Breathe in
Dive in the numbing water
Freeze off all the guilt
Use the rusty meat cleaver
Chop off the rest
Speak into the nothingness
Have the river current speak back
Understand the minnows?
Stay in groups, leave in ones?
Be adventurous
Mumble to yourself at karaoke night,
crushing the non-alcoholic drink in your red solo cup
Pretend you peed yourself so you don’t seem clumsy
Red knuckles on the rotten wood
One bang away from bleeding
Sit by the same river
Move to the little island not yet overtaken
Night fall
Skip the stone like your worries
Hold the sky like your burden
Fail
Remember the Swiss Army knife can’t spread butter
Think of Grandma’s kitchen
Be normal
Swim
Swim relentlessly into the empty night
Be the constellation the light of the stars reflects against
Move on
Move forward.
FEBRUARY 2024
I've got the shoes of life on the wrong way
so chop off my legs and let me walk with the stump,
so I won't have to take this anymore.
I'd rather walk left, left, left
than right, right, right
to fall into your arms, into your ballad of wrongs.
But I'd rather walk right, right, right
than left, left, left
to fall into a damned blackhole of I-can't-take-this-anymore.
So, please, chop off my legs and let me walk with the stump,
so I won't have to take this anymore.
Men, especially male men are macho,
weirdos always less concerned and
thoughtful then women are. Take a look.
happens and rolls downhill.
So what! Who cares! Could care less!
What the hell. Not my fault. Had nothing
to do with it. There is nothing I can
do about it. Have been same all
of their lives and will never change.
Shortcomings exceed their attributes.
Dangling chads. Key pinch cards.
Full time job trying to be kind,
courteous thoughtful and sincere.
Chop off problem and throw away
like extremities in Civil War. Pile
becomes higher and higher.
Go to church, listen to what God has
to say and then go home and apply it.
That is the Trinity I know in my mind.
Migration is a problem that exists.
It has already happened so what
are you going to do about not condemning,
criticizing and complaining about it.
No action. No reaction or results.
Do nothing and nothing will happen.
You can listen but do not have to
do anything about it. Your choice.
God set standards for you to follow.
Never follow and suffer consequences.
Who cares what you think about problem.
What are you going to do to solve it.
King Henry the eight looked up and caught glimpse of another beauty
She had a thin waist, long gorgeous auburn hair, and youth.
She was gorgeous!
He wrote an order to be handed to his enforcer
"come and get this one
I have my eye on another woman
chop off her head
call her an adulterer
take her to the guillotine
I am in love again"
momma is tired of these kids
never clean
just do what they wish
that’s why I gave them scarlet necklaces
yes baby
adulterer is already home hehe
not going through his dumb phone
garnet slip with a heartbreak locket choker instead
so deep I chop off his head
dance and twirl in his ribboning ruby mist
lachrymose
xenotransplantation limbs planted
my severed garden
petals fly each time they bud and sprout back out
chop them down like weeds
next time you should stop and think
gaze into your mother or wife’s eyes asking
is she capable
find out
I would bet your life she is
Don’t give up your dream when you are just only halfway,
Two half dollars or a whole - it’s the same either way;
But chop off your dream, and you will make yourself squirm,
Lamenting, “what good’s a half apple to a half worm?”
Some get over a bad childhood,
they rise to the top of a hill
to set fire to the bloody rags of a choiceless youth.
The beacon flares, below a forest
of wide-eyed animals
watch as the sacrifice, now a smoldering fawn,
blunders among them, its throat cut and bleeding.
Others drag around a blind doll,
day by day the macabre manikin grows larger,
its face a picture of apathy,
for apathy is the ghostly dress of
all long dead ballerinas.
That hand-stitched doll
gets too heavy to bear, and so daily,
they must give it away to beggars and saints,
The doll is insane, its pain is a robber's key
that returns to unlock any cardboard castle,
or iron fortress.
When the wild dogs come
to scavenge among the bones of a childhood,
throw them something raw and still wriggling,
let them slaver and chew it over,
until they sicken,
then chop off their gray heads,
one by one.
“Why raise this much crude alarm
Over the schemed little harm
To just chop off your left arm
Leaving your right for your farm…
Left arm coming to gross harm
Does not betray yields from farm,
Save for one with eyes on alms,
Since planning to dump farm’s palms...
Your right arm can yams harvest,
Just as it can put on vest.
No true lover would you jest
Or with tongue your patience test
For being now a one-armed man
She should leave for older stan!”
They said I'm a chip off the old block, but I'd never budge an inch
For it is of nature to bear the semblance of the one from whom you proceed
For it is blood to blood, nothing escaping
For that's nature's will
All we can do is to chop off the externals that does not augur well with the times we are
And that's if that semblance is an Ogre to modernity
~ semblance
People Should Propose
There are these things we should propose;
When we have lied may chop off long nose;
After increases,
Into pieces,
And longer and longer it grows and grows.
Jim Horn
I got no time for slithering snakes
Twisting themselves into different shapes
I just keep my distance until they slither away
Because today im not trying to get bit in the face
And having its venom filling my veins
Drifting in and out of consiousness and slipping away
If it gets close to me
I'll chop off his head and skin him with haste
End its life with the quickness
Bring silence & crickets to its spineless existance
Nothing savored Nothing cherished
Chewing wood, spitting silk
Hating every creeping moment
till darkness lowers and laps at my toes
Blessed darkness gives me a cave
where I may retreat from all hateful, glossy life -
oblivion with eyes wide open
Monumental sorrow grinds my guts to dust
Hopelessness, a perversion that licks my ear
and whispers obscene melodies.
An ache to take out the tools
used to mark my hatred on myself
Hope is a lie believed by fools and sinners
That baked desert called my mind spits dust on dreams.
Trapped by iron bars bleeding despair
my face is a pale moon of desolation
peering out on savage scenes of normalcy.
Fingers tremble on the keyboard
longing to smash its plastic against my head.
Some say how sweet and gentle I am
I can’t wait to escape and laugh at their gullibility. . .
had I an ax I would chop off my haunting countenance
and hide the pieces in brown paper bags
flung into back yards around the town
Am I sweet and gentle as they say
but refuse the treacle of the words
Or have I acted upon the stage so well
I have become what I loathe to be
Are you my baby
are you my honey chile
Are you here for
longer than a little while.
If you make me cry
I'll burn your house to ash
I'll chop off your
head and throw it in the trash.
If you break my heart
I'll break your mother's neck
So let's hope our
romance isn't a train wreck.
Purge these wanton eyes
Lost gazing at her beauty
Held visions burnt in stone
Killing me ever so slowly
Exhume my weary mind
And cast it out to sea
Drown it in Holy waters
Where only the good survive
Lend me your whispered breath
For mine has been stolen
A last gasp of indiscretion
And my soul is now deflated
Chop off my ringing ears
So I can no longer hear
The sound of the nightingale
Seducing me in my mourning
Lay me down and let me die
This body has cried its last cry
I wait with time no more
I bid you all a final goodbye
**A fictional poem**
When I see grass that’s green I wish was pink,
Soft to the touch in cotton-candy land;
Where eyes are never afraid if they blink,
Snow will steal summer and chop off its hand,
So that when I stumble warmth picks me up,
And wraps shame in satin cushioned just right;
Where tears become wine poured serenity’s cup,
Blushing cheeks rosy kept safe wintry night;
When I hear foreign-made songs drifting through dreams,
But seek Chevrolet music ‘n superstars,
Sharing a beer swimming Hollywood streams
Before making love in the backseat of cars;
Then I wave a wand held tightly by me,
Recovering scenes with my poetry.
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