, LONG AFTER DARK; The Band’s first two records; John Lennon’s solo works and work with the Beatles; Curtis Mayfield’s SUPERFLY; Elvis Costello’s MY AIM IS TRUE, THIS YEAR’S MODEL, ARMED FORCES, GET HAPPY, TRUST, IMPERIAL BEDROOM; Sly Stone’s THERE’S A RIOT GOING ON; Marvin Gaye’s WHAT’S GOING ON, SEXUAL HEALING; Stevie Wonder’s INNERVISIONS, TALKING BOOK, and SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE; Joni Mitchell’s early records; Patti Smith’s HORSES and EASTER; Paul Simon’s early solo records; Neil Young’s RUST NEVER SLEEPS and TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT; the Clash’s debut record, GIVE ‘EM ENOUGH ROPE, LONDON CALLING and SANDINISTA; the Pretenders early albums; X’s LOS ANGELES and WILD GIFT; Public Enemy’s IT TAKES A NATION OF MILLIONS TO HOLD US BACK and FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET, among many others. There are too many to mention. Music continues to be a huge influence on me. It is more than an obsession.

My lyric writing is different from my poetry. My lyrics explore more storytelling techniques, and attempt to explore tales of the down and out, disenfranchised, people on the edge, and left out of society’s prosperity. For them, the American dream is a sad illusion. In these lyrics, you’ll discover stories about runaways in Hollywood (THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS, STEAL YOUR CHILDHOOD AWAY, TRADING DAYS FOR NIGHT), homeless people living under freeways, barely surviving (IS THERE LIFE AFTER YOUR DREAMS DIE?, A CASTAWAY IN AN OCEAN OF CONCRETE), a Latino couple trying build a future for their family out of society’s trash (THE RECYCLING LIFE), forgotten African Americans who came to California to work the fields in search of a better life (LOST IN CALIFORNIA), an Iraqi War veteran struggling to cope (JIMMY ROWE), a frustrated retail worker (WALMART BLUES), drug mules (FULL OF DOPE, FULL OF HOPE), immigrants risking death for better opportunities (DYING OF THIRST), a patient worried about losing their healthcare (EIGHT YEARS TO MEDICARE), Katrina survivors (THE LEVEES BROKE, BEING POOR IS OUR ONLY CRIME), war’s aftermath (IN WALTER REED), a failing prison system and drug war (PRISON TIME, INCARCERATION NATION, DRUG WAR BLUES), Native Americans poisoned by radiation (MY RADIATION PRAYER), political grandstanding in the wake of 9/11 (THE 9/11 BLUES), indifferent politicians (DRIVE-BY POLITICIANS), and even singer Hank Williams traveling the dark lost highway (HANK DRANK).

Some samples lines from the poem THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS include:

My name is Doreen,

just turned 18,

trying not to think too much about

the things I’ve seen.

…

Been to hell and back again.

Lost all of my Hollywood dreams.

My heart and soul are torn to bits

from turning too many tricks.

Got to be harder than hard inside

just to stay alive.

…

I am a pariah in this movie town,

one of the Hollywood homeless.

No one wants us around.

Sleeping in abandoned buildings

and in cardboard boxes

until the cops evict us.

…

No one knows we’re alive.

Just kids raised on glamor and glitz

that proved poisonous lies.

From IS THERE LIFE AFTER YOUR DREAMS DIE?:

Live in a rundown shack

near the freeway,

choking on truck exhaust and dust every day.

…

Chewing on concrete,

always leaves a bitter aftertaste.

Drinking gasoline and turpentine

as big thoughts explode in my mind.

…

Got no place to go,

no one wants to know

the place behind my eyes where my dreams have died.

…

When I was younger,

I was so full of fire and hope.

Thought was nothing I couldn’t do,

but after a while

life beats those feelings out of you.

…

Watching the cars on the freeway pass by,

wondering if there is life after your dreams die?

From LOST IN CALIFORNIA (THE BLACK OKIES):

Hidden off Highway 99,

down in the San Joaquin Valley,

I live in a crumbling shack

with no heat except an old potbellied stove.

…

My bed is hard steel,

and my pillow is a barley sack.

Cobwebs and dust cover everything.

Got just one light bulb

and haunting

dreams and memories

to keep me company.

…

They call us the Black Okies.

We’re the forgotten ones in the

Golden State,

coming here was no escape.

…

My name is Charlie Bodine,

just turned 89.

Used to be a sharecropper

slaving for barely a dime.

There’s a shining dream of California

I never could find.

…

The weather and the rats

have left holes in my ceiling.

Empty cans keep my roof

from falling,

squeezing a golf ball to shake off

arthritis at night.

…

Thinking of my 11 brothers and sisters

who are all gone,

I am still hanging on,

listening to the ghosts and the wind

at night.

From THE RECYCLING LIFE:

It’s 1 a.m. when

Mario drives his pick-up truck

into an alley in Venice,

hoping he’s not too late

and out of luck

for his bounty of tin cans.

…

His wife Consuela

takes off on her bike,

searching the city’s trash bins

until the following afternoon.

She is seeking torn and crushed aluminum

that for her,

shines like silver and gold.

…

It’s the same every night,

living the recycling life.

A tin can existence,

just trying to stay alive,

a survival measured in pounds.

Out of society’s trash,

they are struggling to make

something that lasts.

…

Mario and Consuela used to work as dishwashers

and maids

until they were laid off one day.

Now, tin cans pay their way.

Tin cans will put their children through college someday.

…

Mario and Consuela

are hoping to spare their children

the recycling life.

Collecting tin cans every night,

out of society’s trash,

trying to make

something that lasts.

From DYING OF THIRST:

Crossing the Arizona

borderline,

the desert shows no mercy,

drying up our dreams

of the promised land.

So hungry for a

better life,

we will risk dying of thirst.

…

I come from a small border town

made of tin shacks,

and hills of trash,

where all we have is American dreams

haunting us daily.

Hinting of streets paved with gold,

a shining path to paradise,

as we live hungry and close to the ground.

…

I was half dead

when the border patrol found me,

my younger brother Carlos

didn’t make it.

He died right next to me,

his eyes lost,

staring off,

never seeing the cities of his dreams,

dying of a thirst

that can’t be quenched.

…

Last year my other brother Jesus

finally made it across the borderline.

Dying of thirst in the desert,

he knocked on the door of a Texas man

asking for a drink

of water and was shot dead instead.

…

I can’t let my heartbreak stop me,

I know I’ll make it next time.

From SMALLPOX BLANKETS:

Spoon fed me sanitized history

since I was three,

didn’t think I’d grow up and

learn how to think.

Tried to kill my dreams

in my sleep,

kept me warm with your disease.

…

Your policies

stinking of genocide and greed.

Blanketing the truth

about the thousands

of unmarked graves

you filled with the ashes of our hopes.

Keeping me on the edge of darkness,

always on the brink of disaster,

choking with impotent rage.

…

Pledge allegiance to the freedom lie,

built on the wreckage of

our broken trust.

All your gifts to me

are Smallpox blankets.

Killing me slowly with your kindness,

You keep me warm with your disease.

FROM WALMART BLUES:

Used to have a good-paying job in

a factory

until they sent my job overseas.

Now I work all night and day

and can’t make ends meet.

…

You’ve got low prices,

they’ve got big profits,

and I’m left with empty pockets

and the Walmart blues.

…

Got the Walmart blues.

Got no union.

Got no say in anything.

Work all night and day

for little or no pay.

…

Have to ask the government

for food stamps and a health plan.

I hope you understand,

I pay the high cost

for your low prices.

These 100 poems also explore the dark side of love, loneliness, Hollywood dreams, life in Southern California, economic inequity, death, and life’s mysteries and hard-fought victories. I never try to sugarcoat life in Los Angeles, which is both beautiful but heartbreaking at the same time. You can read these as poems, but don’t forget these are lyrics as well. So, my book’s subtitle: “Lyrical poetry or poetic lyrics for a band to be named later, Vol. 1” is partially tongue in cheek, but also truthful. If any singers or musicians out there are truly serious about collaborating to transform these lyrics into songs, I would, of course, welcome the opportunity.

Please remember dear reader, these lyrical explorations can be read as poetry as well. It feels great to reveal another side of my writing pursuits. This was the first of many of my lyrics collections as I have written more than 1,000 songs through the years. I can’t wait to share them all.

Since I published THE HOLLYWOOD HOMELESS, I have released THREE more poetry collections including BODY PARTS, which is also based on my lyrics, MIMI’S DILEMMA AND OTHER POEMS ABOUT WOMEN, and THE TRUMP YEARS.

You can also find out more about my provocative novels, short story, and poetry collections on my Amazon⁠ ⁠authors page and on my Goodreads profile, which features past book reviews.

Look for many more of my indie books to come.

GP

Today my first poetry collection BACKYARD POETRY is available on Amazon and Smashwords

Today I launched my first poetry collection BACKYARD POETRY on Amazon and Smashwords.

This book is a long time coming as it brings together many of my long form poems dating back to the late 1990s that I have shared on this poetry blog BACKYARD POETRY and in smaller pieces on Twitter as @gpwriter.

I initially fell in love with writing poetry in college while attending California State University Long Beach in the mid-1980s. Sure, I had read a lot of poetry in high school, but I never dared to write it. During two poetry classes at CSULB, I was not only asked to try my hand at poetic verse, but I also learned the basics and poetry rules. The responses to my poetry in these classes was promising, but after leaving college I abandoned writing poetry (or anything except journalism stories) for 13 years. In spring 1998, I finally broke through my fear of writing and tried my hand at poetry once again. What followed was a torrent of poetic words that are the basis for this poetry collection.

Twitter has also been a revelation for my poetic muse allowing me to share my work and gauge immediate reaction. Overall, the reaction to my Twitter poetry has been inspiring, but this collection returns me to my original goal of publishing my expanded poems. I initially sent an earlier version of this collection to various literary publications and publishers who responded with indifference or even snobby hostility. The inspiration for my poem BACKYARD POETRY came after a snotty note from some poetry editor, criticizing the honest and political nature of my poems.

So, in the following collection, you will not find poems that adhere to poetic convention either in subject matter or execution. I believe literary rules are meant to be broken.

In my poems, I explore controversial subjects of modern life in intriguing ways such as wondering if the Crucifixion would have been televised, or reimaging ethnic cleansing and Guantanamo Bay as the subject of sardonic ads. My challenging poetic works feature the same honest, unflinching style and prose as my novels MONOGAMY SUCKS,  RELATIONSHIPS SUCK and DEAR HEF.

Above all, it is collection seeking to strip away poetic pretensions.

Or as I write in the first stanza of the title poem BACKYARD POETRY, “I despise the poetry of exclusion.”

Kudos also to graphic artist Dancinee Jennings for putting together the book’s cover. She has also created covers for my previous novels, MONOGAMY SUCKS, RELATIONSHIPS SUCK and DEAF HEF.

BACKYARD POETRY will be the first of many poetry collections I will be launching in the coming years.

Enjoy.

GP