Long Leak out Poems
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i'll do it no matter what time it is,
whether it's a humid, hot, bright twelve noon,
or twelve midnight making me so restless.
it's the thoughts that will overtake me—soon.
i'll do it, i won't care if i do lose.
i was always a song without a tune.
could i have even had the right to choose?
all the actions, words against me were true.
i'll do it again and again and again,
until all my 'agains' can't be counted.
open me up to see all my membranes:
the only thing that hugged me 'til the end.
i'll do it—please! let me bleed out my words,
with a cough, a whisper, a vow to end.
please bury me—return me to the dirt!
the trees: my guardians; the worms: my friends.
i'll do it and live for another day,
carrying a scar so light yet heavy.
this time, sincerely, i'll find the right way,
without thorns that slash and leave you empty.
it will pass, wounds will heal and peel off me,
blood won't leak out my body, nerves relaxed,
listen to some music, the clock, i'll meet,
to see that in time, prevail does the facts.
on a random but cold saturday night,
i would've thought about why i got fit,
finally fit to see life to be bright,
i'll remember that i didn't do it.
My War
Tick tick tick
My brain is always on
My thoughts never quick
Sometimes I wonder if I'm my own pawn
In a game that my very own brain has drawn
My brain has turned on my heart
That I know without a doubt
Every day it has thrown a killing dart
Blood has begun to leak out
I can feel my soul drying up like flowers during a drought
I was once a bright flower
But, like all flowers, I slowly wilt
Through the torturing hours
The body I built,
Started to gradually tilt
I don’t want to fall
I don’t want to stay on the floor
But, I can’t help answering the luring call
Of death singing at my door
He promised me that answering would end my internal war
I. Daybreak
what glint of morning
is this where the rusty bloom of chain link fences
cuts the turf of rowhouses
the weeds still talk with the legs
of crickets as the post-dawn moon
fades like a bubble
here the old Norges and RCAs
the transmissions extracted like tongues
make tombstones in the yard
the scattered habits of a mechanic
early chests exhale
crankshafts turn
Chevrolets on storm
are fused to the moment
breaking thunder from the curb
II. Kids
dirt streaked
all our bellies were round
dirt streaked
consulting our nerves with
wide open lungs
dirt streaked
we all ate dirt
dug tunnels
played trucks
dirt streaked
the swing set whistled
rocking hard
in the recesses
of an afternoon
III. Locked
the day lost in some
file of physical laws
was locked like the hands of the typist
locked like beer cans on the porch
where a laborer reads want ads
fixed like the eyes of the
police
it’s why chained dogs
never stop barking
why housewives keep doing
their laundry
IV. Production
nothing to lose
come welders with your brilliant rods
disarm the dark where the cracks of hell
leak out
come secretaries
run with the wolves again*
migrant workers sing
the bosses don’t know the words
for the prints of innocent men
still grip the prison walls
the halls of high schools
still murder the breath
of the original
cab drivers
pocket the secrets of Washington
coal miners
dig loose the words
hiding under Kentucky
the graveyard shift will begin
when the city simmers
the pot of a quiet army
let them tell
no loss but the threat
of collectors
no loss but the sweat of
your palms
* Taken from an old folktale
Published Black Buzzard Press 1982
If Tears Could Grow Flowers
If tears could grow flowers
I’d grow fields for you
When I think of how far away you are
I become very blue
I’ve cried more for you
Then you’ll ever know
I just wish where they fell
Flowers would grow
With a silent shudder
A tear lands on the ground
I’d be happier if in its place
A flower would be found
I’ve cried fields of dandelions
Which could have been wine
If I had you by my side
I’d be just fine
If a tear was a flower
I’d have an Aster so blue
A flower for your hair
Picked just for you
There are no flowers needed
On days when we are in the same spot
I don’t need flowers
Because crying I’m not
But most weeks I cry fields
To heal my wounded heart
Those are the weeks
When you must be apart
So as images of you
Leak out of my eye and roll down my face
I’d be so much happier
If a flower would grow in Its place
When you find your true love
And it is impossible for us to be near
There’s nothing to do
But shed a tear
When the thirsty ground guzzles the sadness
And nothing grows in its place
Sometimes it’s the harsh reality
We must face
Alas, my love I know you’re not going any where
I know exactly where you’ll stay
So my tears continue to fall
And I’ll have to pretend they’ll grow those flowered fields of May
As much as I hate it
And it makes me want to die
I can’t help but
To continue to cry
No matter
Even though we will be miles apart
I have you right next to me
Right here in the flowered field of my heart
What was up with all that mix with the keys?
The weed?
The transfer of seed?
Undone,
not unlike me,
I come into a tree-
and randomly free myself of my street,
I come up on a beat,
and leak out my literal leaf,
and ache at the pillory awaiting the generation of me.
I don’t want nothin’ bad to happen,
but what does one trigger hand have in battle?
I would rather the peace be kept,
and my life be given instead,
I would rather a dead man be kept,
than his resurrection come once again-
I would hate heaven to see me,
when I curse at people who don’t see me,
I would adapt to another's kin,
if he didn’t feel the need to always resurrect them…
There's a whole in my bucket
There is a hole in my bucket, and I can't use it.
It's not the whole bucket that has a hole otherwise it would not exist.
If there were many holes in the bucket, you could say it was a holey bucket
but that would not make it a holy bucket.
That would only be used for a special purpose like worship.
But who really needs a holy bucket anyways?
Who needs a holey bucket? No one!
A whole bucket of water would be good,
but obviously if there was a lot of holes that would not make it holey water as the water would leak out, it would not be holy water either as it would be dirty as it fell to the ground.
See the problem?
John Derek Hamilton
March 15,2016
In order to discern To intentionally hurt that unintentionally hurts
Wrap these spiritual vessel in order to discern
provoked and unearthed
preying on specials
To intentionally hurt that unintentionally hurts
open wounds leak out worth
in drowsy pedals
that determine morals and ethics.
In order to discern
Reflections confirm
Veils harmonize wrestling with the unsettled
To intentionally hurt that unintentionally hurts
Discernment practice and rehearse
To bring balance to level.
In order to discern.
Perhaps it only ever occurred.
Spiritual and emotional wrestles
To intentionally hurt that unintentioanlly hurts. In order to discern.
Watching the festering global sores of mankind
This propaganda called news, has on rewind
Images are shown for their shock value
Then compromise the effect with their marginal views
Atrocities are shown, religious zealots leak out
But the story's one sided, free thinkers have doubts
Political pundits push, independence for all
Third world economies propped up from the fall
Global warming is real, eager scientists report
Our president's vacationing at a private resort
The impoverished are starving, the land of milk and honey
Abundance receding, the food banks want money
Hatred and bigotry, open wounds from the past
With military surplus, revolutionaries are gassed
This relentless bombardment is numbing our senses
While access to our country is being prohibited by fences
Our children aren't safe, their education is lacking
International larceny from subsidized hacking
Opinions are based on the images we see
Ephemeral sadness declines instantly
This biased information, which we receive
Is one sided and filtered, leaving us deceived
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Bonanza of shamrocks will soon blanket Green Acres...
where Lassie free to run across petco junction
All across the webbed
wide esse Scott's landed wold
emerald green Trifolium
carpets harbor untold
burrows of tiny Leprechauns clover
(leaf) ways grant trifold
wishes if captured might
divulge pot of gold
at rainbow's end, and e'en mend
yar shoes, whence re: souled,
thence tread softly beneath subthreshold
of audibility, cuz unseen universe
hapts tubby microscopically rolled
with subterranean inhabited by Lilliputian
mischievous impish beings
(about bajillion holed
up could fill the Taj Mahal) even donned with
heavy coat protecting them
(usually men) against cold
yet frolic with reel delight jiggling
with inborn instinct exhibit twofold
talent to dance with modesty
downplaying (while fiddling)
analogous to some roof fiend
averse tubby extolled,
nonetheless, their popular
doth soar, and grievously scold
persistent myth anchored with toehold,
and thus do not indulge
pruriently with pixies considerably dulled,
since libido practically nonexistent told
me (under oath of
confidentiality), one Grunwald
trusted yours truly, the secrete
will not leak out,
nor spread like slime mold,
this descendant of Lemuel Gulliver
who schleps across the webbed wide wold.
Yours truly (an average
height and weight size ways)
nondescript grown
male munching kin
stands a little less than threefold
larger than full grown homunculi.
Rumor monger kickstarter
Matthew Scott Harris
posits nontrue tidbit
regarding rock 'n' roll star
who (name unmentioned)
became the most influential
musicians across the universe,
with estimated record sales
of around 600 million
as of two thousand twenty blank.
Imp possible mission
to see non elfish (pressed) lee
160 years after his Irish ancestor
crossed the Atlantic
curling his left lip,
whereby convalescing, peep ping auld
timers cavorting wax nostalgic with
itty bitty whippersnappers,
averse to any outliers,
whether hirsute or bald
an honest to goodness painstaking effort
initially stymied friendship proffered, a cold
reception eventually bedecked
hall of the mountain king
(while sharing diet of worms)
deep under verdantly
festooned knolls of Eire land.
Be real to me.
Give me truth not fiction or your made up reality.
Let this foundation be built on a rock.
As time pass and sand washes away,
I'll know that your love is here to stay.
Fake isn't my plan.
I'm all grown up now and need a real man
Not pointless words that leak out as you breathe,
but something that will nourish and sustain me.
Let your actions speak all that you are.
Your character in a whole,
not a little boy acting out stories that he's been told.
Man up to the things you say you want in life
Be real to me honesty doesn't cut like a knife
Don't dance me around with words just to put a smile on my face
I'm a big girl I can take the real any day
Mean every word that you say!!!!!!!!!!!
Just be real!
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