Soul Mates

He gave her space. 

She presumed disinterest.
And there she went

Untimely egress. 

He tried to chase, 

But so it seemed
She had lost interest. 

Sometimes soul mates, 

Like ships,

Get lost at sea. 

Somewhere out there

Are she and he. 

Somewhere searching 

Adrift maybe. 

Drifting, drifting 

Through nights and days

Against endless horizon

Over roiling swells 

Asea in space

With churning hearts

Out of place

Alone apart. 

Up in the crows nest,
His heart is full - 

With his spy to eye,

A steady slosh on the hull.

Below, a listless sigh,

Way up above,
Where eagles fly,

Stars burn forever. 

He gave her space

At last, he knows better.
Bobbing on the waves
His woebegone letter
Bottled in corked glass.

Where is she now? 

Is she searching like him? 

Somewhere someway, 

Somewhere someday, 

He gave her space

Soul mates...

My First Collection on Amazon: Beyond The Clouds of Misunderstanding

My First Collection is now available on Amazon and Kindle!

"Beyond The Clouds of Misunderstanding: Poetry and Spoken Word 1991 - 2005" by C. Gavin Skeen is now available for pre-order. The official release date is September 16, 2019!

Some of the works on this blog are in the collection, including the title piece:

Beyond the Clouds of Misunderstanding

Next Shakespeare

Blood Face Back

I didn't realize I had never put the title piece up before. Well, its up now. I'm so excited to have a published collection in the world! You can find the book at; C. Gavin Skeen Amazon Author Page

There is a video of me performing BTCOM on that page as well. If you are a poetry venue or bookstore interested in hosting me for a public reading of works from the book, contact me at cgavinskeen@yahoo.com

Beyond the Clouds of Misunderstanding

I encourage you to look in the mirror and
Love what you see. Be secure in your
Self. It makes sense for me
To want you to be the best you can be.
Everything I write is about one
Individual being the best he or she
Can be. Everything I write is about one
Strong person standing up for self,
Having the courage to face fear -- to stare
Down hatred -- to deny naysayers -- to cast
Aside guilt without a safety line --
To take the leap with faith in the self,
In yourself, in myself. I like what I see,
And work to continue liking me. Do you
Want to look back and smile? Shed denial!
Take pride in what you have accomplished.
To be happy, be strong, be you,
Be happy. I encourage you, because
I want more of me in the world.
The weak are violent -- the frightened are weak --
The haters are frightened -- The ignorant hate.
I want more of me in the world.
Be strong -- Take courage -- Love -- Explore -- Learn. Grow
Beyond the clouds of misunderstanding. Everything
I write is about one strong person standing
Up for Self. Everything I write is about
Many one strong persons standing up for themselves.
Solidarity of guiltless individuals will bring us
Beyond the Clouds of Misunderstanding

Wet Song

(A satire of "Jet Song" by Leonard Bernstein)

When you are wet

You are wet all the way

In your waterlogged sneaks

That squish when you sway

When you are wet

Drenched through and through

Your clothes are all soggy

And there’s nothing to do

You can try and get dry

If the dryer’s connected

An umbrella might help

At least that’s expected

To keep you protected!

Then you are set

Capital W say

Which you’ll never forget

Till they cart you away

When you are wet

You stay Wet!

When you are wet

Like cat nearly drowned

You’re the drippiest thing

Damp as can be

Like an undersea king

The wets in your ear

Bits of towel are stickin’!

The Sharks’ll come near

‘Cause they think you’re sea chicken!

Here comes the wet

Like a tsunami from hell

Better run for your life

Or you’ll get caught in the swell!

Here comes the wet

So much rain falling outside

And it follows you home

Soakin’ where you reside!

You try drawin’ the line

But you cannot stay hidden

The weather ain’t fine

But that’s part of livin’

And we ain’t kiddin!

Here comes the wet

Yeah! It sure beats the heat

Ev’ry last falling drop

Makes another puddle on the street!

On the whole!

Ever!

Mother!

Lovin’!

Street!

Yeah!

How Butterflies are Made

First there is a pupae
in the depth of its potential
inherently beautiful
yet eminently vulnerable
to vagarous corruption.

Upon reflective rapture, in spring,
Narcissus longingly swooned
at a watery illusion of self,
vaguely represented in a fleeting
reproduction of reality.

Down the runway, the model commanded
her audience with an apery of conviction
while secretly starving for esteem
from this shallow self, easily strangled
by powder, elixir and depravation.

Longing for approval from a father
who had never seen the boy,
nor the man, through his own insecurity,
his orphan soul curled validation
with stretching sinew and plumping muscle.

Foundations in perception
substitute for sterner principle
where scavengers desperately feed
on flitting, wispy, wild-eyed dreams
and no blueprint for action.

Eschew the misleading mirror
and look more deeply, in practice,
for a reason to love your purpose
and pursue the production
of value within and without.

Self is something more solid
than the silvery shower of saliva-slime laden,
derogatory invective, thoughtlessly hurled
at the productive, with bratty conviction
and blind jealousy by glittery slugs.

Beauty is on the surface a look,
but more deeply a way,
which metamorphosizes
in a chrysalis of confidence
to emerge as a butterfly.

reflection on the passing of W.S. Merwin

even as melancholy swoons
within lines of sacred elegy
this poet a man whose influence 
showed me how to listen to my own 
voice through his shall be missed

But Smile

You are very smart aren't you
And very proud of your intelligence
You wear it like a mask,
But smile, I see through your mask
To the sniveling insecurity
Of your scornful soul.

Some of the others may be fooled
By your self-righteous dog and pony
With the floppy shoes and
The big red honking nose as you
Feed me your disdain by spoonfuls -
But I am immune. Bless your heart,

As I once heard it said, lest some
Part of it survive the rot that is
Your brain, after the maggots
Complete their scavenge, I assume
Was meant in polite company.

This malice you serve is petulant,
So portions of service I return,
But I have known more maligned
And stared directly into bleaker eyes
Cold and dark and thoughtlessly mean,
So say what you must, But smile
As I do, amused by naivete.

Apprentice in Verse

with respect and reverie

sincerity in vaunted regard

eyes scanning the published pages

of cherished editions from

the featured bookshelf in my

living room and my voice

volunteered in homage to give

tempo and resonance to the exercise

reciting out loud the word patterns

established through the skillful

discipline of their observations

recitations judgments and valuations

scribed for posterity and offered

up to the foggy and precise

alike kept indefinitely shelved

at the congressional library numbered

and collecting dust while in

bookstores amusing teenagers

with designs on seeming erudite

if only fleetingly who then

exit the places where books live

and enter the spaces of animals

men and things known and

unknowable armed only with

mimicry and those still sharpening

implements of intellect those

originally mentioned emotional assessments

that persistent hunger to explain

the world to one’s self and record it

share those findings and emerge

perhaps a shade wiser

for the journey every bit

as much as the destination

but first let us herald

those masters who paved the way

traveled evermore haltingly

by each erstwhile and eager

apprentice in verse

so that standing upon the shoulders

of giants we might feel

momentarily like giants ourselves

and then if Fate might

shine her narrow beam

some fortunate few souls

touched by grace may dare

indeed to live the dream

making Eros jealous of Hermes

baton in hand passing proxy

a sliver of ageless ancient

wisdom along the conveyor belt

of history with the

ceaseless arrow of infinity

before bowing out to the

newly foolish genuflectors

at his stupefyingly

incongruous altar

psshaw as if

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R93UKMFQm58

One Night Stand

Well, well, well, well

Well, well, well, well

What am I gonna do about you?

You come into my life

               Like a thief in the night

I can’t believe my eyes

               My lord what a sight

You sashay across my room

               Like a fashion revue

My chest starts to pound

               What am I to do?

You put me under your spell

               With your sultry charms

Make me feel like a beggar

               Grasping you in my arms

I know this can’t last forever

               Even before it starts

Because you’re that kind of woman

               Who will break my heart

Well, well, well, well

Well, well, well, well

What am I gonna do about you?

I cannot walk away

               And I will not run

I’m out of control

               And under your thumb

Before you slip out of my life

               Without making a sound

Let’s enjoy this moment

               As we roll around

You came for my body

               You teased my soul

I’m kissing you softly

               Like waves on a shoal

There’s a pearl in the oyster

               Deep under sea

But the prize is our love

               So stay with me

Well, well, well, well

Well, well, well, well

What am I gonna do about you?

In the Echo Chamber

In the echo chamber

Every man can hear himself,

But no one can hear

Most anybody else.

What is fair and balanced

In the eye of the beholder

Once seemed so obvious,

But shifts as I get older.

Entrenched and intractable

Just doesn’t seem so practical.

Some clutch confirmation bias,

Though mutability is more tactical.

Sometimes you’ll need to squint

When you’re browsing through,

Because the issues as they’re stated

Are not the story true.

It’s all about the messaging

For those they claim to serve,

But if you discover their real motives

You’ll be aghast they have the nerve.

“Read between the lines,”

That’s what my father said.

You’ve got to vet your sources

And curate ideas inside your head.

Critical thinking isn’t always easy,

And integrity can seem like a chore.

There are liars in light and shadows,

Meal worms and maggots scour the floor.

These times may seem uncertain

When we don’t know who to trust,

So we seek out peace of mind

Because we know that we must.

There must be some place of certainty,

Some place beyond the fear,

Where rhetoric is not so cloudy

And veracity rings clear.

So you shout out to the webbed world

“Please relieve my worrisome distress!”

Then return a cacophony of voices

All clamoring to impress.

Who will you believe

As you judge from preconception;

Those who already share your opinion,

Or those who challenge your perception?

Do your principles pass muster

Is the quest that you must mount.

Only when you prove how you know

Will what you know truly count.

Emotion is no foundation

Though it provides guidance of a kind.

Reason is the true progenitor

Of a thoughtful, justly mind.

In the echo chamber

Where reason lays to rest,

Dare to bang the walls

And rouse your slumbering guest.

If you want to trust your mind

And drown the din of strife,

The truth will set you free.

That’s and imperative for life.

If Your Soul is Restless

If your soul is restless

Come spend the night

If your soul is restless

Don’t put up a fight

Let your hair fall down

And baby, shut the light

Right now we’re going hungry

And our prospects aren’t too fare

There’s nothing in the cupboard

And the fridge is also bare

But we’ve still got each other

So darling I don’t care

Just wrap yourself around me

And we’ll vamp beneath the sheets

Just wrap yourself around me

And we’ll share our body heat

We’ll be working up a lather

Then rinse and repeat

Your love is a wild thing

With both hard and dulcet tones

Your love is a wild thing

It howls and it moans

And that’s the only thing I want

To have and call my own

A Wolf Will Howl

In a darkened wood

On a misty night

Atop a rolling hill

Under a ghostly moon light

Through the desperate winds

Where monsters prowl

There’s a calling out

A wolf will howl

Ooow!

In a lonely room

Of an empty house

Crouched in the shadows

Quiet as a mouse

There’s a crunching pavement

But no watchdog growl

So when the window shatters

A wolf will howl

Ooow!

Back behind the bleachers

After school lets out

When there is no escaping

From the gathered crowd

Self defense is justice

So don’t throw in the towel

Let them think you’re crazy

A wolf will howl

Ooow!

Calling on the Blood Moon

My voice is deeper in the morning

               When I rise up out of bed

Because the muscles are more relaxed

               By the whiskey in my head.

I’ve been sleeping off the evening

               Since when last I shut my eyes.

Now I’ll be singing pretty

               If I don’t keel over and die.

Well nothing lasts forever,

               This I know is true,

So I treasure each fleeting moment

               That I can sing my love to you –

Cause when the evening wears along

               And the notes begin to crack

I’ll be reaching for more whiskey

               Until it puts me on my back.

I’m calling on the blood moon

               To hold the beast at bay.

I’m searching in the darkness

               For demons I can slay

I’m calling on the blood moon

               To show me a better way,

To become my own light in darkness

               And rise to meet the day.

Sleeping under a cold steel roof

               Seems to amplify the rain,

But nothing else can pound so loud

               As the thunder in my brain.

I’m only human after all

               Just striving each day to stay alive.

A time will come to make a break

               And drown in whiskey or choose to survive.

I say I’m thinking of you

               When I croon my longing song

But if I don’t fix this desperate habit

               You’ll keep telling me I’m wrong

No one wants a man

               Who wakes with whiskey breath

And sweats the stench of alcohol

               Through skin as gray as death

I’m calling on the blood moon

               To hold the beast at bay.

I’m searching in the darkness

               For demons I can slay

I’m calling on the blood moon

               To show me a better way,

To become my own light in darkness

               And rise to meet the day.

Every time my love

               Again I let you down,

I swear once more this time

               I will turn it around,

But evening creeps up on me

               And I’m back out on the prowl

A dogged, mangy, wounded wolf

               Too proud for help to howl.

I feel like I’m drifting

               Far out on the sea.

If things are going to change

               It has to start with me.

I’m going to turn this page

               And hope that it’s enough,

But even if it is not

               I’m grateful for your love.

I’m calling on the blood moon

               To hold the beast at bay.

I’m searching in the darkness

               For demons I can slay

I’m calling on the blood moon

               To show me a better way,

To become my own light in darkness

               And rise to meet the day.

Rise to meet the day…

Git Er Done

A young man has returned home during spring break, when he wakes to the smell of breakfast cooking. He pads through the house and finds his mother in the kitchen with a big smile on her face. She is wearing a long sweater over her nightgown, preoccupied with flipping bacon. “Good morning mama,” he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then he pours himself a hot cup of coffee and strolls outside onto the front porch.

On the porch, he sees his father seated in a rocking chair with a half filled mug of still steaming coffee. “Good morning papa,” he says.

“Mornin’ son,” says the old man. He is wearing a large green ball-cap with the unbent brim halfway down on his head. Tufts of unruly, white hair spit out at his temples. White speckles of stubble adorn his chin. He wears a red and yellow, flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up at the elbows, underneath a pair of faded blue coveralls with grass stains on the knees.

The young man sits down on the porch swing and crosses his legs. He takes a sip from his coffee and then sets it on the top leg. “Papa, you seem relaxed,” he says. “Is there anything I could do to help?”

The father shakes his head, no. “The fields are tended. The animals are fed. All the chores for the day are done. You might as well just enjoy your time off before you head back to the university.”

The son takes another sip of his coffee, and then stares at his father. “Papa, I’ve been home almost a week. Everyday when I come downstairs, mama is in the kitchen with a big smile on her face cooking, while you’re out here on the porch drinking coffee. How is it that you manage to get so much done without ever seeming to work hard?”

With a sly grin the father answers, “I just wait ‘til after sun-up before I touch that little blue pill.”