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distracted yet again by
the fullest of moons
on an unexceptional night
blown out of proportion
by undue reverence
and misplaced relevance
looming larger than it seems
nature should allow
a false sense of light
marred by hues
of orange and red
forced upon it by
this unseasonably late
summer's twilight
there are those who
will assign meaning to
this sight and to any
signs thus associated
guided by the symbolic
grounded in the scientific
somehow the truest
of explanations are overlooked
the simple will always
inexplicably
be far less appealing
than the convoluted
Jeremy Betts May 2023
It's far easier to hate than forgive, can't give myself a break when the case study's retrospective
I hate that it's easier to die than to live, pull up just shy and see it all fall in and out of perspective
To be here, right here, year after year is the objective but the inner chatter from my dark passenger is persuasive
Life escapes through each back stab wound like a fleshy sieve, how much can one individual give
Just meaningless crumbs aren't attractive, I'm a no good, very bad human representative
So primitive, the smooth brain collective not selective enough to be proactive instead of reactive
The crazies run the nut house and the clubs exclusive, drunk off two fifths, the front doors elusive
I'm no detective, I just hope my karma is something I can outlive

Dark thoughts are combative, my own mind is abusive, held captive with no clear motive
The rush from anger becomes addictive even when self destructive
The me I want to be has lost all adhesive and every step towards a concept that moves forward feels counterproductive
From my perspective I should embrace the paradox, go back in time and hand my mom a contraceptive
I'd rather not exist than to be a relative to this bloodline that feels radioactive
But what's the alternative, trading one mess for another is gonna get repetitive
And every time, the byproduct gets more carossive, the rust forms a husk that falls away exposing the explosive
One that goes off erratically 'cause real change isn't a newspaper, or soothsayer, real help is expensive

Hand me that sedative, this repetitive narrative is too intensive, Lucifer's obsessive and I, compulsive
Destructive to a fault and so one sided I'm not even competitive
A cognitive function nowhere near adaptive, straight to punishment, bypassing corrective
Leaving me to always be on the defensive but that alone will fail to be effective
At least for the collection of the negative that is a bigger percentage of the me that's reflective
One of a fugitive on the run from my formative years, all the hardwired fears still active
Each with a different authoritative directive and all for the worse, who the hell's even driving this locomotive?
My words sound figurative, at least enough to label it an overactive imagination, so creative
But it's imperative that this is looked at as informative, a documentary type narrative

CAUSE I SWEAR IT IS

©2023
Rainswood Sep 2023
Walking alone
On the First cool morning
of the season,
It’s bright and clear
And I notice, for the first time
In a long time
That I can feel the Sun on my face.
Somehow I’d forgotten
My love
for these beautiful mountains so blue
Behind The hill that’s been blocking my view.
A dump site for resentment
and sadness.
Now that I’m
Observing the world again
instead of ruminating
This is my future,
My home.
My view.
he asked a question
and without waiting
for a response
drew three cards
from that divinatory deck
usually carrying as little
meaning as a tossed coin
scoffed at and swiftly ignored
this time seemed to tell
a recognisable tale
unexpected in its providence
a fortune perhaps
to favour the brave

the hanging man
with his eight swords
and his eight wands
these cards showed him
the start of a journey
not necessarily a life
turned upside-down
instead that a change
of perspective is needed
the octet of swords
unveiled his cage
of indecision
uncertainty and fear
a need to upset
the balance of the inert
a reasoning for destruction
in order to create
and those upright wands
carrying with them
such signs of movement
a willingness to decide
a commitment to progress

either that or
the pack was simply
reshuffled and dealt
again and again
until it foretold
that which needed
to be heard
Man Jul 2023
Persons who, not agreeing with you,
Will tell you, your perspective is wrong.
That lived experience,
Has clouded your lense of reality.
But they offer no real difference
Nothing so substantive
As to say,
Mine is fixed
And based in a place
Of true, unbiased rationality.
Mazzy Ram Jun 2023
Same place
  same state
  same memory

What if
  its our essence
  no movement
  sanction to experience
  what is
  no motion to distract
  
and within the malaise
        shifted orientation
        acclimatize

Breath reawakening

                                        Nirvana
Man Jun 2023
I wish I could write something
That pierced the wool
Pulled over your eyes.
Your depression, your nihilism;
The things keeping you coupled
To the miserable lense of your life.
Cause there are so many things,
That are just perspective.
And everything else,
We could work through together.
I fear you can't imagine, what
It would be like, to improve.
Walk the world afresh, renewed.
Just so long as you're comfortable,
It doesn't matter if you're happy.
We could be something wonderful,
But you can't see.
That's the real tragedy
ljr May 2023
splayed limbs and warm sun and sneakers laid to the side and sun on my body and the sound of the water more than anything else

A midday shower to get the stickies off, maybe its all worth it

If I get to spend even a second in the wind, drinking in its cool caress, how could I remember to yearn for the warm sticky touch of another?

If I get to hear the rushing of the water so close to my ears, what phantom chatter of ghosts could permeate?

If I get to feel the sun kiss my skin the way it does, what significance could the absence of you hold?

When I have so much, how could my heart remember to need you?
When I have so much, how could my heart not want to share it with you?

You who I know would love it. You who I wish loved me half as much.

When I have so much, why does missing you take up any room for gratitude in this cluttered mind? I started off alright this time.

This is not a rhyming poem.

****** poetry, maybe 5 is my lucky number. But 5 is a lie I tell to and for myself. I seem to have been briefer to you than that.

The difference is that I say 5, and you do not say.
i can cut all the petals off of you,

as viciously as i please....

but what i will fail to accomplish is the pulling of your roots.

They've ran too deep.

and well,

the petals will all return too soon.

and quite frankly

i remembered every color in them, anyway.

close your eyes to the sun, and I promise -

the iris will still feel him.


cowardice
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