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My Life As I've Known It.

Updated on February 27, 2010

My life hasn't been

"The Life!"

we all seem to covet,

that glitzed up, glamored

extravaganza of fortune graced.


Sure I've known some slivers of fame

sliced from the pie I was granted,

but they were intermingled with the

half baked dreams, and the dried hard lumps

one swallows just to survive.


Yet I cherish that taste so sweet

standing before audiences of thousands

wailing the ulcers from my soul

till flesh pounded flesh in gratitude

hands coming together

to beat away my insecurities.


They still echo when

I sit bleakly alone

in an empty motel room

on some backwater tour

after reading and bleeding

my beautiful agonies to some

cappuccino sucking literary leeches.

All of those longing

for some Bukowski

and actually catching glimpses

but never buying the books

bound in sticky sweat

and unpaid bills.


It's then That I lift up

my ovation round body

guitar hoping to pluck

one more moment of glory

from its flaccid strings

the sound hole screaming

inadequacy before I even find

that lost chord.


I can remember

words I recited

that moved

audiences to weep

and now I weep

for the audiences

that can't remember

what moved them


I was but a tumbleweed stirring

the dust of their dreams

and then simply moving on.


Four times in my life

I faced the absence of life itself

putting my lips to other's

who were in peril of dying.


Blowing precious gasps

deeply into them

as their stilled chests rose and fell

then beating the staccato of lub-dubs

back into hearts that weren't.

Two chose to embrace death

denying me the chance

to extend their vacated souls,

and two sputtered back

like candles re-ignited

aghast at what befell them.


I am still haunted by my inability

to salvage the two who were

beyond all human efforts,

and wonder if they blame me

in the great beyond.


They were my

toughest audience

admitted by fate

to a small gathering

of one on one,

and I failed to reach them.

The other two whom

I was able to save

will never forget

my concerted efforts

but we never met again.


It really is all about reaching

individuals in a life changing way,

Every poem, every song, every strum

every line performed on stage,

must touch another,

times another, times another

or one's own name will remain untouched

on some anonymous granite slab

for decades to come.


For life is a trickster

filling us with hope

like a massive balloon,

and then deflating us

with the pricks

that we meet along the way.


I have a long list of editors, critics

publishers, and producers

that I plan to come back and haunt

after I have faced the final stages

of cancer, or some other

devious form of death.


For it was through

their callousness

that I have died many times,

allowing my scarred soul to grow

tough enough to penetrate

the great divide.


Tonight I am performing for

an audience of three,

me, myself and I

doing what I know best in life

simply dealing in the

reeling of my feelings.


Stretching words across

this blank canvas

on a web that reaches worldwide,

hoping to catch

some stray passersby

and hold their interest

for a brief moment

of sheer exquisite recognition.


But here the audience

is a comment box

either my coffin or

one more hub of many

in the wheel I am endlessly turning

to get somewhere

beyond the norm.


I think that the problem is timing

I was born long after my time

A couple of hundred years or so ago

I would have been welcomed

in a world starving for

words, stories and songs,

a traveling minstrel

bringing something denied

to mostly desolate places.

But in this age

poets and writers abound,

ten trillion of them

pumping out thoughts

across networks, blending

excellence with mediocrity..

offering brilliance side by side

with bleakness.


Now the audiences tend to be

flogged by endless blogs,

rubbed by excessive hubs,

perplexed by test,

and overblown with

common poems.


Like endless pistachios

they have to open

each one whether

bitter or sweet to get to

the meat of what matters,

and often come away hungry

for something that is fulfilling.


Yet we return like

lemmings to the edge

of the precipice that

marks our leaps of faith,

writing nightly, editing tightly

our dreams splayed like sushi

in hopes of a nibble or two.

<>< <>< <>< <>< <><

So here I am,

adding my 1,203 hub...

as a bit of a cynic

in a modern writers clinic.

But if you have gotten this far

them perhaps I should applaud

you for enduring my rant.

I have been pounding

the keys for years

but only a few

doors have opened

and I should truly be grateful

for any readers

who took the time

to stroll in a casual

scroll on this journey

I have set out before you

in hopes of gaining

some attention

amidst the masses

of modern writers

endlessly shaking

their spears.





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    • MFB III profile imageAUTHOR

      MFB III 

      8 years ago from United States

      If the flow of my ink can stop the flow of another's blood, whether by cutting, war, rash actions or brutality, then I am truly blessed, but not from my own power, nay from above. You have made me smile, for that poem you mentioned has helped quite a few cutters become whole. Thanks Lisa for your most kind comments, I will cherish them~~~MFB III

    • lisadpreston profile image


      8 years ago from Columbus, Ohio

      WOW. This is deep. This may not mean anything to you because I am a nobody, but in my eyes and many others, you are plenty famous. I don't even like poetry all that much but I find myself reading yours all of the time. You have made me laugh, cry, sad, hopeful, and given me a broader perspective on life through your words and art. You may not realize this, but, and damn why do I have to cry again? I read your open letter to a cutter awhile ago. I was too ashamed to comment that I have been a cutter. I was feeling the urge again, it just comes out of nowhere when I feel pretty dead inside, but for some strange reason, I stumbled upon your cutter hub and I didn't do it. Do you not realize that what you write could save a life? Isn't that more important than fame? I think so. If you have changed one person, you have changed the world. You are bigger than fame in my eyes.........A loyal fan always, Lisa

    • pbwriterchick profile image


      8 years ago

      Now how could I not comment on this one? :) It's funny about fame, even famous people will be forgotten one day. I've really never seen the point of it. :)

    • Art 4 Life profile image

      Art 4 Life 

      8 years ago from in the middle of nowhere....

      As usual, another great hub...I do so love your poetry, you are an artist with words...

      You paint a beautiful picture...I pushed the green button!

    • franciaonline profile image


      8 years ago from Philippines

      Hi MFB III,

      Your biographical poem blends with your bio above. I love your poetry. Since I came across your hub, I make it a point to read a poem or two from your hub during my free time at night. You communicate very well a lot of life's timeless truths. I think I'm lucky to have stumbled upon your comment in one of the hubs I picked up the past week!That led me to your excellent writing.


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