On the Train to Padova

The sun feels warm upon my face
As I sit and forget all but a trace
Of a life I’ve left behind

And I pay no mind
To the kind of fear
That may come near
As I sit and ponder the life I’ve left behind

And a choice is a choice
And I’ve chosen as such
To leave behind something that was simply too much

To live in the less
And find out the more
As I part from the things I truly abhor
In the life I’ve left behind

~RTB 3/13/04

The Jewel and the Ocean

So he bought it. Others around him did not know that there was no “her”. And he was no longer buying it for “her” as he had once wanted. Now it was for him. Not the jewel itself, but the act.

When she had left, he had vowed that if he could not give it to her, no woman should have it. For as much as he now hated her, the jewel was conceptually hers. He had already mentally committed it to her life.

He had come close to being more in love with the jewel than her. So he bought it and fled the store with nary a word.

He was running now. Clasping the unwrapped box in his left hand as he pumped harder with his right, trying to get to that sound as fast as he could. The sound of the rushing river was punishing at near distance. It was the river that moved at a pace so brisk that the bottom was completely overturned a new every day. His jewel would be washed to sea to be discovered in another lifetime.

For while it not deserve to be destroyed, it also was not to be owned by anyone else, any other “her.” At least not in this lifetime.

-RTB

Too Much In Between

Wow. This NOT overdramatic gem seems to be a representation of all the things that become between 2 people who want to be together but just have not enough in common. That is of course represented here by the black between the broken pieces of the heart. I believe this "too much" had something to do with a girl I dated for 3 weeks in 9th grade. Created March 9, 1998.

10 New Band Names

Mu Shu Revolution

Deep Royal Pumpkin

Champagne for Puppies

Kathleen O'Stein and the Steam Cleaners

A Polarizing Candy

Run Slowly & Kick Like a Girl

Peanut Butter & The Jelly Fishes

Tommy Fleece & The Feety Pajamas

Pizza and Espionage

Pelvis for a Head

The Fleeting Purple

Her eyes were open
Aware to the beauty that was her life
The purples and beige
Couldn't possibly hide
A radiance of solar compassion
Burnt and betrothed
To the beauty that was her life
Her eyes couldn't possibly close
Two suns that couldn't set
A laughter with no end
The mutual sensation of her lips
Against each other
Barely pressed
Forming a seal both delicate
And incredibly impenetrable
At least to them
At least to him
For now

-RTB

Three Stars

100 missed apologies
In which we found our fears
Amalgamated weaknesses
Compounded through the years

A sadness filtered threefold
Throughout both you and I
A dangling partial question
Of why we shouldn't try

A mixed up messy misery
Upon which we laid bare
Just items on a blanket
One thought, One hope, One care

Our blissfulness and ineptitude
Worn across us like a shawl
"Our future lies behind us"
She saidn a mournful drawl

A suitcase full of memories
And a a timeline full of never
All becuase he wasted time
Dwelling on his clever

"There are things I've never told you love
There are things you'll never know
Because these partial sentiments
Were all that I could show"

And so they left each other
Exactly as they found
Two boats that could not lose their course
Until they ran aground

-RTB

Innovation

It's so hard to be original and innovative and new
So if you can't be that
At least be good at what you do

-RTB

Palermo, Sicily

Self Portrait by Richard T. Boehmcke

S.O.I.F.

The scarf of ineffable fortitude
Tied up and closely guarded
By those of intense solitude
But left behind
Like a remaindered solution
The star crossed cravings
Could not combat
The tribal drums
Of lusting souls
Those who sought to own
To hold
To be so bold
To be swathed in the scarf
Of ineffable fortitude
And all the hope it carried
And promises made
Of the possible tragedies
That come from all the deviant strategies
Of those soulless shells
Attacking
From their own personal hells
Hoping beyond prayer
For the help
Of the scarf of ineffable fortitude
Their triumphs of the spirit
And victories of the soul
But nothing tangible
Nothing to hold
And those wounded wanderers
So dead set
And hopeful
Were forced into a gray
A forgotten rewritten grey
That stood for nothing
et. al.
And made them feel small
At first one
But then all
As they sought the help
And the cure
And the changes held
By the scarf
Of ineffable fortitude

-RTB

Don't Slam the Wind

I cannot write a slam poem about the summer breeze
It's something that does not come with ease
It will swirl and tease
And pass between my knees
And up around my hand to rattle my dangling keys
But anytime I sit down to write of it
This cool summer breeeze
Whether I'm near a river
Lake
Or blissful seas
I just can't write a slam poem about the summer breeze
Because you see the summer breeze is simply too relaxing
Melodically so
Because it does not blow for show
But rather it will pass and go
As thought it must let you know
That it does not blow for show
But rather just to pass the time

So I will try once again to write a slam poem about the summer breeze
But I warn you its just too tough
Because every single time that I
Commence to capture the speed and pounding rhythm of the breeze
I'm just forced to cease
It's simply too relaxing
My mind my race
And set the pace
For this ace
Of a poem to follow
But as soon as I swallow that most delicious air
And sit back in my chair
I lose sight of my goal as the wind picks up every single care
I would dare to share
And leave my mind a blank of quaint serenity

So I apologize to you once again
That I cannot write a slam poem about the summer breeze
I'm sorry I'm so mellow and at rest
Because at Best
I might be able to write a silly rhyme
But I'd rather passs the time
With glorious ease
Just me and my lemonade
In my hammock between these trees
So you know what...

I don't apologize
As I drift off to sleep
That I cannot write you
A silly slam poem about the summer breeze

D.I.P.

My drunken poem
Of my drunk in words
Of forgotten lovers
And digested Hurts

Of braided problems
And stark white Lies
My corduroyed worries
As my wonder dies

The seams start ripping
As my thoughts unwind
Too much vino
Leave me over wined

A local train
On an expres track
Emotional vommit
That you can't take back

Hopeless insurrection
Of a partial plan
The scatterd topography
Of where I'll land

Of pickup artists
And screaming babies
Of hot pink expression
And exponential maybes

Those ugs and snuggies
A type of discomforts opposition
Regardless, leaves us all
In the very same position

Of Jacked up Daniels
And Grey Goosed asses
Over Jim Beaming perfection
All of it, an aspirin for the masses

-RTB

The Sandwich

My monologue about my time in Istanbul when I made a poor life decision.

Tyrannosaurus Rich

This incredible piece of artwork find me using both Microsoft paint and the cut and paste feature of a scanned picture of myself to play beast master and create a very frightening creature that is apparently attacking South Park? Created July 28, 1998.

10 New Band Names

Casey Babylon and the Dutch Dinosaurs

Controlled Lunacy
Slightly Asian
Weapons Up Your Face
Ibuprofen for Life
A Hangover Named Yeti
Two Slug Explosion
Sweatshirt Cult
It Doesn't Even Feel Good To Sniff
The Beer Comes Out of Jesus

Phrases and Words I Started Using in 2003

Dig this
Bugger off
I'm keen on that
Savy?
Do we have an accord?
Boogered!

A Story

And just like that, the wind opened the pages of his book. Not just to any page, the wind is strange. Her page. Silly wind playing with his head, playing the raven to his mock Edgar Poe life. And so he read, he had to. He tempted not the mistresses of wind, fate, or scorn. They are best let to run their path. And he read, he read the page he'd read a thousand times before, from the book he'd vowed to dispose of 20 score more. He read it because he had to. It was an addiction, a habit... something just short of a tradition.

That word makes it sound too glorified... "tradition." It was equal parts joy and pain. The joy was just fleeting, reminiscing, used-to-bes. And the pain was wrapped up in it. Or maybe those memories were wrapped in pain. Liar man, they weren't happy, they were just... they just were. They were all he had. Had he something else, someone else, she'd be a twinkle in the Arizona sky. But she had; rather, he had built her a nest in his mind. And so that is where she lay, without really knowing he hated her for moving on, or not thinking about him.

He hated this damn book he couldn't throw out, this un-novel novel. He hated this redundant expeditious track to mental anguish. His whole train of thought, derailed by a simple, deliciously evil breeze. He reared back and twitched slightly, made as if to throw the book into the lake, but paused. And instead just closed the cover, tucked it under his arm, and walked away. He wasn't ready for that yet.

But he was getting close.

Summer Shifts of 2003

My life is a series of 4 hour shifts
At least in the summer of '03 anyways.
Wake up early
Drive to work
Dale Carnegie
4 hours
Tick
Tick
Tick
9 o'clock
3 more to go
10 o'clock
I can't take this anymore
Get me out of this box
10:30
I need munchkins
I'm starving
Somebody get me some god damn...
Ooo thank you.
11 o'clock
Almost there
11:45
What's wrong with this damn clock?
GOOOOO!
11:59
Freedom!

Back in the car
Drive home
4 hours of free
Kind of free time
Lunch
Email
Reading

3:30 Pool attendent
What a joke
I can't opena  band aid
Never mind save a life
Why is this time moving so slow?
Little kids in the pool
Always little kids
Where are the hot girls?
WHERE ARE THE HOT GIRLS?
Oh hell
Tick
Tick
Tick
Check the chemicals at 5 and 7
The highlight of my night
What?
Towel?
Did somebody say something about a towl?
Who needs a towel?
Because I can GET you a towel!
I AM TOWEL MAN!
Oh where are the girls?
7'oclock
I'm so hungry
Nice people
In your nice clothes
Won't you please bring me a plate?
LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M THINKING AT YOU!
Damn it
Oh Pepe` you are so kind
With your plate of sushi and shell pasta
A true friend in good service I have made
Tick
Tick
Tick
Oh sweet joy and rapture
8 o'clock has come

In my car
To home?
The gym?
Some wild party with playboy bunnies?
Per chance all three!
Alas bed time after 12
Only to extend my 4 hour days
I can take this no longer
Signed
Your friend,
Richard Boehmcke

The Future

This seems to me a commentary about me being able to glimpse my brilliant, fantastic, future but not being able to get to it because of an obstacle. Heavy right? Created March 17, 1998.

Sorrow and the Pity

Pity and sorrow are strange bed fellows, they are ok to fall asleep with, but never wake up with them for they should never spend the night.

~RTB

Wonder Years

I wrote you a poem
So write me a song
Make sure it rhymes
Make sure not too long
We've come a long way
Notched a large belt
We've been through so much
Seen, heard, and felt
Fork in the road
Knife in my back
Too little you have
Too much I lack
Choices to make
Reason to speak
Tell me the truth
Lies make it weak
God knows I love you
God knows I care
It's slipping away
See how we fare
Make a choice
Made a decision
No choice, just a scratch
Every word, an incision
No time on the clock
No fear in my soul
Time for a climax
'Cuz it's taking a toll
So take a number
And fall in love
Choose them all
Or none of the above
Side with a sinner
Or dance with a saint
Be who you are
'Cuz I know you ain't
Your heart for my flowers
A kiss for your tears
A hug for your love
My love for your fears
This moment in time
This day in your life
This friend of all friends
The love of my life.

-Rich Boehmcke, Age 17

Laughter

And they laughed

They laughed like they’d never laughed before

With tremors of hilarity

And the shine of royalty

They laughed themselves into a forgotten past

That only they’d remember

-RTB

Quote

Never assume somebody could care less, because when you do, you are telling them you want them to.

-RTB

Featured: Richard T. Boehmcke

Photo: Megan ___ Grebitus

10 New Band Names

Cholesterol Is Off The Hook
A Bedtime Purchase
We Do Not Throw Corn
Kung Pao Disaster
Platter of Homosexuality
Spank the Genius
Get Up for Frocks
Soup Fight
Thoughts of Bar-B-Q
A Very Jewish Appendage

My Thoughts on Wine

I like to drink wine out of a water glass. Not a wine glass. Who do you think you are, wine, that you must be elevated so high above the table in your receptacle? Are you better than me? Are you better than your other beverage friends? Beer has no problem standing on the table. Liqour either. Well, MOST liquor anyway. (I'm looking at you Martini and Cosmo) Why must you be so elitist? Come down to the table and hang out with your friends. I promise we will have a good time. I like a grounded wine, or one that doesn't mind having its feet on the ground. I promise I wil like you.

-RTB

Instinct

Instinct isn't necessarily truth
It is more convenience

-RTB

The Sweater

"It's cold" she said. He turned to look at her and his eyes drifted to her goosebumpy arms.

He looked her in the eye, "Do you want my sweater?"

She barely turned to him before deadpanning, "But you don't have a sweater."

He turned away to look back at the bridge. "Yea... I think I was using sweater as a metaphor for love in that scenario."

She shifted her weight before tucking her hands into her pockets, keeping her elbows close to her body. She turned back toward the bridge. "That might be nice."

He pocketed his hands in the same way. "Yea?" he asked the bridge.

There was a pause.

"Yea." And she leaned ever so slightly closer to him.

-RTB

Precious

Photo: Richard T. Boehmcke

Crap

Climb out of your own poems
The Spanish conquerer said to me
Engulfed in flames and eating a green banana
He spoke in tongues
He must have
I understood him
Though I didn't comprehend him
I under listened
So I really did under-stand him

A tiny mandolin playing potato bug stopped walking across my living room and looked up at me
SHUT UP YOU NARCISSTIC BOOB
What?
A potato bug is yelling at me?

And just like that a polish fortune teller burst in through my apartment
This poem blows he said
And I went to bed

-RTB

Pool

If you don't make waves, nobody will know you were ever in the pool.

-RTB

Acceptable Choices

I trod the same tracks

Back and forth across a city that knows routine

But no repetition

My bland sameness

Lost

Amongst a sea of bland sameness

Always happening in the same general way

But never ever the same

In a city of millions

I lead a life of 1s

1 store

1 work

1 way to get there

1 place to stand and wait

In a city of infinity I am making a careful study of the finite

The seasons change their clothes around me

While I stand

Nearly stagnant

On the same street corner

Pondering yesterdays

At what point will I have more yesterday than tomorrows

And will I know that day

The city can buzz around you like a hive

But it can’t give you wings

You can be the only ant

In a city of bees

And nobody will know the difference

In a city where factors have permutations

There is so much acceptable vanilla

We trod the same tracks back and forth

Across a city that knows routine but no repetition

Or repetition but no routine

Repetitive routine.

We change ourselves within our lives

We change our lies within our lives

But we rarely change our lives within this life

Our lives change us

We tan

Fade

Grow

Whither

On the backs of our own lives

Our own

Only because we cling so tightly to them

Not that there need be anything so uniquely US about them

And yet

It is merely because we say it

That it makes us so

Our lives water for ourselves

Like a tongue not pressed firmly against the roof of one's mouth

We swallow our lives whole

So that we don’t have to taste them

There is no option beyond those first decisions

They poke irreparable holes in the cloth

Forever permitting the light to finds its way through

Even if it does nothing but

Point out very specific special parts of our darkness

The clouds illuminate our sameness more than our sun ever will

And it is for this that we hate them

They cover our streets with obvious sameness

Irreparable routine

In a city of millions our worst days speak loudest

They us whom we haven’t become

And what is left to be.

-RTB

The Boy on the Train

He just stood there with his forehead pressed up against the window. Shaking and bumping up against it with the motion of the train. His tiny feet planted on the seat. Watching the walls fly by. Chunks of darkness seasoned with patches of light. Seeing nothing, seeing everything. Maybe wondering what he was missing or maybe thinking he was seeing everything. It was incredibly rote for me, but for him, it was fantastic. Comforting enough so that he did it every time he got on the train. I wondered if he'd ever stop.

-RTB

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Self Portrait by Richard T. Boehmcke

10 New Band Names

Iberian Lisp
The Sigh of Ipanema
Take Your Banana
Fancy Arachnid
Goodlooking Idiots
Whole lotta Crazy
Pocket Full of Silly
If Dogs Could Dance
A Moderate Amount of Wind
Frayed Elegance

Chased

I chased her the way little kids chase pigeons
Flapping & flailing
Giggling to the point of hysteria
Running in circles
Without any clue where I was going
Not knowing
What the heck I'd do if I actually caught one

-RTB