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Rusted Dream Poem
Tonight I’m going to drink until I drown
I screw the cork from the Castle Rock
And here I go again, scribbling words down
The feelings linger, but yet can’t be found
My heart still hasn't learned to walk
Tonight I’m going to drink until I drown
Someday I’m going to drive to her town
I’m gonna’ go up to her door and knock
And here I go again, scribbling words down
I’m wasted and my mind is nowhere around
The ticks and tocks are falling from the clock
Tonight I’m going to drink until I drown
Dylan’s music was her perfect sound
She wrote all his lyrics down with chalk
And here I go again, scribbling words down
She was always my dearest proper noun
But she threw away the only key to her lock
Tonight I’m going to drink until I drown
And here I go again, scribbling words down
(Written for Anne's Villanelle contest, never wrote one of these before. I like this form!)
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
This one’s for the addicts in the street
Their poor souls corrupted by the disease
They’ve been where life and death meet
When they are crying down upon their knees
They stare at the laughing people in coffee shops
Wondering how their days ended up so black and rotten
Conniving to get what they need and fleeing the cops
They were normal people only to be ghosts forgotten
If only they could be strong and try to move on
They could find a way to obtain a fresh start
But sadly most of them are already too far gone
It has nothing to do with being dumb or smart
That’s what this disease can do to anyone
And it’s not because they don’t love or don’t care
Sometimes addiction has just simply won
I know all of this because I was once there
I was once a thief, a liar, and a loser
And I’m not proud of the awful things I’ve done
I was a hopeless substance abuser
But a new and wonderful life for me has begun
And honestly the cravings still come for me
They whisper in my ear and try to drag me back down
The temptation will come and it will always be
You just have to fight for your own golden crown
If you have a loved one struggling with addiction
Keeping fighting, don’t give up on them ever again
If you do you will only be aiding in their conviction
Of a long and painful life of despair until their end
If they finally grow strength and try to get clean
Don’t let your hopeful heart collapse
When they fall back into a relapse
That is what happens, despite what you ween
This is a subject I write about a lot
Only because I’ve been through it all
And the lesson that I’ve been taught
Wasn’t learned in a school or study hall
I was about to lose everything I held so dear
My girlfriend, my friends and my mother
Hell, I did lose something dear, my brother
But I woke strength inside and faced my fear
Don’t let your fond memories turn to cotton
Keeping trying and support your ghost forgotten
Remember the ghosts forgotten
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
(Instrumental)
Music is the liberation of the mind
Many nights I get lost in its depths
Eyes closed, in each moment of solitude,
Forgetting about life and its loud parties
Feeling the spiritual mending in my heart
There are well written lyrics
in most of the songs that I love,
But if my poems were put to music
There wouldn't be any words…
And it would be the same feeling,
and feelings are where all meaningful art is born
That’s what music or any art should do for someone
It should make them feel something
Feeling the art is better than hearing it
Do you get where I’m coming from?
Or are you just reading these poems?
August 14th, 2013
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
(To her, who will never read this.)
Her hooded heart shields her from getting soaked by any sort of lustful rain
She is impenetrable by any weakening feeling such as affection or commitment
She’s got everything but nothing and nothing to lose but everything
She’s the same way all of the time, only seeing me part of the time
They always seems to crave what I’m not, and misinterpret what I am
And I’m beyond remembering why I chase her storm
That map in my brain that used to have a direct route
To my serene plateau, in which she would be gleaming there
With an open mind of who I once was and who I will or will not be
Upon the time of my arrival, has vanished without any footsteps or trail
No sense of direction to guide, no sweetness to taste
No words to explain, no answer for the question why
I’ve forgotten what I was supposed to remember
But still remember what I was told to forget
The flesh carvings of cannibalistic chemicals in my brain
In which my thoughts are subdued, make it difficult to adhere to
Any sort of anthropomorphism of the transient ghost that I was in a time when
The world was the same but everything was submerged in jubilation and not dreariness
A time when she thought of me as a man she might just keep…
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
I.
You can always tell by the eyes
When they’re starting to go
You’ll fall for a few of their lies
Before you begin to know
And you will just defy it
(But they know you will never go)
They’ll glide through the waters and skies
The erratic behavior will soon begin to show
Above and away the storm dies
A cold, hollow feeling in a black and white glow
And they will justify it
(But you know it will take them slow)
You’ll slowly begin to realize
Static is policing their echo
The red stitching in their burnt Eye
That will probably never unsew
And they will just deny it
(But you know they will always go)
II.
The phantom’s days are aphotic
Ocean whispers deicide to Moon
The morning clouds aquatic
Reaching the waves with a bent spoon
Mind is lifted and neurotic
The Earth will come back to you soon
And you won’t feel so erotic
While alone in your hotel room
(Sex with the city sleepers)
Alive where Death lives
Gone where the waves go
Asleep where dreams wake
Dead where feelings die
…A light where the stars are burnt…
III.
Bid these feelings words
The machines of waters and skies
Embody the gliding emotions
Like clouds they shape themselves and go
Write this bidding to feel
Remember the thoughts that were
Like waves they flow and fade away
Rid these words of feeling
Feel anything at all, fall…
Like wind they take and they stray
Feel these words to rid
The masks and chains of oneself
And the dark feelings that boil within
Like trees they raise themselves and grow
IV.
Ocean dreams of phantom mechanisms
The world is cold and full of ghosts
They watch as their generation swims in murk
And the funeral of social segregation will never breathe
The night mirrors reflect the soul of a poet
Only one comprehends these idiosyncratic vowels
Like waves they flow and fade away
V.
Under the white and blue cloak
The clouds are my poet smoke
Rain is the cleansing of wicked nights
With venom pollution and spider bites
That flood my mind with a static tan
Vanished through the wire, I already am
VI.
Her clouded eyes they lock to me
I, a sight she was not meant to see
My ghastly ripped soul exposed
Our deepest feelings transposed
And I know this one’s a lie
A worn exhausted sigh
Printed from the pressed death within
Those eyes seek Life all over again
(Her flawlessness the only flaw)
(His flaws make him flawless)
VII.
Phantom is high and dark as crow
Moon showers greetings below
Ocean mirrors it’s divine glow
Cloud attempts to steal the show
Earth is screaming, we ignore it though
Mind is planted and dying to grow
Life is tired and waiting to go
Static is torn and ready to sew
Death is late and killing slow
Eye is two and one doesn’t know(Shhh!)
VIII.
The flames scorching the depths of Eye
Splitting the reign of one into two
I met Satan at the gates of Hell (Phoenix)
Only to be spit back to Earth like scum
Half alive and crawling through the moor
Realization was the key to the shining door
Oh my god, I’m one. Eye am God.
IX.
The mountains between the waters and skies
Keeps dreams from reality and pulls reality from dreams
Mind faces fears of the night mirrors and reflections sleep
And the liquid light of the moon opens a gateway
Where dreams don’t sleep and strength never weakens
A world where control doesn’t slip between the seams
Of your sewn mind…
(Free yourself from the shadows of life and death)
X.
Through cataracts in the skies
A distant moan begins to rise
Through an uncharted cloud
Of a puddle yet to be in drops
The fruit sky shrieking aloud
In a garden of iridescent crops
With blooming pollution in clad soil
Entwined in a cumulonimbus coil
Morphing into a levitated brook
With a broken and faceless rook
In a receding horizon losing it’s form
Cackling out to the tempestuous storm
Flashes of embers in skies blink
Flooding the faintly seen brink
Of the distant washed away galaxies
Pygmy slowly galloping through
Rolling clouds in the skies of aquatic blue
A delicate touch of colored waves
Painting rainbows on sea graves
Where pirate ships set sail
Through a violent pour of hail
In a limitless sky of falling streams
And an icicle ocean of drying dreams
Through cataract jets in the skies
A static ambience calms and dies…
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
In the hollows of a long and dreamless night,
The soothing beauty of a dawning twilight
And tired sighs of a homeless train passing by
Keep me company in the loneliness of this high
And I speak aloud to the crowd of whispering trees,
“I’ll live to find peace before I die from this disease.”
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
Mechanism 1
Part #1
The things outside of my window dry out my eyes. The egg that I saturated has mold on it. The moon decays when I speak. The stars are all just God’s germs. Lately Holly has been combing her hair with a wrench and brushing her teeth with razor blades. I don’t remember the last time I was sober. Does it matter anyway? My nightmares are born in water and I can’t afford a boat. Money is just something you use to wipe up your brains’ blood with. My neighbor says the ocean is where civilization will be reborn.
Mechanism 2
Part #5
Does happiness come with a warranty? It’s been so long since I’ve gone to the store, so I wouldn’t know. My neighbor is paranoid. He carries his rifle wherever he goes. What happens to feelings after you can’t feel anymore? Holly says that the shower nozzle feels better than I do. Last night I found an artificial word under my bed. I see faces in the winter. They all look at me like I’m spring.
Mechanism 3
Part #7
Some moth keeps fluttering by my window, it can’t get out. The moon calls for its soul. It has to stare at its dream through inescapable glass. Just like the reflection does in the mirror. Do colors look the same to other people? What if blue for you was red for them? Then they would literally have a red sky, and they would still be calling it blue. Holly says my brain is as good as that moth. Which, I wouldn’t doubt, except I write poetry and he commits suicide by lamp
Mechanism 4
Part #2
Some guy asked me if I had someone by the name of Frank sleeping in my apartment anywhere. What a freak. My neighbor says I should stock up on canned foods. He is a freak too. I think my pencil has been drinking. Satisfaction, for me, is like frozen alcohol. Holly showers too much. She is a freak. I want to drive to New York. Who am I kidding; I’m too sober to drive.
Mechanism 5
Part #6
This hotel is making me go sane! Every time I lay down I hear the snore of the one’s who have slept here before me. My neighbor tells me that we are all going to be cannibals. Holly’s brain was spilling blood, so I cleaned it with quarters. This place smells like… well I can’t make out the smell exactly. Shut up Holly.
Mechanism 6
This part is not in the instructions?
…Uh…I don’t know...go away…stop reading this… You’re still here huh? I’ve drank too much solvent tonight. The casing will never get cleaned now. You probably don’t know what that is. I feel lkie cuittng fof my fingre adn puttung ut in Hlly’s wine. I’m real gone.
Mechanism 7
Part # 4
This wine tastes like the blotches on the moon. Holly says I’m the worst person that she has ever felt. Her compliments are intriguing. That moth is still desperately trying to get out of the window. I’m just going to turn on the lamp. Anti-tobacco commercials make me want to smoke a cigarette. Last night my neighbor shot his T.V. and the recoil made him fall on his head. Apparently he died or something. That’s a shame, that was a damn good television.
Mechanism 8
Part # 8
Are you even real? Are any of us even real? What is real? I see the ghost of Rimbaud sitting on the chair mocking me. Is he real? People would call me crazy, but it’s those same people who say that one guy died for us and then was resurrected from the dead by someone who supposedly created the universe. If that’s real, then where did the creator come from? I pour out all the rivers of the world onto the concrete sky. Holly says my eccentricity makes me abnormal. Is she even normal? Are any of us even normal? What is normal?
Mechanism 9
Part # 9
Normal is someone who conforms to the shackles of society. Holly says that I need to **** her more. But that’s not the hard part; the hard part is pretending that I enjoy it. At what cost does a man finally enable himself to be free? How many bottles of hard liquor does it take? How many different drugs? How many different women? How many different faces does he need to wear? I guess the better question is; how many mistakes does a man need to make before he benefits from them?
Mechanism 10
Part # 10
I am real gone. I am the static in your television. I am a creak in your house. I am a mastodon. I am extinct. I am a ghost. My mind is six feet under but my feet are still walking. I am the core of the apple. I am not the pit of a peach. I am poetry not for the masses. I am the book never to be read. I am the moth at your window. I am a mechanism. You are a mechanism. Holly is a mechanism. We are all mechanisms working together to form a machine. A selfish, ungrateful and greedy machine that will destroy the planet Earth in which we are only guests. We take advantage of this place but it does not take advantage of us. I am a phantom and these are mechanisms that keep me transparent.
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
Sigh # 14
She said there’s beauty in the ashes of our fire
And if I didn't see the truth, I would be a liar
But I’m stuck inside the embers of this love
While she is outside the fire watching it burn
When the moon gleams and she is alone
She doesn't wait for me to come home
I've known I’m not the only one she thinks of
And I brokenly wait for her thoughts to turn
While she roams wondering when I will learn
She poured me wine and uninvited me from her bed
Saying she regretted the three words she’d once said
I tried to take her back to where our seed once grew
Well some things never change and some things do
I’m still struggling with memories of what’s true
Where the trees once stood grown and tall
She just stands there watching them fall
With water in one hand and a chainsaw in the other
She pushes me out of her warm nest and into the flock
How can I keep sitting here? How can our time still be?
When it seems so hard for her to even smile at me?
She can’t help but drift from our bed to another
No matter which hand is where on the last clock
Eventually time will teach me to stand and to walk
She poured me wine and uninvited me from her bed
Saying she regretted the three words she’d once said
Where am I supposed to go what am I to do,
If to me she is right and to her I’m old news?
I’m still suffocating from these breathless blues
And I will write about the sighs that I choose
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
Thought Train Location As of October 27th,2013
Take 1
…don’t even try to believe or perceive or conceive any of this*
when the clouds come to veil the stars and the night puts you in an unsure but
com/for/table artistic condition and the moths come smacking their bodies against the
transparent glass defending the depths of fires twisting and swirling through a
windstorm on the inside(it’s just a lamp, fellas)/? But the room feels cold because it’s
now raining in here and I’m wearing a desk across my shoulders while I stand naked
trying to remember where I put my unsharpened two cent pencil so I can write COME IN
across the paper moon that hangs upside down on the floor just low enough so you can
still swim across the oceanic ceiling and glide through the walls with painted skies and
sculpted unconscious dreams/ I’d sit down but gravity won’t allow it and come to think of
it I don’t know how to sit because the chair(cloud) is made of songs and words but
there’s no format to form any conceivable meaning that I can relate with so I’ll just
stand/ I pack some cigarettes and jump onto the blades of a liquid fan that blows whisky
across my lips until they’re too cracked to speak about the problems of the moth who
crawls across my open eye and eats my face outside of the reflecting window*-
suddenly I see myself twirl and fade away like smoke blowing away into non-existence!
There’s an optical illusion in the room that has me doubting everything I stand for
because I thought I saw God but it was just a picture pasted on a board and only
defended by thin fragile glass that I could shatter with my mind if I wanted to(already
did actually) but I see all these moths praying to it because they don’t think any better
than that (they never even thought to)/ Now time is approaching “dawn” and the
sunlight begins to seep into the room like a snake slithering towards its prey and it’ll
strike me down swallow me alive and return me back to {put noun here} where
perception and perspective are the only truth, and to even know that none of that’s true
at all is to live with so many questions and I just can’t accept the answers that I’m given
for those but I know I’m supposed to& I lost my train of thought so get off the tracks
before I punch you in the face with my cigarette and watch as you frantically brush away
the ash that burns into your skin like an ant (or moth) melting beneath a magnified
glass- you caterpillar.* Flutter by butterfly, we all live to die / WHATTT?/ I said I hope I’m
ready for anything because here comes everything out to bring me down for something
they forgot to say and really I know nothing about no-thing so don’t ask me anything
about something I said because I won’t tell you a thing about what you just
read_WHHAAPPP!!*
*(sips on his whisky and {put verb here} his cigarette)
{how creative can you get?}
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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Rusted Dream Poem
A Three Cent Poem (And A Table)
This table is as cluttered as I
As it struggles to stand on it’s legs
The fast food bag smells of rotten eggs
There’s half full fountain drinks from work
And a receipt from a grocery store clerk
Telling me to take a survey for a chance to win cash
It now sits under an empty Fat Tire full of cigarette ash
The penciled sheet of paper with a three cent poem on it sobs
Underneath bitten pay stubs from familiar restaurant jobs
There’s two cereal bowls who tell me they want a bath
And a bottle of all purpose cleaner to clear the path
But what’s the point of clearing all the weight off the table,
If it will just build up again when I feel unstable?
Life is meant to question why
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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