When the florescent lights flicker off, the spotlight races toward the microphone
A single man stands and his shadow is thrown
arms wide upon the banner giving wings to a red candle
swerving, screaming, and singing things that you just can't handle
The blazing intro of a guitar solo
enrapturing everyone much more than their promo
intertwining his sick licks with chords and lyrics
the rock of a nation, you're beginning to hear it
The drummer slams home a rhythm,
your heart and the bass drum beat in tandem.
the snare beats cause your eyes to blink rapidly
feeling like your in an old black and white fantasy
The bassist keeps your nodding head rockin'
and the metronome in you mind keeps tockin'
scales are balanced on his fingers like a pro
the sound reaches depths you might never otherwise know
So listen and learn my friends from afar
they are sinister and will break your heart
you may be blind to their purpose but never forget
these are the rockingest motherfuckers you ever have met.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
The Marble Castle
The once grand edifice has crumbled
and the gluttonous keepers can be seen
through the cracks of broken promises.
These green eyed monsters
given life by your blood,
sweat and tears.
Preying on your drunken happiness,
feasting on your child like naivety.
They devour your charity.
The cavernous maw opens to
swallow your misgiven handouts,
engulfing your generosity.
Slogging through the everyday
your head hung with burdens
no normal human should bear.
Circling you like a rotting corpse,
perching on your shoulder.
They are waiting for you to die.
Still they sit on their pedestals
sipping fine wine and laughing
about their fortunes.
The lowly servants who saved
them waiting for a crumb to be tossed
just so that they can survive.
Laughing at your requests,
turning their backs on your plight.
They smother your voice and go back to their old ways.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
and the gluttonous keepers can be seen
through the cracks of broken promises.
These green eyed monsters
given life by your blood,
sweat and tears.
Preying on your drunken happiness,
feasting on your child like naivety.
They devour your charity.
The cavernous maw opens to
swallow your misgiven handouts,
engulfing your generosity.
Slogging through the everyday
your head hung with burdens
no normal human should bear.
Circling you like a rotting corpse,
perching on your shoulder.
They are waiting for you to die.
Still they sit on their pedestals
sipping fine wine and laughing
about their fortunes.
The lowly servants who saved
them waiting for a crumb to be tossed
just so that they can survive.
Laughing at your requests,
turning their backs on your plight.
They smother your voice and go back to their old ways.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
Passion of Purity
Pursed lips
wrapped in a robust rubicund,
forever flushed fuchsia.
The Pearl Purity
permeates the air
with gleaming grace.
Rosy wrapped passion
hiding behind iridescent gates
and puce palisades.
With her Gray gossamer gown
gleaming in moonlight,
she takes soft slippered
steps toward the
trellis.
Standing in the cerulean solitude
of a moonlit night I watch,
transfixed by the
elegance of ecstasy,
the poignance of her posture,
and the brilliance of her beauty.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
wrapped in a robust rubicund,
forever flushed fuchsia.
The Pearl Purity
permeates the air
with gleaming grace.
Rosy wrapped passion
hiding behind iridescent gates
and puce palisades.
With her Gray gossamer gown
gleaming in moonlight,
she takes soft slippered
steps toward the
trellis.
Standing in the cerulean solitude
of a moonlit night I watch,
transfixed by the
elegance of ecstasy,
the poignance of her posture,
and the brilliance of her beauty.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
Catalytic Carousel
Cold hands linger
like twenty roman soldiers
in full regalia
sucking teeth to mainstream pop
and neglecting summer
like a passionate disease
you want to know the truth?
you couldn't handle it
bring me back to the spring
where the flowers are dead
and the streams bleed dry
monotone carousels spin
in green and barren parks
the world goes round
wooden horses gallop frozen
as catalytic doubts in your hands
rusted bones and coughing melodies
Let me fly through earth
like the roots of ages past
or even bring me redemption
by slicing off my head
Now you see the truth?
you just can’t handle me
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
like twenty roman soldiers
in full regalia
sucking teeth to mainstream pop
and neglecting summer
like a passionate disease
you want to know the truth?
you couldn't handle it
bring me back to the spring
where the flowers are dead
and the streams bleed dry
monotone carousels spin
in green and barren parks
the world goes round
wooden horses gallop frozen
as catalytic doubts in your hands
rusted bones and coughing melodies
Let me fly through earth
like the roots of ages past
or even bring me redemption
by slicing off my head
Now you see the truth?
you just can’t handle me
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
Dryadic Abjuration
The chill of the morning air leaves
mists still clinging to blades of grass
wet with the dew of nights passing.
She melts into nature,
the mist closing around
her ankles, a slow
deliberate take over
of the senses,
woman and nature
combine and
dreams are
foretold.
She whispers softly
to the rustling branches
and a veil of petals fall,
cloaking her in
the gentle downfall
of dogwood blossoms.
Birds perch on her
delicate fingers.
She sings long forgotten
melodies, in languages
long since deceased,
of the golden age
of wonderment
and of elegance.
Foxes curl around her
statuesque legs.
In her hands she holds
the key to the wonder forgotten,
the answer to life untold,
she is everything and nothing.
The rain lightly falls
and dusk creeps into the glade,
moonlight oozes through
oily black clouds,
as the woman slowly changes
into a form quite like
the trees that surround her.
mists still clinging to blades of grass
wet with the dew of nights passing.
She melts into nature,
the mist closing around
her ankles, a slow
deliberate take over
of the senses,
woman and nature
combine and
dreams are
foretold.
She whispers softly
to the rustling branches
and a veil of petals fall,
cloaking her in
the gentle downfall
of dogwood blossoms.
Birds perch on her
delicate fingers.
She sings long forgotten
melodies, in languages
long since deceased,
of the golden age
of wonderment
and of elegance.
Foxes curl around her
statuesque legs.
In her hands she holds
the key to the wonder forgotten,
the answer to life untold,
she is everything and nothing.
The rain lightly falls
and dusk creeps into the glade,
moonlight oozes through
oily black clouds,
as the woman slowly changes
into a form quite like
the trees that surround her.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
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