The Procrastinator's Power

The Procrastinator's Power

Whoa to inspiration! It lies in the valley of Ezekiel.
Whoa to time, the Great Defector!
Damn those glinting moments of guts and gaul! Theirs is the true poet's.
To hell with love and it's predictable surprises.

Whoa is me. Whoa is me.

Eavesdropping On A Phone Call

I over heard my wife's phone conversation with her sister. She was telling her sister that God had been crashing, and smashing some of her idols lately. As a result of my listening, I was moved to write this. I hope you like it.

Crashing

by Anthony Coughlin

Crashing

Crashing

my statues came crashing down-down-down

Crashing

Crashing

all my treasures were dashed to the ground

Oh, I tried to pick up the pieces

but there were too many to count

I crawled in the dirt

and I fumbled around

as I searched for the jewels of my crowns

Crashing Crashing

my dummies came crashing down-down-down

Crashing

Crashing

my reverie’s fading out

these ventriloquial puppets seem to’ve lost all the stuffing

now their handler’s pulling his big guns out

the pain’s hard to stomach

but the reign from the Bludgeon

keeps bringing my images down

Crashing

Crashing

my pinups are falling down-down-down

Crashing

Crashing

me and my favorites are falling-out

through the settling mist

kicked up from the fists

all bloodied from punching my pipe dreams out

I see a disfigured

man on a single

Bludgeon

--He’s bleeding out

Crashing

Crashing

my cash I can’t cash in now-now-now

Crashing

Crashing

I’m left to leave it on the ground

As I sit on the hill

amidst all my thrills

the Aftermath’s gazing down-down-down

a pitiful cretan

who sees he’s been beaten

at the Bludgeon

in dust

I’ve been found

Crashing

Crashing

my statues came crashing down-down-down

Crashing

Crashing

all my treasures were dashed to the ground

Here's a great book on the central theme of my poem:

Every Morning (a poem for my wife)

Sometimes
The hardest part about the morning
Is when I have to shut the door behind me
And make my way to everyday

Sometimes
The hardest thing
Is knowing that I’ll never know
What lies ahead in everyday

I feel my insides twist against the grain

To turn the knob and leave you sleeping,
Is similar to self-effectuated surgery on a fatal wound

That’s why I press my face against your forehead,
Before I pull the door
and we hear the paint pulled off the frame

and sometimes I hold my breath

it’s not like I’ve confidence in my ability
to control the world
so
sometimes
on my way to everyday
i cry convicted tears,
see your face in my mind,
thank our Sheppard for everyday and every morning,
you,
and how He holds us.

Sometimes
the hardest thing is everyday.

That’s why I press my face against your forhead,
Before I pull the door
And leave you sleeping.