KNEELING IN CHURCH

A Saturday morning in Church gives birth to this poem...

KNEELING IN CHURCH

by matt burns

It’s Saturday morning Mass

Memorial Mass for family members

9am

There aren’t many people in the church

The priest reads passages that I try to pay attention to

But they don’t resonate with me

They’re not saying much

Just about Jesus saving Israelites

Or is it Moses?

Not sure

One thing I do like, though, is when the priest pauses a bit

For meditation

And the whole church is silent

I haven’t felt such a peaceful energy in a while

The church is small, bright, white…

And it embodies such a peaceful vibe

So tranquil

And you can hear the morning birds chirping outside

If there ever was a time I felt connected to a God

That time is probably now

I just want it to remain silent

And listen to Him speak

But then I guess the priest says we’re supposed to kneel

So I figure, When in Rome, I should do what everybody else does

I kneel

But the kneelers are so uncomfortable

They don’t have much cushion

And the wood digs into the bones of my knees

Kneeling in itself is uncomfortable for me

But then add the lack of cushioning

And it’s more uncomfortable 

The discomfort is a distraction

It gets in the way of me feeling God

And listening to God

I realize at that moment

That the kneelers are the devil

A pesky obstruction

Having no good purpose

Other than to get in the way of me

And God

And my clear communication with Him

The devil hath cunningly tricked us

Into thinking kneeling brings us closer to God

But the opposite is true…for me, anyway

In this moment

Kneeling brings me much further away from God

THE BULLSHIT REMAINS THE SAME

Here's a poem that was inspired by a recent Sunday night walking alone down a quiet, ghostly Lansdowne Street in Boston...

THE BULLSHIT REMAINS THE SAME

by matt burns

It’s just after dark on Sunday

I’m pretty buzzed

I’m walking down Lansdowne Street

No Red Sox game today

Pretty quiet

But that’s not why it sucks

Yes

Let’s face it

It SUCKS

There’s a House of Blues

A couple of sports bars

And a place called “Tequila Rain”

Which is a frequent hangout for the newly 21-year-olds

And also a magnet for the young professionals

Maybe they just got their first “real” job

And they have a little extra money

So they want to get drunk and laid

And then add all the Boston Strong bullshit into it

All of a sudden Boston’s cool because there was a terrorist attack here

So the city has attracted all the band-wagoners

The Boston Strongers

Ten years ago was much different on this street

There were dark

Seedy

Clubs

Like Axis

Avalon

Karma Club…

And there were punk shows

Every night

Well, not every night

But pretty often

I don’t like to be one of those old folks

Those people who say ‘when I was young’!

But seriously

What happened to the punk?

Is Boston Strong the new oi oi oi?!

What happened to all the talk about them taking away our social security

And the 21^st century digital toy talk

And the ‘our stage is your stage’ talk

And we are the children of the revolution

What are we waiting for?

Let’s change things

Oi Oi

Oi

I’m not being facetious

I miss that music

And I miss that attitude

But punk rock is nothing but a ghostly energy lingering on Lansdowne

The Oi Oi Oi’s have been replaced by BOSTON STRONG’S!

They don’t even know what they’re chanting

They’re just shouting BOSTON STRONG

But it was a slogan born out of a PR machine, not a free-thinker

Empty of any true meaning

And lacking any power to change one

Goddamn

Thing

Yes

Boston Strong

An empty slogan

That sounds cool

And it sounds like it means something

But it’s just words

Then again, so wasn’t Oi Oi Oi

Just words

And who really knew what it meant?

Maybe the punk scene was no different from the Boston Strong scene

Just a big show with Mohawks, spiked jackets and Oi Oi’s

The spiked jackets are gone but BOSTON STRONG T-shirts have replaced them

Stand together

Stand as one

Stand united

BOSTON STRONG

Maybe all that has changed is the slogan and the uniform

But beneath it all
The bullshit has remained the same

HEY BIG GUY!

HEY BIG GUY!

by matt burns

I’m at the Subway sandwich shop

And there’s a guy in front of me in line

He’s very tan, probably Italian

And he wears a Backpack

He’s maybe in his 50s 

He seems a little sweaty, like he’s been walking a while

Or I think he may have just gotten off the city bus

And he says to the guy making his sandwich

“HEY BIG GUY!”

And then he says he wants a lotta extra mayo or something like that

The Subway employee making the sandwich

Is an East Indian man

A little short

And shy

And does not speak very good English

The Italian man ordering the sandwich looks damaged

From maybe a lifetime of putdowns

Maybe his father treated him like crap

And his mother thought he was never good enough

Maybe the kids at school gave him a hard time

The teachers, too

And coaches, gym teachers…

After a lifetime of putdowns

He seems happy to have found somebody he feels taller than

Both physically

And in terms of confidence

The man making his sandwich is his servant

For at least the next minute or two

And the Italian likes this

“HEY BIG GUY!”

Is his attempt to sound cool

And to make himself feel all the more superior

And to trick himself into thinking he’s always been this kind of person

Mr. Confidence

He relishes this opportunity to feel above somebody else

But he’s not really a dickhead about it

He’s just happy to be superior

Everybody is happy to be superior once in a while

Especially those of us who are insecure

And most of us are

No, I don’t think this guy’s a condescending dick

I understand where he’s coming from

I like to feel superior, too

Though I’m not so obvious about it

Just because I hide my power-trips

Doesn’t mean I don’t still have them

ANTHONY'S ASHES

Me and Anthony circa 2007.

This poem is a true story. It happened today!








PICKING UP ANTHONY’S ASHES

by matt burns

I knew I needed to go there myself

I felt I needed some sort of closure

Everybody else from my family felt really awkward

And uncomfortable 

And sad about going

But I was pretty sure I could handle it

So I drove to the Vet

I parked

I walked in…

There were a couple of people in the waiting area

And there was a young Vet Tech at the desk

It was awkward as hell

“I’m here to pick up my dog’s…um…ashes.”

The Tech gave me her condolences

I thanked her

She handed me a small, gift-like bag with a wooden box of ashes in it

It was even more awkward

I handed her the check that covered the expenses

My hand was shaking as I handed her the check

The girl could tell I was nervous

She gave me the receipt and said she was sorry again

I thanked her one more time, took the bag with the ashes and left

I got into my car and put the bag on the floor of the passenger seat

I started driving out of the parking lot

But I realized the bag was not secure

I stopped and secured the bag – this time, in the backseat

It took me ten or fifteen seconds

I finally pulled out of the lot and into the busy street

I was behind a black pick-up truck and I stopped at a red light

It took me a moment to see it

And also a moment for it to register in my brain

But I was staring at a word on the back of the truck

It said ANTHONY in big white letters

It was an advertisement for a company Anthony Builders, something like that

But the name ANTHONY was in big letters, everything else small

ANTHONY

The odds of this happening, I think, are one in a million, maybe more

And I don’t think that’s an exaggeration

Had I not stopped and secured the ashes for the ten or fifteen seconds

I never would have ended up behind that particular truck

And I never would have seen the name ANTHONY

The timing was perfect

I’m pretty sure my dog was saying Hello

And letting me know he was OK

DRAMA HAS BECOME THE NORM

Here is a poem meant to provoke some thought about today's relationships and why there may be so much drama in these relationships. I may not have articulated myself that well in the poem, but check it out if you like...

DRAMA HAS BECOME THE NORM

by matt burns

It’s strange to look at older people

And their relationships

And there’s usually NO

Or very little

Drama

Like my parents, for example:

Their relationship is pretty tame

Laid back

I’m amazed

But then I look at relationships

From the younger generations

And see 

LOTS 

Of

Drama

What’s the difference?

Maybe it’s REALITY TV

Over the past fifteen years

Reality TV has created a new norm in life

DRAMA

Because without drama

Reality TV has no entertainment value

But the overall message becomes:

Reality is about DRAMA

Drama is reality

Constant drama is reality

Creating drama out of every little thing is normal

Because people watch Reality TV

And they emulate what they see

And they say THAT’S what reality’s supposed to be like

My reality is supposed to have drama!

So these young couples come together

And their relationship becomes a Reality TV series

At least in their heads

And every little thing gets blown out of proportion

You didn’t hold the door for me

Cut to interview in front of green screen

“So Steve didn’t hold the door for me yesterday and I’m FUMED!”

Reality TV

Has made drama the basis of life

But needless drama is not necessarily life

It’s just entertainment

Meant to draw viewers

And boost ratings

The drama demon has wriggled its way into our realities

And if things keep going this way

Needless drama will overshadow everything important

And we will all be distracted by the drama

Our attention drawn away from what really matters

Drama has become the norm

TWO POEMS SPAWNED BY A DEATH

My dog died a couple of days ago and the feelings I experienced afterwards gave birth to these two poems...

A GOOD CRY

by matt burns

I’m 32-years-old

My dog died yesterday

I was pretty sad about his death

But I was even more concerned about how my other dog would react

I remembered the movie Bambi

Where the baby deer has to deal with the mother’s death

It was so sad

All this is what made me cry more than I’ve ever cried

Probably since I was about eight-years-old I’d never cried so hard

I’m pretty sure I haven’t shed much of a tear in years

I was pretty sure my tear ducts had dried out completely

Maybe my eyes have burned a bit, misted at times

But today I absolutely balled my eyes out

Over

And over

Again

In the end, it kind of felt cathartic

Like I needed it

Like it was a big build-up of sadness

And years of depression

Purged from my soul

One great, big detox

All I needed was the death of my dog

To push me over the edge

And wash all the melancholy out

I think it’s good to have a big, hard-core cry

Now and again

Even if you’re a man

Be a man

And cry

Cry like a man

DEATH IS LIFE

by matt burns

No matter how much you prepare for it

It comes

Obviously

It’s inevitable

And I’m not talking your own death

I’m talking the death of others

First, you’re shocked and feel nothing

Then it slowly seeps in

And seeps in even further

And further

And your stomach gets so twisted

And you feel sick

You can hardly walk

You don’t want to exist, think or feel

Every song you listen to is sad

Even if it’s bright and sunny out, it’s sad weather

Your job doesn’t matter

Career doesn’t matter

Money doesn’t matter

The only thing that matters is LOVE

For that person 

Or animal

But now they’re gone

Forever

Even if you believe in heaven

Or an afterlife

Death still absolutely destroys you

You want to stay in a room the rest of your life

Make no friends

Marry no wife

Give birth to no kids

Accumulate no pets

Because if you’re completely alone

You never have to experience the hurt again

But being alone isn’t right

It isn’t healthy

Being saddened by a death means you’ve lived

Avoiding the sadness from a death means you lived very little

Because relationships is life

Isolation is death

Indeed, it’s a paradox

DEATH IS LIFE

ADAM SANDLER HAS A NEW MOVIE

ADAM SANDLER HAS A NEW MOVIE

by matt burns

I feel like

Whenever Adam Sandler makes a new movie

He’s really just unzipping his fly

And taking a big piss on all of America

But what really mystifies me

Is how America drops to her knees

Not only accepts his piss

And rolls her head from left to right

Refreshed by the feel of the golden shower on her face

But she even opens her mouth

And laps all the piss up

Drinks it 

And swallows it

FOUR POEMS ABOUT PALM TREES

A photo I took while driving on Hollywood Boulevard.

Here are four poems sparked by memories of when I was in Los Angeles a few years back...

I KISSED THE PALM TREE AND THE PALM TREE SAID FUCK OFF

by matt burns

I busted out of the American Airlines terminal at LAX

I saw the first palm tree I’d ever seen

I ran up to it, hugged and kissed it

Maybe it was just a Pacific Ocean breeze whistling by my ear

But I could have sworn that I heard the tree say FUCK OFF

SPIRITS BEHIND THE PALM TREES

by matt burns

I remember walking down Hollywood Boulevard

Rolling my suitcase over the pink and charcoal marble

The Hollywood stars passing beneath my feet

And I had a weird feeling…

I could feel

And in my mind’s eye I could see…

Spirits kind of poking their heads around the corners of buildings

And hiding out behind the palm trees

And they seemed to all be curious about me

Like they were checking me out

They were shy and timid

A little wounded

Some were even maybe traumatized

I think they knew I could feel them

And almost even see them

Hunter S. Thompson once said that Hollywood is like one giant graveyard

It’s true

I think there are several spirits just hanging out on the Boulevard

Stuck in some kind of middle plane

Lost and confused, kind of lingering around

Afraid to move on

While others maybe don’t want to move on

Unable to imagine a heaven better than Hollywood

Why leave the ‘place to be’?

They had heaven on earth

Why move on to any other alleged heaven?

And other spirits may just be residual energy

Like a skipping record

Repeating the same pattern

Looking for the brass ring of fame and fortune

It’s gotta be around here somewhere

Gotta be around here…

Hollywood is one place in the world

Where even if there aren’t many people around

You are very much NOT alone

You are in the presence of many

And you are being watched

WATCHING THE PALM TREE FROM THE BALCONY

by matt burns

I remember the first night in Hollywood

I was staying with a friend on North Cherokee

We got pretty drunk

We drank at the apartment

Then we drank in a small dog park

And then we went to a small bar on Highland

After last call we went over to the Chinese Theater

The cement forecourt was completely empty

It was quiet

And it was peaceful

Just me

My friend, his girlfriend

And the spirits

I hopped from one set of footprints

To the next

Fred Astaire

Clark Gable

Groucho Marx…

I went back to the apartment

I had a pretty good buzz

My friend went to bed

I sat outside on the stucco balcony

I saw the only palm tree visible

I stayed there on the balcony

And just stared at the palm tree moving in the breeze

All my life I had waited to see a palm tree

And I didn’t want to stop looking at it

I was there

In Hollywood

Finally

At the place to be

The sky started to mist

And the palm kept moving with the breeze

I didn’t want morning to come

It was just me and the palm tree

Together at last

Yes

I was in the place to be

The place to be was no longer in the future

The place to be

Was

The

Present

OLD PEOPLE HAVE DREAMS, TOO

by matt burns

It’s weird when you see an old lady in a small Hollywood neighborhood

She’s raking her yard or taking out the garbage

The old lady juxtaposed with the palm trees is strange

Like she’s an old woman playing in a playground

Seems out of place

But you have to remember

For some people,

Dreams never die

And they hold onto their dream

Until they’re very old

And until they die

And they want to stay close to the palm trees throughout

I really admire

And love

These people

Because most people allow their dream to die

By age

40

Or maybe earlier

If you can hold onto that dream

And stay close to the palm trees

Well through your 80s or even 90s

Even if you don’t achieve it

Then you’re my hero

PUBLISHED IN POETIC DIVERSITY

One of my older poems has been published in "Poetic Diversity", a literary zine based out of Los Angeles. HERE is the link to the page and I also reposted the poem below. Thanks for checking my poems out!

WALK OF SHAME

by matt burns

The path is all too familiar.

Every landmark

Pumps shame

Into my blood.

It’s a conditioned response.

Like Pavlov’s dogs.

If somebody showed me a photo

Of any of those places

I would feel the shame.

It ruined the Charles River for me

Or at least that part of the Charles.

Or maybe just

That

Specific

Bridge.

First, it’s the mechanic’s garage.

Some sort of rack with tires on it.

The sounds of drilling

Tire pressure sssssssstttttssss.

Ratchets.

Each sound pumps more shame

Into the veins.

Then the bridge is next.

The Charles’ water’s flowing

The ducks floating

Birds chirping

All happy to start a new day.

I envy their enthusiasm.

And the innocence.

Nothing to regret from the previous night.

The traffic whizzes by me

And I’m still wearing my clothes

From last night.

All wrinkled.

My hair matted and parted

In all the wrong ways.

Alfalfa

Bed-head.

Crumbs of eye crust.

The drivers may be able to see

The blemishes.

Or maybe I’m far enough away

To still look normal.

But I feel and look like a zombie.

Dehydrated.

Head so fuzzy

Not present

Not even on earth

My brain cells all currently dysfunctional

My skull feels hollow.

The booze burned up

All the intelligence.

Like somebody had poured

Acid into my ear.

After the bridge comes a weird

Industrial-type-road.

Blue-collar workers

Pulling up to their places of employment

In pick-up trucks

Extra-large Dunkins coffees in hand.

Fresh

Energized

Ready to work.

And then there’s me.

The zombie suffering the consequences

Of a thirsty-Thursday night.

They glance over

And see that something’s off.

The attire isn’t right…it’s for nighttime

Not day

And it’s wrinkled.

Clearly suspicious.

Thank God they can’t smell me.

There would be odorous acid burps.

Sour vagina.

Stale deodorant.

Stale Natural Ice.

Finally I arrive at my car

Start the engine

And drive off.

Zombie driver

So dangerous

Hung over

But sober

So totally legal…

Legal, yes…

But everything is so very wrong

Not just me behind the wheel of the car

But me behind the wheel of life.