sobriety is what it means to breathe life back into the Dead
shame having filled their lungs with toxic fumes
living unalive while the sky is fifty shades of Blue
through self-indulgent deeds the devil let himself into the house without an address
squatters rights in your mind
I'm sorry no I don't get that context
this is the power of economy versus innocence
hurry hurry step right up get your tickets here
obscured unstable thoughts playing out within the furrows and crypts
reflection in the mirror
pupils dilate as I focus
but either way you spin it I'm spun
Thank you, Jackson Browne,
and somehow "I get the joy
of rediscovering you"
Thank you, Journey,
and I am 'Faithfully'
learning the lines
of the highways of life
"Wheels go round and round
in my mind"
I will "sleep alone
tonight"
this poem of various songs
will not translate
to tangible meaning for you
the men I love
stopped listening
to my poems and songs
I did and didn't write
but continue to dance to
in silk skirts from consignment
stores that make me feel
like a success story
or an extra in a movie
I have quarters to my name,
cheap jokes and receipts
J.B invited me
to "stay, just a little bit longer"
and my "mother don't mind,
and the union don't mind"
and "please, please, please
say you will"
I have half an hour
to be self-indulgent,
and romantic
How long do you have
to play?
PREDICAMENTS
informal
&lyrical
figurative
self-indulgent
didactics
knowingly
re-cycled
prominent
confident
proportionate
reminders
dislocated
in
a
blurred
indelible
unconscious
of insights
I’m not swimming but drowning
I’m not laughing but crying
I’m not dressed but naked
I’m not wealthy but penniless
I’m not a father but an abandoned child.
These thoughts are selfish,
self indulgent thus not spoken.
These are the thoughts
that men do not speak in the open.
Harboring this weight
throughout the days
gives me strength
so I don’t lose my way.
Being masked
yet unmasked to all
gives me confidence, courage
to plow forward and meet my call.
I draw from this aura
to contain my inward battles,
thus more confidence grows
with increasing courage and strength.
This cycle has how it’s always been.
Thus being a man.
I've never been slapped with such a hard dose of
reality
With talks of old memories being laughed off
It hit me
began enveloping my senses
What I endured was abuse.
In more ways than I've led myself to believe. & Now it seems
These drugs have a tendency
to numb all my senses.
My self indulgent deeds
Have destroyed my inner sanctum
I'm afraid I've become the enemy
From this battle raging within
When I was beautiful
A rose in bloom
a field mouse
Climbed my stem
fell asleep in the center
To inhale and sleep
in my fragrance.
The rave
had no sense of beauty
I was a lure
The struggle was short.
Self-indulgent
I kissed the sun
Nothing untoward
had happened
Summers are so short
To be a revolutionary.
The Rose Revolution
in Portugal ended
now we have
social-democracy
Is He crowded out of Christmas
By the commerce and the cry
Of a thousand advertisers
Urging everyone to buy?
Do the cards and coloured candles
And the clustered fairy-lights
Keep the Christ-child in the cradle
Of a distant eastern night?
Keep the cardboard cut-out manger
Keep the shiny tinselled star
Keep the neatly-kneeling shepherds
And the wise men from afar.
Keep the feasting and the parties
Let the wine like rivers flow
Keep the glamour and the glitter
Brighten up our winter show.
Keep the Baby in his cradle
Keep the Mary mother mild
Keep our Christmas safe at all costs
But in self-indulgent style.
How for you this Christmas season?
Did the Christ-child come for you?
How dare they take the words from
Your mouth and the nails from
Your hands
and pass them off as from
their own flesh and blood.
They, who never bled a single drop in the name of others,
have crafted a halo of thorns
and adorn it,
”holy”
(self indulgent, self proclaimed).
What gives them the right
to denounce their equals
and lash the whip over their neighbor’s back?
Don’t they know that every drop of Your blood that touched the earth
sowed seeds of ceaseless forgiveness?
That every splatter ricocheted off the dirt
and echoed the promise “I love you”?
Holy? Wholly?
They know nothing of Your word;
they only twist it to tighten chains
they bind around the black sheep.
Little do they know their wool,
once white in Your hands,
is stained dark as sin.
How dare they take the words from
Your mouth and the nails from
Your hands
and pass them off as from
their own flesh and blood.
They, who never bled a single drop in the name of others,
have crafted a halo of thorns
and adorn it,
”holy”
(self indulgent, self proclaimed).
What gives them the right
to denounce their equals
and lash the whip over their neighbor’s back?
Don’t they know that every drop of Your blood that touched the earth
sowed seeds of ceaseless forgiveness?
That every splatter ricocheted off the dirt
and echoed the promise “I love you”?
Holy? Wholly?
They know nothing of Your word;
they only twist it to tighten chains
they bind around the black sheep.
Little do they know their wool,
once white in Your hands,
is stained dark as sin.
Minds turned into images
Barren moments, parched feelings
Drowned in haste and unease,
Self-indulgent and covetous
Desolate technology slaves
Imprisoned in closed cabins
Chained to the chairs
Eyes fixed on the screens
Human skeletons with dried hearts
Drained and deserted relationships
Torn emotions and tainted lives
Emptiness all around
Ruled by commerce and profit
Turning world in to market
With frozen conscience
Infringing the peace loving souls
Bred by craze, power and greed
Aimless swarms and awry crowds
Turning planet in to an oven
Yelling advancement and progress
Green turned into grey
Sky turned into smog
Breeze turned into beast
Violating nature’s chastity
Where are the relaxing rooftops
Trees and the chattering birds
Clear sky and the morning dew
Seducing sunsets and cozy evenings
Lost in the crew of human creatures
Serene, pure, tender and loving
Living in isolation and disenchantment
Waiting for the return of olden days
Seems a forlorn hope in mighty milieu
Crafted by the self-centered masters
Impervious to human virtues
But, the hope never dies
Rose revolution
I was born a beautiful rose
up my stem, a mouse climbed
to inhale my scent and sleep
in the center of my bud
ALAS
The raven came, knows no
sense of beauty
I was an innocent ruse
stealing the beauty
of sleep
my feeling of freshness
self -indulgent kiss words
I saw nothing untoward
I should have seen
Roses are too wonderful
for revolution
A rose uproar in Portugal
quickly strangled
by social democracy
Disgrace to me is nothing...
but I spurn true love of you.
I drive a wedge between our hearts
and foil your designs.
I cannot do this alone.
Alone, I would be a self-indulgent monster
doomed to a path of self-destruction
after splintering my share of the world.
With you, God, I may be pure again.
I ask for your grace.
Give me strength to resist temptation.
Help me to love you better.
Amen.
written 30 April 2024 at 2:32 (PM recorded in my notes but might well have been AM)
I am but a single shuddering whisper trapped beneath the shroud,
a lingering fluttering flicker of self indulgent doubt.
I am but a small one, an itty bitty insignificant flake of dust,
among the sunlight.
A little soft, though not soft spoken,
a little daft, a wee bit broken,
much too hardened, yet, too young
to be outspoken
instead of “spoken for” or
“in love.”
I am but a girl, spirit frayed and bittered hag
softly and constantly being reborn.
Who are these masters of millions,
With their hands around our throat?
We eke by as our funds all die,
While all their dividends bloat.
Corruption and greed rule the day,
In a capitalistic state.
One could surmise in corporate eyes,
We're only dinner on a plate.
In a government bought and sold,
They just refuse to cut us slack.
But we're the ones that get things done,
To keep this country right on track.
With all their self-indulgent games,
It's no longer time to play.
Evolution or Revolution,
Is the mantra of the day.
I was beautiful
A rose in bloom, a field mouse
Climbed my stem and fell asleep in the centre
To inhale and sleep in my fragrance.
The rave had no sense of beauty, I was a lure
The struggle was short.
Self-indulgent, I kissed the sun
Nothing untoward had happened
Summers are so short
To be a political revolutionary.
The Rose Revolution in Portugal ended too
And we got social-democracy
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