Writings by Thomas Radwick. Mostly poetry and lyrics. t_radwick@yahoo.com

The Big Casino

Redfaced
sweating

frantic to figure
what’s next

(and
how to react
to the reaction

of what’s
expected to be
next)

concocting
through voodoo
historical calculus

intricate
instant
elixirs

that fixed
the sagging
floor before

but crap
out now
BLOOOOP!

on the bourse
where balloon
faces cave

and cry at a sky
that is suddenly
a ceiling



.

Family Gathering

And together
we continued
losing ourselves

in the glow
of a television



.

Puddle of Rain

He’s tired

Black holes fill his eyes

All that’s left

Is an awareness

Of emptiness

A hollowed-out head holds

A puddle of rain



.

How To Go About It

Standing on a corner
With diddly dang to do
Watching all the women
Who I would love to—
oo!

Each one is an actress
In the movies in my mind
And after they all pass me
I just watch them from behind

Then a dude strides by
With an angel by his side
And I know by his smile
And the grace and ease in his stride

He’s a winner! Hey!
There’s no way
That I could ever doubt it
Because the guy…knows how to go about it!


Struggle out of bed again
To get to work on time
Wait in the rain for a train that is late
And it comes and it crawls down the line

You look at all the faces
And the faces look away
Every one seems eager
To be finished with the day

But there’s a man up high
In an office in the sky
Who we all work for
Together down on the floor

He’s a winner! Hey!
There’s no way
That I could ever doubt it
Because the guy…knows how to go about it!


Worry work and wonder
Wish and work and worry more
Dreading what’s ahead
Regretting what’s been done before

Hollowed out and tired
In a tragic selfish mess
Living as if this just isn’t it yet
Life’s ahead or behind but it’s somewhere to get

But a man whose face
Holds a gentle open gaze
Is right here now
And glows in the ghostly crowd

He’s a winner! Hey!
There’s no way
That I could ever doubt it
Because the guy…knows how to go about it!




.

Stand Still

and feel
the hum
of Earth

flow through you

as waves
of wind
move seas



.

Spring

A woman
wielding her ripe
body

through a ripe world

of stares and sighs
and desperate
fantasies



.

Mirror Man

“Mirror Man : Mirror Me!”—Captain Beefheart

Streets wet with rain
—gleaming streets—

reflect streaks of light
from lamps overhead

I plap past puddles in sandals
and see myself—

One night
riding a bus

through an invisible world
I glanced at one of the windows

expecting to see myself
in the gleaming glass

and instead saw a still
grey woman gaze back

and accepted this
as me



.

It's Just A Ride

“Hey, don’t worry; don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.”—Bill Hicks

Doo wah diddy in Gitmo
Secret freaky scenes
Plots to jimmy the gizmo
Stone democracy

Hey! Ho! Hey-ho!

Cold hypnotic big bank vault
Missle billionaire
Black spectacular asphalt
Megatronic air

Hey! Ho! Hey-ho!

Insect glasses and sirens
Strict straight orange cones
Grey steel cages and silence
Lonesome hopeless moans

Hey! Ho! Hey-ho!

Snow blooms on a black tree branch
Moon big as a face
Slow belief in a high chance
Grace to light your days

Hey! Ho! Hey-ho!
It’s just a ride!




.

Playboy Rock

A hundred practiced gestures
Get you through the day
Your eyes are calm and steady
They don’t give you away
And when you’re feeling evil
You tell yourself you’re not

But before you strut and brag about the bag of tricks you’ve got
Catch yourself a whiff of this playboy rock!


You’re busy with your business
To try to tap the top
Your money makes more money
No signs say you should stop
Fleecing spending trendies—
Another bumper crop

But before you flap a flag about the prizes in your pot
Snatch yourself a glimpse of this playboy rock!

Sometimes nasty flashes
Visit you in bed
A raging mob of losers
Is hunting for your head
They’re just about to get you—
Then you wake in shock

But before you try to hide behind a heavy double lock
Give a little listen to this playboy rock!


You say you’re not a killer
Just a strategist
A step ahead of those fools
Nothing’s wrong with this
What about those scumbags
Who peddle drugs—my god!

But before you huff a list of all the ugly things you’re not
Slip into a bit of this playboy rock!




.

Crack in the Ceiling

Poetry by Thomas Radwick

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