Long Uselessness Poems
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On the heights of despair, where light falls askew,
I rise through the abyss of thoughts as through a dream,
The whole world is an absurd song, without meaning,
And yet, behold, my foes, the mountains do not laugh,
And the worms, silent, do not sing, only I, solitary,
Watch as illusions dance on stage,
Dressed in garments of clouds and smoke.
What a wonder to love supreme uselessness,
When morals and aesthetics break like reeds,
And religions become just shadows of forgetful gods,
How to live when all around is just dust
And your soul trembles under the eternal weight
Of the void that holds you close like a mother
Who has lost her child in the desert blizzard.
Ah, but the absurd, this playful demon,
Casts its light on the chaos within me,
And I lose myself in questions without answers,
In love with something formless,
A love that stretches like a river
You cannot touch, only feel its flow
And lets you drift in the drift of eternity.
Without purpose and without aim, my love
Is a play of shadows under the emerald sky,
And I, a lost dreamer, bow
Before the absurd, for only it gives
A semblance of life’s meaning, a reason
To pass through time like a traveler
Who does not seek a destination, only the journey.
Saturday is native to weddings and ceremonies
Of anxieties – patterned in coarse sputum of rain.
My friend Bonsy and his wife filled the calendar
With the uselessness of time, levelled against waste
As indicated by the clocks of dew-coated pavements
Of our yawning city.
Next to this was the arrangement of formalities which
Came with the attainment of stress. They haggled
Between themselves, the celebrants. Oh well, they haggled
For the benefits of the church from which the organ must
Sound, to welcome them – aisle-bound – among a congregation
That suits itself with the accoutrements of churchdom.
And the wedding proceeded amid the glare of the gentle
Sun, into whose ears the dulcet voice of the red organ
Poured. A postman once said to me, ‘If all posts bore
Wedding invitations, who would attend and who wouldn’t? ’
To which I turned my arms up, helplessly indicating my
Thoughtlessness to such questions.
And the church bell pealed.
It grew with the muscle of Doppler Effect when frayed nerves
Become inured to boiling cold like the one we all were witnesses
To, that blustery, unendowed Saturday, when Bonsy married June.
And the minister pronounced every word of conjugation with
Care, peering into the eyes of the couple and the rest of us sinners
Who listened with the attentiveness of cats on matters relating the
Rape of pious mice.
The organ rose and fell in one voice swoop, massaging the pride
In one sinner after another on this ceremony of whimsical gales,
Now sweeping the face of the town; this union of bone and flesh
Draped in dark suits and flowing matter of whiteness, white and
Whitish whiteness of white.
‘I DO’.
The church winked.
‘I DO’.
The holy house hummed.
The organ belched.
Outside, Saturday wore on like before... oh, no, not like before,
When it would have lain prostrate to its own fouled weather of
Extreme bride bliss and dancing confetti.
My friend’s wedding went on on the blustery breath of July rain.
Dark and fussy, the clouds, jealous of July, frowned their faces.
Rain spat gently. No thunder spoke.
Lightning came only through the lone eyes of cameras.
When I stare into the crowd
I feel a pain so low
The uselessness I bear
Keeps me away from the glow
Walking around just to keep
warm during the day.
People so hostile saying get out of my way.
As night time approaches, we huggle up in the cold.
In some damp subway making me feel so old.
Rats keep us company their whispers filling the night.
Continuing for hours until the morning light.
Awakened forcefully to another dreaded day.
Picking up my belongings and being told to go on my way.
Hunger fills my soul with regrets from the past.
I really don't know how long I can last.
Carrying life's possessions all in my hands
Walking with no directions along this cruel land.
One of these days I may find my way again.
Until that time arrives, my soul will bear the pain.
Controlled by obsessions no longer can we trust.
Cradled by your own indulgences for the cancer eating rust.
The waste of time, sifting is the sand.
Ever eluding conscience plight,
Don't be your own dealer with rigored hand.
Epitome just as black as night.
A blasphmous horrid smite.
Those whom believe the lie are those he leaves behind,
The fact that keeps on slipping, contortions twist, bend and bind.
The never-ending shifting wind,
The ever-changing shapeless water.
The repulsive reflection grinned,
Scrying straight into the slaughter.
Thoughts twist then drifted,
Reality is you've been grifted.
Epitaph will be all that's left of you,
The fortune dwindles and you've never taking hold,
Simple are Adam`s atoms of a fu*ktard sold.
Should of not contorted.
Should have just aborted.
Instead of playing the last card.
The multiple ignorances of a fu*ktard.
Is this just thoughtlessness or another rail laid on the track.
Or can it be pure uselessness in a restless mind at nigh in black.
And now that it said aloud and it's made so clear,
You're lost in the complacent crowd.
When you should have just drank some beer.
Inside is his MIND that's riddled full with mental illness,
Hides intellectually supreme being filled with logic, intelligence and great genius.
His sorrow is that a man, one full of mankind's afflictions, anguishes, and tears.
The subconscience keeps the burden of all the lives lived throughout many hundredstudents of thousands of years.
At his core is a centered compassion, a wisdom, a perception, and the ability of an EMPATH.
He feels the emotions of others, understanding the fullness of grace in each little wrath.
The feelings are clarified in words delivered through the LYRIC and POEMS of his blood pen.
A troubadour is within him, as is all the souls of lives he lived over and again.
Building his temple, with the tools of honesty, forgiveness, and patience that is grand.
A foundation built through pain that's strengthened with in him for his towers that will forever stand.
A conscience that gives mankind a gift of their happiness before his own.
Debilitated mind illness overpowers his decisions by emotions alone.
Contradicting bliss with meaningless aspirations with mindlessness and reasons with uselessness.
His is the pain self indulged by the mayhem that blinds then binds worthlessness.
And still his minds genius allows him to know then learn all that he touches with an ease to maintain.
For he is about the thing you fail within the contradiction of salvation.
As I stepped out
onto the porch this evening
I felt unnerved
by the atmosphere
There was nothing but
calm stillness, and yet-
it bore a hint
of turbulence so small
as to only be perceived
in an odd sensation
on my skin
Thinking of the calm
before a storm
I hastily scanned the sky
searching for an ominous sign
But the sky was clear
albeit a weird mixture of hues
with too many shades of
Barbie pink overshadowing
the dusky purples and blues
The yard itself seemed
normal-but-surreal, too...
and looking at the
technicolor-green grass
I felt overwhelmed by
a heavy stillness in the air
As though I were trapped
in a vivid photograph
the only thing still alive
still moving- and suddenly
utterly oppressed
by a feeling of uselessness
with no idea of what
to do with myself
I felt a crazy impulse
to run away; as if
my presence there
was the problem
and that by leaving I might
find my way back
to other living (moving) things.
Inside once more
I now find the surreal stillness
has moved inside the house...
casting a pall over
the living space and
stretching down the hall
I fancy it has followed me
edging closer, stalking me
quickly closing in-
but as the feeling begins
to encapsulate me-
I am shocked to realize
that the turbulence feels
strangely familiar
I had only noticed it
in the stillness
away from daily distractions...
but it was within me
from the start.
Weaving Your Sunrays
I weave the rays of your sun with such dedication,
feeding my nights with a certainty of presence;
the shattering of an eternal instant, with edges too visible,
the uselessness of our lives, satiated, blurred in the air,
just so from now on, for an eternity, I may sometimes hate
the opaque light—the temporary radiance, a living one—
that stagnates unconditionally from beyond E-A-S-T,
like a musical howl that recently killed us, in the north,
yesterday's and the day before's ice, like a profane hymn—anode;
your youths—silences, black rain whitening visibly;
my old ages, which I will never see dying,
unleashing us with weeping ordered in chaos;
a new uncertain life will graze us, downstream, below—
another me, from a recently past future,
building with my sterile palms—a cathode of water.
To any singular, inept giant, the incomparable mysterious present;
shall I listen to life's life? all the more—in excess long ago…
and yet, between anode and cathode a light-abyss still flickers,
where the alphabet of flesh reads with droughts sonorous syllables;
there calendars stop, greening from outside of space,
and the south fixes its poles on a compass of flame.
we part again—two strangers of the same early end—
to pour into a whole cloud, flowing in diamond cups;
sleeping, an organic demon listens to our thought with amperes,
and the spirit, alternating current, extinguishes in the night.
I forget you by the first name that will consume you only tomorrow,
as if the past were holding the future at canvas breasts;
and when the roar will caress us, wildly, the opening in our eyes,
we will cry crookedly, like two shadows undressed in velvet—
for life's life, my love, is only the silence from the fire
of an eternity that, behold, we have forgotten and lost.
he just meant to go for a pit stop of water
fell off the wagon and drowned once again
on the road to futile self-imposed slaughter
conflict full blown addiction and endless pain
once a man of status respect and composure
he puked and landed in a puddle of his spew
as he swerved home after too much exposure
of liquor which was the only solution he knew
his place was a broken bottle of cheap booze
sheltering fragile guilt fear anger and blame
with not much to gain but nothing left to lose
but a last dregg from illusion numbing his shame
he passed cardboard shelters and toothless tramps
thought them lucky in the shadow of lost time
faced vomit once more and shook a few hands
drew comfort from companions covered in grime
they have reached Atlantis and Nirvana he grinned
under wretched breath undeterred by his own smell
he gave them a few coins although he was skinned
may the good fortune speed up their passage to hell
not long now and I will join them at my destination
free of my own hypocrisy and reach final rewards
of intemperate uselessness and ultimate salvation
reach out to oblivion both wished for and abhorred
as the cold will reach my innermost inebriated core
once my soul becomes the spirit of true liberation
pickled in drunken demise wasted by a last score
my heart will stop beating and I’m past temptation
23rd December 2020
Sometimes I can’t breathe
I can’t even fathom the thoughts I have
Why they complicate my mind
Leaving me behind
Sometimes my words don’t ever work
And those moments when I’m quiet—
There’s actually a million words a minute-
A thousand critiques
You call my name and I can’t even fight back
Can’t even argue
Instead I bury my head beneath the blankets-
Throw a pillow over top
And scream.
It’s only bringing me more agony
More regret
More feelings of uselessness.
I isolate myself almost completely,
Painted with a believable smile
One you’ve seen many times
But what would one more time hurt?
We all were ambling, out there, in the greenery.
From there, the mountain, we could see
Wrapped in the cloud, mysterious, dreamy mountain!
Then, out of nowhere, I heard a friend was singing
She was singing a song of love, pain, and grief
And I saw a magical moment, a twist of a whim.
I was thinking for a moment and decided on the spot;
I reached for the letter I wrote last night, and
I was tearing it all apart, with all my ability.
I felt the uselessness of all unspoken words
Like the hard shell, hiding the pearl, deep inside
There was nothing more meaningful than a song!
Right on that moment, a defeat felt so blissfully divine!