Lock me behind bars,
Hide my eyes under the cloudy sky.
Sweet to burn my heart,
Kiss my nape and burn my soul.
Lovely crime, to love a boy.
He despises the fate I write,
The will I wish to sign.
O dear Lord, I beg as I close the closet,
How gay, and never overjoyed,
Over loving a man who hates my wine.
I plead to close the gates of my closet,
So, I never let him out of my mind.
Diamonds locked inside the safe.
No one asks what depression tastes like
It tastes like a rag used to clean blood and vomit.
Overstimulated and numb, draining me like a faucet.
Sleep, wake up, over and over.
Sleep.
Wake up.
What am I doing this for?
Sleep.
Wake up.
My worth wavers in my mind.
My strengths
My weaknesses
Sleep.
Wake up.
There’s a part of me that despises myself
And the other part wants to reject that part.
At the end of the road
If the only thing waiting for me
Is a mountain of mental corpses,
what then
Sleep.
Wake up.
Are you depressed because you’re sad?
Or, are you sad because you’re depressed?
I hate myself.
I despise
myself.
That is the feeling I chose.
He revels in spasms of sarcasm
Laughter from now to the hereafter
Peels off insults like a snake sheds it skin
The better his audience to capture
Inside his brain one-liners a-churning
to be dispensed for nightly earnings ...
In his heart of hearts he despises his craft ~
Wishes he were anything but daft
It's almost
the end of February,
my city is doomed
by the new blizzard;
I'm thinking of you so sadly
in thought
and so sweetly in heart.
Only yesterday we were two puppies
running faster than a deer
on that meadow where
we exchanged kisses and caresses;
while staring at crimson clouds...
exploding in cheer.
Nothing feels
warmer than your hug,
I squeeze this cold pillow
inviting in much sorrow;
I share the loneliness
of a shivering dog,
left alone by the door,
shut off from the outside world
that despises
Nature's behavior.
Too dim is sunlight
on this Sunday afternoon;
we smuggle up
under the warmest blanket,
giggling, hiding
from the gleamless moon:
never waking up.
Nothing feels warmer
than your hug,
winter is the longest season,
we trick it and find a clever reason
to beat boredom with songs
that offer a hundred joys.
They can brag they've found happiness:
we have found a thousand Heavens.
Locked in a pod
With like minded souls
Like peas in a pod
Never peas in a bowl
Reconnected with God
Within I is what I know
My God who despises
The ones in control
We don’t always make it out
But to try is the goal
Tear gas policies and hate
Will never make America great
Again
Tear gas policies and hate
Will never make America great
Changing Defense to War,
Claiming to stop foreign wars,
Won’t win any peace prizes—
Just more of what the world despises.
Black helicopters and unmarked vans
Enforcing edicts across our lands;
Masks and rubber bullet diplomacy
Shouldn’t become our normalcy.
Secret police with unlawful powers,
Brutal enforcement ordered by cowards;
The rule of law squandered and subverted
To serve personal vengeance perverted.
Our Constitution tattered and torn
Needs her defenders all bravely sworn
To stand shoulder to shoulder and hold back the night:
This is our moment, our duty, our fight!
Tear gas policies and hate
Will never make America great
Again
Tear gas policies and hate
Will never make America great
my twin despises animals
I collect anything alive
she will not eat a tomato
I have some kind of tomato at every meal
She is an advocate of a political party I abhor
you would have to give me a lobotomy to vote for her candidate
my twin loves to cook and clean
I would rather hit myself in the head with a brick than clean
My twin has my laugh, my face, we are identical
We have the same hazel eyes, the same stubborn hair
I have her sense of humor, we both have joy
We get along in a special happy twin way
We love each other despite our differences
My favorite colors are yellow and orange
She has a house full of browns and grays
I have black lights, and fluorescent colors throughout my abode
We agree on bees
We want honeybees to survive
She had a bee house in her yard.
I saved a bee’s life last week; we are safe if we talk about bees.
In the avenues of dreamland,
I met Orwell, who said:
“Man has not awakened.
He still bows to his servants,
who crown themselves as masters,
and he still claps while they rob him blind.”
Look around you:
presidents who eat for free,
live for free, travel for free—
and still plunder the treasury.
Meanwhile, you—their keepers—
starve, and cheer them on.
This is not democracy.
It is a farm of animals
where the pigs dictate the commandments,
erasing truth at night,
and you accept the lies by morning.
The soldier you fear,
the policeman you obey—
they are slaves too,
serving the same master who despises them.
For centuries you have tolerated theft,
you have swallowed corruption,
you have watched kings born from your own apathy.
And still you wait for salvation,
as if it will be handed to you.
But know this:
Power respects only power.
What you allow will continue.
What you fear will govern you.
And what you refuse to confront
will one day consume you whole.
So I ask—
not as prophet, not as poet,
but as a mirror to your cowardice:
When will the people stop behaving like sheep
and finally slaughter the pigs?
polka dot curtains in the form of dotted swiss
light and airy, fuzzy and bumpy, minute and white
polka dotted pillows in reds, blues and oranges
unusual in grandma’s house; everything here usually has a dog on it
She has a dog-print couch, dog-paw-print carpeting,
dog apron, dog dishtowel, dog toilet paper holder.
Maybe this is her idea of branching out?
Where are the cat prints? I ask grandma.
This annoys her.
She despises cats.
One bit her in 1943.
I cement my seriousness with warm resolve
I have sixteen horrible math problems tonight to solve
If anyone despises mathematics, it is certainly I.
Every math problem except a word problem makes me cry.
‘tis not this scape judgy?
‘lo, prey on the defenseless
short of a chirp, quite rationalized
facets of your twisted facade
the soul degrading you?
despises, despises theeself
thy insecurities shall protrude
thy good and their wrong spotlighted
i won’t get ready for this world
it will get ready for me
let their hearts pound in their chest
cause I’m fighting for those who can’t fight
it’s going the hell down
FLY HIGH! No one but you has lived a second of your life
FLY HIGH! The useless always negatively lie
FLY HIGH! We’ll prove our existence to those who reject it
TO THE SKY! F I G H T !
He lived on this earth for a time and a half
Playing a tune to the old man’s laugh
—Shadows of the Valley; Janick Gers, Stephen Percy Harris
Not His Son
The flute floated in the empty space
He’d gladly have followed the piper
Red lights of dischord in sentiment face
In corner mocks the chatterbox viper
To be spoon fed kindness for a time
The old man thought that but a waste
He paid me instead time and a half…I’m
on a bender, long cast, no longer chaste
The IT of a clown from the grave rises
He whips me with his uttermost laugh
A fearful rainstorm he always despises
Surviving my loathsome birth like chaff
The lip-tremble of melody craved abduction
An abominable shadow from dirt’s abyss
For this host could be only a demon’s seduction
The only arms that held me tight he’d dismiss
The door like a drum opened up righteousness
The climax of throwdown with cuffs and chains
In my enemies presence I dine with timelessness
I claim a different Father - in heaven he reigns
I would pack my dogs into the car
It might take ten minutes to get the puppy in
He is stronger than both of us
And he despises the car
If there is extra time I would take a few canvases,
A twenty-four pack of acrylic paints, ten paint brushes,
Three or four bowls – to feed the dogs and to wash out the brushes
I would also take cozy blankets and pillows
Our dogs like to be comfortable
A fifty-pound bag of dog food would go up front
My purse, my husband’s wallet, and a can of pork and beans.
The kind with a pop tab; I love beans.
Of these three: faith, hope and love- let love reign.
And faith, as essential as one's breathing;
Hope must be second, for a higher plane.
When suffering and heartache stir the pain
And disappointments pierce us like teething;
Of these three: faith, hope and love- let love reign.
The wiser soul despises old refrains,
Focused only on heaven’s high wreathing
Hope must be second, for a higher plane.
The devil spins his lies for sordid gains
God gives His children a three-fold sheathing.
Of these three: faith, hope and love- let love reign.
Abide in heaven’s mercies and His Name
And discover grace and trials easing.
Hope must be second, for a higher plane.
Great aspirations flow through seeker’s veins,
Unimagined heights and glory seizing-
Of these three: faith, hope and love- let love reign.
Hope must be second, for a higher plane.
Active billionaires
We get tired of his face, which is a mirror
into his soul shows an obsession with self
has drowned his tender heart was
in agreement with the world around him
it is about power, the dislikeable want
to be loved, to show strength is second
best to be feared when love fails
overactive and exhaustive, he bothers
about things that are unimportant for
for us, but of vital interest his one road
self-centered intelligence, to be liked he
has to feign compassion for those he sees
as a loser and secretly despises
in silent moments, he senses his loss,
but feels defeated til the engine of his busy
life revs up, and he can throw himself into
the clamor of a life that is a mere echo of
the loss he has suffered.
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