frightening swipes at the eyes
where blossoming from your >
I saw you as a
-but then aswesharedourislandsand
dug canals to let the warm stream
f l o w t h r o u g h
the trenches grew deeper and more vast.
crickets fluttering, craters cremating
the sweet, soft life that flowed
tempest torn brush me sideways
envelop me in security until the
mud flowing over my feet
disgusting feces frolicking, frowning
opening a wound of the earth
I am falling.
climbing backwards into the world of
the static nest protruding spasms into my skull
patterns of white on black on white
etched into my eyelids
Shellshock twang opens me,
until I open my feet and close my heart.
beeping breathing believing
it will all be better
Reset your light and continuXXXXXXXXXXXx
I love you.
I am your eyelids and the train-tracks of your stitches. I am the cracks in your bones and the wealthy mind riches. I am the fluid of your language that speaks in every sentence of your prose, I am the syllable you cannot speak though your tongue still knows. I am the chapel of your rib cage and the rage that it slows, closing the gates to the crosses in rows. I am the dirt under your cuticle and the follicle of your skin, sprouting a thread of your body within. I am the anxiety of your brain and the ecstasy of your flesh, crawling at the sense that you attain and possess. I am your lost baby teeth and the way that they chatter, I am the neurons, the synapses, the dark and brain matter. I am your saliva burning caverns in the cave of your time. I am the line of your lips and the lungs you call, "mine." I am your soul, your secrecy, your sanctity. Your spine.
I lead truth like a thread
through the eye of my
needle, stitched into your iris
and sewed up the virus.
Took bets on bids.
Two kids walking train tracks under your eyelids.
But it could be nice
to wake up and see your eyes.
To breathe in the same air.
Run fingers through hair.
To awake at dawn
and watch your
chest rise and fall
like the tide.
But it could be nice
to watch darkening skies.
A simple kiss goodnight
could feel oh so right.
To fall asleep last
as I watch your
and your heart
whirring around my brain
i decide to save the thoughts for another day
but it isn't quite that easy
for the thoughts aren't particularly positive
and leaving them there
simply causes more decay
i decide to face my problems
and take the key to my soul
i open up the box that has stored my emotions;
for so long
the thoughts are ever restless
yet when confronted
they shy away
"please, not now. i cannot deal with this today."
You never think it could
happen to you,
then it does
a baby in your belly
your eyelids shutting quickly
mother crying softly
father the walking dead
your sisters move states
highschool always sucks
you don't have a baby in your belly,
but your eyes still shut.
we have a peace plant in our living room
when it's thirsty it's leaves drag on our dust
filled floors and it's blooms look like the
eyelids of the old crackwhore that walks
around on grant street when she's looking
for change to buy her next forty- brown,
bruised, and sagging, as if they've seen
enough to last them a lifetime
i oblige the whore often, giving her
quarters and whatever else i can find
in my backpack, i oblige the plant too,
giving it water and opening the blinds,
but neither seem to be reaching a better
quality of life, despite my best efforts
i find myself in inconceivably unforgiving
situations often, because of my best
efforts, and i'm beginning to wonder
when i lost sight of what it means
to really, truly, wholeheartedly give
How can I reach the unreachable..
teach the unteachable who's comprehension is unbelieveable
But the fact is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge..
Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is..
Is it blindness...
truth on deaf ears..
the embracing of silence..
should there be surpises ..
when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence..
A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris..
But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids..
I.e. Christ the truth the way the light..
Being unsaved is like living in the womb..
Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb..
Flashes of light is like labor contractions..
The unknown conviction hinting..
Considered a distraction..
Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction..
To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment..
If given a chance a adjustment happens..
An embracement of the light..
A rebirth Christ in action.
How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable ..
With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action..
Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting..
Now could u imagine..
A movie set full of madness..
All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing..
No equalizer the villain the only one left standing..
You may say excuse me..
Life is not a movie.
But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander..
No innocence exist...
No bliss in ignorance...
.Cause we all birth into sin.
So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist....
How can I reach the unreachable
teach the unteachable
who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist
But when a pass is given and the shot is missed..
It negates the assist..
A reason for the lost of the game..
The thought of a lost soul has me pissed..
I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain..
Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel..
Passing the truth like Paul the apostle ..
Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score...
Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport...
I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more...
Pointing u in the direction of excepting the Lord..,
Embrace the word of God that double edge sword..
Them cuts is conviction..
The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness..
Led by the spirit A Christian
Yes we are made in Gods image..
Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count..
Life is not a scrimmage..
How can one soul have a blemish..
Only dirt that can touch the soul is the dirty hands of sinning..
How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance...
And reject truth because arrogance..
you stir when the light from the hallway sweeps over your eyelids
and he’s there, and you pull the cover back so he can take up the space behind you
there’s a press of soft skin to the back of your neck and a mumbled goodnight
and this is okay, because you do this, it works
you ignore the smell of a strangers perfume and the whiskey mumbling his words
5:00 am - Happy New Year!
I look like I should be a musician not a poet.
"It's so easy being a poet
so hard being a man"
- Charles Bukowski
5:14 am - Passing Rocklea, no sign of the dawn.
Coopers Plains station.
3 people get on.
Florescent lights cast a spell of sleep.
I wish I could sleep right now.
Eyelids droop like sad flowers from a convenience store.
I write metaphors like a drunken amateur.
Trinder park - Sounds like a bad neighbourhood.
FUCK ME ITS WOODRIDGE.
Where even the McDonalds sign is fucked.
XxXxxxxxx, Xxxxxx Xxxxxx :
She could be fun. So tight, she sometimes felt illegal.
Tight and bald. I would slide up to the balls.
She loved it rough,
golden hair wrapped around my fingers
as she was pushed into the pillow.
She was loud in the mornings.
I could feel her tight ass
grinding against my thighs
as I fucked her harder and harder.
Until I came :
either inside her.
Or on her chest.
Or in her
Tightening my grip on her hair as the hot semen spurted against the back of her throat.
The head of my cock, throbbing as she gulped it down with silent satisfaction.
That only happened twice though.
5:37 am - The Dawn begins to rise over the Suburban Nation.
Final remnants of night
twinkle like stars
against the silhouette
(and the omnipresent)
Beenleigh station - A pinch faced older woman gets on.
Business suit, lunch box.
Short hair, glasses.
Her earrings are imitation mother of pearl
(step-mother of pearl?)
She sits next to a window covered in graffiti.
Prim, tight mouth
Over in the distance a smokestack cuts through the sky above the horizon.
Trees do mask the sun and sky.
"Hippies; they spend their whole life trying to get to a microphone and when they do, they don't tell anyone to fuck off." - The Wolfman.
5:52 am - One more stop.
The clouds are the colour of smoke against the pearl blue sky.
6:00 am - Arrival.
Clouds are tinged with fire and blood
You can watch it spread and grow
Taxi driver was a foul mouthed Indian.
Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-1/
Part 2: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-2/
Part 3: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-3/
Part 4: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-4/