“the beauty of the rainbow mind
I chase in the introvert realm
following the flashes of mirage” -
Quote by Poet
mind molded in webbed design
strands of many hues patterned
strange motifs not unified
in unorganized psyche
in its fold dark secrets hide
not known to the outside world
taciturn mind never cares
it slyly bears the burden
captive of my own making
I discern all my dreams break
hurt introvert senses whine
I suffer mutely alone.
I then turn to Narcissus
find me chase melting mirage
to the oasis of joy
where I’m with me as recluse
I am turning half of my garage into an office space so I will have more room to scatter my unorganized thoughts into even bigger piles. Of course, my neighbor had to mosey on over to see just what all the commotion was about. When I told him my plan was to give me more space to burn the midnight oil writing poetry, he looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Well I’ll be darn, you certainly don’t look like a poet.” When I asked him what a poet should look like, he said, “You know… long hair, a goatee and a turtleneck shirt. Maybe round rose-colored glasses.” I guess now I know what the problem is. I don’t have a turtleneck.
Reality is
what we believe to be true
not what is the truth
Rainbow suave sky soars the aliferous,
swarms as life bores a chance of existence,
so the geckos take without resistance,
for there are those who find them delicious.
They're unorganized, but there are plenty,
great variety hails many choices,
of shades, tints, hues, much to share, tiny moists'
plus small, big, quick, stealth, and there's shadowy.
Intriguingly, there are guides for caring,
them itsy, creeps, bitsy, crawling critters!
Confidence too close for comfort, --jitters!
Neighbors donned smiles, objectively sharing.
Save for a few pets, that's very lucky,
most times people just see them as yucky.
Little puppets, little puppets
no need of a string
instead I play with your minds
sitting back watching you waste away
along with your time
my little puppets
your falling you cant even hear Jesus calling
a lost soul no need to seek and find
you come to me don't have to say a word
living in sin
I laugh in hell
here there's no making bail
hahahah
little puppets your letting me win
unorganized you don't even see me
but I recognized
I know you by name
in a lost world
looking for someone to blame
you forget why Jesus came
little puppets little puppets
you all think heaven is were you'll be
but I got another place for you
just wait and see
keep doing what your doing little puppets
sleep your soul wont be
© Coreatha K mccoy
A lake filled with joy but surrounded by pain
caught in a unorganized just over broke we
just watched each other go down the rabbit hole
We put in overtime and the freedom was to much so
our minds were up for grabs every bottle we counted
as we down it and are induvial pain slipped away at
least until the start of a new day
The lake filled with bottles the pain became hard to
sallow the bottles started to float to the top the habit
had to stop I got a new job and changed a lot and pulled
my mind out of that compromising spot
The Layers of your Heart
By David J Walker
Everyday I empty my heart
And after the dark
There is a place a space for the
For things unsaid… undone unorganized things
That beg for my undivided attention
The touch of a confident
hand, and
Every morning it is my intention to make good
Before the sun to decipher
the prayers
As best I can the layers of your heart
Though I am of a flawed man
Trying to know
Music buzzing,
Melody of life, - humming its way through my soul...
in the empty silence,
a soothing heartbeat echoes.
In a matter of seconds,
smiles beam and eyes sting,
ghosts of memories visiting,
and my spirit reacts...
unorganized as it is,
When random thoughts churn...
Socially unorganized, I place critics down a size
Standing with preferred confidence gave me insight
Partially adapted from the root of fear
I sometimes hear my inner voice remarking that my time is near
Position to overcome challenging courses
By altering our contained nature to make stronger choices
Often at the mill I witness the loud of noises
I either adjust or continue breathing in the poison and drown in my salty ocean
Maybe tears can be manufactured through happy times
Is it weird I fake my laughter through your own surprises
Some may question my ability to think and process
I reveal the sources to my brightened conscience
Assemble the many gears we set in stone
Ever wonder what's it's like to be thrown?
My past creates a memory lane for me to see
I rather improve my empathy willing to still believe
In love with a spirit because I glance swiftly while there is no in sight
Passport to find true family as I hunch over my seat, in hopes to discover actual happiness during a safe flight
A rush of emotions when I'm with you
Nothing has changed
Everything feels the same
I want to be with you every chance i can
My thoughts unorganized
No words will come out
I want to scream how I feel
But I think you already know
I still feel the same as I did then
I miss you more an more all the time
I wish I could see you now
I don't care how complicated things get
I still want you
I still love you
Nothing has changed
Just time, distance, and space
Past the furthest reaches of the Mad Hatter's soul
A turtle wins a race on the slowest of a roll
There are dusty emotions compiled in an unorganized stack
Next to a wallflower that is blooming in the pitch black
Thoughts swirl that I do not wish to share
Wordless eyes give meaning to a blank stare
A formulation's absorption is in the process of assimilation
Aspects are broke down on the road that I've taken
I store horrible things that I should have let go
“I told you so” resonates in a tired echo
There are letters unopened from a man twice bitten
That contain beautiful paper with words yet written
A song bird sings a jaded tune dubbed mercy
Glasses of water do not get poured for the thirsty
In a society so full of the empty headed
My words sink in akin to a tick embedded
There is nothing left to do except to pay the toll
When found in the furthest reaches of the Mad Hatter's soul
9/12/16
Messy is spilling her drinks in my car
Curious keeps asking me questions
Bossy is telling me ways to go
Because unorganized just lost our directions.
Impatient is complaining she’s tired of waiting
At the red light she’s telling me to go
Vain just took my rear view mirror
To brush her hair real slow.
Excited is jumping up and down in his seat
While discouraged keeps telling him to keep calm
Talkative is telling me a bunch of nothings
While annoying keeps tapping my arm.
I’m on this road, with a bunch of emotions
And I’m lost between my routes
I stop the car in the middle of no where
And I yell “EVERYONE GET OUT”.
“I can’t keep driving in this car full of emotions
And I don’t even know where we are”.
They all start to snicker, I turn around
Sneaky just stole the car.
I wrote some words today and showed them to a stranger.
They guided me in terms of semantics, definition, and faith:
Saying: 'Pride is freedom."
I listened intently for the constructive criticism of my ideas:
My poetry is not a subjective flow of concepts, unorganized and free!
I am bound and constrained to 'real conditions and real claims,'
and tethered to... being an amateur.
I heard, I was analyzing philosophy and fell
short of the correct interpretation, according to. . .
Someone that knows better than I.
Let me take this constructive, enlightening criticism to heart;
May it guide me around the corners of a tight box, structured and pre-defined.
Hold me fast to a metric leash, familiar to the ear and approved by literary critics.
Thank you for shutting the door of my cage when I tried to sing;
I will be more quiet in the future, mimicking the style of dead poets.
You are the world which coping me
The chamber of my sanity
The big safety box of my true stories
Place where I could lean and dwell beyond the life series
I believed in God and His mercy was giving me some clue
On my fragility prayers, He led me on you
You are the best gift of my life which I cannot compare
The true recovery was earned by the silent of my share
Pieces by pieces pilled up on your verses
Unorganized as if it was collided and barely in worthless
You keep your line as you want me to complete the puzzles
You give the blank page while I give you some variant tussles
You give me freedom on my bitter sweet
You let me spill out all the wastes of those filth
I owe you my half life, I owe you my sanity
Thank you for keeping my color and be the wisdom as a poetry
What would happen if we knew the world would end tommorrow?
Would people laugh, cry, party,sigh or go crazy with sorrow?
I don't know what I'd do. I just hope my goals are completed!
I hope I know my place on this earth was something that was needed!
Could you imagine the unorganized panic if people were to know-
What would happen if we couldnt beat this one clever foe?
I know for sure if everyone died, I would'nt want to live.
I need my family & friends and all the love they have to give!
So. I can now say that if the world should end tommorrow, i don;t want to know.
For now, I'll live my life as long and as far as it can possibly go.
Iran Crisis
Written on 12/19/1980
Testing for me my will to be, for you see I cannot see the glee beyond this misty sea of
despondency.
This misty dryness,
A fork in our path,
divides us like withering fronds with no heed to its wrath.
In the dreaded dry spell
Where the lost ones fell
Tender bodies lie upon crackling death,
Given up,
Crushed by the river they’ve left.
Swiftly god moves the rapid rivers of time, leaving us behind in the division we find.
We are left in the blind.
Our mind, that warm comfort it cannot remind.
Searching, lurking,
All values rewind,
To a time when we remember the world to be kind.
And we say, as if passed by relay,
the question we all turn to in states of dismay:
“Life is unfair" so why must it be this way?
The answer is imminent, we all know it well:
“Life is unfair” so get used to this hell.
So in unorganized formations we march through this hell, and if one were to mind a read of
behind, one might see where the river divides, where the lost ones sink beneath the red
tides.
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