hey math tutor, I need help.
kids with questions - five at once!
multitasking, aging, geezer.
too much, too much, who needs help?
tasks need doing, people are waiting.
computers, phones, even TVs
are mind-boggling electro-monstrosities
gotta be there, gonna be late
car breaks down again, why now?
did I hurt her feelings or maybe his?
what is she expecting, anyway, and when?
I must improve my mindreading.
to prove myself I must work harder -
give a hundred ten percent
where am I gonna get that extra ten?
lose some sleep? borrow some money?
hey, buddy back off, that ain't funny.
hey mister, watch your step.
I'm a walking time bomb razor
time for me to go ballistic.
maybe I just got pushed too far.
whoa - time out.
kids got 18 years to learn.
they will be ok.
which of those tasks need doing?
which of those things can wait?
I think the world still spins without me.
my friends know i'm well intentioned
things will work out - it's ok.
I don't have to prove myself.
hey, buddy, nice to see you.
it sure is a beautiful day.
Oh, to live the life of a fashion faux pas
Cursed by the anathema of dress codes
Choosing blindly the closest hanger
The shirt on top of the pile
That lonely pair of shoes
Hidden amid
Those “too comfortable” to toss
Ratty sneakers and feral boots
Jeans that had holes
Before it became fashionable
T-shirts that mumble comments
In a far corner a shirt with a collar
A lonely pair of pants with a crease
A tie that has been in and out several times
A quiet sports fan he wears no logos
Although he roots loudly
Alone in a drawer somewhere
Are the many attempts at “conversion”
Sweaters, pullovers, and a few
Extremely “elegant” Christmas monstrosities
He wears jackets older than his children
Believing that fraying is the fashion statement
Of the flannel nation
Everyone knows that if he takes the children out
They are coming back dirty
With a new bruise or band-aid to brag about
His granddaughter once asked:
“Papa, why’d you wear that!”
He replied: “cuz it was on top”
She clipped her faerie wings,
those gossamer monstrosities,
or so she was told by her "friends"
who said she never would fit in
with the everyday community.
She clipped her faerie wings
and cried because it would define her
as an ordinary creature,
no longer wondrous and magnificent
nor magical nor special.
She clipped her faerie wings
and wished she could undo it
for no amount of paring
could turn her into common folk
and something not contrary.
How can I perfect me, if I let the actions or the words of others affect me, since a child God muted my prayers & neglected me, she said she loved me but she showed it through telepathy, abuse, & profanity, abandon by family, even Lucifer & his army wouldn't stand with me, catastrophe's shooting dice with calamities, so my survival mode kick in, that was just the man in me, tryna break free from my desires inspired me, my souls been suffocated while my spirit suffers from burns beyond a 3rd degree, Eve & Adam ate of me, I'm that forbidden tree, sin sizzling, sitting in the belly of a bumble bee, sorcerers invoking demons through their philosophies & monstrosities, birthing Plato & Socrates, their illusion of life tricking our retina, for that's all we see these beings killed the Messiah then committed blasphemy, so what you think they will say about or do to me?
So see why I cant let the actions or words of
others affect me, when I'm tryna perfect me,
washing away sin from a tree.
Become formless, like the wind in-between the branches that form a tree.
Where no two patterns are alike to becoming completely free.
Learn the language of human, where they can't instill their projections onto thee.
Where they are second guessing if they can try to control or manipulate he or she.
Become formless, like the waves in water in the sea.
Where no two waves are the same, like lines in ice when water starts to freeze.
Study the patterns of life and all of its entirety.
It may get lonely at times but that is why they invented diaries.
Become formless, like a flock of birds flying in a straight line, free-for-all or horizontally.
To get through this thing called life, with its certain beauties and everlasting monstrosities.
Whiskey and orange juice,
Peach schnapps and cola,
Buckfast and sprite,
Desperate times called for
Horrifying measures.
Thank god I was not a bartender
For I would have been
Thrown out of the establishment,
However in the confines of my home
Room and bed,
I could sip my monstrosities quietly.
A pain so deep that
It made the drinks taste like
Pleasure,
Anything to keep the thoughts away.
So many candles burned,
Too many colourful lights bought,
Far too many songs listened to on repeat,
Too much liquor consumed,
Just to keep you away from my mind.
Never works, does it?
Even with all of that effort
You were always there with me,
My loneliness keeping me company,
Imagining you by the window,
At the side of my bed,
In my arms.
The version of you that I created
Mocking me for missing you,
Made it sting even more,
As to escape from this,
One must forget.
And I am so very bad at forgetting.
Mellowing muted miraculous memories,
mildly mannered, meticulously minted
manly mirrored, mostly mastered
messages, massaging misleading
Manson Mongoloid measures, minus
milktoast Mozart minuet membership
monotone manuscripts, manipulating
many manakin malignant mind melds.
Might mindful micro mineral mankindedness
marvel my molecular madness mediating
medicinal meditative metronome
mattresses manipulating magnum
malevolent maelstrom monstrosities?
Mother mayI?
Molly had a chat with Bert,
Stating that she had an aversion to bottles that squirt,
She preferred her sauces in glass bottles,
The plastic monstrosities she'd like to throttle,
As she said this, she gave a squirt,
Squirting tomato sauce all over Bert's shirt
Paper spiders everywhere
Crawling through pinholes in my brain
Cutting the corners of my mouth
Tartaric taste curls my tongue
Forming words I would never say
An inferno of verbs
Flying through gutted roots
It’s warm butter to a blade
Until the right ones land and spread
That's when they begin to ricochet
You’re only hurting yourself.
That’s what they tell me anyway
I’m a dirt digging plant
Living in the embers of memories
That took decades to slowly fade
Put out in tiny doses
On a slow drip of acid rain
It’s the smell of melting gospel
Revealing monstrosities
Awoken from pits of smothered rage
It’s inhumane
To mistreat animals like this
Yet they do nothing
As innocence is stripped away
Some of us still live in cages
Gnashing teeth
Snapping necks at the end of chains
Some of us still live in the embers
Feeling a burn that never fades
I’m recording scars in tree rings
As bark covers wounds with age
Building cages for the demons
Nesting in my conjured rage
On site of this forgotten Babylon
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in this annihilated place
What strange creature’s kin
to inhuman race
Dwell deep in antediluvian hells
Uncanny things creep
and scurry in forgotten realms
where Poseidon reigns in dark
crumbling cathedrals built
to worship cryptic gods from
outer voids darkest empires
What hell is this of undiscovered divinities
Babylon burns as nations
of man conspiring to touch
the face of an imperfect god
sink to depths deeper undefined
What afterbirth of leviathan
hide in secret chambers
plot damnation to human minds
insanities spawn monstrosities
that doom mens soul and break their realities
In sight of this forgotten Babylon
Along a desolate Mesopotamian shore
What powerful unrecorded species
dwell with in this annihilated place
Where strange creatures akin
to the human race
Dwell deep in antediluvian hells
Ode to Lovecraftian lore…
Run in time to the rhythm
and rage of the metronome grace.
Masses match, I see her fall in time.
Framed in thoughts of rain.
Down she tumbles down
her face frozen in the hall,
I see it all As the shadows wash in.
I feel my fury bury deep
In a nation of dreams broken
In a sea of stone towers.
Fueled by Mechanical Beasts.
Gilded in ancient chrome.
I wage my inner souls gold and rage
to heavens realm to ask why.
I shake the foundations of an artificial iron hell
And cry why, I see this clear
As the world blurs
Ask the lighting rods to heaven race.
My gaze scans across
This sacred power I bleed I quietly plead with
theses monstrosities
I reach and dream as something turns in this city heart
Souls oiled black mechanical parts
Cold is this artificial light
A thorn pricking my tender optics
Burn with faded images of her
I stand and see these monoliths
looming in deep shadowed gloom
I feel the cold of the obelisk
I feel the
thump
and hmmm
Of
This
METROPOLIS!
END
They says things come in threes, in chaos we seek order when we're young
Some find comfort in synchronicity, others find comfort flung from others tongues.
Individual truths hold the keys, finding them is vital to breaking through.
Some have locked away our monstrosities, these caged beasts no longer serve you.
Voyages from reality to reverie, we all deserve some time away.
We all remember being lost at sea, trying to keep our thoughts at bay.
Overwhelmed by all the possibilities, we hope to find ourselves again.
Guided by the same sky we all see, we oust hopeful sails to catch the wind.
Faith they will take us there eventually,we long to see the shore.
Our futures are an inevitably, we are all survivors in this war.
I‘m a pigeon
Free in flight
Circling blue skies up above
Somewhere in the world
Makes no difference to me
Taking no particular pride
Whether I hover over Paris
Rainforest of Brazil
Sunset at the Eiffel Tower
Las Vegas or Bombay
I find beauty everywhere I go
Not particularly vain or ambitious
I love my freedom
I can’t be bought
The open skies are
Where I roam
Be they over works of art
Or mundane monstrosities
I hardly notice manmade wonders
I’m happiest when
On a sunny day
I land on a picnic table
Near some busy chipwagon
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on April 14, 2020 for contest STRAND NO.730 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2ND
Originally posted on February 9, 2020
A Monotetra
Spirits arise into moonlight,
bats flit in blue twilight,
broomstick riders soar in flight,
upon this night, upon this night.
The tiny goblins, ghosts out there,
collecting candy without care,
hearts of gentility, they bare,
costumes they wear, costumes they wear.
Etheric ghosts will haunt the land,
zombie’s reach from dirt and sand,
a hoot owl, on a tree branch lands,
making demands, making demands.
Stories told of things that creep,
into nightmares, as we sleep,
oozing monstrosities from the deep,
souls to be reaped, souls to be reaped.
From stygian depths and slime arise,
slithering specters in disguise,
creatures oblivious to our cries,
a devils spies, a devils spies.
Among these dark imaginings,
more pleasant beings can be seen,
the light outshines the darkness’s sheen,
on Halloween, on Halloween.
For fear is just conditioning,
we’re taught to fear what is unseen,
things we face within our dreams,
such peace will bring, such peace will bring.
Yet we relive each year without a miss,
the fears down in our unconsciousness,
adrenaline rushes bring such bliss,
dark reminisced, dark reminisced.
All around I see the cranes
Of buildings growing taller,
Contributing to blocking out the sky,
Which seems much smaller.
They haul supplies, enabling
The placing of the beams
To disrupt the city skyline
And fulfill somebody's dreams.
The cranes are not at fault, although
They're easier to blame.
Without them our fair city
Couldn't play this modern game.
But since they're here, the buildings rise,
Monstrosities of glass,
The beauty of the views we knew
Abruptly come to pass.
Related Poems