The Ink Bottle sits, alone,
It’s only Companions,
The Feathered Pen,
The Paper Pad.
The Desk, once alive,
But wanting not,
A Wooden Chair, dusty,
For the Comfort,
Time, a mystery gone,
Never to be recovered,
Days of gloom, waiting,
Shine not, The Light,
Come back, to Me,
My words, of Joy,
Wisdom, once known.
I do not know?
A droplet of ink formed at nib of pen
I flung it swiftly, seeing it as waste.
Then theorized what it might have been
Had I not acted in such great haste.
An aborted word, or merely a smudge
That in my haste I'd neglected to blot.
Time elapsed, but my mind wouldn't budge
From that small unassuming black spot.
I do not know?
Sing a song of sadness
Pocket full of frowns
Brings us all down.
Rain in drips of sorrow
In colors dark in hue
No better day tomorrow
Only clouds haunting you.
Bear the blame of guilt
And wear it on your shoulder
Tear down all you've built
Soon you feel much older.
Rhyme in lines of regret
For all you've said and done
But as people always forget
Then you'll have none.
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Have I lost it?
The writing thing?
Have I been absent for so long that my thoughts are unable to come to a
complete stop and decide to focus...on ...one...thing?
I shudder profusely and then shake....
shudder...shake...doesn't that mean the same thing?
God....this feeling of complete talentlessness is absolutely....bad?
For the sake of being poetic I come up with...bad...seriously!!!
My fingers move at a snail's pace to keep up with the dismay that wants spill its
inerts on this screen in front of me and it will take the hand of God to prevent me
from actually not deciding to hit the delete button and feel justified in my
Ok...I'll leave it alone
be the cheerleader of this...piece...yea.
Words at the edges
Of your Tongue
Are not merely Words.
A Thought trying
Desperately to be expressed.
If hope lie in words
Is Hopelessness the absence?
No sound, no chirp, no brighter day ahead.
Engulfed by Darkness and Dread
If words are crucial to meaning
Why are they misused?
When slang destroys the basis of Thought
When LOL substitutes true Laughter
When a text makes Emotion
What do we do next?
Just ink on paper
Stained but not Bled
We await the future
Here’s what I’m thinking now
at the end of the world:
There are no atheists in foxholes—
no theists in politics.
If knowledge is power,
and power corrupts,
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero?
Does it matter that I didn't’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
There’s a poetry reading tonight
whence I’I'll chide other poets
who don’t sit alone.
I won’t bring up death
but I might have to breathe,
even into a mike
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo
maybe even a wince or two.
Just maybe I’I'll talk about love
and how following your heart is like following a dog—
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs).
But how many times have I used that line
since the story I wrote about you,
a witty and sexy and fictional you?
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you.
I won’t recite it from memory
because I don’t think about you that much anymore,
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me,
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes?
I don’t remember your eyes
except they are blue.
And I don’t remember you,
not even when I smell cucumber and apple,
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed
or when you walk through the door
happy to see me;
even then I don’t remember you.
Does it matter that I don’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
How about a few one-liners
for the end of days?—
Depression is self-awareness,
which you’d know if you were;
I need Ritalin to listen to you,
Lithium to hug you,
Viagra to feel you,
and Valium to sleep.
All you need
is me standing there, waiting at home
with turns of phrase and word plays
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand
but want to buy as much as I can
and how I love celebrity gossip
and detest poetry slams
and find rhyming trite
except when I am.
Hypocrites can still be right,
which you do understand
because you nod at my nonsense
about fighting the man.
But now, at the end of all things—
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read,
and you’re just sitting there, smiling
asking me to pass the bread.
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
I'm just a kid, and life is a nightmare
I'm forced to be mature beyond my age
Using my writing as my therapy
Scrawling my thoughts across the page
Every couple days or so
a poem or two I write
I can't sleep while my thoughts process
So i scribble throughout the night
I give you all my thoughts and fears
this is the reason that i write
so that i can clear my head
giving me the strength i need to fight
In this book i write the things
that i cannot say to their face
but letting it all out on paper
helps me to keep my place
writing poems calms me down
and puts me back in control
I have been writing poems for a while no
since i was twelve years old
Writing puts things in perspective
shows me another point of view
it helps me work out what was done wrong
and shows me what i need to do
If you look closley at what I write
I think that you will find
That exposed on these many pages
is the darker side of my mind
Everything i feel, i write
my thoughts are a tangled mess
I write to clear my head and keep myself sane
thats why i'm a poetess
Wordings from the heart
That I’m trying to use
To cover this scented stationery
With my ball point scribbler, I’m proud
To match the sensual scent
Of your lovely and fiery lips
With crimson thoughts, but as I finally come
To end my writings, after so many pages
Hooked thrown into a silent bin
I begin to wonder if it’s better to recite
My love notes to you in person
For this way you would feel
Much, much better…
The bubbling rhythm
Of my heart
Fingers nimbly tapping his
heart onto the page
a rich tapestry of heartache
gentleness and rage
perceptions that astound me
engaging my soul
first one way, then another
a fall down the rabbit hole
who is this gifted writer
who speaks in shortened lines
tap tap tapping out his magic
til my heart he entwines
How dare you take advantage of me like that ,
Leaving me stranded with no way to go forward or back.
Using the friendship that we had led me to believe,
That there was trust and honor between you and me .
How you layed me aside and left me for dead ,
You have caused these hateful thoughts inside my head.
Never could I have done this to any man ,
I can see you have no concious so I know you can.
There just one thing I really want to say about this ,
It's been a long time since I have made a clinched fist .
You have no idea how much hurt you have caused,
It won't be me you'll have to face That's up to God
But you will regret mistaking this kindness for weakness girl,
Bad Karma will surely consume you this is my word.
Yes you were able to catch me completely off gaurd ,
Never again because now I know who you are .
Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete.
Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep.
Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep.
Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep.
Forgotten by those on the outside.
We cant even run no where, we cant even hide.
No choice left but to sit and fight.
In here only the strong minded survive.
Truth be told in here what is wrong is right.
All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time.
We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes.
Not to be a victim of prey we all trying.
Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying.
We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it.
We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it.
There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it.
Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it.
In here there is only time no fun.
Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun.
Only by our own selves we may be out done.
BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....
the less i have of
the additional use of
the more it breaks down
I can see the truth clearly now, and the truth is we live in a world where almost everything is shaded to a lie. (We act as if we are someone else and just can’t be what we want to be.)
Truth remains strong that our very own fables cover our very own two eyes. (We only choose to see what we want to see.)
Only fibs and tall tales are left on the local store corner….for they the only things left on the shelf that we can buy. (Many Profound Truths remain imprisoned while too many lies are out there living free.)
I look at the ground because I can’t look at the sky; I laugh more with death rather than crying with life. (Shakespeare once said “To be or not to be” but I say F%$k trying “To be” because I’d rather “Just BE”.)
Living amongst a world of shaded illusions upon the mind eye, upon which we have many wrongs more than our rights, yeah I know we all want peace but yet we still choose to fight. (We long for death but fear it; we want to go away but don’t know what will happen when we leave our loved ones with certain grief stolen away in the night by death like a thief.)
So why is it so many of us continue to stare at our everyday truths as if we are blind, as if we cannot see our own struggle through our very own lies……..
Too long have I been staring at this cruel blank page before me,
My crazed, hysteric mind screaming and imploring
I know there is a message that's dying to come out—
I need to fill this confounded page without the slightest doubt!
It's a simple predicament to manipulate,
Into a mass of thought
A futile attempt to insinuate,
Weak hints are left with naught
I sit here in silent desperation,
What can fill this page?
I slap myself in indignation,
My eagerness becoming rage!
Like roaches sporadically running from light
My thoughts are but a haze
The words I write just don't seem right,
On this cruel blank page!
I've seen pieces of it in my head,
Not together but it's there.
All of a sudden it disappears
Blackened thoughts fill the air.
Creativity turns to despair,
As writers block takes a bow,
Another stolen premier...
Oh that I could break the chime that addles my brain constantly
That implanted seed of rhyme that worms in my subconscious
That causes me to live and dream in my restrictive literary world
Courted by couplets with ballad intoning in the near back ground
I hear the thoughts of betters that advise me to divorce my love
Perhaps I will beg my vowels and consonants to free me for a time
To let my mind flutter like red admirals on blossom filled buddleia
With the promise that I will return with gifts from afar to share
That I will gather my love in sweet nectar scented embraces
To assure them that I will always return to childhood friends
Freedom freely given will strengthen our knowledge and ability
Will let be seen that which hitherto was the domain of others
...or just thoughts
I just want to create
I guess that’s it, just create
Money does not move me
Fame? Why do people want fame?
Glory? I build in obscurity.
Legacy? How can the dead enjoy?
I just want to create
Just to see it grow
To see it go from nothing to something
Not because of sunlight
Not because of nature
Because of me
Is that wrong?
I guess it is a little vain
I know all things are vanity
But, these are my thoughts
Wrong thoughts, maybe
They are MY imperfect thoughts
I just want to create
Cause and effect
Action and reaction
Thought and fruition
It seems simple
Too simple, to some
They want more
Some verbose explanation
Some critical reason
It is not that complex
I just want to create
I guess that’s it, just create
I do not know?
haiku or senryu
a million dollar question....
my hanged laptop
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
silent is my whisper
silent is my pen
silent is my wimper
should they dare
to listen in
nothing says this poem
nothing says this page
nothing says ideals
that i keep inside
gone are all my feelings
gone are all my words
gone are dreams
that are very seldom heard
barren is my cleverness
barren is my clown
barren is the poet
i always kept around
absent is the artist
absent are the claims
absent is the messenger
that bids remember
missing are the phrases
missing are the verbs
missing are the verses
that made souls
away is the conscious
away with the pride
away are the love letters
somewhere locked inside
without a purpose
without a plea
there is nothing
inside of me
zero spark of light
zero taste of saddness
nothing with which
Life is so crazy/
Death so busy it never get's lazy/
Thoughts blurred and blinded by true lies that they always get hazy/
The mother ****ing devil is always trying to chase me/
But I'm stronger than that I won't ever let *****like that ever ****ing faze me/
I no longer care if any muther ****ers want to over or under rate me/
I've already been ****ing up on my own lately/
I take your ****ing criticism greatly/
*****es I'm too real for any of you fake mother ****ers to fake me/
I'm too ****ing still in God's foundation to let the devil shake me/
I'm the general, the king of my own *****nobody can't ever break me/
**** what people say for I am the maker of my own *****people can't ever make me/
I'm the leader and deliverer of my own *****you can never take me/
Who want to question *****about *****mother ****ers thats why I'm Writer Crazy.....
What will I write for my first Nonet?
It’s something I have not tried yet.
To some they seem very hard
Later will I be scarred?
Pain will not last long
Try writing song.
Then you’ll find
Written By John Posey
DEATH OF A BELIEVER
The death of soul steals slowly through the years
the fog of mind that's never known to be;
brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears
the fate of all that few can ever see.
It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves,
once green and shining in the morning sun,
now setting on it all, in evening grieves
for lack of interest in what life has done.
Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime
and old and tired now beats the heart we knew
life now mundaned by passing of all time,
there's nothing left the heart would like to do.
Old man, you're numbered to your final breath
and no one cares for all your sweat and tears,
your rest is not until it's done in death,
but keep the faith in what you've done for years.
© ron wilson
I think I self-sabotage unknowingly
because of fear
So my message goes unheard because I’m afraid to let the people hear
And end up drowning in the poetic blues
doubting my ability to write about the truth;
I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment
Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant
and my writing grew
and I was loving it
I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it
As I wait to be inspired for the next poem,
I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows
Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio
trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM
because again I can’t think of a damn thing to write…..
Drowning in poetic blues
Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used
Or will this be the one that transcends the others
and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b,
Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul
and I am free once they become spoken
In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest
until the silence is broken
Drowning in the sea of proper delivery
My voice, my stance, my intensity
How will others interpret the words that I’ve chosen so diligently?
I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose –
will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues
Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don’t deserve to have my words heard
and it takes over this whole process
No more time for shrinking and feeling less
I was born to make my words manifest light
I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right
I was sent here to give you a piece of good news
Remember that God is with you when you get
The poetic blues
the negro is inferno. doomed for hell. sinful with lost indulging in their own ignorance. made into a reincarnation of the devils wishes. the devils wants the devils needs. they say the pigment is the reason. but i say Jesus is the reason for the devilish seasons excuse my blatant response to the evils that have been done in the name of the SON. the inferno negro is the movie of this country, always watched and critic-ed. you must understand that self hating is very wicced, misunderstood when you walk through a suburban neighboorhood the devil is screaming conform!! conformm!! inferno negro you dont belong so just get along, even if the devil knows. the devil knows your story and your weakness and he lives behind and inside the so called supremacy system we live within. peace inferno negro know thyself for you are so lost in this Babylonia hell.
Dark poetry, slams and vague imagery
Is there something you're trying to tell me?
Poems with messages appeal
Can you write to make me feel?
Share your deep thoughts and allow me to see
Disconnected images confuse
And when the English language is abused
I read no more, turn away
Seek verse with something to say
Writes with clear meanings that aren't obtuse
There's so much talent on Poetry Soup
And never have I found a finer group
But no comments I'll impart
If you're not creating art
Make me think, feel, or I'll fly from your coop
Written for the "Reader's Thoughts" contest
Stop writing haikus
They don’t even make sense now
Something something cake
with a film over them
clouding them with
iridescent shapes of
I'm reading this again...
probably not the best thing
for me to read at this moment.
do you still feel the same?
a ramble of unpoetic lines
shoved together haphazardly
if the power of words can kill
I’m butchering a pig—
—blood as virtual ink!
comparing my ‘poetry’
—you claim to love it
—do you still feel the same?
-coming ‘round full circle-
‘with a film over them’
with a film over them
clouding them with
iridescent shapes of
‘clouding them with’
‘iridescent shapes of’
—do you still feel the same?
feel the same?
As but only one young lost man in a great land I sometimes don’t want to see what I see in life but death causes me to look. I don’t want to hear the things I hear but have to admit the things here that I’ve heard. I don’t want to be guilty today it’s why I continue to strive past my past for innocence in the near future. I don’t want to feel what I feel but after another day in this dark place has gone by I can’t hide what I have painfully felt. As but one young man I wonder why I question others motives and still can’t see the answers to my own as if I know all the answers to life when I don’t even know the true cause of my own. I wonder why I am happier at times but more often than not why I continue to be sad. I look for ones in groups of twos and get lost in groups of threes, but don’t get even me started on the groups of fours. On the outside world I am lost yet inside myself I know I am found, I holler silently at night while I quietly pray during the day. As but only one young man I can only do what is best for self-first if I want to start making a difference for two.
Sometimes life for one can be fun, but on the reservation more often than not it is boring and dull. On the reservation I found serenity and solitude in the hills but I also found old savages and young Satan’s in the towns. I see beauty and peace in Mother Nature but I also found violence and ugliness among my very own in the neighborhood. I see not what I see and I think not what I think for I feel what I see which leads me to think. I choose rather to just be rather than not be what other people want me to be. I see what I see because I haven’t really got a choice in what I will see, I’d rather choose to just say that I saw. Outside people can’t make one see what I already choose not to see for I see what I see rather if they want me to see things their way or not. I can’t feel what they feel unless they feel what I feel and live where I live and be where I am to know where I truly am from to understand the thoughts and feelings of not only a young native of struggle, but as a person worldwide no matter the skin color.
I needed a way to release from inside,
All of the tears that I never cried,
My head was exploding from all I kept in,
While onto my face I glued a fake grin;
I hid inside my suspicion and fears,
And locked them away for many years;
They built up a wall and trapped me within,
Until I didn’t even know where to begin;
I had every emotion locked in my heart,
So I started to write, I made it my art.
To Dine, To Die;
While thunderous eyes
Grasp concepts to recycle.
Constant debt crisis
A political paradox
Grating social devices
Over the sorting of socks.
An endless groan
The debate grants no throne.
Over a roast
Potatoes won't listen
To who talks the most.
"That point is so interesting"
The floor is open for chat
"What is real?" not a thing
"Meow" adds the cat.
Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.
(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")
I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better.
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.
I used 2 think I know what I wanted out of my confused soul/
I want not what I have ,I want what I never had/
I want my time 2 stop, yet it still continues 2 go/
I strive 2 be good but almost always end up in the bad/
Livin in this American Struggle I was once happy, now seems like Im forever sad/
Im a man of values and peace but find myself in corruptness and fights/
In prison I had many dark days and very few bright nights/
No matter how wrong I was I am still 100% right/
Im searchin for inner peace but find myself so self-conflicted/
I want this but rather have that, Im so self-contradicted/
I find my heart fightin lovely thingz my soul so badly hated/
I want 2 be normal but find my talents by so many overrated/
I find it so easy 2 forsake that I rarely myself ever forgive/
My mind wants 2 die while my heart still wants to live/
I want to be recognized that I go unnoticed and lose track of the real me/
So I came 2 a concept of appreciating the fact that Im now free/
Now I just want to kick back an be me....
poka-dots and stripes
black blue red purple and green
these are my favorites
There once was a traditionalist,
Who in his ignorance had missed
The beauty of youth,
The ever-changing truth!
He's a typical fundamentalist!
"I can't stand these kids and their slang!
They are just looking for a bang!
Their rhymes are funky,
But so are monkeys!"
- Did he just call me an orangutang?
"These darn kids and this gosh darn slam,
It may flow, but it's still a scam!
If it ain't metered,
Then it's petered!
Why waste your ink scribbling flimflam?"
If written by God,
Why lost rhyme, measure?
the wheels just thumped
a jazz beat
(and it woke me
from sleep- with my Lunch
Poems) that made me think
I was somewhere else
like the drug-
that all look the same
only nothing like that nausea.
(not the sweat I get
from the stale air-
not that prefab
that all twist
in the same direction, all
the startling rhythm displaced
its syncopated thump
and left these little ugly rainbows
on my arms
and that tattoo really goes
at the start from each station
the cadence has slowed
(like the wagon wheels in an old movie
that spin the wrong way)
as we move backward it sounds more like a train,
The wheels catch their groove and the pace relaxes
the bumps disappear -
it sounds more like a train.
I do not know?
A child is born
all loving, forgiving, honest,
a special child of the light,
eyes wide open, awake,
the wolves are happy,
to feast at the table of its suffering.
Feed it just enough love to survive,
milk it of its light, little by little
suckling its love, its forgiveness,
a sweet delicacy for a vampiric world.
The child becomes a young adult...
control, conformity, submission,
no freedom, no love, no peace,
a barrage of others suffering,
cant get it off me, out of my head!
out of my heart, it hurts!
Its all too much!
Why do they all hurt me?
Why are they not honest like me?
How can they be so mean to me?
What is wrong with me?
I just want a taste of love,
to remind me why I am alive!!
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE:
THIS MENTALITY WAS DISCOVERED ON DATE
NUMBER TWO ATTEMPTING TO HIDE BEHIND
YOUR WORDS OF FLATTERY LAYING A SNEAR
FOR MY FEET AND THE BEAUTIFUL WORDS
YOU TRIED TO INTOXICATE ME WITH THE IMAGRY
OF WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE YOU AND I OPERATINING
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE: YOU ALLOWED
THAT UNCONTROLLABLE BEAST TO PUNCH ME
HERE AND PUNCH ME THERE YOU DID NOT CARE
DISPLACEMENT ANGER FLYING EVERYWHERE
HIT ME ONCE HIT ME TWICE:I RECOGNIZED THE WARNING
SIGNS OF POTENTIAL DOMESTIC ABUSE ENCOURAGING
YOU TO UTILIZE COPING SKILLS NOT FOR THRILLS BUT
TO HEAL THE INTRICATE PIECES OF YOUR MIND
THAT STRUGGLE TO FUNCTION DUE TO TRAUMA AND
ABUSE FROM THE MULTI-DYSFUNCTIONAL RELATIONSHIPS
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE:EXHIBITING SIGNS OF
BIPOLAR DISORDER BORDER LINE SCHIZOPHRENIA
TEMPORARY INSANE YOU'VE CAUSED ME SOO MUCH PAIN
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE:WALKING ON
EGGSHELL IM TIRED OF THIS HELL WELL I MUST
TERMINATE THIS UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP........
PLEASE GET SOME HELP
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE STOP MAKING
EXCUSES FOR THE ABUSES OF THOSE YOU'VE
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE:EMOTIONAL
MENTAL AND PHYSICAL PAIN MUST BE DEPLETED
OF IT'S NEGATIVE ENERGIES......
HIT ME ONCE YOU'LL HIT ME TWICE:
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE MUST END.....
PLEASE DON'T HIT ME................
When life seems empty
And there’s no place to go
Unlike most artists I became Salvador Dali
My Life daily tasks as a poet
It’s allow my spirit to go from high to low
With my blessed hands and my tired feet
a hard working peasant woman with diamond toes
I set the countdown each passing day while I slave away.
Those Infectious bole place in high positions,
Governor of all the Nurses
Using their authorities to weaken the spirits of the peasant
And the down trodden souls who line your corridors both day and night
however, this burden that seem too heavy to bear now....(bibilical
God will lifts away on the wing of prayers.
Even though i did not hear your voice tonight i'm still ahit,
I will go on like this for ever, i wont go out without a fight.
I'll fight till the end of this life to win your heart,
All you have to do is tell me when to start.
The music blarrin in my head phones at 1:52 AM and i'm lovin it,
cause it helps me remember your gorgeous smile like it was meant to fit.
Wanting to feel your touch and kisses all over me ignites the fire in me,
Wanting to take you by your hand and run wild in a big sea.
There aint much i can say to express myself but this will have to do for tonight,
I think its just that i haven't reached height.
You no I love you and that's all that matters or will ever matter to me,
I will love you till i die, like I told you before, cant you see?
Yeah I walk around life waitng for death/
I live in constant despair looking to be blessed/
Lies over truth around here always seem to infect/
The more sin I get in life the more saintly I seems less/
Im trapped in same dark place ;looking for a lighter quest
I try and live a life full of goodness still trapped in badness I am yet to confess/
I try and hold onto what seems like something but theres nothing really but family left/
I know I am not he best, nor am I like the rest/
I know I can master checkers but still downed in chess/.
I got to clean up my act because my life is a mess/
I patiently sit back while I ponder life for death and I wait/
I might as well look for something simple because I never find nothing great/
I struggle to stay under love and over my own hate/
I try and be real with others when to my own self I stay fake/
I feel life obstacles jolt my ambition like a chain that never breaks/
I want less more in life yet as a daily sinner I continue to both physically and mentally take/
I try and change my dark ways but still struggle at the fact that it might be too late/
I usaully catch myself complaining when infact I should be thankful for whats on my plate/
I usually hang onto the past and get scared of the future when I should worry about today/
I going to be that better man for my child because that sinner no longer in my heart I aint/
Sometimes in life we all struggle until we strive, but until then Im trapped between a young lost SINFUL SAINT........
I’m trapped in the American struggle/
Surrounded in the alcoholic drug addicted jungle/
In my soul called soul I seem to unknowingly look for trouble/
Yeah am I the only one to truly see our invisible chaotic bubble? /
Am I the only one to truly live in while I realize the hidden pains in our own ghetto living rubble? /
I see in what I still saw of the pains at the same time I hear the alcoholic mumbles/
Like a burnt cracker over a uncooked cookie I still see the culture crumble/
I see the staggering, I see the swerving and I see thy own stumbles/
Still yet I am crawling out the dirt like an ant spreading my wings in the sky like the bees bumble/
It’s when I knew I was a soul called soul/
In my soul called soul I am in the super bowl/
Seven hundred seventy-seven now I can’t let thy football fumble/
I am not going to let thy ring leader lead me in the circus no more, I am no longer an elephant Dumbo/ I’m here to stay not to go/ I been down that same road too many times before/
I know what it’s like at the bottom, I hit it straight rock ,yeah I been that low/
now pains of my life I outgrow/it’s when I knew I was a soul called soul
In my soul called soul/ I hang on not to my enemies nor my friends but my own inner foes/
I got no true friends, I got no true bros/ I got no true women, I got no hoes/
I don’t even know if I will even make it to be thirty-four/
I worry about alcoholic danger in the hood every time I walk out my front door/
I thank God I’m not rich and thank him for the experience of being dirt poor/
I thank him for the fact that I no longer have to steal from the local store/
I thank him for the simple fact that I can do simple everyday chores/
I remember a time when I was in a prison cell where even death itself felt like a bore/
until one day something great pick me up off the prison floor……..that was a time when I know I was a soul called SOUL/
I know my truck of life was ready to take it’s damage when it can still pull its own toll/
I knew my boat of life was ready to go against high winds with a broken bow/
I knew I was ready when I can go against waves 100 feet high go under and still row/
if not then I make the surf board roll/ The storms comes like shadow hidden in the skies undergrowth/ I’m not only floating I’m also flying through them both/
I am no longer empty with darkness I am filled with light shone/
I am no longer alone, I am force of many through word flow/
I am a prophet among my own/ words put together like no other only I condone/
I say it in a unique tone/
I’m going to make it past the internet and cell phones/
I am the one, I am by a higher power chose/
These problems in life I will outgrow/
I will overcome being just another SOUL CALLED SOUL….
I walk through the reservation valley of alcoholic death/
I fear no darkness among my own for the light breathes life on its own through my every breath/ I can no longer fit in for I need to stand out above the rest/
I can no longer follow, I got to be the host of my own because Im tired of being the guest/
I want to be the writer I dont want to be the reader/
I want to be the artist with the brush, I want to create I want to finally be my own leader/
I want to be able to follow society's rules because I am tired of being a cheater/
I want to be the supplier because Im tired of being the seeker/
I guess life is what I make it/ Forgive less as much as I still continue to forsake it/
My life is just a jolt but at times I feel death shake it/ Grab my emotions by the reins and straight earthquake it/ I try and fix my problems until someone comes by and breaks it/
but this is my time because Im still young so this young opportunity in life I must Take it.
I got to hold my head held high from being low/
I got to stay lost until I find my own being my purpose of another young lost soul/
I cannot stop because Im too tired of staying stuck I must stay on go/
This my life now I know it my story waiting to be patiently told/
This my life now I got to let it un fold/ Let it slowly but surely grow/
Im just a hidden bomb waiting for my poetry to blow/
EVERYTHING I DID OR DO IN LIFE NOW IS SOMETHING I CHOSE?
I GOTTA CHANGE BECAUSE I JUST CANT KEEP WALKING THE SAME RESERVATION ROAD.
Unless I write the piece in reverse,
it fizzles and dies by line four.
There is something intriguing,
and tricky about
those Nonets that
cause me to
I do not know?
where oh where
does my passion lay? in a shoebox,
under the staircase? i’ve been looking all day,
i’m getting too tired to play. i guess it’s better off this way,
to be missing eternally,
than to have been found and broken,
a curse that bounds when spoken,
these days i hardly mention your name.
most dreams are fairytales,
i need to pretend if i want to achieve.
i’m numb, like i’ve had a lobotomy. i am living in honesty
or i am not living at all,
my passions been pressed into the page
- transformed from a natural beauty into something useful.
to you in
for my life
From the crevasses of
soul come about lost
voices I neglected
to hear, fragments
of piercing awareness I
feelings wrapped around my
a silk scarf forcing
me to breathe deliberately, disorganized
out of my buzzing
Chunks of lucid
thoughts emerge braving
the weather, survivors
in a stormy
ocean of overwhelm
I am left
among the bewildering
remains of an inner
shipwreck wondering how much
of it you too
"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read.."
~Oscar Wilde, 1891
Dear Diary, April 6, 2011
I am a wandering writer.
New to the world; always a fighter.
Experiencing light and a world of mystique,
Places of normal, weird, and oblique.
I try to keep up with the world passing by
But I am falling behind the harder I try.
I feel like a new Helen Keller in ways.
In darkness and silence for each of my days.
Raising my voice yet not being heard,
I need to master the author's word.
With many thoughts and ideas that need to get out,
So I'll continue to scream and continue to shout.
I'll find a way in even if I must jump,
Because I too have to find, my own water pump....
I can use the letter s with so many s words,
I am the seventh sign supreme soldier from the reservation suburbs,
I fly like seagull in the open ocean sky supreme like an serpant eagle eating birds,
I am so solid Im siked and sipped up from the sizzy sizzurp,
I stagger until I swerve swiftly as snake in the souless society lost curbs,
life so crooked it stained with soaked blood life around death curves,
I cant believe so many lost soveriegn souls *****on they own siblings as the culture turns,
I know I am sure of being sure of what I sought to learn,
The brain with suicide can sometimes burn.
Souless savage in society I be among little certain satans, lost in circles saying "7th Sign Empire Engraving"like my own still souls of savage culture on certain colors discriminating,
But whats even worse is soul on souls hating,
Society severed in broken circles still forsaken,
Serpants searching society split in seven different groups of seven hundred seventy-two,
Forsake my Se7en and I forsake thee seven times seven fold because truth be said Im souless to you,
Se7enth Sign Supreme Solid Serene Soldier of of the sacred seven,
I say I have always said society on my word S
Yeah Im feeling a lil too native tonight like Im on da rez like a youngster drunk and suicidal
Poppin pills like Im poppin at my own people like they my culturalistic rivals
I'm dying slowly like my culture yet Im still reading the about God and the Holy Bible
I almost died not once but twice thats why I strive for survival
Im a lil mad at God ever since he took my lil brother but I shall get over it in a lil while
Im more greatful ever since he gave back life with my first child
Living life up to this point in my life has now been worth the while
time ticking away everyday on da rez like the sun dial
so no time to waste any longer in this tribulation of another life to death trial
I shall bring back all my lost long life culture files
I am like a new trend people Im litterally making my own clothes with the Rez Life 7 style
I shall overcome bull*****even if at times it gets me a lil riled
Breaking through hangovers like out the stomach comes last nights bile
Im litterally building onto whats left in my trash pile
I aint going to stop until I have my legs crushed during the last mile
I hit jumps in my car through life as it idles
This is just but another life lived in gratitude I cant lie though
It shouldnt matter too much in the end because I will be high Bro
Insanely flying in the sky like an acrobatic physco
Shooting through leather problems like a twelve gauge rifle
so much it makes my own heart with a quick fix stifle
Im gonna make it through my haters doubts with a quick glance as I smile
I will bring back hope not to theirs or yours but my own before I end up back in denial
The bewildered tip of my pen hovered over the blank thirsty pages…
I thought expressing feelings is as magnificent as the sight of the sun’s birth
from the horizon’s womb...
Or as miraculous as a squeamish bizarre caterpillar's transformation
into an elegant butterfly…
Such a transcending experience still lingers within the facets of my subconscious…
As I limp through the days under the weight my tumescent thoughts…
With my weary pen, I converse the endless possibilities of a phrase, a word, a feeling…
How few ordinary words from countless pens became etched in history…
I’m hovering with my pen wondering about how to write and what to write…
Should I write about what was in the past; a past I long to forget…
Or about a present; a present battle I still haven’t won…
Or about a future; nameless, precarious yet an exciting adventure…
Should I give birth to what’s swelling inside or consider abortion…
My pen is choking…it’s time to end the turmoil and hesitation…
I’ll just press down the tip of my black pen on white paper…
And wait for a reaction…
Isn't that how it works anyway?
I beg for your forbearance
For I have disregarded my faith towards You
I beg for your healing in advance
For I have disclaimed Your protection and now I’m blue
Do you notice that I’m blanketed in deep distress?
My pillow is soaked externally with unsettling tears
My good memories that bestowed hopefulness
Has been meddled with for years
Has been mistreated and replaced by insecure dreadfulness
I need shelter from the tide of despairs and fears
I’m shattered and I’m seeking Your helping hand
Receive my hushed prayer…from your throne in heaven
I’m begging for Your contentment that’s beyond grand
Receive my muffled prayer… or I’ll be stuck in this tarnished den
Do you notice that I’m spinning mad in the rivers of mystifying visions?
My unwavering boat sinks drastically with damaged gears
My bad memories that departed from my missions
Has been discarding the carefree years
Has been neglected and torn apart by dishonorable decisions
I need Your love to embrace me with jubilation and cheers
I beseech for Your mercy
For I have abused my steadfast hope towards You
I look forward to Your infinite Kingdom favorably
For I have admired Your blessings and now my dreams come true!
In Jesus’s name,
Biding peace laid for some pariah,
spinning all mind's lie.
Vision gliding ever higher,
soaring ecstasy; exquisite sapphire sky
Yet wing Wired, we catch earthbound,
nothing but shifting twilight sight.
cutting thy hand short.
Records wake, flash bright white.
Formed half here, half there.
Lost by laughter and fear,
A stolen shadow's
path to nowhere.
Within this vista of pure visual;
, ghostly green shine.
lit from MOON'S far dream.
The soothe sayer of dazed worry,
forgetting past fright of
yet another scene.
Igniting matters .. all grey
slumbering his career
spent, clinging by the scraps
scraping slow dawn
drawing ever near
to mislead by a prized pun .. if not ... REMember.
gathering with a shaded kind,
left now, dust, dry light. slipping as a fade out mind
dashed on mourning
stealing yet another oblique view.
Aimless day-walker disjointed from the world;
so bland and blue.
Joy bursts from chest when ever pen hits
nothing compares to thy writing;
Alls elated fits.
Drain out the violence from the paintbrush and smear it to the canvas
Aggressive creatures scuttle into my expanding cranium
Memories of him echoes through the forest…into the atmosphere
Astonishing screams of misfortune filter the forest where he once trailed
Great solitude and rage tortures us all…we will not fall!
Everlasting breakage paints me a portrait of turmoil and what not
I be frum brooklin
And I bee edumacatid reel goode
En iff uz wanna bee sefistikated lic mee
end Gawd weil bee wit uz
en ween u finde Hiem
asc Him 2 drope buy me's.
What caused and made me try this cryptic voice
Did I or did I not have any choice
is Time so cruel to teasingly disgrace
The weaponry I choose to seal my fate
Silence is so easy to embrace and use
I could yet stay a shy reclusive muse
If not for this my desperate attempt
at words of rhymed intention
Alas Alack this stolen time
I'd saved to spend
in quiet contemplation
is a farce
a blue excuse
with no good reason
an open ended discussion
no reason to join them
at the North Pole
is a temptation
a black rose
in the hand of the wicked
it’s okay to be lazy
is an imaginary friend
of the desperate
feasting on your company
and the smell of your beauty
is a weak hoax
marinating in dumb
a submissive idiot
who barely exists
so leave him alone
is fine without you
let him be single
You are better
without the mix of his device.
Crackling blood lies in these forest grounds
Grass growing by its lively effect…
Growing a grimace to the environment
As the predators hung her on the branches,
carving her left eye on the oak tree
and carving her right eye on the olive tree
They grow livelier…
sucking up the carrions from off the ground
Drowning the vines that try to
suffocate and remove them for life
left to be in history…unceasingly forgotten
Now the forest has industrialized into an Eye Forest
Eyes protruding…extorting on the tree trunks
Liquefied by anguish…they had wished to escape
Their pupils punctured by arrows of death
They grow more affectionate towards the lively soul…
watching people suffer in indignity and disproof
Here’s that living evidence! Hidden proof!
Hunted by the worst predator out there
in the deepest of the forest
The eyes seem to stare into your own
Locked with your frightening vibes
Feeling your dangling fears and pain
Weeping them insane…
there is no one out there to be blamed,
even in the deepest of the forest
Oh you carrion heart, soul and body
you are accepted to the collection
and grow insanely and look into a world of reflection
You are one of those who lie in the midst of obscurity
JUST wait till the day of Resurrection...
Oh you carrion soul and body
Surviving through the shadows of the forest,
roaming along the compacted forest,
moping about in displeasure
because without a doubt
you are a magnificent collection
to the eye generation
to look upon a cheerless, remorseful life,
Given away by the predator
They soon diminish the evidence…
Here’s that living evidence! Hidden proof!
You’re left for dead after all
Allow them to spread one of your eyes
on this tantalizing tree
Let them do their job as a hunter
Your awareness is diminished
Allow yourself to not be startled
and later on, you’ll break free of pain and fear
I do not know?
This is the story of ‘the twitch’.
We have all had it:
That bit of movement before we sleep.
We have been awakened by it when we were younger. . . it threw our arm out to catch us
before we fell out of bed.
It was even younger than that for us.
It was sometimes confused with a kick -- from our mothers’ tummies to the swaddle of
As we grew, the arm no longer flew. . . and thus. . . ‘the twitch’.
It is thought that we started with
a parting of the energy that mathematicians make Einsteins
sounds of the aria that Mozart’d
into our echoes of the day -- a marriage of concept and conceptual.
It took us through the outreach of awkward doubt. . . brought us ‘round the curve
for monkey bars toward the first dance; drew blood in our mouths before we got the first
punch – given/taken.
The part of ‘the twitch’
that is worthy of noting now is that
it has never wanted to be caught:
It wanted more than nothing to be left alone – perhaps; conceived that
it would be an occasion for cause. . . effect – the drive our parents tried to delay
with Dr. Seuss and Disney books. A teenage indifference took us away from
We all fall asleep. . . as we’ve always done.
The story of ‘the twitch’ begins at the thumb; carries on. . . for the course of fingers
Brings us a little closer to the edge of our beds.
Rushing here, there and everywhere,
A mind that leaps canyons and space
Ricocheting, bouncing on rock walls,
Dislocation with turbulent pace.
Scuffing up dust and then zinging,
Off at wild tangents or angles,
Darting, exploding like fireworks,
Neurological barbed wire tangles.
And sometimes, sometimes crave tearing
At the flesh beneath tingling skin,
To rip this man-suit off the mainframe
And extinguish the chaos within.
I'm writing a series;
it goes like this:
"iting a series;"
"it goes like this:"
I just wrote a series.
How long has it been?
How long have I been writing?
Did I miss dinner?
Has the sun gone down?
Is it rising in the east?
I could not hear the music I was playing
The radio’s battery died long ago
How could it have been silent for so long?
Could I have been lost in my work for so long?
Time went past without me noticing
I was sitting in my chair typing on my computer
Right where I started so long ago
Thinking and writing
Not noticing the world around me
I am forever lost in my thoughts
Once again trapped in the darkness with worded guns still trapped,
Im just trying to make a statement that will make it on this American map,
Im getting old as I only live this youth once so I best live it searching for light in darkness of black,
Years gone by a lost youth going away time lost that I wont ever get back,
So it best I get back on the track.........
Now iz a tyme for flames hope I spark this,
Poetry like mine many will come from places near and far and embark in this,
I will literally be the found ancient lost seen lockness.....
Lord please guide this soul as I am standing in the darkness......yet again....
Smilingly some say ‘no’
Angrily some say ‘no’
Very easily some say ‘no’.
So not many hesitate to say ‘no’.
So the word 'no'
Even if truly uttered
Or pretending mattered.
‘No’ can be a canopy.
Or used as an analogy.
Used sometimes to distortedly stop.
And sometimes used for being at top.
“No” is a sweet word.
It is seldom absurd.
When heard it may be disappointing.
Sometimes very annoying
'No' is usually said boldly
Suddenly, and profoundly…
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
Poetry perpetually propagates poems
is the problem
they eolith dualist monopolies all too sudden…
a true contradition; sentries of,
as already sated…
senseless sensibility… municipally…
you-will-seize… day after deign…
night after umberellian echoes…
for if the wakean lent voice o’er hop itself,
dost veer cane tray nether realm as well?
Neigh… endomorphic; anthropaedophilic lust…
steadily endures romantic inflammations…
a rash once fought…
until the moral ambiguity slides back
unto tenuous tense and marathon…
as if the end was already soon, or had passed…?
For that as it seems is all too rhetorical in rhetoric,
and misconstrued by puncture floundered fallacappy…
gently top-plead due to intrinsartistic licensing…
twenty four hour raffles, tambala sable…
twenty four hours O’raisin deter…:
I do not know?
amongst the huge pile of haiku.
Can you see me?
I hope you do.
I've been buried here
and I don't know what to do.
Each time I post a poem..
it gets buried by haiku! !
Adrenaline races to her heart
As air escapes her lungs
Her mind is being torn apart
Her life cannot be done
She counts out her last breath
And counts out her frustrations
She curses the great blue depths
And curses life's expectations
She fights the weight tugging at her
She fights for her own whim
She fights the tempting urge
To simply, weakly give in
The road to freedom is not in sight
She is sinking in a worn out trail
She tries to stray with all her might
As she lets her pen set sail
Ain't you got
Something better to do?
Than sit around,
And feeling blue?
You live your life,
But you only see
With a dead man's eyes
Go build a model,
Or paint some art
And stop being
A complaining old fart
Or sit in a corner
As a child gone bad
Face it now,
Your life is sad
Or, at least,
shut your mouth,
It seems your luck,
Has been headed south
I've said my piece
That's all I will
So listen up
And take a chill-pill!
Yellow sheets, blue lines
red lines even
The ticking, etching the central location
Talking about something
Talking about nothing
A thought, a question
Will this dare leave me now?
I can’t see my world it has gone blind
Where I look and to what I find
Passages of time
Knowing the purpose
Or not knowing
Hide it quick its showing
They cannot know me
For if they do they shall be sickened be on compare
For so long you’ve been my friend
So don’t fail me now
My paper, my pen in my hand
A place to run to
A dream to dream
The ticking, etching the central location
The writer's scream
Cinqo De Mayo...When a Brooklyn thug target shoots at a floating jar of Hellman's.
Dutch- Where do they come from? I've looked at atlases dozens of times, and
can't find a country called Dutch, or Dutchland.
Dusty Springfield- why doesn't someone get her a dust-buster, or dust rag, or
Refried Beans- What's that about? Didn't they fry them right the first time?
Chigger- defamatory label for a person half Chinese, and half Black.
Endomorph- Quitting a serious drug habit.
Hoe-Down- 1)Dropping your garden tool. 2)A prostitute rendered unconscious.
Ignoramus- A hippo who failed in high-school.
Knee-Jerk-A person whose brains are in his shins.
Primate- A burglar's cohort with the crowbar.
More may be added later, and all are welcome to contribute, either in comments,
or e-mail me and I'll add them.
I do not know?
Who do you feel like today?
Do you even remember my name?
It's been 8 years since then,
Has the willow tree we sat under gone dead?
I wonder if you've changed,
if you regret your biggest mistake.
Do you feel the sorrow i feel?
Is this pain the only thing that feels real?
I feel no sorrow now,
I only feel hatered for the world somehow,
How could you rape your granddaughters?
And Forget your own son, My father?!
How could you do this to me?
The only way how i feel now is to bleed.
I put no effort, no feeling, no thought,
In the war,
This battle in my heart
How do you feel like today?
Is it easier to know that your safe?
Outta jail they let you out,
Why so you can pay your road to hell?
So i plant me a willow tree,
right above the grass,
below the leaves.
I lay here below this willow tree,
My only friend beside of me,
The memories still remain,
But it's better off this way
I do not know?
You think Christ is not hurt
With loving what you thought is Christ
Loving Christ is being in His true Church
In Catholic or Roman Catholic you are not condemned but saved
In His Church
Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults
Is like a college Religion class
You will learn the truth
In other man-made religion bible are lies
What you’re reading is really the true Church
Not your own
It’s like a blind
Leading another blind
They would both fall in hell of fire
It is not the minister’s fault
Your own, rather take them with you
Both of you learn the truth
For every man they can be a deacon
Bishop and Priest are not with a wife
For Jesus Christ is a High Priest
Only Son of the most High
In RCIA, you will receive 3 important Sacraments
Holy Eucharist or the Body of Christ
We want God to be pleased with us
Eternal Father told the people
To Listen only to the Messiah and
The One I sent
What are these Christ like churches?
Non Catholic churches?
People in there are already condemned
Being in Catholic or Roman Catholic, you are saved
Words swirl around in my head
I starts and until I write them down
They just won’t end
Writing my words on paper
For people to find significance within them
These words are very real to me
The emotions are far from being pretend
Some say you looked right into my heart
You’ve seen my soul
You read my mind
Just how did you know
You pinned my feelings to a tee
How again could you see
Everything within me
Here’s you answer as to why
The words that I write are my pain
I’ve seen you, yet not knowing you, through my own eyes
Just because we are different, don’t mean we are still not the same
Emotions are universal
They make the world go round
The silent cries of screams
Quiet is my sound
To often of times
The struggle leaves one
Lying on the ground
The hurt so heart wrenching
And so very real
Time is never ending
Life is what the pain will steal
So breathtakingly helpless
Is what you will feel
Devastatingly you just can’t seem to heal
I write my words of hurt and pain
On the pages of paper to share with you
Many will relate and they often feel the same
At some point of time
I do hope you find some sort of comfort here
Within my lines of worded rhyme
Perhaps they will help your heart and soul to let go and heal
Cause while they do help me get by
Most times they don’t really help mine
I do not know?
WHAT IS HOME?
ROLLING HILLS ARE HOME TO ME,
PLAYING CHESS WITH FRIENDS,
DANCING ON THE WEEKEND,
WALKING IN THE WIND,
BUBBLES BLOWING WIND,
THE “IN” WALKING WEEKEND,
THE “ON” DANCING FRIENDS
WITH CHESS PLAYING ME.
TO HOME ARE HILLS ROLLING?
A New Take on an old story.
Just a piece nonsense I hope you will enjoy
Pull up and chair and sit on the floor
I'm going to tell you a story you're never seen before
Late one night in the early morning
I stood outside the house while sitting in my bedroom
I shouted at the top of my lungs while whispering to my friend
Who was sitting beside me as I stood in the hall
That thunder was loud and the clouds were black
As sun shone bright from a clear blue sky
Ask me on qeustions and I'll tell you now lie
Just ask the blind man he saw it too.
... And be one eye , one soul
as the world recedes , gone ,
away far climbs. Vanished like a
He is merely flesh and blood Reality ;
slaughterhouse stumbling through script
typed in selfless pursuit.
Wanting only quickened wit & Pupil's Needs.
Mortal simian image, which we , the living
only feel and bear and tremble and
Upon my Darling's beaming eyes The summit
of everest slurs into a bog or quagmire , deep
So gazing with the boldness which prevails
love, and peace and gracious mirth.
with a voice less loud though its
joys and fears show wool in dissembled
As the passers by near us drew
the Need to know from our stares, going further...
" O Merciless Lady & Vulture Poet
when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall
I will turn my bewildered eyes out
of soil and darkness , to run through
every alternate scene
Where I used to play on the green
in goodly colours gloriously arrayed.
And a voice less loud brought me
breathless to Aphrodite , throned in
flowers beyond this pale picture ;
be the dream. Roaing with laughter
as a fallow deer is clear cut through
the sun seen peering out the skull.
vast lilliputin language cannot describe
an Echo of the Time, after the rainbow.
Then , as if some strange mystery aware
that you should remember & be sad.
Now memory feels itself grow weak , I can
I am merely flesh and blood "
"it will be found once more , I say to
thee with furtive flagons , white and red.
Now get back retreat, depart."
She of the tribunal did command
great at sea, and the Heaven. From some
touch of pity which may still restrain
she let him pass.
A leaf fallling softly at my feet,
but I saw it was not as thought ,
only inked. Falling in Heaven's crescendo.
Climax always brushing distance out
As to long panoramas of Visions, of
my faith , I'd give whole to see the architect
of my dreams once more. I am
waiting here for thee, flesh and blood , merely.
Ne'er to be found again. I am
like a flag unfurled in space. Oh ! Lost
to Her and all thy race to wit
faces of scorn , stuttering ends
this morn ; O Weak Heart. I long
to rise. Never being a Poet of God's making ,
laughter to thy lips, wandering to sigh
among mortal men dust ; shall return to
dust. As the storm cries everynight
and those that know me confirm that it is thus.
Easing a new epilogue , tremble
and we are gone...
She’s stubborn, this watcher of mine and
she fights hard to win the battles
she wages in my mind.
Her victory comes when I shrink
away from the words
that fight to break free.
Yet, she looks at me with scorn
when I give up and walk away,
but isn’t that what she wanted?
She delights it seems
in planting seeds of doubt that seem to
grow wild and rampant.
Convincing me my words are nothing
except foolish, childish dreams.
“Who would care”?
She asks with contempt.
“What if you’re right”?
I scream at her.
As she turns to walk away
she looks over her shoulder
and softly replies,
“What if I’m wrong”?
deride derision divide division devise a vision
play with words like rythym tick something squared
is power of two and cubed's the power of three
not four that's more
are inconsistent seas unfound or foundered
I think there four iambic meters cause caucasion
indecision in a celtic melded welded mind I find
a loss of words incomprehensic in reprehensic
I feel so lost so gone, but yet so found/ My mind so weak, so fragile, but yet so determined so bound/ Mind so high so fly but still on the ****in ground/ Voice so silent so quiet, but yet so loud/ Feel so skinny so thin but still gaining them poundz/ Thought I wouldn't make it through the first but still standing in the seventh round/ My words so limp so skimp, but yet still making them gangstified soundz/ I feel so energized so choatic but still wanna lounge/ Ya'll better be ready when 7 comes through your town!!!! I can't lyrically quit for shyt/ Living around rez life lyrical bull isshh/ fake ass hating trickz/ wanna be bloodz and fake ass cripz/ I jus need to kick back and take another green hit/ ****a alcoholic fit/my own lizzife iz like a three dimensional skit/ I got to wake up and let myself go..can't hang on no more......gots to find my lost heart and soul...God please let a young native like me grow to know the real shyt in life!!
Where is your mind right now?
On the paper, or the screen, I hope,
and not on these meaningless words.
Wrote half a poem on a rat
Then realized I’d spelled it wrong
It’s not “Pact” Rat, it’s a “Pack” Rat
This write is just taking too long
Did a search on the Internet
To see how the word can be used
Wanted a unique use of Pact
So all of them there, I perused
Gave up and threw-in the towel
And decided to use them all
Although it may not make much sense
It’s a way around a brick wall
Like a treaty between nations
Pact is a formal agreement
Accord, alliance, protocol
A bond, a deal, an arrangement
PACT, a maker of underwear,
Hawaiian family service
Makes digital power scales
It’s also an adoption service
PACT is a citizen work group
And also bunch of other things
This has been going on too long
It’s over, I’m stopping the pain
sundae, as ever, the first day of the weak,
in tradition, an hour, or a minute of silence…
silence, as ever, suffered no fool,
without conception, immaculate or no…
She's running toward the light.
She's chased it all her life.
She wants it all to end so bad,
But she will never reach salvation.
She sold her soul.
He tricked her.
The master of deception.
She thought he wanted more,
More than just her mind,
But that's all he wanted,
To put strings attached.
She has to break free,
Before he comes.
She must cut the strings,
Pull them apart.
But she doesn't know how.
She cuts her wrist.
She thinks she just reached salvation.
But she just let him forever have her.
She completed the deal.
She shed the blood.
She killed herself.
Now the light goes out,
And she's all alone.
She starts to cry,
Then she hears footsteps.
He's come for her...
THE POWER THAT I HAVE NO ONE CAN TAKE OR HAVE.
THE POWER THAT MY MIND HAS IS TO POWERFUL TO FIND OUT.
THE POWER THAT MY MOUTH HAS IT COULD HURT YOU OR IT COULD BLESS YOU IT DEPENDS ON HOW YOU STEP TO ME OR SAY SOMETHING TO ME.
THE POWER OF MY THINKING IS VERY DEEP AND VERY SOLD.
THE POWER OF HOW WRITE MY POEMS IT COME FROM MY MIND MY SPRIT MY SOUL AND HEART NOW YOU ADD ALL THAT UP AND SEE WHAT YOU CAN DISCOVER IN YOUR SELF.
IT NO OTHER POWER YOU CAN DISCOVER FROM ONE ELSE BUT YOUR SELF.
THE POWER THAT I HAVE IT IS IN ME.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because books are my escape.
I read because the friends I have in books are so much truer than the friends I have in real life.
I read because in books I am as breathtakingly beautiful as the heroine in the story and not a one-hundred-thirty-three pound white girl with a black girl’s ass.
I read because the stories are either so good, I can try to wish myself into them
Or they’re so horrid they make my life look like a fairytale.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because the parents in books don’t yell at me for failing a test that I stayed up until 1 in the morning studying for
Or tell me I’m getting cellulite when its clear that I already hate the way I look.
I read because the little brothers and little sisters in books are adorably hilarious where mine are annoyingly bothersome.
I read because when my nose is in a good book, my mind is where that book is, not in the reality that is my life.
I read because the boys in books are more kind to me than the boys in my classes at school.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because I love to read.
But you wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because reading is shameful in the world I live in.
I don’t read because reading is something tedious, a chore you do simply to make the grade in English.
I don’t read because the stories in books remind me just how much my life sucks.
You wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because every page I turn is another homework assignment not turned in, another failing grade to show my parents.
I don’t read because every time I read I want a snack to munch on, and every time that snack is a chocolate bar I think to myself “You fat, ugly girl, you don’t need that chocolate, you know what they say: a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips.”
I don’t read because what boy wants a girl whose prince charming is not ever going to show up on her front porch with a dozen roses and a devastatingly handsome smile?
You wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because every time I finish a book that was a new obsession, I have to find one just like it and there never is one.
I don’t read because when the hero dies, so does a piece of my heart.
I don’t read because every book I read just reminds me that I’m the freak brainiac of my class, and that’s all anyone sees when they look at me.
I don’t read because the perfect characters in books make me hate my imperfect self.
I don’t read because I hate to read.
You’re the dawn of despair and gloominess
You’re the sunset that discards my gladness
You deceived me…you made me trek the road of calamity
You grieve for me…you yearn for my sympathy… but I overlook your pity
Horror strikes me, scorching away my destiny
My confidence has slowly departed from me…so what should I do?
Terror swallows me alive, now I’m begging to flee!
My self-reliance has disregarded and fled from thee…now I’m crammed with woe
Digest the emptiness that I feel deep inside
Heed to what I’m about to announce to you…
Digest the affliction that I brushed aside
Hear what I’m about to warn you about…it’s all true
You deserted me…melt the isolation that has filled us with woe
You brainwashed me…you tarnished my bliss
You captivated me…now I have nowhere to go
You terrorized me…you singed up my happiness
You’re the dawn of anguish and shame
You’re the midnight stars that burn with fame
You betrayed me…you made me cut down my garden…shedding fertility
You mourn for me…you long for my forgiveness… so I’m ready to accept your plea
What is the code that will animate your presence?
What is the code that will liquefy the ice of silence?
Waiting for a response
Stumbling upon it for months
Fiddling with decaying words
Letting go of birds
Will I ever be let go
By troublesome guilt,
Fluttering and squealing with joy?
Waiting for an entrance
I try to break through it for years
But I'm shattered by denied words
I'm trying to find a path to go through
But...I'm trapped by the thought of you
I spit the words you made me eat, and then
they land on you as there you stand aghast –
You cringe and stare at what you said; thick phlegm
bedecks your face, a white-hot, slimy blast.
They left a taste, a bitter paste of hate
and painful anger. Tongue to teeth, I fled
the room and slapped the twisted hands of fate
from off my neck as choking life-breath bled.
I tripped, you screamed and tried to grab me back –
Too late for that, and now we fall apart.
The precipice is yawning, grim, deep black
and down I plunge, my ending and my start.
The forge of stellar flame blows hot, then cold
as melting, sculpted frozen wings unfold
The monster became a living, walking nightmare
my dive into insanity, no longer perfect, containing a blank stare
I should resist, the monster will find me, run away with me
Pretend to hear my meager complaints, force me to see what I'm afraid to see
Blame and guilt, volleying right and left, up and down
It's crashing me closer, with every step, I'm falling to the ground
It's all a game, just play along, play the game, play it well
Brimming confidence, dissolved in thoughts, of what? I won’t tell
Demons, devil born souls, run quick, run fast, stand my ground
No sense of fear, n sense of foreboding, not even a slight sound
High speed, pursuit of hell, bent on going, bent on crashing
Giving into the power, life's faster, lights flashing
Crash and torment me again, my eyes close after all
The beginning of the end for me, feeling numb after the fall
Is there a way out? I'm different, distant and moved on
Listen to the water, calling, coaxing into death, I'm gone
Endless, empty cloud; dreamless oblivion; oxygen, exhalation
Am I dead? Still alive? Broken into pieces, I need motivation
Reality closes in, walls me in; until there’s nothing there
Death comes behind me, containing a blank stare.
Yes, I'm talking to you.
Don't leave me hanging
Like a shirt on a hook
Or a man in a game.
Fill in the blanks;
Don't make me die.
I need an answer
Before I get hung
And I never learn
What it is you wanted to say.
Yes, I'm talking to you.
The sun’s devouring rays
Reveals an astounding sensation against the marvelous universe
It caresses the earth with warm hugs and gives life to the motionless gaze
Its auras are above nature’s designating exteriors
Its swaying beauty is beyond Earth’s inhabitants, deserving my praise
It treasures the sky with joyousness and forms swarms of jeering birds
The sighs of the wind attracts clamoring herds
The sun’s appalling flames
Unshackles a zealous tune that reveals the Earth’s accord
It embraces the atmosphere with remarkable claims
Unraveling my curiosity; my ears are pleading to hear more, so I go forward!
It prizes the ocean with eagerness and forms swarms of screeching seagulls
The strength of the waves draws in scorching souls
The sun's unattainable rays
Motivate life to trail on till its duty is done
Its auras seep through the whirling sky and strays
Embracing ambitious love like a father and son
inspiration does not flow
All of the aftermaths occur after the wake of a bunch of terrible events: Hurricane
Katrina, the September 11th attacks in New York City, War in Iraq, and others. these types
of tragic events and a bunch of aftermaths have been around since the day the world was
created by God. There's no telling what will happen next if these tragedies keep coming
unexpectedly and stuff. It seems to all of the Americans today that after these tragedies
like the deaths of their loved ones, the deaths of most U.S. soldiers, Hurricanes Ike and
Rita destroying Houston, Texas, these people are trying to deal with the loss of their
homes and other people have been mourning the loss of the ones who've lost their lives to
these tragic events or by the hands of evil people. The aftermath of those events have
been haunting the lives of all U.S. citizens since day one. What makes most people sad is
that they have to deal with the fact that their loved ones are gone and other people are
still trying to deal with the fact that America almost lost its innocence, even after
9-11. These events have been talked about on the news at 5:00 p.m., 6:00 p.m., and 9:00
p.m. This is so wrong, especially for us Americans. Tragedies and the aftermath of all
heartbreaking tragedies are starting to make us even more sad and depressed. Everybody
doesn't like it. And if all types of tragedies continue to rise and there's going to be
more aftermaths after those tragedies or whatever, we'll be in for a rude awakening.
I do not know?
A strong word
Word of discrimination
Word of power
Can tear friends and family apart
Used everyday in everyway
A four letter word that will destroy our life
Word of prejudice
A word known as abdhorrence
So harmful and so dangerou, yet we still use it.
We are sullenly mourning
For security from the demoralizing night
I am despairingly probing
For mercy to carry us back to our divine flight
We are all wishing for infinite freedom
We are all seeking for an abundant kingdom
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we so emotional inside and out?
Why are we painstakingly tracking down a getaway away from this mystifying dilemma? What is all this venturing about?
If we are swaying in the rhythm of faultless jolliness, why are we vexing about the departure of our best friend?
It isn’t in our control…so get a grip or we'll fall!
If we build up our friendship, we'll have wounds to mend
So stop your blaming and cursing or we'll be in appall
If we are all leaders, why are we panicking?
We are all leaders…we aren’t senseless pleaders!
So face your phobias and get out of the deserted state!
We are all leaders…we will not give in, vile deceivers!
Saunter out of sight, so we won’t meet our unsettling fate!
You meddled with our cries
So don't point fingers, you insidious devil
And forced us to believe your jaded lies
SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I don't want to consider your excuses, for our truth stands still
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we not meant to be?
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we battered and bent?
If I am living in pure happiness, why am I not free?
Could we ever discard this horrifying dilemma that pounds on us like cement?
We must act like a leader—tough and vigilant
Striving to survive!
We must mimic like a leader—buff and independent
Struggling to stay alive!
Disregard the mourning state;
Drive out the defiant enemies and make them face their damnations
So we can joyfully integrate and negotiate
You’d do me a favor to cease your supplications!
Like a rose lacking its pedals,
My tranquility disregards its fascinating smells
Like a tree shaking off dashes of its mangled leaves
The switch of seasons interweaves...
You infuriate me with petrifying peace
You unlocked the gate... unsealing healing doom
Miniscule doom rummages through the town,
Wreckage brings peace, making us whole,
Stumbling down by our enrapturing gown
Polishing the mayhem, what a fine world...
You ate away at my purifying peace
You unfasten my fate... concealing chilling doom
Like a guitar tattered and out of tune,
The havoc that I observe is merely a mouldering misfortune
Like a drum busted open during the afternoon,
The peace that I yearn for has expired again...
You hesitate to gather refreshing peace
You unwind my misery state... unraveling incorruptible doom
A Page of apology
A Cake or chocolate
A Poetry of smiles
A Bouquet of flowers
A Shower of reminders
Or just a thought that
I remembered You
What may it take to reply
I don't love you for your wit
You're always spitting bile.
Reluctantly I now admit
I do not love your smile.
Nor do love your manly touch
And I don't love your smell.
I just don't love you very much,
So why's your silence hell?
I do not miss your lilting voice,
Nor do I miss your kiss.
I've never seen your laughing eyes
So what is there to miss?
I don't love your hand in mine
It's strictly for the birds.
Without your love I'm doing fine,
But how I miss your words.
I SEE THE WAY I FEEL INSIDE,
LOCKED AWAY BEHIND ALL MY LIES.
I HEAR THE WORDS BEHIND MY
BACK, TRUTHFULLY IT'S ACOUSTICALLY
WHEN THE CHORDS ARE PLAYED,
THERE'S A MELODIC HAUNTING IN MY MIND!
LOST INSIDE; THE ENDEAVOR IS BLIND.
STAR-GAZING BRINGS THE TUNES TO A
HIGH, PEOPLE WATCHING TAKES ME TO A
BOXED IN THE WAY I FEEL;
MY PANIC BECOMES MANIC, I JUST
NEED A WAY TO DEAL.
STRAWBERRY GASHES IN PEACH-COLORED
FIELDS, HELPS TO DEFINE HOW IT IS
AND WHAT I TRULY FEEL.
FORGIVENESS SOUNDS GOUND, BUT
I KNOW I WON'T FORGET. JUST
LIKE A GREAT POEM OR SONNET THESE
SCARS ARE MY COMMITTMENT.
SO AS I SHALL FADE TO NOTHINGNESS
NOW; I GIVE YOU THESE WORDS TO
CHERISH - DEATH BECOMES MY WEDDING VOW.
On this parchment
I am forced to write
That of which I cannot speak
On this oh so delicate paper
I am enraptured
by my under lying thoughts
On this meager piece of material
And this once sharp pencil
I try to express the deepest of emotions
On this once blank loose leaf
That I now read to it's fullest
I find that though I wrote about nothing
On this one piece of parchment
About nothing at all it seems
Is full of something you feel, not just see
My stint is to constrict,
Like a serpent on the offence.
Twisting and squeezing,
My pulchritudinous polka dots.
Whether my complexion burns like fire
Or freezes like ice
My chassis and tenuity hold true.
Versatility makes my copies
As I'm prerequisite to all.
Children abhor me,
Corpulent simpletons do likewise.
Prestigious parliament parade me
As I'm a sign of social standing.
Drain out all the agony
Help me fulfill my destiny
Catch the waves…it’s coming from all directions
And wipe that frown…
I’m trying not to break away…in front of you, I’d rather stay
But it seems like…the clouds decide to fade
I’m dying every day…I’m making time to survive this day
I’m drying… I turned out to be a hideous shade
I’m releasing the sorrow… clinging on to gloom...
Your affection and glory
Set me free from despondency
Stand up and face the emotion – your heart mends my infections
And don’t weigh me down…
I’m trying not to break out…but it sparkles in my bloodshot eyes
My sorrow is exposing… but you’re still willing to stay
I’m caught in midair…I’m a slave, pursuing my demise
I’m shriveling…I embrace your departure…I’m wasting away…
I’m soaking up the sorrow…poisoning my bloom…
"and don't forget the pretention"
everyone nodded along as
the first line Hit
cut w-/ Posh .. chugging
stars , throats end to end slit.
Schemes o'er everything
I realise now that you need
these 'things' ,
imaginary or other wise. Anything
to keep the Belief that
Life is worth living.
By their ridiculous Forgery
to emphasise insubstantial shapes , mutilated
text , colour & breathing connecting Heart
to Pen under strict obligation
to remain Nonsense
Above seperate Action.
I just want to be Honest
o'er the vicious Cycles of Trend
inspiring by reflection
We replace real life as we all
like Motion Pictures
Lost within Code
he might be you or me Beating
the walls as we try
out these twillight eyes switching o'er
to Terra's Remote viewing
zoom ignites thy Bone's hollow Fractures
happening, pure & simple , we errode
in a sudden glass moment ...excuse me
& my obvious slander .. Keeping it real may soon dismay
at a pulse of Cheekbones ; Paper artic traces flickering on
nervescreens before our pristine chords reciting
"Nobody's story" revolving round
nothing really ... simple words.
Oh Lord its so clear
All Places & All Times
its just us
trying to make faces in the sky....
and scream no more dropping
your daily optic reset calibrating
Our CCTV standard view
declining to smash utterly as Minute
prevent such ink immediate
between Mind & Matter ,
Powdered Charcol , meaning the whole
Legal Judgement satisfied
Logic there in
Personal reasoning & Multi - simplicity
Leftscreaming up the curb
you were just walking by... Society's Needs
cackling inhuman . Adverts scattering w-/ only One
Purpose rocking aby sentence.
Cast Calm to Create.
Oh please, I plead
Listen to my beseech
I raise my hands out to you
take them please
In this dark void I walk through
there is no comfort
slowly it leaches out all that I hold
when will I ever reach the end?
Do you know where the end is?
Is the end where the end of the end is?
Lost, dazed, confused
Did God pluck me out
and strand me here?
three doors, three paths, three choices
ransom me out
an open cage, such as this atramentous nightmare
Is there hope?
Hope is where light is
is the light at the end where darkness is not?
is the light where the light always materializes from?
The times are changing,
and it doesn't help that
there are millions of people
seeing a rock and thinking
a poem, and a stained glass
window stretches across
everything, to break language
apart at the seams, because
one man's tears, are another's
fury, a belly roar of laughter
and a quiet smile,
because it took me a while
to learn, that no one is the same,
and that poetry marks our soul
as with a compass, to a place
that only we know, and the
real treasure is understanding,
and trying to fill
those sand clogged shoes,
and perhaps we'll never understand,
but see ourselves in the ashes
of another, our calm compatriot
poetic brother that speaks
with gumdrop rhymes, and
candy corn adjectives
to give us a treat of his life.
An empty page lies before me
Pure and white, as all untouched things are
Soon to be covered with ink black as night
And I am the perpetrator
Is this a sin, to desecrate such innocence?
Should I regret the destruction I know will take place?
Destruction I will inevitably cause
Pure and white; an epitome of the light
Ink black as night; soon to smother without remorse
Hand shaking, feeling what Ink cannot
Ink is the weapon, nothing more
I am the monster; destroyer of the pure
In my fervent heart,
You knew I treasured you
But you didn’t return those tender feelings
Just see the fumes arise from the consuming fire
Because my wicked desires wasted away into embers
I love you…I love you…These feelings are ever so new!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…These feelings are always true!
You knew I honestly adored you…oh yeah; I always did from the start
But you don’t consider those mild feelings—you wrecked those bits by bits
Ah! Now I’m crammed into the ascending fire, splintering me with the strokes of death
Because of my virtuous desires, I’m wasting away into the pit of corruption
I thought you were encompassed with my passionate kisses
But you wanted to chase after your callous blisses, now I’m faced with crises
I detest the thought of adoring you…but I have to admit—I love you!
I love you…I love you with all of my heart! Do you love me too?
I know the desires that I have constructed for you never occurred in your heart
I know in the bottom of my heart that you were only enticed by your sick pleasures
You’re dumping me into the raging fire and you’re a sneaky little liar
Because I ain’t lying like you do deceitfully to me—I’m in love and I can’t draw back my desire
You brought magnificence in my eyes, comforting angel
But I’m subsiding into the cavernous fire
Because I surrender to my legit desire
How could I free from the embrace that yanks on to me?
You brighten up my dreams and set me free from reality’s calamity
I love you…I love you…These feeling relieve me from the blue!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…I adore your every existence—do you get the clue?
You knew I kept this feeling inside for so long
Nevertheless, I feel that I belong
In your heart…In His heart…
In my heart…we’ll never depart!
You are my true endeavor
And I wanna win your heart forever!
You’ll always be loved because you’re above beautiful
But, you don’t believe this love will survive in this stranded palace
But I’ll attempt to win you with all of my might and I’ll defeat the malice
Our boundless love is like two fireflies floating in the midnight sky
But you disturbed our greetings and you didn’t even accept the feelings I felt for you
Why did you blow away our interweaved feelings of passion
And blew them away into the heartless fire?
My precious love, why did you diminish my eternal desire?
You knew I worshiped you
In my sensitive heart
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
Deficient air I breathe in my lungs
In this world now I live, daddy's are careless
The children feeling helpless
Mother's have to play two characters
All I can see is the tears
That flow down their cheeks
Why am I disrespected by the one's who I look up to
I stick with my boys, because I never understood
Why girls constantly hate each other
I'm just a youthful girl in cold war
I'm constantly going through it
misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me
I'm just a youthful girl at cold war
Trying to fit in is so called being cool
Its just another word for being someone else fool
If they smoke, dislikes him or her
Then that person does the same
Now its all eyes on me so I have to go along too
Since I look at life at a different angle
I chose to go my own way
If my clothes ain't tight then he isn't going to like me
Being nice it's just a bad finish in the end
I guess I come last, some still say I'm just stuck in my past
As much as my pulverized heart been through
I learned to put off love as it corker, belittlement, and depressed me for years
I'm just a youthful girl in cold war
I'm constantly going through it
misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me
I'm just a youthful girl at cold war
God forbid we should draw inspiration
From fellow neighbors who try to comply
To better a craft, push beyond limitation
Expanding the graveyards where sunsets die
Envy runs rampant within the benign
Sucking the life out of lessons to teach
While sticking new frames on old designs
They rant and rave, practice and preach
And hide there faces while spitting in the wind
Like not being able to face their fears
Like false starts in rearward races begin
Or crying in rainstorms to camouflage tears
They stand for elite ones in business suites
Forgetting of the ones down in the dirt
While reaping rewards and picking the fruit
Anchored in faith that contests such hurt
Protesting the feelings that all of us know
Unlabeled compliance humanely built
Confessing true lies, while hoping to grow
And cover with tree shade their feelings of guilt
Blog? Is that when your sink is clogged with blood?
Oh! I wish I could spell “weirdo”! It really bothers me.
Is it the “e” before the “i”, or the “i” before the “e”?
Now, if it was a German word, I wouldn’t have to try.
I know “ie” is always eee, and “ei”’s always eye.
It doesn’t have a Latin root, so that rule won’t apply …
It really has no hook at all that I can grab it by.
Yes! It’s good old Anglo-Saxon, full of grunts and mangled vowels.
They didn’t have to write it- they’d communicate with scowls.
No! I really can’t spell “weirdo”! Not to write, or speak, or sing …
So the only answer I can find is ... don’t use the bloomin’ thing!
This problem cropped up when I wrote"Mum's Advice Ignored" ...
I'm usually quite a good speller!
Entered in Susan Burch's contest, "Ridiculous Self- exaggerations"
Bleeding so painfully...I escape the light
I try to forget the hardships...brewing in life
But, it's too hard to live this life...this life
Breathing so heavily...I fade away into the night
I try to forget my past...it slits me like a knife
But, it's too hard to live this life...this life
Fight away the monster in my heart
Throw away my sorrow...Take away my wretchedness
Burn away the hideous rage...tearing me apart
Take away the anger...renew my joyfulness
Oh God...please forgive me...
I long for Your cheerfulness... to set me free!
Bleeding so dreadfully...I pray for delight
I try to pray for mercy...for this pain is too much to bear
But it's too hard to live this life...this life...
Fighting back tears...I discover His light
I try to pray for comfort...and I know He is there
I pray for His wisdom...to scare away the strife
And escape from the darkness
I look forward to the afterlife
When there's no sorrow or pain...
When there's no manipulation...no evilness...
no violence...no craftiness...
That time will come!
...A poem dedicated to a character named Koreen Mae Garson (a lady, not a man)...
Your love smokes me like a worn-out cigarette
Your love blemishes me with bite marks
You brush aside the crumbs…now I’m stomped on all over again
Your hugs are constricting like a serpent
Your hugs loses its passion…my fury vigorously sparks
You abandon me cold-bloodedly, now I choke in harsh punishment
Your treachery strangles me…you don't consider my screams of importance
You snatch away my humility and leave me with the crumbs of shame
Your arrogance plants a grave in me…you don't notice that I desire your radiance
You ditch me with senseless remarks and you make me feel game
You ruin my modesty
You stole away my heart’s virtue
You bruise my sustaining dynasty
You complete me with rue
Your conceitedness intoxicates me…
Your arrogance underwhelm thee…
You unscramble my remains and insert me with the liquid of corruption
Your self-confidence leads me to never-ending fate…you disregard my joy
You handle me with maltreatment/enchantment and smudge me with your provoking expression
You crushed me with your cunning plans, now you made me hunt after my prized boy
Your hatred penetrates me with lush, crooked trace
You swap me onto the floor, now I’m smashed into smithereens
Your smiles lose its splendor...your enlightenment gains disgrace
You disown me carelessly…now I spilled your moldering beans
You’re imprisoned by the chains of infuriating heat,
Feeding off the crumbs of deception
In this day and age, I want some recompense
I don't understand it, it jus' don't make sense
that we can write through our entire lives
with all of these damn defective pens
Now, you all know what I'm taking about
a thought comes to you, and you look around
grab one to jot down and just blankness comes out
a clear transcription of thoughts ain't found
Cups, bags, heck whole drawers of colored inks
rattle around days like maracas of empty thought
a reliable pen can't be that difficult me thinks
yet makers design defective models to be bought
that seem to flow like water in a mighty river
when opened and used for the very first time
effortless lines arc mind to paper to deliver
only to sputter, and spot, and splotch the next time
How many brilliant tomes, how many cures for cancer
how many Nobel-winning ideas of sub-particled find
how many deeply spiritual thoughts went unanswered
because, like a well, the damn pen went unprimed?
Maybe I'm unreasonable, and have a penchant for perfection
but if I pick up a pen it should write every curved line,
'stead of pennies, I want it to rain pens from heaven
that work the first, the penultimate, and the very last time
© Goode Guy 2012-09-06
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Lawfully or unlawfully,
When a person commits crime,
His soul has no taste of blood,
He seeks mercy to repent,
From his forcible power,
That was hidden inside his mind,
He seeks salvation forever.
But when another cruel power,
Serves forcibly punishment for him,
Then his soul reminds him a criminal,
An innocent blames him a killer.
Actually circumstances are very powerful,
Opportunist always picks innocents,
Those have painful poverty to curse,
Intelligent people teach them a lesson.
A lesson of crime is unlawful achievement,
A poor can lost his way because
He is poor but he is also innocent,
But professional was never declared criminal.
They are enjoying their lives peacefully,
They are high ranked in society,
Their dignity and honour has a place,
They managed crime but aren’t punished.
Innocents kill innocents when a criminal,
Dies in the eyes of Law, system was shaken,
And struggles itself that is seeking change,
Who shall remove these masks from justice?
Over the centuries had passed away,
Who has learning from innocent deaths?
Only innocents were born to wear pain,
But a master mind is always well-respected.
Professionals has their class for protection,
Where they care for eachother to hide crime,
They honour eachother for a declaration of respect,
That’s why law and system has innocent death.
The hour is late and my mind has been spent
my head is hollow, filled with spider’s fluff…
No, no that’s not exactly what I meant,
but I’ve used up my word ration on… stuff.
I wrote all day long, I’m thinking in song
and poetic forms are coming out wrong.
Morpheus, I believe I need some sleep.
Tell me, where do you keep the counting sheep?
up or down my spine..
burning up my mind..
the apple don't fall..
far from the ugly tree..
muttered neath my breath..
damn I'm a heifer..
the anger died..
a swift and sudden death..
what apple he asked
what tree he dared
and I cried..
Looking up at all the lights that you can't appreciate
Among the city life I wonder:
What's out there; who's out there for me?
From what I do the thoughts remain in constant circulation.
From what I write will my life be revered or will it be viewed
As a man who struggled to persevere. The outlets in which
I drain my power are far from self-sustaining, and although
Straining, they jolt along. The truth behind his words
Is an authors saddest and most powerful story. His life; in relation
To all that surrounds him. His light; in all that's growing dim.
The complex written in small words as a reminder, not of spite,
But to remember life and what has been survived. An outward
Expression to set yourself free; hoping for understanding but never sympathy.
I do not know?
REJOICE WITH ME BECAUSE I HAVE FOUND THE COIN I LOST LUKE 15:9
WHEN MY FRIEND CALLED to tell me the story of how she lost
One of her expensive hearing aids
It sounded similar of the lost coin
Diane described how she had taken care of 5 or 6 errands in a day
During that time she placed her hearing aids in her pocket
When she returned home
One of them was missing
Diane hurried back to all places she had been
Retracting every step she searched for the precious item
Her voice held such amazed joy and gratitude
As she related the moment of actually finding the tiny hearing aid
No wonder Jesus used a story of losing and finding something of value to describe the joy God has over “one sinner who repents
When I hesitate to let go of an old hurt
Avoid repenting of my wrong doings
I hope the memory of my friend’s enthusiastic discovery
Will nudge me to give the Holy One another reason to rejoice
Readings and Gospel
Romans 14:7-12, Psalm 27:1
Psalm 4, 13-14,
You are powerful even in the darkest of days... I prayed for Your insight
Night and Day...every pondering moment.
You responded to my prayers in many unique ways...You made my spirit take flight
What should I say? You scrubbed off my lament.
You relieved me from distress
You fearlessly strengthened my hope
and frayed my fear
Now I'm in high spirits with freewill and delight...
and I must confess
You wiped away the boundless tears, shattering my negativity...
your love is crystal clear now!
Am I still that hovering angel...yearning for some light?
Am I still that naive spirit, giving in to the darkness and seeking plight?
I know God loves me, but I doubt Him still
God revealed His love with my whole family...but i don't feel right
I know God cares for us, I see no sign of Him or His will...
God dealt with us with patience and kindness, but I can't yield on to His radiance so full of might
You are fruitful even in the darkest hours...I prayed for Your delight
To fall upon me day and night...effecting my every thought process
You promised me Your blessings and upcoming Kingdom every time I consider Your Word... You made my dreams come true and lingered around me despite
My bitter, spiteful words that I didn't mean to say... Is there any hope that I'll ever be successful during this time of cheerlessness
But, I believe God is a merciful creator!!
Emotions fall to meaningless cliché
attempting to unravel lover’s mind,
and plummeting through endless fields of grey
though vibrant you, poetic threads unwind.
Obstructed by the trials two lives have brought,
the beauty seeks its eloquent release;
expression, though we surely have been taught,
will fail when all poetic urges cease.
The promise made, ensuring we survive
stirs not the timeless scribble of the pen,
though every small betrayal so alive
does beckon me to empty page again.
The passionate alone can drive the quill;
as such, it seems my pain is stronger still.
Eternal Father saw outnumber of people’s sins
Sad with what He created
He wanted to destroy the world
People hurting each other
Jesus Christ stopped Him
Told the Father He would go down to earth
Take People’s cruelty
To start His power over people
He told the Father people would understand
Just don’t destroy the world
Believed people to be one
Eternal Father searched a woman
To conceive and bear a Son
Angiel Gabriel spoke to Mary
You have found favor from God
Holy Spirit will shine over you
You are to name Him Jesus Christ
He will save people from their sins
To save destruction of the world
Jesus Christ created a Church
For People to be Universal
People don’t understand
In there people are saved
What are these other churches?
In there you are not saved
Don’t be fooled
By the Christ’s like religions
There is only one
Deal to the Father
Be Universal to His Church
To understand the Two Greatest Commandments
“Love God all your mind, heart, body and soul”
Second is “Love your neighbor as yourself”
When we love our neighbor, Covers the 1st Greatest Commandment
Other Churches are misleading people
Thought they love Jesus Christ
Person who created their Church
Was the person they believed and loved
Jesus Crist is very hurt
People don’t know in His Church
In others you’re condemned
There are pickup trucks and pick up lines
Pickup sticks and stick up blinds
Blind man’s bluff and kick the can
Candy apples – Candy Man
Hersey bars and Hersey kisses
Mr. Goodbar – fish Paul’s Mrs
St. Pauli’s beer and Miller Lite
The light of love and dark of night
Night time kisses – bed time stories
Bible verses of God’s glories
Glory to God in the highest
The height of deception a midnight tryst
And try as I might, I can’t recall
Where I was going with this at all
Suffice it to say upon more reflections
I was hooked on the words and on their connections.
Mental I am locked up again.
Crazy with thoughts blessed being a man.
As the storms brew through the sun shine.
Sanity will come in this life of mine.
Haunts me…it smothers me…
I can’t handle the smell of burning sage
It overpowers me…will I EVER be free?
Grasps on to me…it bothers me…
I can’t expose my courage on stage
It’s horrendous…will you EVER pay the fee?
Reigns upon me…It chases after me...
I can’t let loose my youthful imagination, flipping page to page
It towers over me…will I EVER joyfully flee?
Recoils from affliction… tracking me down…
I can’t shed the grief that lead to rage
It pulls me back…will I EVER be a budding tree?
It surprises me still, how devoted I am,
You're a form of religion, I will be your lamb.
To herd or to slaughter, or do what you will,
I'm yours for the taking, a vessel to fill.
I've found my addiction, but it's one that won't feed
On a liquid or tablet, but a different need.
For it's writing of you that's my ultimate vice,
And no matter the danger I'll pay any price.
It kills me that you are the prize I can't get,
For the moment at least, so I can't touch you yet.
And I hold you in my world of paper and ink,
But the pages are fragile, you burn and you sink.
Three R’s – are they still relevant
Or do you wonder where they went
They’ve been replaced it seems to me
By something let’s call the three Ts
Reading, writing, rithmatic
Have been replaced – they didn’t stick
It’s now texting, typing, tapping
That has the kids all yapping
Pen and paper practice – no longer being done
Everything is keyboard – cursive? – There is none
Soon there will be adults that practically are lame
When handed pen or pencil and asked to sign their name
They’ll want to use a pointer and a list from which to click
For one who still likes writing – this future makes me sick
Mr. Copperhead went to the copper mines
to see what fortunes he could find
Pick and shovel followed close behind
On a burrow named Ole Bleu
Mr. Copperhead was boon-town sick
He struck so much ore
Even pranced around like he was city slick
Though Ole Bleu toted the pick and shovel
And now the sacks of ore too
With all the excitement Mr. Copperhead had forgot
As he should not
To give Good Ole Bleu the Lil Sugar that
He had promised once they got back into town
Instead he slithered into the nearest saloon
Asked Saray Jane to play him a tune
She was obliging to do so of course
When out came Lil Sugar to sing a little tune
Sweet as can be she looked round the room
For Ole Bleu
Who was no where's to see
Upon finishing the chord
Mr. Copperhead was trashed
Said he would finish all that he'd started
After taking a nap
Well Ole Bleu didn't take to kindly to that
In fact that Ole Burrow knew a trick or two of his own
He made sure Ole Mr. Copperhead was asleep
Then down to the minters he did creep
Made a lot of cents or so they say
Got gussied up for his Lil Sugar
They drank carrot juice and ate bales of hay
Mr. Copperhead awoke after three days to learn
That Ole Bleu had made the mint and laid claims
On the ore mines leaving him to hiss in a fit
As he slithered out of town
Thinking that if he had only given Ole Bleu the Sugar
He had promised he'd still have his ore
Mean while Ole Bleu and His lil Filly Sugar
Were down at the livery getting ready to be hitched
Seeing as now they were filthy rich
As Mr. Copperhead slithered
Down to a town called old dusty ditch
Copyright Adell1 © 2006
I walked in the house.
you were on the couch.
the whole family was there.
you said to me i was not good enough for you.
i said what are you talking about?
he said i dont love you anymore your just not good enough.
so i left the room crying.
then it was all a blanck.
By ‘grievous matter’ with regard to sin mean that the thought
Word or deed which is committed must be either bad in itself
Or severely prohibited
And therefore sufficient to make a mortal sin if we deliberately yield to it
Empty only seconds
And yet I fell so lonely.
I was pushed into a world
I wanted but never could have to my own.
I wanted one night with him
And a thousand from another.
I wanted and I wanted
I never needed.
I will never need it.
I'll face eternity alone
In jealousy and loathing.
Plagued by the desire
Of flings with older beings.
The wise old souls
With a book to his nose.
My everlasting hope
Even when my hope is wasted.
Ever is my hope wasted,
Wasted on these petty dreams of mine.
Always dreaming when the sun still shines
Abound my skin
I shall resign.
I shall grow strong.
I will move on
To distant songs of lovers gone.
I shall move on
And then move on.
We all drift away at one point in our life
We all gottah deal with pointless strife
We all slip and fall on that jagged knife
We crumble away...
we collapse unto the ground with dismay
We decay away...
we abide in the wind and we sway...
We break down...we droop like branches
We smother the daylight with a death gown...we shed like ashes
We all sift out our wishes once in a lifetime
We all gottah fulfill our goals in life before bedtime
We all elapse and flourish around springtime
We hasten away…we all crush into smithereens and grime
Like ashes, we decay...
Until the agony dies away
Until the night blooms into day!
From Greek laos = people
The common state of life in the church
Baptized, non-ordained Christians
Who belong to the people of God
People talking everyday,
But what are they really trying to say?
Words bounce back and forth
Off walls and trees.
Some strike a spark.
Most fall flat.
In the blaze,
Do we actually hear?
With our ears, our hearts?
Words so ineffective.
How to make them know
What the heart understands?
Perseverance and patience.
All will one day be told
In the heart.
they cry heavens light
for the sun has lost it's sight
untile the moon shines
Our family tree will never stop growing…our faith and comfort will never crumble
Love grows here…so have no fear—God is near
My family, though packed up with pride and low self-esteem, still appears humble
Mirth produces joy and our hope gives birth to cheer
God is our Father; who could play this role as skillfully? Who, other than God, created the world so genuinely?
Love comes from He…so scare away the anxiety—God will grant us ecstasy
My family, though packed up with hope and despair, cherishes my soul with glee
Rebirth and life comes from He and our faith should draw near to thee
"i love you sweet boy..we will have fun this summer and be a close and godly family..nighty nit my light"
This summer, I am positive that we will be a close and godly family
But we must be lights of the world…and we must be willing to finish that race of hardships to earn His dignity
By all means, we will have an enjoyable break without paying a fee
But we must be God’s faithful followers…and we must be prepared to follow our Shepherd who is the key
Of never-ending faith and comfort, nourishing us abundantly
He still exists…He unravels the insanity
Of this world and set us free from blasphemy
Watching over us with pure vitality
Give us Your water
Don’t leave us in the gutter
Listen to the words we mutter
I pray that our family tree will look up to you devotedly
In my life
I have loved
And I have been loved
I have hated
And I have been hated
I have tried to kill
And I have had others try to kill me
I have lead others into addiction
And I have lead others out of addiction
I have been a Wolf
And I have been a Lamb
I have always dreamed of just being simple
And my life has always been very complex
I have a dear friend who is a Missionary Nun
And one who is a convict on Death Row
And I love them both equally
And understand them both completely
I have been all that is wrong
And I am all that is right
In our society
I try so hard to help others see and understand
How it feels to be me
Yet I myself can’t fathom why
Anyone would even care
I have been as cold and hard as steel
Yet compassion fills my every moment
I cry every time I watch Forrest Gump
And I rush every time I watch Pulp Fiction
For I have loved with every drop of who I am
And I have drank from the cup of excitement
I am everything you should be
And everything you shouldn’t be
At the same time
Many find comfort in me
And many fear me
Many love me
Many hate me
Yet everyone seems to respect me
While I struggle so hard with self respect
I know our Lord is using me through my poetry
For this gift
I did not learn or earn
It struck me like a bolt of lightning in the night
At the age of 41
And my soul has been in poetic turmoil ever since
When I was nothing I was something
Now I’m something and I’m nothing
But a Poet
And I find great comfort in that
A special thanks to Jesse (Redman) Wasson
Who inspired me to write this poem in his
Last letter to me. Please pray for him he is
fighting a three strikes case for his life.
try "confused poetic travel,1,2,3," some of my better humor- chech with poetry
forms...well at least I think it's funny.
It's sensual in beauty, covets both sunshine, and rain. Elegent in structure, now
is the time for your quiz smarts to reign. Good Luck!!
I do not know?
A TWISTED WORD
NOT BY MISTAKE
WILL SPLIT THE TONGUE
THAT IT FORSAKES…
WHAT WAS THE TRUTH
BECOMES THE LIE
THAT FEEDS THE NEED
TO ONES DEMISE…
THE DISHONEST CLAIM
BUT IT’S FOSTERED BY
THEN LEFT TO GROW
LIKE POTTED WEEDS
CONSUMING MUCH MORE
THAN IT NEEDS…
AND THOSE WHO
WHEN TRUTH BE KNOWN
AND MAKE IT WAIT
OR DISGUISE IT AS
WHAT ANOTHER’S DONE
TO MAKE THEM FEEL
THAT THERE IS NONE…
Is there a phantom poet
Lurking deep inside your pain
Feeding on decadence
In the recesses of your brain
A new pain
A new disguise
Is there a phantom poet
Lingering in your hate
Hollowing your heart
Lost to a lover's fate
A new hate
A new disguise
Is there a phantom poet
Festering in your ear
Sowing the sadistic seeds
Of your malignant fear
A new fear
A new disguise
Is there a phantom poet
Beguiling your muse
Whispering in anonymity
About a writer's ruse
A new name
A new disguise
Is there a phantom poet
Impaled by your pen
Bleeding onto your paper
Time and again
A ylw submaryne
I hate the stupyd thyng!
Paynt yt gryn!
I hate others,
That are objecting me.
I love others,
That are encouraging me.
Who can alter me?
If I don’t accept any device,
I like to tease others,
But always I love to my like,
Dislikes, I always mind,
I amn’t different,
I do as you do,
My mankind is yours
And yours mankind is mine,
Then what’s my weep,
We are traveling in a same boat.
You scratch me, I shall scratch you.
Nobody a third can ruin us.
Don’t be sad, be melancholic
Don’t feel glad, feel Quixotic
In aims to articulate
You become everything you hate
Don’t be sorry, be repentant
You’re not pissed off, you’re infuriated
These memories become
Pieces of a future whole
But that whole is always in the future
So you become a hole to fill with films and literature
An unending and unerring opening
It goes on into endless night
But the next time you’re stifled
Caught for words, tongue-tied
Just say what it is you know
Don’t pry for the superior
“I love you”
There’s nothing more than
I wait crossly
To get picked up straightaway
I wait optimistically
To step into the murky bowels of my car
I can’t advance…
When you’re dragging me to your feet
I can’t progress…
When you’re motivating me to be incomplete
I wait at ease
To get a ride home
I wait with heaps of crotchetiness
To jam myself into the jumbled car
I can’t drive on…
When you’re creating traffic in my dreams
I can’t carry on as fast
When you’re taking your time on the freeway,
Though your obedience beams
You’re jamming my dreams, sweet dream catcher
You’re liveliness gleams…It’s not what it seems... (2)
It’s certainly not what it seems…
Blame it on my dreams!
You’re just a dream come true…
It’s nothing that popped out of the blue…
It’s not that surprising
If you only knew…
Oh, you don’t have a clue…
This infatuation is positively true!
I can’t move on…I can’t drive on… (2)
I can’t ride on the road to victory…
I can’t burst forth by dashing proudly
Until you hit the brakes and cease from
Jamming my exotic dreams
I can’t travel on… I can’t light up the sky…
I can’t dream on and on and on
I can’t drift on and on
I can’t…I can’t move on
I can’t… I can’t!
Until you inspire me to gleam!
(the whispers grow soundless)
I can’t drive on…
I can’t drive on…
I can’t drive on…
I can't...I can't...
I just can't,
I do not know?
Breaking up ain't hard to do. Thank you Neil Sedaka!
I am so happy to see you again,
I wondered where you had been,
Only one problem there is,
We can’t go on like this.
I have to get some sleep,
You have to let me rest,
I don’t want to hear a peep,
I know what is best.
You come inside,
I have no place to hide,
There are rules to be made,
I will not be betrayed!
You have to listen to what I say,
Then maybe we can make it,
Through another day,
But this is a fact,
I am glad to see you back,
But never again,
Can we go through this and win,
One of us will have to go.
Now you are words And I am man,
You have the largest words in the land,
I am still smarter, I know how to think,
And no you won’t, drive me to drink.
You cannot consume me,
Like you have in the past,
Not if this relationship,
Is going to last.
So there you have it, in a nut shell,
And if you don’t like it, go to……
ring the bell!
Please tell me why
I need to know before I can say goodbye
Like why can I not fly
And why do we all eventually die
Why is chewing with my mouth open rude
Why is farting out loud considered crude
Why can’t we make love when you have a headache
Why does chocolate cause me a to get a toothache
Why is living together before marriage a sin
Why can’t a stranger be my next of kin
Why do I have to brush my teeth before I sleep
Why does the father of the bride weep
Why do I have to register to vote
Why do castles have a moat
Why do people break your heart
Why do we call a meat pie a pie and not a tart
Why do countries go to war
Why do we not eat all of the fruit including the core
Why are people so mean
Why is a child’s room never clean
Why do kids bully others
Why do I have a sister but no brothers
Why does a man where pants and a woman a skirt
Why do you get dirty if you play in the dirt
Why do we need to drink and eat
Why do vegetarians not eat meat
Why do we have to do number one’s and two’s
Why can’t you have one-man crew’s
Why will an engine not work without oil or grease
Why can’t we have world peace
Why can’t I have subsequent serves
Why do you get on my nerves
Why are people homeless
Why are probationary drivers reckless
Why do some say grace at the table
Why to some is the bible not considered fable
Why do we as kids have imagainary friends
Why is it for some this never ends
Why do we not have enough water
Why in China do they not want a daughter
Why do people commit crimes
Why do different states run on different times
Why is Mr Howard still in power
Why are there sixty minutes in an hour
Why do I continue to ask why
Simply because I am an inquiring guy
I still don’t know why
But unfortunately it’s time to say good-bye
I do not know?
In someplaces it comes in many colors.
Numbness prevails over me,
Masking me… sending me pangs of suppression
Deadness tears its way inside of me,
Consuming me… devouring me with yanks of oppression
Darkness frowns upon me,
Dragging me down…sending me scraps of sadness
Gloominess molds me inside and out,
Chasing after me…surrendering to my wretchedness
Shadiness lurks above me and it wildly swarms,
Murdering me…scarring me with my unbroken misery
Murkiness blankets over us like troubled storms,
Shaking us up…bribing me with heaps of boundless fury
Edginess overrides me like a wraithlike form,
Misleading me…sneering at my failures and agony
Blurriness absorbs in this uncanny terrain…no sign of storm
Still, I’m withering into sand, grinding into shards of tragedy
It must be asked how we ended up here.
For this place is perilous and wondrous and necessary.
Who has brought us here?
Our own self deliverance?
Our own self loathing?
But I believe our way out is still the way in
"How" is the only justification
The only "reason"
The only "why"
This "how" embodies the soul.
Remember the soul?
This "how" embodies the very essence of all
For it is my belief that this "how" embraces the necessary as well as the unnecessary
I embrace the me that should be cast away.
I have held (cradled) the part of me that does me harm and promises the false….
I lovingly hold that part dear and let it fade.
It must be and it shall.
I must be more
but no more than that.
Sloth begets in a soul
A spirit of indifference
In our spiritual duties and
A disgust for prayer
you where to hold my hand
and look at me, my heart might
skip. I would look away, say
“The sky is lovely.” Yet there
are clouds covering the sky,
like I cloud my words meanings, for
in truth, I don’t think anything of the sky,
nor trees, nor flowers when I’m
with you. Only you. Therefore, I think
I need you, and like the
infamous poets before me, I will
attempt to immortalize you in lines,
and woo you with verse. If that should, however,
fail, I lose you to the wind, and men
yet to come, and without
you, I’ll be of the trees Orpheus
sings to, with somber branches and
lost leaves. I will talk and write of your
eyes, an electric, endless brown.
Of your voice, drifting in
the air and stopping at nothing
to please. Of your figure and grace,
destroying wills of men like the Sirens song,
yet thicker and more potent,
lingering like cigar smoke in the air.
Eventually, yes, my mind will move on,
but frozen in time would be my
emotions for you in these lines,
and if ever you need to feel loved,
you need only read.
If it where to work though, the
story takes a different path, which is
one I leave to your imagination.
An obscurity found in most love
stories. ‘They lived happily ever after,’
would, could, be us, where you to
dip your fingers (what gentle,
beautiful fingers), into the well
of my palm.
The choice then is yours then,
my lovely R------, what’ll it be?
To turn away from You is to fall
To You is to stand
To remain in You is
To have a sure support
I do not know?
I need to write..
I need to sit down,
Think about this mess,
I need to write..
I need to express how I feel,
I need to write,
I need to keep this real,
I need to write;
If you can’t be true to yourself,
How can anyone else be tru to you?
I guess I need to write..
I need to gather all my thoughts,
Put em in line & write,
I need to write..
I need to write…
So much goin through my head,
Who can I tell it to?
*Sighh* I need to write..
M y brother turned his back to a flaming sky
said, "If ya seen one sunset you seen em all."
I was slowly losing my tiny empire
It was so upsetting to watch it fall
Every night before we'd go to bed
My brother would read from, "The Lord of the Rings"
"We only see shadows", my momma said
We'd light up a joint while she threw the I'Ching
And when she read it, we were all ears
"The superior man always perceivers
In the morning, we'd fire up Mother, and hit the road
I was " Two Toke Tito" back then
The toe headed stoner bandito back when..
Mom threw the TV out the window
when they pretended to land on the moon
I made up my very own language back then
Had my first magic mushroom sandwich back when
They killed those kids at Kent State
and Abbie tried to levitate the Pentagon
"Mother" was our psychedelic house on wheels
We headed south to land with a little more sun
Back then there were Gypsies in Mexico
the locals would gather and wait for the show
Momma told them that we were just hippies and there wouldn't be one
Our cat, "Hash" ran away down in Navidad
at least it was a place where he would never lack something to eat
The darnedest cat that we ever had
He loved to smoke dope and he was never bothered by the heat
We always wanted just one more year
in the tropical mountains where the air was so clear
and the mornings were cool enough to see our breath
We tried at the border for another year
when they turned us away it felt an awful lot like death
That was back then..
Back when Timmy O leary had something a lot cleaner than meth
Now thirty eight years have come and gone
My oldest brother's republican and momma passed on
My real dad did too, but I didn't know him anyway
Now I'm a blue collar stiff fighting to survive
I swore that the system wouldn't take me alive
It makes me feel like dying sometimes, That's all I've got to say
I still remember when
My brother turned his back on a flaming sky
and said, "If ya seen one sunset ya seen em all."
This page is not blank
Not just empty lines.
I fill it with what
I'm afraid to speak.
What I fear the most
Crawls through these pages
Not caring at all
that it scratches
this clean white paper.
If I were to leave it
inside myself instead...
So into this maze of white lined pages
It must be let out
To rove and to roam
Free to be itself
I do not know?
Wish I could tape my mouth shut
To keep myself from spreading
This part of me
Into the world
But my lips are stronger than that
I’d break that seam
With my verbal abuse
And spit fire at humanity
glimpse of blitheful calmness
Haunted the garden I nourished so well
sense of fulfillment lingered in my thoughts
grasped a positive, enigmatic idea
And planted it on this conceptual notebook
gratisfying radiance showers peace, I must confess
It gave immortality to my garden I protected-- it's quite swell
piece of cherishment hovered in my thoughts
clutched an audaciously, cryptic idea
And recorded it on this invigorating poem book!
Another 99 poems
closer to the truth!
I am catching up!
So we’re going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly
quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named
Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely
battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly
in the outback, and lets not forget pixie’s perky prominent pal that is a bossy,
bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to
all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply
choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty
creepy words that really don’t say what they needs to say, but confuses even the
gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby,
ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy,
flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, “Dotty” watching her dreamy,
dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie’s dumpy daffy deafly, dinky
donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the
daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely
droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly,
goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur
Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but
that I did write, it is called “The Picnic” and I thought this would be some fun
reading for all here.
Such a built up tension
a fiery burning sensation
I become an export station
I scream, let it out
It is trapped
I know not what it is
but what it is
is pain, longing, depression,hope
anticipation, loss, gifted, Jaded,
faded glory, a whory version
of my true potential
and release is so damn crucial
I write to escape and indulge
Relieve me Pen
Good, bad, sad,
Here for me and who will see
But let it out
Lest I pout
For lack of expunge
And take a fatal plunge
And dive head first to meet my thirst
and bleed on paper
To see my true feelings,
Ah! Curious soul! Do you really believe
you are reading ink on paper? Nay!
Nay! It is blood spilled from a broken heart!
Turn away, my friend, for my soul is wretched!
my words pour from my fingertips
in the hope of understanding
to make the world a little clearer
and all they do is muddle it
I write furiously with no comprehension
of what it is I write
but with the full understanding that I have to write
always hoping that someone will read and understand
tosee the clear picture
of the portrait I painted
of a person unknown to all
but existing in a place that well known
to the point that people seek him without fully
comprehending what they seek
himself intervenes on their behalf and puts out his hand,
which most reject for people want to make their own way,
but still I write
not fully comprehending what I am writing
till the point where I lay down in exaustion
When I first started writing it was all fun and games.
Now that I'm a poet for hire, things haven't been the same.
I been to stress out with people telling me what to write, and when to write.
I feel like I lost my "poetry rights."
It's like I'm fighting to be-you know me.
I know my dream is to get every ones ears to remember me, but I didn't know it
would bring so much stress upon me.
I feel like every time I write they always want the best of me.
Sheesh, come on now!
I'm only sixteen!
But for some odd reason I can't seem to quit.
Not even a little bit.
How many books do I really have to put out?
Before I become a "Poetic sellout?"
Moving up over through
All I've known is felt through the end
Never a beginning always ending
Falter as I may, myself I hold - alone in company
Tress in to limestone pillars of my great hall
Great as the Norse and proud as well
Threads of time woven with clumsy hands led by blind eyes
Thus is the expanse of the web of life The Great Existence
Not where but it's the being that is. Is what I am and
What we are
Do- Re- Mi-
Do..Dodo flightless bird
fearless of humans; easy prey!
Extinct so long many believe you a myth....
Re master of universe
mirror image of Ra...worshiped
by millions seeking a ray of hope..
a ray of sunshine warming heart and soul...
Mi.. Mi.. ME
Calm me.. breath..deeply breath..
help me.. bless me.. sing my song..
Do - Re- Mi-
Fa- So- La-
Fa away from everything;
everyone I love.. wishing..
So- so- Sewing
Grandma's old sewing machine..
bright colors.. tiny stitches..
warm quilts... So- so- Sew!
La- La- La-
Sadness.. Dark.. gloomy..
overwhelmed.. lonely.. Tears..
La-La-La-...LA! LA! LA!
La- Ti- Do-
ti-Ti- piercing.. Heart weary..
Ti.. Ti.. Tea!
a hot cup with lemon and honey..
faith....hope.. a ray..
Do- stronger now!
Do- Do- Do what you have to!
find strength.. it's there..deep inside you..
survive! grow! learn! LIVE!!
DO- RE- MI- Fa-So- La- ti- do!
Drinking Ace of Twinkle's Bar..
Had to pee, but knew how far..
He'd have to walk,and didn't feel up to par..
So Twinkle, Twinkle,
Tinkled.. in a jar...
And was promptly tossed
From Twinkle's Bar..."
My life is full of chaos and mess I can't fix but I wish I could, and leaves me to ask:
Why me? How am I any different from anybody else except my appearance,besides that I have
feeling just like you and they can get hurt just like your can. I can't express myself the
way I want it because all my word are jumbled up in my head and going faster ythan my
hands can type everything I mean to say; if I forget to say something then this poem is in
vain and I have defeated the purpose for writing at all.
understanding lacks her mysteries
all in my head
what wonder asunder?
a complex calibration
with my ego.
all in jest!
but, is it really?
what is the nip in the bud?
finger to lip, I pause,
eyes meandering meaninglessly,
comprehending nothing, I
I've tried to make words rhyme at the end of their stanzas,
but rhyme wasn't too perfect for those impersonal stanzas,
the Iambic pentameter was right, but it required rhyme for intensity,
so rhyme didn't agree with Iambic pentameter in every verse;
I paraphrased every stanza with a rephrase,
but frustration stepped in with a must of an exact phrase,
oh, can't a stanza rhyme with syllables without a count?
Not exactly the rhyme of Terza Rima as in The Divine Comedy!
Was Dante a perfect rhymer or an impulsive dreamer...
while his love happily played the lyre?
And did that lyre ever fail Beatrice so refulgent and proud?
Or did lovely Beatrice break the lyre?
Then again, vowels became consonants ironically,
and vowels and consonants all out of idealism;
and stressed and unstressed syllables created a strange idiom...
of consonants and vowels spelling out eccentric idiopathy:
the disease so unknown in literature, not idiocy,
but idiopathy became idiosyncrasy...oh, you figure, reader!
Chief sources are Seven
Pride, Greed, Lust
Anger, Gluttony, Envy and Sloth or laziness
Commonly called 7 Capital Sins or 7 Deadly Sins
The world is changing
Come on now people.
This world is changing.
Everything has become illegal.
Congress is to blame.
Trying to stay alive - in this world of lies.
Is like gathering up honey then living in hives.
We are melting down.
Need to move to higher ground.
It won’t be long.
Before, the Americans are gone.
Can you tell me why – why – USA..
It’s not my fault - that I am white.
And what my for farther’s had done - back in the day..
Where you be?
Tryin' to find you before,
I get to twenty-three
With pen and paper
I sit here and wander,
what there is
that I could possibly ponder
for someone to read.
with sunlight cascading,
with the mists
twisting their way
through a green canopy
to the south
as I look at
the panoramic view
from a rock ledge,
on a stone face
hundreds of feet up.
broken and confused,
landing within reach
of the parchment
its inked on,
lasting long enough
to get a verse or two.
Letting ones mind
race and wander,
learning the art
with a heart of stone
loathing not having
someone to write about.
I wanna tell you I love you,
But I don’t know what to say.
I better think of something soon,
Because I might not have another day.
Maybe I’ll just tell you I love you,
But I’m afraid of what you’ll say.
I better say something,
If I don’t then I’ll never know what you would’ve said.
Maybe I’ll write you a note,
Just telling you how I feel.
But when I tell you,
I’m going to try and keep it real.
But now, as I sit here,
I’m thinking of what to say.
I better think of something soon,
Because I might not have another day.
No joy or happiness I find
as I stand before the rack..
But death and despair both are there
Bold in white and black..
She was a mathematician
her favorite word was phi
They captured and they killed her
just to see her die...
Drugs and gangs and streets at war
fill each and every page..
As far away and here at home
a righteous war we wage..
Wishes denied a dark trespasser
that hides behind a mask..
Till desire for what the others have
becomes our urgent task..
In a nanosecond I would fly
till I was far away..
In hopes to find a better place
safe to work and play..
A place where no hatred grew
where everyone was free..
Can you imagine just what on earth
our headlines then would be..
Where will love take me but up a hill and then back down one, yet this sounds so familar,
like a rollercoaster ride its playing with my emotions. It funny how you can say things
so sweet and pretend like you mean them to make me feel so good but all you was really
doing for me teaching how stupid I am to fall in love and how you can do me any kind of
way and I not realize what your doing. So quick to believe in love to give my heart to you
but you think this is some kind of game; a trophy to be tossed any type of way and when I
tarnish you have no use for me. The cruelty of the world I have no control over I cry
before I take the time to understand I have to move on; withholding any love I have left
to give I am insecure, refusing to truly try again.
Dry skin caused by frozen winter winds
Caused by over washing
Too much caution given to cleanliness
The rough ridges distinctly defined
Will soon go away with care and time
These epidermal deserts
Are greatly in need of an oasis
Some lotion for lubrication
To make the redness in the deserts turn to tan
And now I wonder, why?
Why am I writing about my hands?
Nothing in this world is too expensive for you
I’d buy everything
Nothing in this world is too heavy for you
I’d do anything
Nothing in this world is too difficult for you
I’d work all the thing
Nothing in this world is impossible for you
Only for you! For you! Cos I love you
Now would you?
What about you?
Late one night
I decided to write...
While musing in silence
My computer was in defiance
As I scooted to the keys
My thoughts began to be un-eased
As the program stood still
I kept rebooting until~
I realized what was happening
That ole boy needed new programming
He kept doing the rebooting boogie
‘Til every virus was gleaned, and tossed away-- Happily
There’ll be no more of that boogying today
Two days before the deadline.
Fingers flying frantically,
Condensing a lifetime’s achievement
In 500 words or less.
Eyes are bloodshot from the long night, spent
Staring and scanning every line, every blip
With the careful precision of a surgeon.
Secretly beautifying my faults
Like an embalmer, decorating wounds,
To make even a dead body presentable.
All to impress anonymous judges
Who are endowed with the authority
To confirm my life’s worth.
Judges who grade lives—
Out of a pool of million—
Superficial enough to be condensed
In 500 words or less.
I do not know?
Constantly into dire
Straits of manipulations
Churning round in
My mind, never going
To be defined only
Rhymed over time
Line after line constantly
Being refined only to
Find that back again
They come words always
Being undone over
Again in my head.
I do not know?
Fom Greek pentecoste = the fiftieth day after Easter
Originally feast on whichIsrael celebrated
The establishment of the covenant with God
On Mount Sinai
Through the Pentecost event in Jerusalem
It became for Christians the feast of the Holy Spirit
I entered the poetic cave.
Lit all the alliterations I could, so I could see.
I had hoped for a burlesque show, but settled on ordering a sausage canzone
from the pizzeria.
When I was in Vietnam, under Carpe Diem, he would often reflect on the visual
power of the Nazi Chatushka. I thought it was a cinqku, that if we went before the
Clerihew, the mob would not attempt to implant us in concrete.
As I watched him adorn his head with a crown of sonnets, the crystalline form of
the cave around us became evident.
I drove my Diamante outside in hopes of catching a prehistoric didactic take to
Sadly, my diminished hexaverse was overpowered by three Japanese martial
artist witches in their doduitsu.
I ordered a double dactyl, and downed it in one shot......
to be continued.....
can you explain
away my pain?
if I say "please don't"
if I say "please do"
if I ask "why did you"
you say "I didn't hear"
if I ask "why didn't you
you say "I didn't hear"
they spoke; you heard
I spoke; they heard
I pinched me; I hurt
I screamed; I heard
is it only to your ear
that I am silent?
Someone recently said something about,
"the door is ajar"
I scratched my head and challenged him,
" A door is a door, and a jar is a jar...
Where'd you go to school?
How'd you get as dumb as you are?"
He started to argue,
But I'm too clever for that,
Next he'll tell me,
"Tell people to go s__t in their hat!"
Now, who's gonna wear a hat like that?
I think in his belfry,
He's got a bat...
And what is a belfry?
Is that when I fry an egg?
And this "chicken and the egg" debate...
Oh, I can't wait,
To remind these fools once more,
Silly, they both come from the same store..
And, someone explain this
"Man in the Moon" junk??
That's hard to believe,
unless he got a shovel,
Cause the moon is rather hard...
That anyone still believes that
Must be some kind of retard...
And, besides, everyone knows,
That's where Jackie Gleason goes...
And the early bird catches the worm?
Then why ain't the afternoon birds
all dead from starvation?
And why would a worm get up early??
And hell haveth no fury
Like a woman scorched...
I disagree, anyone down there
Is gona be a bit toasted..
Kill two birds with one stone??
Gotta' be a boulder than,
And they ain't easy to throw...
The journey of a thousand miles,
Starts with an instep??
What do you gotta step in??
One in the hand is worth
two in the bush??
Really?? You mean thorns,
Dead men don't tell no tales??
They don't say anything,
far as I know
Something good is worth waiting for???
Only if it pays interest...
I don't know...
I guess you all think I'm mad...
I'm not angry,
Worries etched in despair and blood.
Outrageous attempts to masquerade us.
Righteously hidden in the wrongs.
Drowning out the truth.
Significantly affecting youthful minds.
I do not know?
When I'm huddled up on the floor at 3 AM
furiously scribbling down any and every thought
that pours out of my mind
The question strikes me
"Why the hell do you write?"
The question is honest and relevant
For the fame?
No, not for the fame
I couldn't give a damn about the fame
Hell no, are you an idiot?
The chances of anyone reading my stuff are low enough as it is
Let alone actually paying me for it
To get your feelings out?
Possibly, it has kept me from losing my mind
on quite a few occasions
But I've kept everything inside
and let a brutal war rage on in my head
as I sat in silence
on just as many occasions
I think in the end
I write for the connection
The possibility of someone glancing at my words
"Hey, I know how he feels."
Or maybe some lonely, mixed up kid
not unlike myself
reading and saying,
"Wow, someone actually understands."
If I could make a connection,
just one connection
then screw everything else.
I do not know?
Here we go folks; and, yes, this is a hard one....Any winner, should that unlikely
event take place, ought to be enshrined in the Mensa Society, and declared a
puzzle-master, cryptanalyst genius, and be lauded throughout the land....So, don't
shy away from trying....who knows??....maybe the C.I.A. will hire you at $250,000
a year, and your fame and name will spread throughout the world!!! So, come'on
guys & gals, lets get crack'en.......
Part No. 1) Question; "It might be related to a hungry person eagerly devouring a
hero sandwich ravenously."
Firtst Clue; "One might say the sandwich has a hostile attitude to such a would-
Today's Clue No. 2; "It moves between 2 worlds, and its bite is deadly.
Today's Clue No. 3:Lusitania
Today's Clue No. 4: Shark of Steel
Part No. 2) Question; "Adults and tots play with its parts.
First Clue; "Calif. Gold Rush."
Today's Clue No. 2; "Damn that Zam, he's a wham!!"
Today's Clue No. 3; Tinker.
Today's Clue N0. 4: Aqualung breakfast dish
Part No. 3) Question; ""It moves from state to state, but uses neither automobile
First Clue; "It may allude to something you'd display in your living room."
Today's Clue No. 2; "Tom Bell's home is well known as a place that it does
Today's Clue No. 3; It's nature makes it hard to find, though it is everywhere.
Today's Clue No. 4: Oscar Meyer's Cleaner
Part No. 4; (Bonus Question); "If things go ever more poorly,
And you can no longer find...
Your confusion award, you may
find these 2 words on your sword."
First Clue; "Sometimes "Pennies From Heaven" have a long wait before the
Today"s No.2-correct answer to pt. No.3 gives you half answer to this one
Today's clue No. 3;It could rhyme with immigration.
Today's Clue No. 4: Not a word you're likely to hear used. Noun. Act of becoming
I speak wise words
So no one understands
The phrases that I use
My jokes or commands
Listen very closely
To the things that I say
Cause it'll be worth something
If you don't get it
I can't explain
Abruptly my details
Are not so plain
Just except it
As nothing more
Than a couple of words
I say when I'm bored
Write some lines that make no sense,
Switch from present to past tense,
Make readers feel they must be dense,
While flunkies rush to your defense.
Mutilate your metaphors,
Logic left on foreign shores,
Use some words you can't define,
(Did you look them up online?)
How else but silent can eyes close?
How thickly spread is your pathos!
Be sure to smother any rhyme,
Melodious meter made a crime.
And though we're loath to criticize,
We're confounded how you won first prize.
Mortal sin is grievous offense against the law of God
This sin is called mortal because it deprives us of spiritual life
Brings everlasting death and damnation of the soul
Stammer and trip
Over my own words
That come back to haunt me
Like sewer turds
Buzzards fly about my house
Guess they know I thought to douse
Myself in gasoline
And become a self-torched
For some of my words
But there I go,
With my mindless chatter,
When will I learn
It doesn't matter
What I may think
Or I may say
The world goes on
In it's own way.
I do not know?
Love is flying
no I was not
trying to run from you.
If I was
you caught me by my heart,
I knew it was right from the start.
Why would I run
that was sent from
would I do such a thing
just to get a bee sting
on my heart
or possibly a wedding ring
from the start.
Where could I run
to hide from love
because there are so many combinations
flying from heart to heart
in the air above.
Don't run,don't hide
always finds a place
If it's in your heart
no matter what
it still finds somewhere
So don't let love
keep it while
you have it
even if it's
just for one day
because like time flies
love flies because
it's still looking
for a place to resign.
Find true love
in your fine design
because now I'm
about your love
beacuse I've found it
and it's all mine.
Manic Depression is all she can say, Manic Depression her moods swing
One minute she's up, one minute she's down, like riding on a constant
So if she doesn't answer her front door or the phone it only means please,
leave her alone.
And do not take it personally these manic phases that you see, it's a
chemical imbalance inside her brain that makes her act a little insane.
As I stare this blank page,
I realize why;
Why could I not spill my thought?
What's wrong with me, the words gone?
All I want is to write, for freedom
Of thought is rejoicing.
But, I can’t do no more;
Lost my style, perhaps?
Is this the so-called writer’s block?
I could not even spell love,
Nor hate, for the spirits dead;
Long dead, I’m done.
Blinking is what I got;
Pictures on it I see no more;
Just but a white page.
As I stare this blank page
I realize why;
Why could I not spill my thought?
Ah, this is not…
A writer’s block, simply
I am out of love.
I wouldn't be scant. Its codfish lies to pull ferociously all up in its cube. The forks stomped the ponies. Why did your
goodness lift our leaf? What do ideas ride like? You sound like that laugh. You persuasively divide. All obscene feet
straddled under his lingust. What is all over the drifting harpsicord? Exude yourself betwixt the calamity. I will be snoring
impudent cities. What is through that fatility? What is beside my heel? No fountain pens, please. I could be spitting
underneath your cognizance. Boldly you malnourish the fence. You usually ventillate. Bend your travesty. Thirty-five
damp beets are sophmorically trampled. You will run beside gods. You look like a surreal brevity. You will boil inside
caftans. I diddle. I shouldn't have been hopping beyond your vertebre. You will thrust along protests. The pedestrian left
by our digit. His rabbit accepts a serpent. His floppy money was hydrating with her heart. I love piston. Her list of fury
resonated next to the thunder. You smell like morse code. His slinky magical mirror was feeling all over my Swahili. You
will snap without tiger boots. You like waxy provisions. Hi, I'm a stormy panhandler. With your mildew were eight
blogging skaters. My philanthropy whisps like a plasma. Sufficiently I snap. You remind me of every neat-o flamingo.
You explicate mates. Drip your disgust. No car keys, please. A combustion tickles an insertion. Hi, I'm a cold cole. You
sheepishly evade. You finally exude. All your abyss' are belonging to us.
I do not know?
there is a warmer feeling
To end a happy day
a heightened edge of satisfaction
Whetted honed to slice to peeling
dulled down senses self defences
like a pair of scratchy lenses
helping insights to unfold
and enfold the mess and clutter
That we mutter as we utter
To better this our day of action
gaining traction. As reaction
to feeling kindly certain
It is good to end this way
emotional velocity halted..
safe and secure.. spiritless..
Layers of pain.. eclipse
and enclose..restricting ..
Languish not behind the wall..
surrender to the magnitude of emotion..
Escape the enchantment of safety..
passions unleashed.. fireworks erupting
Delight in the wonder of Love..
thrill to the sensations of life!
~ rejoice as the bricks tumble..
~ shout as the wall falls....
You must transcend transcendence!
And then transcend the transcendence
Sometimes it`s fun to remember the past...
Sometimes we cry remembering them, but why do we cry?
Is it because it hurts to remember them, or is it because we cannot get them
This is the final clue,
Before I tell you,
Which I will by tomorrow,
And end your puzzle sorrow,
Though I hope someone
does pass this test,
And be smug with all
I do not know?
Unable to succeed in my dreams
A yearning of what I need to let go
Is impatiently dying to be freed
and spread it's wings
I feel like there is someone else inside of me
scratching it's way out-while I bleed
spreading rapidly-like a deathwish disease
But I always make sure I keep my dark past
And my mistakes buried deep
Aching,ever slowly breaking
And piece by piece taking
All of the nothing left I say is a lot
Of everything I don't really have
In denial-I believe
I'm afraid of waking up tomorrow
Drowning in my deep blue sea of sorrows
Will somebody please get me awake?
'Cause, I don't go to sleep to dream any longer
O, behold the man, by the old sea
He closes his brown eyes, feeling free
Dancing to the wind, taunting the bee
He, who loves nature, although, carefree
Nevertheless, wants you all to see
Him, who hates watching gray clouds hide the bright sky
Where falcons, soaring high, relentlessly
Against the gusting wind, they’ve freedom to fly
Reveling in fleeting days, across the
Virulent sea, where he spends time
Lulling, unmindful of them
The naked ladies of Shem
On shoreline rocks, weaving blue rhyme
For he does not like to see those eyes, tinted
With hues of withered red roses on the ground
‘Cos there is no more beauty, in them, when dead
Or, in the eyes, when full of sadness, the sound
Of a unkempt sea, where its breath
Streaking his soul, without regret
Filled with un-prophetic news
That he, too, wished to fly, to set
Wings to where he won’t have to fret
‘Bout not wanting to peruse…
The whippersnapper, who n’er wanted to cry
He, the poet, who asked the birds how to fly
He, the man, by the old sea, hurt by heart’s lie
That, in forms, caused him to unveil
Whence readers can feel, the detail
Whether, penned in a single verse
Or, in a freestyle, like free-verse
Whether, it’s written in sonnet
Or, perhaps, in a rhymed couplet
Between lines, untangle his thought
And you’ll see me, the life, I fought
They say two heads are better than one.
I don't doubt this, but it sure makes it hard to buy a shirt.
A carnival of linguistic parallels
celebrate at the ball of my pen.
Where elastic ideas are
around yesterday’s hypothesis
around today’s theory
around tomorrow’s cognition
Strands of comprehension snap
I perceive only inky, illiterate hiccups
stuttering on lines of hyphenated ellipsis’
Confused by logic
Bemused by logic
perplexed by logic
The babble of broken thought,
an onslaught of sensible gibberish
That says nothing but says it all…
How come they call it Labor Day when nobody works?
And why Pool-Table? Where's the diving board? the water?
How can you play "Draw-Poker" without paper and pencil?
Do Negroes really have bigger knees?
And Flashlight: A bright stage-light to highlight naked joggers?
I went to IHOP; I was so disappointed, the bunny was not in.
Is Racquet-Ball really that noisy?
Were Sanitarium Napkins designed for a psych ward??
And Condominiums: good Lord, they advertise prophylactics?
And Near-Beer; how close do you have to be?
And Poetic Terminology- methods to end a poem?
And Medicine Ball; how do you know what it's dispensing?
Bi-Polar? I got mine free.
Feedback? Is it true some people have their mouths behind them?
Dry-Runs? Diarrhea without the usual Sh_t??
Penn & Teller? A bank teller's sordid affair with a chained down bank pen.
(Caution, Sadism and Explicit Ink scenes)
Burn a CD? What kind of moron is gona burn his Certificates Of Deposits?
Satellite? To help one mount a horse in the dark?
Athlete's Foot? Those who say they have Athelete's Foot should be prosecuted
for maiming ball players.
Milk Of Magnesia? Who is she?
Country Fair? I'll wait for the Country Good!
How come it's a plus if a vacuum cleaner sucks?
Sometimes I feel left in the dust; I mean, even spiders have web-sites!!
Sasquatch? A hairy ape-like creature who sat on, and crushed, his Timex watch.
Lunatics? I hope Nasa provides our next moon explorers with insect repellant.
Politically Correct? An oxymoron for sure!
Botswana? A neighbor wiyh yacht-envy.
Coconut? An insane piece of chocolate.
Congolese? A structured rental agreement for certain Africans.
Decuple? Releasing railroad cars.
Desultory? Removing snide remarks.
Devote? Removing one's ballot.
Dormouse? A rodent tending the door at a rat nightclub.
Drag Queens? What a horney King does with his reluctant wife.
Episode? When a farmer named Epi plants his crops.
Fiddlesticks? Frozen fish product with musical abilities.
Gnomish? A knish for Jewish gnomes.
Mothball? A part of a moth's reproductive organs.
I saw a commercial recently for "Extenze", to make "a certain part of a man larger"
However, I misread the dosage, and took far too many. Now I have to drag "that
certain part of a man's body" along the floor behind me.
I had a friend who tried it too....but it seems to have had a misdirected effect; now
he has a 6 inch long big toe.
Good evening, folks...trust all is well.
First of all, let me congratulate all those who commented on the first Poem
Contest posting I had. Bear in mind, as Judge and Jury, only I am permitted to
send messages without words...It was mentioned that this would be a tougher
quiz...see with me, words are completely optional. Re. the $160 electrician's bill,
once, in my old house, I had one come and put a new ceiling light fixture in my
father's room, and track lights in my room. His work was awful, fixture was the
cheapest thing...I had worked in a retail lighting store, and knew he paid about
$20 for it, the track lights were extremely unsightly, the ceiling was butchered; the
entire job took no more than 30 minutes, and he handed me an $800 bill!! Talk
about highway robbery.
Now a few bits of Tomfoolery, with but a few "Tom's Tidbits".
How can I lose more stuff than I own??
It's a struggle to figure out how to get my cell phone to work. I wonder if that's
because I've never been imprisoned.
Talk about hot flashes...I had my first with the above mentioned electrician.
A ringing in the ears is but to be expected by someone named Bell.
Did I mention about the Honda Civic Center??
My "No Words" Poetry form should be posted with the Soup. What'ch ya' think;
"Tomfooleryesgue??" Any suggestions??
A bachelor like me gets so lazy, if I get hungry, the most I can do is take an olive
out of the jar...w hands, of course...
Comments; I wanted to post either "Electric Blanket" or "How to Pay Bills" but the
Soup won't allow it, cause they're too long, and require two postings...Should they
count as one? Or should I just post part No.1, and leave it up to you clever
people to find pt.2 on your own?? Is this idea acceptable, guys?? Please let me
know. The Soup is always busting my chops about using the number symbol. I
suppose there is a good reason....gotta find out why...they are like our parents
here, at least for me. Just wish they would cook me a meal once in awhile,
maybe do the laundry or somethin'....
Kindly post your votes on third poem being "Electric Blanket" or "How to Pay Bills"
which I have just "fine tuned" a bit...let's see how it runs now, or is, like a guitar, a
thing in need of a tune-up to play. You can post your votes as comments at this
posting site, and "write-in Candidates" are accepted gleefully...
Now, up with Clue No. 1 on Super Quiz Poetry Contest.
Okay, the moment you've been waiting for!!! Clue No. 1
previously they said that was
and what were they doing?
we got here and opened
could we go any faster someone seemed to
and there was a reply before the question
so low and so far from
you were me and i was
we were never really found
in place of disaster where we find our
we see right through the holes
and become something
or else we turn this into god
stuck in the middle
the researchers say you can say anything before or after
every line to make it beautiful
when you write it down
answer the questions
what does she want for her birthday?
how was your Christmas?
where does the story go?
how many pieces to the puzzle
and where did the weekend end?
Before and after mix it up Tear it up
cut it up
predict and foreshadow
end it mend it
break it fake it be inspired to inspire me and see who i inspire
as we search the lines of the database
for our arsenal
of the words we like
to add to our own to employ our souls
and play dirty with elbows to claim what is rightfully ours
together we write this chapter for the next
and find each line has a different tangent to say
level one incomplete
about holidays and treasure hunts
to not go on
fake plastic faces
and celebrated saints
and emotionless emotive
when we celebrate the pity party of celibacy of
secrecy of masturbation
everything in this mess will mean something to you
and the joke on you8i is the joke
the joke on me
im the clown in the middle saying predict my next line
and finish he next
answer the questions
flip it skip it finish it
slide it and slip on by add your own and mix it
and bec9ome one with the vibe playing in your stereo
cant stop the me your not
to swallow the down of the pillows we sleep on to hide
and feel it try to reveal whats inside
through the seeds we leave behind
and the one who starts the layer of the one we all predict and finish
switch and play in gibberish that makes sense is the god of such a matrix
give me a chance and open season at dileberate stabs at p[poetic sarcasm to
hey there peter pan?
my road is split trying to go two ways.
one is going toward trying to fit in and being something im not.
the other is going toward being myself.
ive been caught at the fork and not noing what to do
but ive choosen my path of no turning back
im going the way my heart is leading me
which is not trying to be something im not
going down the road of being myself might be rough
but im willing to take a chance and being happy
I do not know?
If I is what I was, was I what I is? If I was what I wasn't, wasn't what I is what I is?
What if I wasn't what I is, but I is what I wasn't? If I wasn't what I wasn't, is I what I
is what I was? Well, if I wasn't what I wasn't am I what I wasn't what I is? Was I
is what I wasn't, was I what I was? Okay, what if I was what I was, was I what I is
what I was? What I was is what I is what I wasn't, so therfore I wasn't what I was,
or was I? Was what is what what I was? Was what I is is what I was? Wasn't
what I wasn't what I wasn't? Was I was, I was if I was what I was? What wasn't
what I is what I wasnt what I was? What was what I was, what I was? Was what
I wasn't what was what I I was when I wasn't?
Had enough? I wasn't even warmed up, I just was what I was.
I do not know?
The sound in your mind
The word on a page
The common dream
Fading with age
Living just enough
Searching for realism
Realizing the illusion
Striving for legitimacy
Marking your word
Starving for intimacy
Wanting to be heard
When we pretend
That we're dead
Someone please stop
All this madness
Swirling inside my head
how they think
they way the gears turn
why they say what they say
what they are thinking
the thoughts in their minds
how they function
why people do the things they do
i think about my mind
i think about the things i do
i relate my self
when i speak i too
wow why did i say that
what was i thinking
but each word
has a reason
has a story
the non verbal signs
the faces and looks
i have a reason
i still watch
and i still wonder
why do they do the things they do
are their gears put together
different than mine
do they not feel the same as i
when i write
i write my emotion
my feelings at that moment
i let it out
i let it go
same with my moods
i dont hold back
but i should
so why do we
do we ever truely think about
the end rusult?
What makes a beer lager? By not being smaller?
And I'm lookin' at a botttle of Heineken,
Boy, Ken's heinie must be sore!!
And just what was Pac-man packin"???
Must one pledge first to get a club foot??
Someone told me GatoreAid had
But mine wouldn't light up.
Don't think I have given up on the open quiz-
Another clue: Who says lightning can't
You know you're likely in for a bad day,
When someone steals your burgler alarm.
My aluminum rap won't sing about
I’m at the bottom,
I can’t reach top,
I had to stop,
These words encircling my head,
I’m feeling dead,
But I dread,
That I’m alive,
At the bottom of it all,
I have to stop,
I can’t go any further,
Any hope or inspiration with me,
How can I be,
A great person,
A great poet,
Without anything to write,
What will I write,
A good poet,
With a bad inspiration,
What will I do,
I’m at the end of my rope,
But at the bottom of the heap,
I’m getting crushed beneath it all,
The doubting is driving me up the wall,
I can’t take it,
I’m going to fall,
I’m going to fail,
I have to stop,
I can’t reach the top.
Travelling the world,
Seeking the mystical poetess,
No Tomb too dark or scary,
No too evil Nazi so wary...
This Jewel must be returned
To the Soup Treasury....
(add your verse, sil' vous plait!) Email me @ Quasarttt228@aol.com for me to
Heidie, my dear....
Your "cockles" are,
in fact near...
Where they just may be,
Grey's Anatomy you
had a lark,
Driving his poor friends nuts,
But Captain Quark,
his mind so dark,
was nothing but a putz.
What Caesar really said; "I came, I saw, I ran like hell..."
(Speaking of Caesar, I think he's famous for going to Las Vegas and making
If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it's probably a pigeon.
A bird in the hand is worth a roll of paper towels. what a mess!
When the going gets tough, I leave.
The only thing to fear is, well, pretty much everyone.
If at first you don't succeed, try something else.
If money is the root of all evil, you should be rich.
Never count your eggs after they're scrambled.
You get what you put into it. Yeah, like my lemon flavored meatloaf!
Two and two makes group sex.
"I think I'll never see, a poem as lovely as your knee."
If you think you got it tough, try my steak!
Sixteen tons, and what do you get? Squashed.
It's better to have loved and lost, than pay for a divorce.
If music be the food of love, My ex-wife was tone deaf.
Into the Valley of Deaf rode the 600 defective hearing aid batteries.
The Hallmark Hall Of Flame- a card store is burned down.
Have a good day!
I do not know?
First, new clue to No. 5- Some bosses like to manage like this.
Second, new clue to No. 7- Can the weak live at peace with the strong?
And Now: Quiz Number 9:
It's a mysterious enigma, but maybe some later clues will help shed some light
on the correct answer.
I do not know?
WHY STARE ME IN THE FACE?
WITH THE THOUGHT OF MEMORIES WE ONCE SHARED
THAN TURN AROUND AND MARRIED ANOTHER WOMEN
I LEAD TO BELIEVE THE THOUGHT OF ME BEING IN THAT SAME POSITION,
BUT IT ALL CAME BACK TO ME THAT IT WAS JUST MY VISION
I DO REMEMBER IN OUR TEEN YEARS IT WASN`T JUST A VISION
WHEN TELLING US APART WAS ALWAYS AN ISSUE DETERMINE
I DO REMEMBER THE COMMENTS BEING MADE TO US TWO FROM OUR
FOLKS " WE HOPE WE MAKE IT TO SEE YA`LL WEDDING AND MAYBE A BABY
SHOWER IF GOD BLESS YA`LL WITH THAT ONE TOO"
SPRING, SUMMER, FALL, WINTER FOUR SEASONS WE SHARE AND ALL THAT
HAD COME AFTER JUST LEAD WELL
GOD I ASK MYSELF "WHERE DID THIS ALL END? OR IS IT "WHY DID THIS ALL
I STILL CAN`T FIGURE OUT HOW HAD THIS REACH THIS LEVEL
WHENOUR BELIEF OF LOVE WAS NEVER TO STRAY AWAY FROM OUR
WHY STARE ME IN THE FACE?
WHEN YOU BETRAY ON WHAT WAS ONCE OUR GOAL TO GET MARRIED AND
THAN LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND SAY " I`M SORRY BABY GIRL BUT I DON`T
KNOW HOW IT GOT TO THIS POINT"
I GUESS I CAN`T GET OVER THE FACT OF LETTING GO ON WHAT WAS ONCE
MY PROPERTY OR PRETEND THAT THIS WAS ALL A BAD DREAM
SO I LOOK HIM IN THE EYE
GAVE HIM A KISS ON HIS CHEEK
I WISH HIM THE BEST FOR THE BOTH OF THEM WHEN I WISH IT WAS ME
I WALK AWAY WITH THE BRUSH RELIEF OFF MY FEET AND ALSO READ THIS
PRAYER IN MY HEART TO KEEP IN ONE PIECE
"GOD BLESS MY SOUL AND HELP ME REALIZE THAT THERE IS SOMEONE
OUT THERE FOR ME TO SHARE MY LOVE WITH AMEN"
Somehow, a Ruby
Disappeared from the Royal Treasury,
The King and Queen heart-broken,
Royalty is rich, you think,
But that was no little token,
They prized that jewel
Above their diamonds,
All other Royal possessions,
The castle walls can crumble now,
That theft now their obsessions
So if the Ruby is returned,
All will sing with joy,
That goes for the KIng and Queen,
Down too the smallest girl and boy.
My correspondence has failed
the capacity to dream up newness.
Dull wisdom predicts unoriginal
situations of uninspired flames.
Dark similarity wrestles coherence
grudgingly in filthy muck of unity.
A suitable place of common misuse
to stable forms of weariness dealt dry.
Carnal delusions evaporate exclusively
upon a routine format of placid dreams.
Counting contingency within elusive lives
as vanilla coated images float in uncreative.
Costing my false imagination to flutter by...
A single sheet of paper
Somewhere for my thoughts to escape
This pencil is worn and dull
This paper is ripped and yellow
My only connection to my soul
I’ve forgotten everything
I all I have is this paper
Ripped and yellow.
Oh, yeah, momma.
I got'z de blues today,
Funny thing is,
Why I gotz it, I can't say,
Ain't nobody I'z KNoz,
Who dunn dyed 2day,
Ain't got no nu bills,
What I kant aford te pay,
I dunn be uzed te' dem' now,
I no I'z survive sumhow,
So bak to da bahroom,
for anudder Tanguiry
Mayb pike up my spirutz
What can I say?
Wowry bout tomaro
When dat daze son do shine,
But up intill den, eye ant
Gonea wuwee n i aint gonea wine.
Diz B 4 Shar, smile, god damn it!!
I do not know?
Some have come close, but you've got to figure ouy all the angles.
looking in the mirror i say,
"i forgive you today."
but thats just a lie;
just to pass me by,
just what am i supposed to say?
oh sweet summer pain,
slowly driving me insane!
i didn't want to grow,
but i just dont know;
i don't wanna go all the way...
and so i cry,
deep down inside;
i feel as if i lie!
but i dont know why,oh why.
you feel it too,
as if it's true;
deep down inside you.
but you dont know what to do.
just believe in you...
I do not know?
Finally, first clues, sorry for the health related delays;
Part No.1- Original poser; "It might be related to a hungry person eagerly
devouring a hero sandwich ravenously."
Today's clue; "One might say said sandwich has an inbred hostility towards any
such would-be eater."
Part No.2- "Adults and tots play with it's parts."
Today's clue: "California Gold Rush."
Part No.3- "It moves from state, but uses neither automobile nor plane."
Today's clue; "It may allude to something you'd display in your living room,
although in a risky place."
Bonus Question- "If things go ever more poorly,
And you can no longer find,
Your confusion award, You may
find these two words on your sword."
Today's Clue "Sometimes "Pennies From Heaven"
have a long wait before the drought
Sorry for the delay, Contest ends, as ammended, in last note. Good Luck!!
In this crooked chair i sit
at this crooked table
at this crooked desk
and write my crooked thoughts
looking out the crooked window
out onto the crooked crooked street
thinking about how crooked the world is
when suddleny is top and realise
the crooked people arent crooks
everything is crooked
crooked business men lawyers and politiicians
crooked churches crooked steeples
crooked believers crooked people
it was perfect perfect and crooked
and perfect yachts
perfect make me sick
keeping up with the joneses
perfect white teeth
thwey werent crooked?
croooked like me?
crooked like them crooked in a world full of rooked people and the crookedest
thing to do was to stand straight
and make a show of it!!
whose going to replace all of this crooked ness and turn this beautiful now?
There are no words
Raw and unrelenting
A petulant obsession
Tools of asphyxiation
Squeezing pulsating pens
Bound to a mute mistress
Who can read my mind
Like a blank piece of paper
Do I bed my muse
Or lie to my mother
Who held my trembling hand
When fear stole her slumber
And unspoken words
I isn't not may-bee knot two brite
and may-bee I dosen't no how to right
bur deem tin dolla' wouds,
donut amount to turds
eye got ownlee simpell wouds
to tell my mi simpull tails
i cannn't aforord dem $10 dalla wouds
a buck-filthy is awlz i gotz
so f ya gotz a progrem wit dat
I wound kum too bat
and gos to bed I wilz......
I do not know?
Today was one of the longest days of my life
I felt as if i was living in strife
The hours of the day is always the same
What and who was there to make the blame
My exscuse was lame
I knew i had to make a change
I went home finding myself on bending knees
Praying to god for a better day
He said always believe in me
You will make a way to a better day
Not just this day but everyday
Words! Words! Worururururds!
They all go on the page!
Or swallowed within!
None left to say!
The Caspian Sea; is that where friendly ghosts go for vacation?
Big as a football field: don't you know about foot measurements??
The Swat Team; I called them when my house was infested with flies.
My psychiatrist asked me if I had any "old reservations" about a desire to end
some bad habits. I said, "Yeah, I have some old reservations- two unredeemed
tickets to a 1973 Pink Floyd concert" this really took place.
How come 2 & 2 isn't 22??
Enough for now, all you dedicated "Soupers"
I looked all over,
In the closet,
In the shed,
Under my body pillow,
In my head....
Vanished like a puff of smoke,
Makes you wonder if
You just awoke....
And the Twilight Zone
Was where you dreamed
Maybe she skipped town,
Cause of an overdue loan?
She lives in Maine,
Maybe she got too close
To Steven King's ghost
And away she was spirited,
To be the host,
Of a new Poetry site...
The thought's a fright!
Let's send out the Mounties...
Maine's near Canada Dry, no?
Probably lots'a counties,
And she'd know,
Where to hide,
To keep us guessin'
Or maybe with our brains,
Nah, she's not cruel,
In fact, she's pretty damn cool!
So get back on the stove, Ms. Rube,
The Soup's boiling,
You're like a Rubik's Cube,
Impossible to figure,
Like a musician
With one too many a "doob'"
We'll wait faithfully,
Candle in the "Windows"
Hoping our jewel comes back,
As quickly as she goes.
I miss the way you looked at me,
That one time in the store;
Your eyes were the color of dirt
After you spit in it-
The color of chocolate,
Melted on a gray coffee table.
Your socks were wrinkled that day,
They reflected your smile,
Dry and cold, wet in the corners,
Your lips looked as though they were sunburnt.
That day I hugged you a lot,
I was afraid you would slip away.
Your eyes were like my stars at night,
Bright and innocent,
And beautiful to look at for long amounts of time.
Sitting here in rhythm’s rhyme
What bait to use to snare
What size hook will do the job
So many to compare
Fitting spaces into time
Or backhand cutting lob
Splitting places walls to climb
With faster graying hair
Harder now to weave and bob
Timing’s on a tear
Icy teary blue eyes rime
Hang it all
The rig’s too small
For a longer
One has to cut it fine
Like one sweet corn
Or two carbuncle
Slice it now and
Bob’s y’ r uncle
I cnat bleieve taht we can slitl raed
wrdos as lnog as the fsrit and lsat
lttres are the smae.
If taht is the csae, lsieten to me..
Hree are my uwirntetn tuohgts..
Red calligraphy ink splattered across the blank parchment-
She was done, done with it all
Her own self had taken control-
Full of wisdom she waited, shaking intensely
The crimson grimaced on the sadistic paper-
Knowing she had given up
It seemed as if it were chanting at her in a guiltless manner
‘You’re supposed to be sooooo smart’
She could not find the vitality to combat the evil force any longer-
She collapsed into the musky corner-
Knowing she was concealed from the wickedness
Then her mind began to race-
Who was she anymore?
She had turned-
Into something almost demonic herself
She could not locate the audacity to even face her mirror
How would she know-
That she was no longer herself?
It was that moment that her consciousness escaped,
Feeling any relevant thought slip away she whispered-
‘All I wanted was to heal the loneliness, to find a cure.’
Your words should always shock the crowd!
When they are true, this is called genius!
When they are false, this is called insanity!
But who can say which way the wind blows?
“Why do you write, Jesse?”
I honestly don’t know.
“Struggle to sketch the flow that already
exists intact in the mind”?
It’s spontaneous. It’s a habit. It’s a compulsion.
I can't seem to think of a thing,
not a single poem or verse,
all I'm writing down are the thoughts in my head,
as I try to decide what line is the best,
what kind of poem to write,
is it a rap or lyric,
or alliteration or ABC verse?
What am I going to do,
I can't tell which way is which,
in this writing,
and I can't find the words,
that rhyme with me,
I can't think of this writing,
to much and not enough in my head.
I still don't know what to write,
I'm confused in my head,
and I can't seem to get it right,
what do I write,
when there's not a thought in my head,
how can I write,
when there's nothing to write about?
RUT- that's the title,
Insanity- I'm a disciple.
You guys make me think,
in ways untried,
I'll treasure this site,
until I've died.
And maybe even after that,
How many lives for this cat?
Survived cancer twice,
And though it was not nice,
Worse pain I've suffered
Those sharp knives
that pierce the soul,
From anger seemingly
out of control,
Eight inch switchblade scar,
Which my skin did so mar
I hear words I question why said,
As if one were brain dead,
Like "that door is ajar.."
How crazy you think you are?
A door is a door,
A jar is a jar,
No way to confuse them
No matter who you are...
A brain just too lazy,
Or one who's simply crazy?
I do not know?
Thank everyone who responded to my daily insanity today. A few quick notes;
Vince- thank God we have people like you to defend the country, and keep the
cops from eatting ALL the donuts. You had me rollin'!
Sandra- what seperates the two? Maybe they are head and tails on the same
Sharon- yes, when it comes to Quantum Physics, I too like it in small quantums.
Much of it is counter-intuitive, like most marriages.
Ps- I like my sushi well done.
Happy day to all, tom.
Circles of confusion and a mirrored box
Image decisive instants of living and dying,
Entering and leaving the state of existence
In movement and idleness
Capturing the connection of all things...
The closer to, the less seen,
The further away, the bigger the picture
Yet, there's always something hidden
That answers the reasons why, shows new ways
Of thought that suggests stones and studs
Metal and glass from ground, trees, air and sun
With flesh and bone of darker shades of white
Lighter shades of black interrelating for undertones
Of what's his, what's hers and everything is theirs
On paper without words for the deaf through
The unseen for the blind... the emotional by way
Of what is felt reveals the greatest mysteries
And implications of the objective and subjective
Views join together for knowledge to understand
The crucial for a better society on earth
As the truth that is a lie etches in the memory
And freezes in time culture by capturing
Critical moments that connect all things in
A mirrored box through circles of confusion
To usher in indispensable periods of success
Deceived by the perceptions of what the eyes see. Then analyzing the thoughts
in your mind. Could this be an illusion swimming around in my head.
Deceived by diplomacy canidates making promises they can not keep.Lying
and scandalizing all in the name of another vote. Talk is all the citizens receive
and change becomes another diluted situation for all to see.
Deceived to conceive the pie in the sky mentality. Discover something that you
like to do , and money will chase you. Chasing it will cause you heartache and
Deceived to think that society has your best interest at heart and working until 62
that social security will be waiting for you.
Deceived and perplexed between two different opinions could one of them be
fact or fiction . Deceived perception is reality looking from the windows of my
soul. Is what I see really real? Or is it just man using his skills to deceive me
once again..... deceived !
The air was disturbed
by wispy soft strings
the tickles uncurbed,
like hummingbird wings;
the beat in my chest
it stuttered a spell
and dared risk a rest,
a moment to dwell.
The stir of his verse
had fractured my breath
and nervousness burst
beneath the great depth;
my eyes came to pause,
my heart came to flutter
all just because
of words none shall utter.
The thoughts that emerged
an enemy force
so quickly diverged
and took their own course;
the tip of a pen,
the roll of a ball,
that prisons don't fall.
The blocks of mistakes
with time as a mortar
old dreams can't awake
I'll not cross the border.
First lessons I learn
no need to redo
the errors they burned
more dreams than a few.
A sense of belonging
had drawn out a sigh
a wisp of that longing
I've tried to deny;
The shivers I nursed
for moments in time
caressed by his verse
a rush of sweet rhyme.
I slept with his lexis
and loved the embrace
and woke to a nexus
of strings to displace
but drums of regret
I just can not hear
as moments of threat
still whisper so near.
I hugged an illusion
for feeling I wept
in dreams and delusions
that silently crept;
the hiss of commotion
it shook me to reason
is personal treason.
It's never that's real
forever that daunts
the rousing I feel
my wits I can't lose
post lexis affair
alone with my muse,
loose quills in my hair.
What did I miss?
You controlled yourself
mess mess mess
hush hush hush
wont say anything
push the button
I'll put the soap away
I'll sew my mouth shut
I wont tell a soul
wont say a thing
I'm not so blind
push the button
rewind the tape
and who said what again?
Who are you in this Act?
and who am I?
Why should I listen to you
If i'm not sure if i can trust you
and what's in it for me
and i know all about cleaning up after me
mess mess mess
hush hush hush
push the button
I'll hide the soap
i wont say anything
I'll keep myself in line
I'll be kind
I'll make them laugh
I'll make them cry
Weill be the best team
but why should I?
such a mess
Such a mess
push the button
What did I miss?
I do not know?
I apologize for the delay-it's not easy being stupid- but I have now posted the
fourth, and final clue. This one should lead someone to glory. Ending date now
this coming Wednesday 6 P.M. Nov. 7, 2007.... Good Luck!
Just like your aorta
Well It really sort'a ought'a
Or the shoes you bought,
Are sort'a tight,
Soon blisters will ignite,
Sort'a painful it just might,
Keep you up all night,
And when the mouse
dashes across the floor,
And you sort'a run for
And your ad-lib scat singing
Sort'a thought was scatology
Maybe we ought'a sort'a sort'a
I do not know?
"It's namesakes generally come in pairs"
As of this posting, reward value has dropped to 7 pts. ....Don't let this beat you!!!
Show the world your brain-power, and intuitive skills!!
Thirty-two poems a day to post,
To reach that treasued goal,
For thity-two hundred years or so
With thirty-two prayers I'll last that long,
To get over a million postings,
Well, I'll surely give it a go.
I just wish to scream.
I see all these smooth words.
with perfect rhythm.
and the thoughts so complete.
that I want to tear the paper up.
so that I can have peace.
just leave me be.
these words I write,
whose balance and form
make me weep at night,
I stare at the old and
say how did that happen
My understanding is gone
Not only of thought
but now of the soul
with fear that the images
in my mind will never find their home
they refuse to just stay
so I write out my soul
until nothing is left
of this bone weary soul
all I want is rest
to be where they no longer cry
to be released
of the prison
that they consider my mind
The bars no longer block my mind
unless you count
the crumbling wall
that was meant to
keep them at bay
I try to write the words in my soul. These precious bits of thoughts and images
that seem to flow so naturally from my soul. can find no solace in the written form
for when written down they seem incomplete as if part of my dream is still in my
head at that distant shore so far away yet so often tread that I think that I know it’s
every curve and contour. yet when written it shows me how incomplete is my
understanding of something that is so integral to my soul that extends beyond
my soul to the places unknown that reaching within is like reaching without. I call
it a path but it is more then that yet less to the point where any descriptive word
falls short of its very nature that there seems to be no point in trying to describe
yet it so calls to be described that I beat my head against the door trying to unlock
the words that I need searching through text and voice to find the proper rhythm
and sound. Still the waves beckon me taunting me to the point I want to break
down and cry. Nothing fits I have tried please I gave it my all can you not see the
words you demand are not within me to command go find someone new and be
their muse. I Just Wish To Be Alone.
At Annapolis, Admiral Rictameter had tried to teach us the martial art kick known
as the Rondeau. When he became impatient, he tried to rondeau redouble the
lesson. That turned out to be a Sapphic Stanza disaster, as we were all listening
to a Neil Sedoka record. I was senryu about having spilt the baby Sestina, and
Sijo, our trained puppy, decided his tail rhymed with what was than-Bauk. I
thought the whole thing too triolet, and likely to cause tybuvim, and I did not want
to be the one who was considered the Villanelle.
To be able to write
in other lives.
Wanting to write
finding with fright
I write only of ... me.
For what do I know
of minds that grow
outside this skull?
how can I share
what's hidden in there
when all I know
is ... me?
The writing of me
I find to be
a considerable bore:
and a chore ...
Caring to share
all the lives
I have led
yet I dread
no one will know
or care to see
the I of me.
does not see
The I in me.
The nose with gaping holes
they go where?
I've not been there.
Inside the mind
where to find
the mirror does not see?
so pen in hand
I stand ...
and stand .....
I do not know?
I am sitting at my desk,
where are you where have you gone,
are you coming back?
words my sweet words,
they make me strong,
Tara’s theme again in my head,
how can I sing my song?
Oh hello , why is your head held low,
it need not be you know,
I am alright,
forgot my meds last night,
and who is this your doggie Fred,
strange you two are?
you know you are not allowed in here,
the sign says no horses and no dogs allowed.
I know I know but you must go,
not to worry about me.
I have my words my words set me free.
In them I can say what I want,
what I am feeling too.
I know she keeps reminding me,
”take your meds and the others before bed, too”
But taking them I lose my words,
then you are gone.
And I am left all alone.
Don't'chea all be lookin'
Over my shoulder,
At what's cookin'
I dunz get mad,
And reely sad,
Dat you'z be spi-en
at myze wourds
I have told you about remaining.
But what of non-remaining?
How would it be then?
What would you say?
There’s too much Dharma
to write, to see, to live
or is there just enough?
I thought I was done!
But, ah, no!
Could I think my heart would be filled
by her departure? no!
Emptiness is the same everywhere!
Yeah, Ruby, but Elvis had drugs!!
To Fred- You ain't that fly guy, r u?
To Patricia- that bug you caught- was he Freddy the Fly?
Catch ya'll a bit later.....tom
I do not know?
neuro syntax threads milled to ground thought flour
For half-baked mixed feelings in recipes and menus for
Successfully successive integrations of intuitive tics
And flicks of words to roll together forming notions
And ideas of knowing whether cause of foaming oceans
Rolling surfs on sands of reason bubbling suds of season
For the potherbs of deductions finished fitful reproduction
Of gravitivic mindswelling in genuflective reflective lunatics
Thus do gargantuan knots enthrall the followers of threads
Of thought who seek the wisdom of the ages from self
Possessive unprogressive sages in states of self possession
Impossible to heed but going downhill at e’er increasing speed
I do not know?
Have you ever been
You get a knot
In your stomach
And your tong gets all
And worst of you
You want to just break
Down into darkness
And you just can’t
Snap out of it
Then you sometimes
Beneath your desk
So that no one can see you
You are so afraid
Of what people will think
Forget what this is
That you want yourself
To get some pride
Not anyone else
And the only way to do that
Poetry is the only way to
Get out that anger
The only way that you can
Truly be you
I always liked country music, but never could figure out what country it was from.
I will shortly be a contestant on "American Idle"
When my mother first saw a microwave at my brother's house in Ohio, in the
1980's- she told me how impressed she was at how friendly it seemed.
Everytime she used it, it said "Hi" to her. True story.
I heard about this old movie- "Twice Sold Ales"- seems a sinister bartender
would get a customer drunk, and re-cyle his urine, and served it as "ale" Ugh!
Makes me wanna wash!
I had a nightmare last night- Angelina Jolie was knocking at my door, and I was
in bed with Phylis Diller. Ugh!
I got the video "Girls Gone Wild", and was (almost) surprised to see my wife as a
featured star! Ugh.
I just signed up to be a contestant on "American Idle"...I should clean up! If not
on the game, at least here, in my home! Ugh!
I think, therefore I think. I think, therefore I drink.
I signed up for a "cruise to nowhere"- I wound up in a rowboat on the Hudson
I like to consider myself a "pimple on the a_s of life"!
No more from "Tootsie Roll Breath" for now. Keep on smiling!!
I get a kick out of the "Forms of Poetry" list....Like I really care!!
Pretentious crock of crap!! Check how I list this One!!
My sweet Ruby's birthday,
Naturally on Valentine's day,
In her honor, the NY city of Beacon
Will close their schools!
Ain't that a kick?
She seems to be "missing in action" lately,
Many wonder why,
She is so loved on this site,
Many of us cry....
So come back home,
To the five and dime,
We'll even through in some
Jimmy Dean sausages!!!
Or, as Kenny Roger's first song went,
"Ruby, don't take your poems to town!"
I do not know?
Taking a walk, easy for some,
But not for me, I couldn’t do it
Thinking of the words,
Why did I leave them,
I am consumed.
There is no hope for me.
The constant haunting,
Nagging, pushing out of turn
I have to have them
They are all I have left.
Oh my sweet wonderful love
Of my life,
Where are you, take me away from here,
Thy blazing blade, tearing, cutting,
Gnawing, at consequences, of my life.
The torment so majestic, so horrid,
Overwhelming tyranny of my soul.
Vermin waiting for burdens to unfold,
Their appetites enveloping
Waiting for their nourishment,
Quell them I know not how.
Solitary doom upon me.
My words surround me now,
I am protected at last.
Nothing can break down the barriers,
That protect me.
A pleasant feeling of weariness abounds me.
I can sleep now,
I have made it through another night.
Lots'a stuff happening,
some a bit scary....
Places I seem soon destined to go,
I grow a little wary
But every posted fear,
Every second thought I mused,
Shar was there....
She rebuilt my confidence,
So I'm on the road again,
Sure I had a scare,
But Shar was there...
Other times I'd get sad,,
Wanna give up,
Sit stock still in a chair,
Point it at the wall,
Devoid of every care...
Contemplating if I dare....
From such thoughts away she'd tear,
Cause Shar was there...
When I needed Safe Harbour,
To reconstitute my thought',
I'd read this one poem of hers,
There was the relief I sought..
If I could end the day with a flourish,
And added no new names,
To those who think I'm boorish..
I'd speak words of exquisity beauty,
More importantly, at least to me,
I'd hope that some could see,
An unexplored avenue of thought
To ideas they might have sought...
No "Stinking Flowers!!" I shout
"We are the Federales...
The mounted Poem Police!!
We don't need no stinking flowers!!!"
We are oblivious to word-made towers,
And thus we carry on,
Wearing the poet's robe
that we don,
I was a hair's breath from
a great write...
When by flowers I lost
I seethed in impotent pain,
My spirits seemed to drain,
Keep those bouquets
away from me,
'Cause I wanna' see...
I do not know?
This is a three part puzzle, with a bonus question- each starting at 10 points, and,
as before, each less one point starting on the second day (starting on Weds.
10/17, at noon, or as each new day's clue is posted, (If I oversleep...), and 30
points are needed to win. As last time, post to my AOL address, and GOOD
LUCK!!! The 1st prize will be the same- a poem written by me on any 1 word,
name, thing, action,etc., However, to win the Grand Prize- A copy of my poetry
book when published in the near future, or, if you choose, the cash-equivalent
prize, payable in tootsie rolls- (3, as calculated by it's value) or (6) Holloween
lollipops...or a vhs copy of a tom bell comedic skit of his choosing...you must get
all 4 parts correct, winning at least 35 points. All awards are final, and the
decision of da' Judge'....Here Come Da' Judge......!! will be considered final,
unless you can insult him into submission.....(oh, hmmmmm, dis' b' gittin'
compleeakated....) Have fun, guys...and "May The Forks Be With You!!!"
Regards, tom bell
P.S.- Contest ends 5PM, Monday, Oct.22nd. And again, submissions draped in a
sense of humor may earn up to 3 bonus points each, if in rhyme form, or
burlesque form. (No contestant stripping allowed in any bizarre desire to
influence da' jugge!)
New Quiz Part No. 1; "It might be related to a hungry person eagerly devouring a
hero sandewich ravenously."
Part No.2; "Adults and tots play with its parts."
Part No.3; "It moves from state to state, but uses neither automobile nor plane."
Bonus Question; "If things go ever more poorly,
"And you can no longer find,
"Your confusion award, you may
"find these two words on your sword."
Go Get'um Soupers!!!...".May the Forks Be With You!!!"
Sift harder! Verify!
a pen cautiously pressed to the page
No spirit! You must live!
Crazy welling up from under!
Don’t sit lazy stupid drooling drooping dreaming!
The truth even now is within you! Look!
Before it is lost!
Oh, why am I writing?
And what am I writing about?
I have collected my thoughts.
Yes, I have written
What I thought is a poem, but
I feel like it isn’t a poem.
And I don’t know why.
I’ve the words...
The poetic form...
The rhyme and the style...
Indeed, I have unveiled…
Yet still, I don’t know why.
No matter what I write
Or how beautiful my poem is
If you, my dear, are not reading it
Then, it isn’t a poem.
And, without you to read
…I will never be a poet!
Like a gizzard on a lizard,
Like a bill on a $1 duck buck,
Like a wallet whose use is forgotten,
Like the window with no glass
Some stuff just don't make sense,
And some people know no cents,
Like a meal without nutrition,
A roof unable to hold the rain,
Sometimes you know where you are,
Sometimes you're just insane
Like peanut butter and ground glass,
The Taj Majal a subway stop,
A ship without a sea,
A faceless face with sightless eyes,
A sense of comraderie,
Each morning starts another day,
With or without me.
To write no more, shall be hard to do.
to push never again my crocked pen
across the page which once was new
now so stained from pain within.
No more I write to an ascending voice
to hear their laughter from the back.
Knowing full well this be my choice
to write no more for skill I lack.
There shall be no loss to none but me
to find my thoughts uncarpeted then
to let my poets heart blow free
my scatter verse unto the wind.
I write no more I've had enough
to feel their sneer at my printed word
their descending mock for that I love
I drop bitter tears upon my verse.
From my heart so torn and I forlorn
so this shall stand as my final poem.
Who am I? Behind these words. Digits in a computer network. Scratches on a
piece of paper. These words were never mine. They are torn from my mind. I
don't now if they are mine. DO they reflect me or the reality that I am in, or are they
just images that I have seen in passing. Are they who I am or more a foil to world
outside. I create these words in my mind twisting until they are right. Yet they do
not fit anything that I have seen or remember except for in my dreams. Yet, It feels
like it is more going into my experiances. I write what comes to me, whether it
makes sense or not, helps someone. For my opnion is even if I do not
understand what I am writing someone else might.
Incorporate, fifty word or less, must rhyme, and make some distorted Bell-ish
Neutron star in a can of tuna
Feathered boa on my poodle
Cooking Black Flag noodles
sweet candy of concrete and caramel
Oop, I fell in my Fruit Loops!
As I said- L.I. was home to me up until about a year ago, when I made the
(oopps) mistake of moving upstate, near Poughkeepsie (Wappinger Falls, which
I call Foppinger Walls).... It is soooo boring!! No wonder I'm posting poetry 20
hours a day..... By the way, I'd never heard of Long Island Iced Tea till I went to
Arizona a few years ago. Talk about puttin' starch in your socks!! regards Tom
Poems are such versatile things.
Describing beautiful skies,
Swaying trees, a bird that sings.
Babbling brooks with a crystal clear flow.
The moon in the sky and how it glows.
The way a father loves his daughter.
Whenever she fell it was him who caught her.
A wife longing after her husband,
On the widows walk praying he hasn’t met his end.
Sounds, smells, things that are putrid.
Madness, rage, feelings and hatred.
Regret, and sorrow,
longing for a better tomorrow.
Then realizing today his here,
Got to keep that head clear.
Take a deep breath, the clean crisp air.
Poems can do that to you, write if you dare.
I do not know?
Dreaming of a place that draws the poison forth from the wound...
This place is spoken only in whisper form. Only in the minds eye.
Taken for granted and tossed about like tattered clothes.
This place takes that from which he would derive pleasure. Nice.
Taken not from him by the hand that deals death, but that deals life.
Breathe in that which would kill you, these fumes are friends now.
Feel the burn inside the lung and cough out blood. This is clean.
Writing something new, something fresh, something imperfect.
Trying to get it right, can't seem to concentrate. Must be happy
My thoughts are worthless to you. They give no support nor take any away.They
are just for me. If my phrases do touch someplace in your soul do not point at
me. I had no hand in touching your heart. These words I write are just my truth
and if they touch you it is not because they are my truth it is because they are your
truth as well. It is not my truth that has touched you but a recognition of a truth that
you see within yourself. That my words have either brought to your attention or
have just reminded you of.
I do not know?
I see your face,I hear you voice
you such a disgrace,your so anooying
You gross and to the highest of nasty
Gotta wash my mouthy another girl i may be tasting
Your past the barriors of f_____ up
Don't wanna hear u say my name....shut the f___ up
Tired of people lying to me
I told you ,you could keep it real wit me
but no i see
what u couldnt find in her,you were taking out of me
N it's crazy,she's not even a lil bit pretty
The b__ is to the max ugly
what the f____ is the matter wit you brain
n your eyes must be playin a hell of a game
but wat type of sh__ are u tryin play?
Did u think i would find out that brittany is more than''Just a friend''
Does she even know who i am?
oh well she bout to find out real soon
the darks coming out,tonight a fool moon
u betta watch ur back and make sum room cuz the b___ inside of me is bout to
Few have seen the forbidden verses I keep around,
those poems I write when I’m lower than down
Some are filled with hate,
while others contain what I wonder
Will all the world ever get to see
the forbidden verses that I keep hidden away
only for my eyes to see?
I ponder at the thought momentarily
but am uncertain if they’ll ever debut
I do not know?
Ahhhh, Quiz 9 is still open, though one fav female did come close, in a way...
New Clue; "Children enjoy it's abilities..."
I do not know?
Sometimes, in my journals, I'd just clear my mind and write whatever came to
mind, sublime to ridiculous. One sentence without relation to the other. No
sense of right, wrong, impropriety, or concern if it made sense or not. Once in
awhile you get strange results. Don't know if this will work, it's chancy, but, what
the hell, I'll give it a try...
Wonder why some moments etched into memory for no apparent reason? As a
kid, a rush to be the first to wake up, so we could get on the swings my father
built before anyone else stole the only two seats. fear of nuclear war ever
pervasive... first kiss, first love, first girl... she'll forever be the first, and never
forgotten...enjoying smoking cigarettes...lookin', feelin' so mature...rememorable
New York parks...murder before me 436 madison ave...so easy for one to make
a fool of
themselves...I'm a pro!....being a young "greaser"...childhood baseball...the joys
of candy... climbing sturdy huge elms in front of house. lilacs,
lilies of the valley...swamps ...later...
With a few words you can make someone suffer,
Confuse them and blind them
With a few words
You can weave a web of lies.
Or you can give them joy,
But in an instant you can take it away
Gone, for almost forever
What happens when word hurt you,
When words of pain are uttered to you?
Burning at you,
Then you begin to feel empty,
Hollow inside, full of nothing
Even when you have joyus things
There is no more happiness.
You still feel nothing
Not happy nor sad.
Just nothing, empty.
Are your words Prudent?
How long can I last before I’m washed up?
When will I give up this joy in my life?
Will I quit in a year?
Will I write ‘til my end?
How many cycles of happiness and sadness will they embody?
Will they ever mature like the boy into a man?
Can they ever make a difference in somebody’s life?
Or will they always be merely a way to see inside of me?
Do they bear fortunes in my future?
Will I ever be appreciated as a poet?
Will I eventually find out that I have hundreds,
even thousands of admirers,
and didn’t even know it for so long?
The future of my escape,
of my expression,
of my falling depressions,
and of my rising delights
is ever so uncertain
I do not know?
What need have you
to ask me why
I do the things I do?
There are no words
the need to know in you.
I do not know?
I feel like writing poetry
I really dont know why
Maybe because five poems are due this friday
Or maybe, or maybe, i really dont know why
So here i am writing something
Im soposed to feel deep down inside
Bottled in my heart
Or maybe just a saying
Or something i feel i should say
But why, oh why
Are five poems due this friday
Why do I keep remembering memoriez from my past?
Why do I try hard to make each moment last?
Why are there so many liez behind every mans eyez?
Why when I really love someone he grows apart and dies?
Why is it when Im writing I feel so alive?
Why when I see a pool of trouble I always seem to dive?
Why when I cant control myself I look at my hands and theres that knife?
Why do I feel Ill be struggling my whole life?
Why couldnt my life be simple?
Why do I suffer out of billions of teenagers?
Why do I hurt and my life never gets better?
Why do I gotta share all this through this letter?
Why do I dig up so many empty graves?
Why do I find myself writing for days?
Why when they try to play me they get knocked out?
Why when I change my direction I end up on the same route?
Why dont yall understand what Im about?
Why do I find myself writing and writing?
Why am I asking questions I already got answers to?
Why do I try hard to make things better?
Go ahead, sit down and Ill write you another letter!