Mother’s Day 1969-96

A poem written to my mother as a gift, Mother’s Day 1996. Yep, it’s autobiographical.


Woodward cruises
Beatle beats, young and pretty, blonde hair
reflecting golden sunny glow coming down from jewel-blue skies.
“Can you feel it when it passes through you?”
Skinny, Rock & Roll. Oh he’s so dangerous. Rebel rebel on the street,
friends keep asking you why he’s not a normal American guy.


Warmer days and cooler nights, school concluding, future plans ideas
at best. Why do you like this bad little boy, fringe leather long hair and
shit-eating grin?
Fair skin, gentle smile, Berkley girl
Who could hang for a while
Cool kids in a fragile moment
It’s not so bad in this shrinking spring 69

It’s cool and that’s all
anybody needs in the treasure of youth. He’s a perfect pirate at best.
But for a sliver a bit it had all been a returning smile a gentle wink and a
walk around town.

Detroit and its almost summer. All right. 69. Xtra life in your belly.
Sweet mode, the summer of love upon you and its greatest sum is your
Maybe now it’s not a rebel you seek, but there he is.


You feel fine. All the love of the world grows inside you.
Who was that young glowing mother whose sandaled feet strolled under
that warm season sun. Fresh and full of life, scared but hopeful, optimistic
but cautious, courageous and poetic.
Suddenly it’s not so simple, but beautiful none the less.

Music comes out of convertible cars rolling slowly down Woodward
in proud De-troit style. How life’s course changes in an instant. People who
might have been a night away from can affect the events of decades to
Slowly turning tires on flashy cars, music, the beat–the heartbeat of
the street. Young girl, the mess of love, now with belly swelling dire. A
range of emotions like light through a prism.


Late August humid nights. Young boy and young girl in the face of
life. A knuckle down in the sacrifice
for the upcoming
and now the price.
Random like the leaves off the trees. No one can plan their fall.
Design beyond our reach. We can only sweep thereafter.


It’s colder and bolder in the heart of the city. Big world has come, ready or
not, it is quickly becoming time for the big game. He’s staying for the game.

Darker skies and November chills your boy(?) is almost upon you.
How the days have passed, I can only fictionalize. Summer of loved passed
to fall nights, Berkley taillights. What nerves danced behind your doe eyes?
Were you dying or lying or crying behind them or did you laugh and smile
and await your child?


It’s coming up in just a while.
It’s crisp and cold. It’s a Michigan winter. Loose long cotton sheets give
way to thick dark wool and pile on the duck feathers. The wool scratches of
young love are contrasted with down comforter sympathies.


Oh will it be alright? Will it be good? she asked herself.
Young pretty mother soon had watched other mother’s daughters
engage in ritual in local parks and hilltops. Happiness rained down on these
hills moments away.
Slide down and away on billowy coated snowcaps.
Whisping, swirling snow. Soft and flaky, gentle bed. Young will-be-mother lays down in it.
Starts making snow angels. Sometime after Christmas (she smiles)

It WILL be alright.


Another Command Will Follow

In my crazy postmodern apocalyptic world, there exists the Dodge Tribe. More on them to follow. They have a few poets that lurk in their ranks. I have managed to wrestle this short piece the grimy paws of one of their reluctant bards.

A sinister flash of teeth caused an agreement
to happen without cautious second glances
Now, a fortuitous hero wills his rise from rusted ranks
and former idol worshipers now condemn last minute strokes of genius
Yes, genius or brilliance in simplicity
Could lasting actions build tradition or shore up ethical balloons
in a corral to prevent exposure to toxic elements
Elements – periodic in definition, organized in hardened flesh of sheer disaster
Former chiefs can create new obedience in tired fists
Blasting caps fuel memory armed in apology
Could forgers pose as the holy in retribution of the convicted
Tattoo change on the base of the necks of the leashed

Watch Your Step

Taking a break from the Bleak Verse, and concentrating on something a bit more concrete…regret.

Cold winter night
Young lovers a moment
In his car
Outside her door

"Snatch" by boskizzi

Flushed with emotion
He delivers his sentence
“One year from now my dear,
A ring will be yours”

If you could have seen
Her face
A powerful gesture
Fueled by careless words

One year or so later
He lay in bed alone
Someone should love him
Someone should love her

Wounds slowly healing
Insomnia nights
Replay the regrets
Asking what if

Clutch that pillow tight.

A Day in Your Brickyard

Another experiment in Bleak Verse, always enjoyed reading this one at open mics.

rolling stringy mealyworms

Big Empty Feeling by Patrick Henson

in cracked layman hands
spell a manifesto
of strange proportion
wringing in the ash
a ripple effect
sound as light
arms raised in futility
offer nothing
but roughshod thoughts
and backslide wide
question marks
leave it and begone
a long wait
ending with gray hair
who needs a glorious statement
a mangled aspect
a damaged mind
the blinding light
can’t stop the voices
can’t stop their music
shield my eyes
or block my ears
with bloodied stubs for hands

And Now a Word From Our Sponsor.

Another rant from my highly regarded novel manuscript, Leather to the Corinthians.


Well, well, well.

Can you smell what’s cooking? Are those delicious smells wafting under your well-trimmed nostrils? Are you salivating, chomping at the bit?


Let me ask you, what banner do you fly? What’s your flag? Where do you place that salute? Who gets your pledge?

As a wise man once asked, “What’s in your pipe?”

Cause baby, you gotta know. I got this gut feeling, this instinct about you. I know that you aren’t some nameless drone in a herd of Sheeple. Just by looking at you, I can tell you are something special. Here, have a participation trophy on me.

I would never criticize you, or judge you. You are far too amazing. You know, if no one has ever told you, I will tell you now.

You have potential.

I just lied – not about you having potential – no way. I lied about never criticizing you. I do have a criticism for you. You aren’t doing enough with that amazing you that you are. I’m serious here! You have massive amounts of untapped potential. You are overflowing.

Feeling a little bit better? Good.

You need a banner to fly, or one to ride under. I think you may have one of your own, just for some reason, you are paying some Neanderthal to guard it as it sits in a pay-by-the-month storage facility.

I’m asking you, “What’s in your pipe?”

If you don’t know, or you’re just not sure, then you have to stick with me.  I have the knowledge, the key, the philosophy, THE CAUSE for you to believe in. I know that life has a way of grinding you like fair trade coffee, it has a way of digitally chaining you in the corner, with nothing but cold gruel and flagellation to keep you going. All I know about cold gruel and flagellation is that two out of ten people like it.

Looking at your face, I don’t think you’re in that demographic. I think you want out of those chains. Well, guess what?

You have the key. You can unlock yourself at anytime. You don’t have to put baby in the corner. All I need you to do is believe in me. Join me, and together we will rule the universe.

Look at those ants, those worker drones sitting next to you, quietly dying in their personal cells. Suffering needlessly because someone, somewhere, told them that this was the road to happiness, the golden pathway to salvation. Work hard, and you’ll be rewarded. Do as I say, follow the rules, and it will be a glorious life of rewards for you.

What a bunch of fucking fools, right?

I know that you are not one of them. You are no fool. You have just been waiting for your chance, your mission, your helicopter ride out of the shit. Maybe you have felt incapable, or scared. That’s ok, that’s normal. That’s exactly how they want you to think.

I don’t want you to think like they want you to. FUCK THAT. I want you to think as I do, because believe me, it’s the best thing for you. I don’t want to see someone as special as you wither on the vine, programmed for self-obselecence. I want you to tap into that great potential of yours, and put it to use.

Do as I say, and trust me, you’ll be happy. I am the man with the plan, I got the spreadsheets, the inside track, I know what’s going down. Let me plant these seeds, baby, so you can dig.

This ain’t no joke, I am not fucking around. I got the golden ticket right here for you, you just gotta sign on the dotted line. I need your signature, or this motion is never going to pass.

I can tell that I’ve got your interest. Let me ask you, “Who loves you, baby?”

That’s right. I do.

I love you and everything you stand for, because you stand for me and behind me. Look, I know it’s sudden. Here you were, lost in the woods, shipwrecked, given the wrong food at the drive-thru. Then suddenly, there I was, powerful and enticing and possessing a hell of a message.

I know, I get it a lot.

What I am telling you is that I will give you the reason to fight. You no longer have to figure it out for yourself. I am you friend, protector, and champion. I will right what is wrong and you will agree with me because you know I am the right man for the job, and that I stand for everything I believe in.

At this point, that needs to be enough. I can’t have you questioning my moves, because everything that I will do from this point forward, I do for me, for you, for us.

There will be the doubters, the protesters, those who won’t shut their fucking mouths and get on with it, but you are not going to be one of those. You are going to be one of those that FUCKING gets it, knows what’s up, and sees the trees for the forest. There will be no stutter in your step, that is for damn sure.

Because my friend, I am going to take care of everything for you. Everything. Just fly my banner, fly my flag, salute me when I walk by, and do what I tell you to do. You have to know that you are one of the special ones, remember that. As I told you before, you have massive potential, what you have to say matters, and I will always respect your feelings. Your cause is my cause as long as your cause is my cause.

So worry no more, get back to what you were doing, move along nothing to see here. I got your back, I got you covered, and I got it taken care of. Just stay out of my way and nobody gets hurt.

Nobody that matters, that is.

The Growing Crisis Under the Billboards

I do this thing I call Bleak Verse. Don’t know what if anyone else is using that term, so I am claiming it until otherwise notified. I am not a natural poet, but sometimes I give it a shot. I won’t describe what I am trying to do, that’s always pretentious and a bit annoying.

A treacherous web of veins straining under
sloughing skin as wet drops glisten
cool damp earth dig in as
a question develops out of frantic need
a causal nod and wink
a gesture a thought or two
give cause for
these clammy hands to
cramp with excitement
doubt could be their name

IMG_3384b by kittivanilli

and the cracking of tired knuckles
awaken an old world recycled
from a quilted skin and weathered bones
a concern of identity and
a loose snug fit
give birth to confusion
distracted eyes blink in unison clearing a
speck of irritation as glorious
condemnations reach out a neck
a neck a yoke a broken wish
is under this rubble and damnation
run, run forward as the ground
dissolves to reveal an ever growing
blackness and stunted wonderment

a sense of loss
a survival instinct
primal urge
stop, drop, and roll

Come a Little Closer…

This rant has been with me for quite a while, and has seen more than a few revisions, with more likely. It’s the intro piece to my currently unpublished yet amazing novel Leather to the Corinthians.

I know what ails you.

Gather round, all you tattooed, lost soul wandering, Wi-Fi/Lo-Fi mutants! Come! Come over here, all you swollen pineal gland, third eye having, genetically crossbred hybrid super-freaks! Get on with your bad selves! Turn on, all you telepathic, degenerate, UFO subterranean gaping-mouthed, prehensile tail monsters! Come see the true reality! Come see the answer!

I know what ails you.

I know what troubles bring you forward in droves to stare at the mighty juice, the glorious oil that transforms the beaten into full-blown raving geniuses. What I offer will not only satisfy, it will fulfill. I know this because I have looked into your shallow eye sockets and have seen the bloodstained traumas and horrors of your ancient astronaut ancestors — ancestors whose bio-seeds gave birth to the many-armed succubae tormentors of your secret psychic souls. Your years of meta-body personal apocalypse, for which no self-help book can repair, are nearing their end as you drop open drooling jaws to this ultimate, extreme wonderproduct of the new and improved age. A tonic to exhilarate! An oil to lubricate! A cure for all that ails you!

Yes, come closer. See the cure. Witness its power. See for yourself that which you have sought all along! For I alone have the cure for all of your miseries, mysterious diagnosed conditions, typed and phenotyped.

A blitzkrieg of postmodern, avant-garde consumption is what stands before you, sporting a gleaming showcase and stellar package design. Know that great pains were taken by reality contest-winning champions of marketing and psychology to achieve such consumer-leeching greatness! Admire its modern sleekness with a nod to past tradition. Absorb its glorious aura, which speaks to wisdom beyond your minuscule sensory abilities. A Holy Tribute to all concepts of mass marketing, it plunges bull’s-eye darts into your dark demographic, laser-sighting all of your self-flagellating desires. All your life you have wanted to know what could fill your personal void. What Spackle could handle a hole that size? You always knew there was something missing, and you have paced trenches in your Astroturf trying to figure it out.

Well, by golly, here it is! Here is the panacea for your stunted and lackluster existence.

Wait — before I show you, there is much, much more. Oh, do I hear a moan? And do I hear whines? Will the sound of a thousand bloggers flaming this humble salesman rock the night sky? Please, I know you’re excited, but please take the instant-action medication of your choice and take a deep fucking breath.

I know that your vertebrae have strained and snapped under the wheel of the MAN. I know that your condemnation to LIVE BY THE SWEAT OF YOUR BROW has imprisoned you in the prison of your manual labors. Oh, how the blood and tears have dribbled off your skin and fallen to the ground only to evaporate without acknowledgment! No crime so great should go unpunished. Honestly, I know. It’s really too much for anyone to take.

That is why I am here.

Eye Scream by FatMandy
“Eye Scream” by FatMandy.


I hear you.


I hear you.

I know what ails you.

You scream and pull your hair out and nothing seems right. No amount of manufactured content can satiate that deep, dark hole that you possess. The more you take in, the more you have to take in. This is truly madness!

I won’t toy with you for much longer, my fine multi-celled beastly brothers and sisters. Mark my words; you will dig deep for this key to tomorrow’s satisfaction. Your excitement is palpable! Rejoice in finally knowing that there is a final destination for your carefully monitored paycheck.

That is why I am here today with my powerhouse product.

I know that what I offer you will silence the screams. It will ease the suffering and bring peace and serenity to all. Yes, it will cost you. But what, my friend, does not cost you?

I see your eyes darting about at the retina-searing, clear-coated, and vending-machine-ready collection of fine goodies you find before you. I know that you ache to reach out and have these all-fulfilling objects of Styrofoam, aerosol-inspired creation. But know that the one true human emotion, WANT, will not so easily be vanquished by a mere touch. The desire to possess is beyond measure, but remember, the chase is always better than the catch. And always, always leaving them wanting more.

Unlike this lifetime, this all-purpose product has a warranty and a guarantee. And coming soon? A 24-hour, online support chat room. So come closer and I will show you more!

Rather listen to my audio awesomeness? Here you go:

Creative Writing – Poetry – Short Pieces – News – By Tom Lucas

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