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It's the best I can do to explain myself
is standing in between it all, so I can view both sides.
Who are you to say that a summer days more beautiful
than the dead of night?
You profess to have to wisdom by dousing words in philosophical jargon,
but I'm here to let it all loose with an unchained honesty...
it's the best bargain
I have to offer. I practice love cause it's simple.
Respect your body cause it's sacred, a well built temple.
like ramen noodles from the supermarket, just add water
and presto! Easier than reading words off a teleprompter.
Uncensored laughter like it ought to be,
letting it self be know, however audibly.
You don't have to have to reason to love thy neighbor.
When smiles are born from your efforts,
ain't no such thing as hard labor.
Nobody's righteous, man, just a few
who strive to be a little less wicked.
No matter the masks we give ourselves
is ever gonna change the facts that the clock's still ticking.
I believe in God despite what friends close to me might say.
For the sake of fitting in I could claim ignorance,
but there's just no other way.
Cause I know at the end of the day,
there's one all encompassing thought that keeps the doubts at bay,
there's gotta be something more than what I see currently.
Is it so naive to think there lies ahead my unfolding destiny?
God's guidance may be obtained from a book, perhaps,
but I dare you to take a second look
when passing by a mirror
... tell me there's more than what appears.
Is it God you see or is it the devil?
Now let me bring it up a notch to a philosphical level.
Whether you're planting the seeds of kindness
or the seeds of deceit, either way,
it takes effort to roll up your sleeves.
You might as well just be providing carbon dioxide for the trees.
If you don't take chances nothing much happens:
the universe and I unanimously agree.
Call me cardinal cause here I am stating first things first.
Just who the hell are you and what's your purpose?
If a messenger is what you be make it clear as crystal.
Vagueness and obscurity be corruptions might.
A gardener need not be afraid of thorns and thistles.
That's where the berries congregate, am I right?
It's all just talk and not enough walk,
with poetic phrasing I aim to knocks your socks off.
But if you judge by actions I'd be lucky to get a sneeze or cough.
Oh the bitter irony of this conundrum!
A lover of the night who chaseth the sun.
I'm stuck between my two great loves:
The naps in the shadow
and the beauty of the spotlight.
My wish to see the crowds
from the solace of the clouds
or be squeezed between 'em, airtight.
But I just cannot seem to change my outlook,
in many ways I'm both a closed door and a open book.
War and politics wish to claim my writer's soul,
though love and kindness be the intended goal.
They be packing nuclear weapons, but all I got is this pistol.
Flashing with them golden intentions like bedazzled tinsel.
But when the end comes all our egos take advice from soft drinks, fade and fizzle
Guess peace never come, 'til Jesus blows forth the heavenly whistle.
I can't just brush the deaths going on around me as nothing,
despite what the Beatles sang about, love isn't everything,
from experience I've learned, however,
when all you care for just shatters,
love is perhaps the only thing that matters.
So when you see me or when you don't,
a person you can touch and feel or a singular thought
pulled straight from thin air,
know that I am THERE!
I have a heart and mind, and flesh and bone.
Knowing this none can say that I am alone.
“Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed –
come to me when I too am on my death bed.”
“Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.”
Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force
this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
-- to be sucked back -- into it?
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed ~
The division should be acute, the before her, the with her, the after her,
Yet there is this constant rattling of doors, though they remain locked,
in theory. I think of her as gone until I turn a page and read a passage
of pompous dialogue and she returns, My Joie de Vivre, entertaining me
with that puckish wit, unabashed. She smiles in the dusk with crusading
colours that bend dark horizons, changing clouds unexpectedly. What was I
before Joy*? Content, pleasant and productive. But was I alive, aware of
Life, its blissful rhythms? Irony defined: the heart which awakened stone
no longer beats. Finally, I understand. Lessons are sharp things which
infect both fresh and aging amputations. What do I do with this knowledge?
It is like learning a language that is no longer spoken, a long monologue
unbearably forlorn, painful. Faith dismisses hauntings, yet she does so
in daily degrees, oh, the sweet ghosts that peer from those notes, my name
underscored in margins. Why is there only one glove in the sewing box?
Agony hunts me in the garden. Perfume almost, but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares. I dare not open a kitchen drawer. Pain waits there.
The specter of my former self, a staunch gent, so sure of Heaven's role,
that cold bloke follows me in the shadows, land of man’s rage and despair.
There is no pretty death, no words can comfort the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry in our departing; I only pray there is Godspeed in mine.
*Written Nov 4, 2012
Joy Gresham Davidman, American poet, and C.S. Lewis, English writer and Oxford scholar, were good friends and married solely for the purpose to keep Joy in England (contested). But love came, as it has a habit of doing, when least expected, after Joy was diagnosed with terminal cancer. There love was true and deep, and her death shattered Lewis. His book, A Grief Observed explores his anguish and a Christian’s questions which arise during times of suffering. The film, Shawdowlands, is based on the biography, Through the Shadowlands: The Love Story of C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman. Lewis died 3 years after Joy. The above poem is a conjecture on my part, as no one can truly know what lies in another's heart, alive or otherwise.
The Seven Seas of Rhye
A mythical destination for all those that do wrong.
This write sang to the tune of
When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again, Hurrah, Hurrah
She sails the high seas of the soup
Searching for a poetry scoop
O YEAH, O YEAH
Her eyes are keen, for she has been
A long time here, a poetry queen
She sails the, HIGH SEAS, of this poetry soup
The sailors standing on their decks
OUR DECKS, OUR DECKS
With kind words she will save our wrecks
HA HA, OUR WRECKS,
The dented bows, she will raise
With an irony, of praise
Then she’ll cast off, WISE ASS, continue on her treks
She sails along, she shows no fear
NO FEAR, I FEAR
Through stormy waters she will steer
WILL STEER, WILL STEER
She needs no man, with guiding hand
She lets you know, to understand
She makes it, QUITE CLEAR, she needs no buck-in-here
You’ll notice that she sports an A
A NAY, A NAY
Lets hope that B, she stays away
A WAY, A WAY
Cause I don’t know, about you
But I could never, handle two
If she ever, TURNS UP, it’s on your knees and pray
She steams through waters very deep
SO DEEP, SO DEEP
She’ll write you verses, make you weep
YOU WEEP, YOU WEEP
Then she’ll traverse, with laughter verse
Her every word, you will rehearse
And her smoke and, MIRRORS, into your faves you keep
Upon her stern, though don’t ask why
ASK WHY, ASK WHY
Poet Destroyer, six foot high
SIX HIGH, SIX HIGH
Upon the waves, you find you toss
But this one, you must never cross
Or she’ll send you, TO THE, Seven Seas of Rhye
~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~
~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~
She might send me, ~~~o~ o ~~~~ o ~~ o ~~~~
~ ~~ ~~~ ~ o ~~ TO THE, ~~~~o ~~~ ~~~~
~~~ ~~~ o ~~~~ ~~~ ~~~~ Seven Seas of Rhye.
~ ~~ ~~~ ~ ~~~ o ~~ ~~~~ ~~ ~~~~ ~~~ ~~~~
The Seven Seas of Rhye
Fear me you lords and lady preachers
I descend upon your earth from the skies
I command your very souls you unbelievers
Bring before me what is mine
Can you hear me you peers and privy councillors
I stand before you naked to the eyes
I will destroy any man who dares abuse my trust
I swear that you'll be mine
Sister I live and lie for you
Mister do or else die
You are mine I possess you
I belong to you forever
Storm the master marathon I'll fly through
By flash and thunder fire I'll survive
Then I'll defy the laws of nature
And come out alive
Then I'll get you
Begone with you short and shady senators
Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries
I challenge the mighty titan and his troubadours
And with a smile
I'll take you to the seven seas of Rhye
Written by Freddie Mercury for the song
Seven Seas of Rhye
We spoke forever
And then some more
We both stood on our balconies
Watching the moonlit sky above
Laughing about those stories
That compare the stars with love
He closed his eyes
So that he could see
The sight before me
The red moon setting into the sun
And the ocean rising up into the red moon
A flash of green light
A dash across the sky
Or shooting stars
He makes his wish
But he won't dish
He says he was hasty
Not sure he wanted it to come true at all
I pondered and pestered
But he wouldn't tell
He set a date for his confession
Friday, he said
Friday, he'll tell
So far apart yet so close together
We held up our hands and closed one eye
And as one, we wrap our pinky around the moon
A pinky promise
A lunar pinky promise
He mocks it
I mock it
Laughs at the sight we must be
Laugh at the irony
The moon isn't constant I say
He says he will always be (constant) with me
He laughs again
I ponder and pester
He says I must know it, it's obvious
He tells me we speak too much
And my fear bubbles out
Fear of loss
Fear of abandonment
And a sense of "I told you so"
I thought he was leaving
Never to speak to me again
Friday, he promises
He worries about my reaction
I worry about his action
He stared nonstop
To make me feel awkward
I blush, I laugh
I make eye contact
And actually see them
So gray so green
Somewhere lost in between
They do make me drown
And ever since then
I cannot look him in the eyes
Without feeling a spark
A tantalizing reviving heart warming terrifying spark
But I deny
Underneath the waterfall
Only him and me
So far apart
I felt it that night
But I still deny
So, I lay alone
Under the moonlit night
With the stars
That relate to love
And I assume
I try to think of anything other than
What I think it is
What I fear it is
What I've always feared would be
I must prepare myself I say
To face these fears one day
And that day may be tomorrow
My heart flutters at the thought
I do not think
That on that flash of green
He wished for me
But I do fear it
And it's my only assumption
I must prepare
What I would do
Assuming it came true
I know not what I will do
Will I say yes or runaway
So I will see him tomorrow
I say to myself:
"To be with you
Or to be true
Do I love you?
But I know
That tomorrow you will tell me
That on that streak of light
In the moonlit night
Underneath the lovers' stars
You wished for a bar of Mars"
The impressions of Doeg, whom slaughtered eight-five priest and their families
Always wanting to play tug of war, to keep me from my reason
Entangled inside black emeralds of broken glass....
Smiling as I reflect upon it all; these years of recent past
While spending the evening communing, composed compromise, with "My Father!"
To lift this burden from my shoulders, depredations despicable deposits
Never wanting to let go; for lucifer knows if he does, woes will soon there follow....
Oh how he makes me laugh, sometimes, as he bedazzles them with his dance?
This infective irony, always trying to lure me within, his chalice of chant; satan
Watching deliriums dangling decry from below, until, "The High Priest Melchizedek" arrives ~
A shield also reminding me once again, that my war is not with flesh and blood!
Humanities curtain calls of puppets, mastered, amid demoniacs decaying hands
Desensitized hypocaustic hypnosis, always peering through the keyholes, of let me in....
But everything has a reason I am also reminded; as not all, can remain within ones own mind
Greater visions must be held, in quest; these mountains cast, beyond "The Crest of Light" ~
Standing upon the cliffs golden edge, watching Moses pronounce, "The Glory of God!"
Behold, the transfiguration of changing tides....
Faith has brought me here, to these shores across from Galilee
To taste the souls of such, as Legion once was, dwelling, amongst the tombs
"Be still," trinomials turbulent winds, and crash upon me, your pain no more
Slashed by this slicing blade, barriers of illusions, forever gone
"Lazarus, come forth," He said, that you may know, dead, is the sting of death
As I cast it back into the wind of lost, from whence, it truly came....
Trouble me not henceforth, for "The Holy Temple" has risen
And no beast shall stand before, unmarked, by these scorching flames!
Smiling to myself as I laugh, inside, at the foolishness, of hades' eyes
Scattered, as I walk with Melchizedek once more, beyond the passing
Of this Red Seas ways....
These shadows of sacrilege, never again, shall they call my name
Among there valley of soon to be's forever, and eternal grave!
My enemy is not humanity, flesh or blood; nor am I, but a hopeless dream
"Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"~No! Not even if ten thousand demons, were about my side
The transfiguration, of, these changing tides....
LETTER TO A SORE BROTHER, BEAUTIFUL SISTER (DEDICATED TO MY BROTHER’S AND SISTER’S LOVE)
Early jungle makes me a desire
To be alone in the belly of our dear beautiful mother
Because our growing up is such and irony
Which made me rejoiced each moment this time
That wishes were never allowed to be rose
For men of wrong mind to buy
There in my childhood irony moment
We fought as if it is created share hatred
We wish for all except one that pays a little pain
For i held back from all
As all held back from me and other all
Indeed, people taught that our life is a share pain
A sore injury to the world of love
Because i loved each moment my brother bleed from our father’s hell
I went behind the scene to celebrate my goal
kindly, the moment is always become
As i happily shun and damn the future
... who did you think you are with my future
I sometimes ignorantly murmur as a child
In my little kingdom emptiness, i rejoice in the brothers pain
A little hatred of thee, a more love of me
I love each time i am loved alone
To hate thee by my blood and cause sheepishly i became and honour
As this irony grows into something still ironic
I wish my pain could allow my pen speak plain
To cry such an awesome deep and sore blood
At each moment the rain of thee bath me thoroughly
To see thee share all to have me clothed
To borrow from the enemy to have me homed
even to lose all from the gods to make sure that i have all from the goddess
The brother even stole to have me meal
More like the blood and doing of the mother, it shared abroad
As brothers all lie to have me protected
Much illiterate to make me the literate king
Oh bleed me death less i say this pain of love
Sisters risk of the night, the horror evil men to see a smile in this lips of mine
That i wish never remember the selfish boyhoodness
Ay! How i see my brother’s cry in his desolation
Not for him or for his little joy
But for the pain of a dear brother
To save all only to loose all to life a brother
Its pain of the ugly moment in a close death
It was determined and death paid of thee
But the brother and sister’s coming death
Woke brothers will up, sisters ghost down
I need to save my brother
Leave my life to save my brother
And take it once his breath is back
There the sacrifice of a dear brother made me desire
Never a child as this in my next world
Because you are a brother, a beautiful brother
A sister, very handsome sister that i hold dearest to my breath
And love dearest to my heart beat
Of course, as soon as a new poetry contest was posted I had to immediately enter. In this
contest, you had to email the sponsor to get your own, unique theme.
Off went my email; back came her reply: “Write a poem about what inspired you to write
She even included one of her poems as a sample of what she was looking for. A beautiful
poem indeed; relaying the story about how her Grandmother inspired her to write.
So, I tried to emulate her with my story.
I wrote a poem about my football coach who taught me real men can write poetry without
feeling emasculated. A nice poem, albeit, total fiction.
I penned a verse about my first love encouraging me to write about our romance and how
the subsequnt breakup inspired me to write about the sorrow of love lost. A passionate and
beautiful poem, although pure BS.
I rhymed the touching story about how my mother, on her deathbed, confessed that she
knew I was writing poetry by reading my secret journal for years. Her last words to me
were to follow my passion and write poems for her in heaven. Problem is, my mother is
alive and well and has never shown any interest in reading my poems.
The fact of the matter is, I cannot pinpoint a moment in time; a person; or, an experience
that inspired me to write.
Just as I need no inspiration to breathe in order to stay alive; I write poetry as a reflexive,
Just as I need no inspiration to eat in order to satisfy my hunger; I write poems to placate
my yearning inside.
Just as I need no inspiration to dream when I close my eyes at night; words, rhymes and
stories fill my mind whenever I find a moment of peace in my hectic day.
Whereas, I envy those who know where their inspiration came from, I am less blessed with a
birth of inspiration and am more cursed with an innate need to write.
In my email to the sponsor, I bragged how I was up to the challenge, but, alas, she
presented me with a theme I cannot relate to.
I will continue to breathe words of poetry through my keyboard.
I will continue to nourish my hunger through prose.
And, I will continue to dream in rhyme and meter.
But, I have no story to wow you with about what motivated me to do so in the first place.
The irony in all of this? After admitting this truth about myself to a complete stranger in an
otherwise meaningless contest, I am inspired to continue to feed my curse and write poetry
It felt heavier than he anticipated.
It was cold and clumsy in the sweaty palm of his hand.
He stared at the hard black object
Somewhat amazed at how easily he was able to acquire it.
Unsure how to proceed,
He had not read any manuals to help in this endeavor,
He first held it with the barrel pressed against his temple.
Next, he put his lips around the long, narrow barrel.
He was surprised by the irony taste of the metal
And what he assumed was gunpowder residue from previous use.
He laughed at himself for his repulsion with the germs he must have just consumed.
Lastly, he held the device at his throat,
Pointing up through his head.
He pointed the weapon forward and practiced squeezing the trigger
Prior to loading the magazine with the bullets from the open box on the table.
He wasn't sure why he put in six rounds
When one was all that he would need.
The magazine slipped easily into the butt of the black Berretta.
He opted for the temple option, still spitting out the taste of death.
Sweat poured down his face and escaped from every pore of his tormented body.
He realized he had not left a note, but it was too late to remedy that oversight.
“Good-bye cruel world”, he whispered, or perhaps only thought.
His finger slowly pressed the trigger and his world went black.
As he started to blink his eyes in consciousness he laid motionless wondering why his spirit
was still encased in his body.
How much time had passed?
Is time still relevant?
Taking inventory of his surroundings, he realized he was not in the afterlife.
He checked the revolver and saw that the bullet was never released into the chamber.
He must have passed out from the anticipation of putting an end to his pain.
Pain, that somehow, now, seemed more bearable.
Perhaps he was being too drastic.
Perhaps she was not worth this kind of an end.
Perhaps being so far in debt was not all that bad of a situation.
Perhaps he could find a purpose in life.
He pulled the lever that resulted in a cartridge being loaded into the chamber and
thought, “Of course, Stupid.”
He ejected the bullet from the chamber;
Released the magazine from the butt of his gun;
Returned the bullets back into the box,
And wrapped everything up in a towel, before placing them in a shoebox and stashing it in
the back of his closet.
His phone rang, unanswered, as he walked out the front door of his apartment, feeling like a
new man with a second chance at life.
the new renaissance
pushed the envelope too far
actions speak louder than words
under my thumb from your torture
I must confess im obsessed
cant stop thinking about you
for one day
No need for us to buy records or movies
couldn't take away your game
the irony is
i'll never forget you
and i know who to blame
if i were you
id make your amends
id say what you need to say or do
to recoil from this predator
cause we got a problem
Obsessively i cant stop myself
actions speak louder than words
your words suck
your creativity blackmailing yourself
you like to play the victom
go after my heart
sell your drugs and guns to someone else
no wonder you never come visit me
you know i know what you did to me
you know i know whose guilty
you know its you living with yourself
for the fame
must be punishment enough
anything for money
i'll do it for free
take my power back
couldnt see the madman coming for you
and i dont care
so easy to get to
nazi regimen that makes me puke
had a sense of humor martyring me
you just never go away
actions speak louder than words
so go ahead and kill yourselves in your horror crap man made bs
leaving you unable to fix yourself
i wont fix you
for the fact your getting rich
to push the envelope
in all the wrong ways
and the crime of the century your selling
OCD cut throat
the only way you feel good about yourself is to have someone applaud you
and surprisingly you have no clue
the music stores are going out of style
your fashism that we trade
couldnt help yourself
worth all the diamonds in the world your dieing for
to throw me away
who would notice that one life
the heart of a war where noone cares
until my revenge takes place
obsessively collecting buckets of spit
you make me sick
if fur is murder
than what have you done to me
obsessively compulsively hating myself
not good enough never a good day
all my smiles you took away
all my good days you took away
I wont play the victom of your musical genocide
have a nice day
live with yourself if you can
i dont care about you twice as much as you think
Worldwide propoganda for you to sell a lie
psychology used to hurt and thats what your a part of
good for money is worth more than another life
you may not kick your dog cause its not right
and you push the envelope pretending to be scared
getting away with whatever you want caause you have bombs
The past is gaining on me -There’s nowhere else to go.
I’m tired of running - Ready or not it’s time 2 face my foes
The ghosts The demons The skeletons The Scheme N
The lies - The deceit. I was young n dumb. I kept it all discreet
But now I see. The joke’s on me.
Yet but 1 regret - Sleeping with the enemy.
My lust got me snared -
Bewitched and bound in Jezebel’s lair
Who will laugh last? What will become of me?
Soon enough I’ll see As my life goes on...
I’m not fishing for pity - just to set the record straight.
I stand a man on his own 2 - accountable for my mistakes.
But all the drama… has taken its toll
The trauma… has savaged my psychological
To the point of no return? Highly probable-
Only Heaven knows which way the wind will blow
Yet my lonely soul. Fights for a remedy
“Lord Remember me“…..
At the resurrection… but until then & as you can see
Somehow my life goes on
What’s left 4 me 2 live 4...? My baby’s gone….
Yet u say… “4 me you’ll pray, sorry 4 my lost…
I’m a be ok. God will keep me strong….
Time will heal the pain… As my life goes on.
But you don’t know the half… Not the faintest clue…
Cache 22... Tell me how you do… how you made it through
I’ll be waiting on you As my life goes on.
As my life goes on.
But first peep this verse things get worse -
pay close attention
Dodge that hearse don’t die cursed
take heed 2 Intuition’s premonitions
Before I Drifted -The Shadow shifted
From the valley to my alley
Death had orchestrated a premeditated grand finale
To my surprise It paid me a Visit
I was Bound - Mute - Defenseless
On my back looking up - I’m think N What the fuss!
I can’t breathe! But I can’t leave!
How can this be!?
I thought the curse was lifted!
At the congregation’s litigation
I took a plea - to avoid the maximum
I was surely face N
I rejoiced and gave praise with my hands lifted!
I believed it - thought I received it!
But what went wrong that made me write this song -
About the events ahead that soon would come
When all was said and done
The epitome of irony. My hands were still lifted.
“Please don’t shoot me!”
“You have the right to remain silent E T C.
“What’s going on? Why am I here?
What’s up with all the guns?
Why are you arresting me?”
The flashing lights and 9mms, nosey neighbors, -the sirens
End of story - faded glory - slowly all went dim
But it‘s been almost ten. And as you can see…
My life still goes on...