I'd like to wrap it all up in a poem
Like a homecoming dress
that fits just right
But it always seems like
The arms are way to saggy
ANd the Bodice is way to0 tight
I just won't get ANY in this
It'll probably take me a billion trillion years
To tailor a poem
To fit my whole life
“Can you cover my shift 5 to 10 next Sunday?”
The first thought is to bring life to another forged explanation.
But then remember “the car”, “Nike Air Max 13’s” “new black chinos!”
“Yes, but who is this?” my eagerness caused by some subconscious yearn to nab this opportunity for a little more change in my pocket
Return to the dusty road I came from
My smiles wider than the road it’s self
You know how happy I am
My eyes have seen things they shouldn’t have
Time as we know it collapsing
Back to the road that brought me here
Laughing so hard
I can never take it back
Homecoming of creativity
The four walled clock melting safe house
Oh the anticipation
It’s coming back soon
I don’t wanna stand on my toes forever
Just trying to peer over then moon
To see the sunrise for tomorrow
I’m finally content with the night light
I don’t wanna stand on my toes forever
Across the avenue
People walking on their hands
And having their peculiarity
Drained from their auras
I can’t understand
Arriving back to times we applauded at our own joy and success
I can comprehend
The corner where this all was conceived
I don’t want to put on my shoes
I’m just going to take them off again
Down to another dusky trail
Unraveling its self for my travels
You can only divide yourself so many times
You spread yourself thin over too many lines
The war you've been waging must be fought on all fronts
You have to look strong when you're the king of the runts
And when the war ends you'll go home to find
The life you left waiting has left you behind
Old friends will have forgotten that you ever left
And you wont find a single woman with who you have slept
All the people you knew wont recognize the man who's come home
At least on the battlefield you were never so cold or alone
Choosing to write ~ gave me a freedom ~ a practice ~ and ten long years of laboring with word placements. Sent to shadow my convictions when cleverly arranged ~ laced to tie in knots ~ thus I buttered my every send ~ a basket full of metaphors I left for the mend. The bleeding of my instincts furthered my discipline ~ I fox holed my reality for this obsession and polished my every mention.
I sent my journals in a haste without the flare of rhyme. But bursting with flavors to adore ~ a fortune of intense editing. I became infatuated with word placements. So to suit uniformity ~ I graced in a natural tone. Delivering principles with a gentle calmness ~ to fashion the write with harmony ~ yet disciplined and well measured.
Concise placement of my every word ~ together with my every reason ~ slowly allowed my words to free themselves of form. Following this fever to shell out words on paper, I ravished in the ceremony of it and enjoyed the challenge.
Calculating my vision for this send ~ I journal in a freer way ~ and shelter my light ~ and gather in folds. Without the confines of meter or rhyme this diamond of prose offered an elegance I could not overlook. A tool so nifty ~ it polishes you’re every write ~ delivering a gumbo of logic ~ served with the elegance of a waiter ~ thus delivering the promise you expect ~ prominent in formality ~ with a tie of respect ~ I polish and season for your plate. This here ~ is to celebrate and champion prose, a tool of the heart for the heart ~ found beside the poetic soul...
A facilitator ~ a communicator ~ a churning out of compressed diction ~ is the intent ~ distilled by the liquor of life. Justified is the send for those who convey their words in a humble fashion
holding words to a higher measure ~ so without apology ~ these limits are on reserve ~ thus I shall flourish only beneath your light and your read.
Within this practice are many who are overburdened ~ grinding away ~ justifying every verse by stringent form. The friction of this ~ is a tightness of pen ~ resulting in the harmony being crimped and left out to dry. Thus to spoil beside the misfortune of lost rhythms. Finding place in the baskets of regret...
Better to milk the essence of your intelligence ~ by way of word play. Then you shall brave away any challenge or measure ~ to unharness the fever of your discipline ~ all in prominent formality. So spread your wings and awaken your poetic heart ~ shelter yours ~ trust in prose.
Keep curiosity close ~ exercise your pen ferment your style ~ it shall knock the boots off your readers. Spin them fancy drape your English. Drench them with your character and master your discipline. Refrain from the intensity of basic poetry ~ the anvil to hide ones logic. Mine the mental of your reason ~ write from the heart and success shall follow. Vent ~ thus glow in this forum of prose ~ to steady your poems ~ a gift to find ~ for another’s read ~ promise them clarity, give them insight ~ it shall gentle you calm ~ found in the readers trusting palms.
Here we leisure on steady rhythms ~ slinging principles as if painting portraits ~ all ventured for the write. Harness your diction ~ and fever in with heavy metaphors. Allow your confidence to gather steam and grow. Lace your language, buckle your soles ~ bamboo your sporadic springs of life with acronyms ~ venture beyond the scope of your greatest expectations and your words shall carry you free ~ to a measure of the highly refined ~ a carriage awaits you ~ to escort your work ~ to the Library of Congress.
Linguistic jewels are found here filtered, distilled and taken in one pint at a time. Gems for the share are found beside the precision of an honest pen ~ and sure as the open cold it shall shine of your dressings.
Prose a tool fit for a Queen and king and a meal for those who join them. A fun formula to escape the boredom of constant rhyme is the fancy. So journal your words for the kind ~ gentle the mind ~ and plate your meal for two.
Touch up your appeal ~ embrace your readers keen ~ champion your form ~ spotless will be the share ~ radiant ~ all with a high luster ~ also defend your every word placement when needed. A clarity to rejoice your sporadic cleverness to posture your diction righteous ~ shall also entertain ~ thus your work shall blossom. Simply amplify your message ~ needle your insight ~ trust your stitching ~ to discipline your style. Measure your wit by the pieces you share ~ and a gift they shall find.
Refine your intuition ~ to bless your pages with good intentions ~ pay the premium with gold nuggets of reason. Dance ~ not strain in your brutal edit. Ground solid your revisions ~ buff them
proper ~ simply hand over your wisdom and polish your send. Carry your principles as the bolt of lightning ~ understanding when to strike out flames with the passion and sharpness of your pen ~ so feather it ~ spin it ~ then spit shine ~ elegant is the commoner’s discipline here for the share.
An elder’s intuition ~ comes with time and reason ~ they fountain our knowledge. Exalt your apprehension of this grand wisdom by passing it to another ~ thus calming the words of your intuition. Yearn for your readers ~ they backbone our discipline by their precious read ~ so venture steady and seam them wise ~ milk them your logic.
Canvas your poetics ~ a castle of laureates awaits your presence. So package your riddles ~ bend your thoughts ~ and send them wisely. Simply puzzle your pieces together ~ without puzzling the
reader. Streamline your messages ~ striking chords by short tunes ~ soil your thoughts to enrich on native grounds ~ a place found by the good write ~ thus your pleasure will reflect you’re deepest of desires. So fancy in your diction ~ this is key to the reader’s heart. Calculate your rhythms ~ to fuel the fire of your every mention ~ all for the connoisseur’s desire. Hope your discipline invites you to the district of the fevered writers ~ refine yours ~ clever it ~ write.
The fast track ~ the short cut ~ the lost reasons ~ leads to losing one’s discipline. The copper keepers ~ saving cents but spending quarters ~ have little value for the fortune here. A same ~ copies worth a penny ~ are left unfiltered ~ resting in a jungle of loose words. Distil your forms in the silos of life ~ simply showcase your talent. Steady away from the cave of lost confidence found by the basket of simple verse and regret. Dive in ~ to a freer form, prose,
Make waves ~ make headway ~ make time, even if a luxury ~ refine your message with your priceless instinct ~ spill out revisions ~ complete your creations clean and it shall be entrusted as your standard...
Erroneously ~ misguided attempts to craft without close attention to detail ~ will shelter the chains of the first draft. Such left compromised ~ a mask for the beauty of your words ~ found beside the lackluster edit. It shall show stains of regret. So ~ correct yours kindly ~ steady away from the misfortunes of the canvas left tame by the product of laziness and one revision ~ in this shape it shall be left unread. So brand your words ~ or rather tattoo them permanent. Enrich your thoughts ~ simply yearn for another’s read…
Bleed a mist of your passions on the pages kept clean for your refined intuition ~ define yourself as a seasoned writer ~ so don’t confuse ~ don’t conform ~ adjust when needed to meal your message. Refine our English ~ celebrate the freedom of this language. Gentle your thoughts to fashion your poetic style ~ deliver the meal of your understanding ~ a gift to quench another’s thirst. Escape the blandness of simple repetition ~ censor away imperfections ~ sharpen the eye of detail ~ to make your blessing uniform ~ suit your readers calm ~ and such embrace them clever.
Merit ~ tenure ~ within this craft are blessings found in the halls of the write, in the spotlight of this art. Learn from the masters of verse ~ but search deep and far ~ for they are few, but great. Thoroughbreds of diction they are ~ dedicated to their practice and here highly respected in this forum.
This tambourine of life I chant ~ is prose ~ it’s a quicker relative of its classical cousin simplicity.
Intense wordplay is now in a fever ~ sew yours proper ~ fashion it to unlock the flavors marinate your send overnight as needed decide if the waters of uncertainty are ready for the share ~ lay heavy in your thoughts ~ sit beside the dancing blue waters of curiosity ~ simply refresh your intuition. A poet you are to this branch of arts ~ embrace your craft ~ become the gardener of your measures. Allow me this ~ I pound in heavy ~ you must bleed in your revisions and edits. This is the truth ~ this is the key ~ polish the write...
The prize in concert here is now at attention. Rejoice in your linguistic grains of insight ~ beach your bottle, to send your last draft ~ sprinkled in knowledge ~ by a toss over your head ~ and daisy chain this superstitious act with one carefree wish ~ a wish to master the discipline.
Drizzling are the beads of life ~ perspired in this mention to quench thy thirst with measure ~ to bend your wits ~ and squeal this pleasure ~ a treasure found by the seams of leisure ~ left tame atop the table of promise ~ a treasure chest of diction awaits ~ an opening up to all poets ~ is always in progress ~ don’t sink to lows of the cave of lost revisions left by the mounds of regret..
Works of leisure ~ found by the pressures of a finely tuned pen ~ are blessed by the fountain of one’s ink. You must torpedo your ideas to blast through the doors of the critics dismay ~ if they simple you today, posture them tomorrow ~ this must be the promise ~ so seek another’s measure. So drape your wisdom ~ embrace the cleverness of your threads ~ stitch even by way of candle light ~ to steady your helpings. Fine-tune until the end ~ to escape to the land of poetics ~ found by the books of leisure.
The keys to the heart and mind ~ are found nude and in it a cold state ~ if your lingo is without the dressings of your wisdom ~ so layer your send in coats to armor ~ keep the warmth of your diction ~ all in order. Make the medicine for your people and they shall share in it ~ by their loyal read.
Constant is the dripping of these words drenched in the rhythm for the dance ~ gentled by pace and brushed in ~ with paints of color. Wrap your lines for a new find ~ the palms of another. Prepare your plate, and serve seconds when needed. Poetry is the discipline ~ the gift is within your write ~ and the reason for this is the truth ~ the truth of the share. Condense your wisdom for another’s heart ~ make it a blessing of the refined ~ and they shall read with intent.
A wastebasket is the reward for laziness an odor left displaced by first drafts sent for the read ~ thus a treason of your intelligence. First drafts are not for sharing. Reward instead is for the precision of a quality work ~ so drape your diction ~ lace in metaphors ~ simple the promise and blanket your style ~ carry us home, deliver us ~ write...
The back seat for this romance is prose poetry. The essence of this style ~ is cleverness ~ or again ~ find the basket. Instincts now lead ~ to self-control ~ sporadically decorate your every mention ~ uniform your experience as the elder of measure ~ dazzle them with humble intentions.
A homecoming ~ and a pleasurable pot of stew ~ are in order for your every word ~ here its justified ~ thus is without compromise ~ a healthy meal ~ a service for two ~ for your poetic heart and this faint writers need to share. You are the seasoned writer and I am only here dressing this fit for two ~ you and I.
Style ~ rhythm ~ comfort food for the wise ~ is carefully refined and is treasure left for a royal keep. Astute intuition ~ and the luster of the read ~ weighs in heavy. Showcase your talent to stairway your confidence. Your piece shall be fit for a royal read, just canvas your hopes ~ pencil it if needed ~ for your every send ~ your every share ~ will prosper ~ if you practice steady and deliver in the delicatessen of poetic flavors ~ yes, prose!
A council of words ~ sent for your delight ~ are reinforced by the share. You see you must dress your send fancy in this forum of fun ~ to seam as the wise and calm. Sit below the blue moon of joy and taste the salt of the waves open at sea. Marinate your thoughts to tame your words, trust the lion of your instinct ~ follow your pens every desire. Spill out from the heart ~ dance on the waves of wonder and live as the poet does in the land of the free.
A poet full of heart I assume suits you ~ you are the master of your desires ~ such I tap dance for your delight. Simply If I may ~ just lose yourself in poetics ~ fence in your every measure ~ spill out from the constraints of simple verse ~ and your soul shall follow ~ trust your measure and sift your every whim ~ serve your plate without regret and bow before your readers and your work shall grow. You are the poet ~ and I but a simple man ~ who enjoys the write. Catch the fever ~ deliver the promise ~ dance with your readers ~ pleasure in the tool ~ the tool of prose...
Copyright Material 2013 ~ By Ray
I am crying because these tears are the words I will not say.
I sob because leaking out of my eyeballs is every goddamn sentence I held inside while we were fighting.
All I keep iron lipped locked up lest I explode everything with the velocity of feeling,
of pure gas fire explosions of all these secrets I keep bouncing around the inside of this concrete skin.
And just for a moment,
I don't want to apologize to anyone about
what chemical reactions are taking place in my twisted brain.
I don't want to "work things out" or "talk it through"
or yell or scream or vent to people because no one knows what to say,
all they can force out is a tight hug,
but when I'm all alone in this dark room, dehydrating myself and curling into a ball small enough to fit in your chanel purse,
I don't want you to wrap your stiff arms around me.
That's when I don't want anything more than just to collapse,
to slide into pieces and fold them all on top of each other until I can absorb into something simpler,
something that doesn't have to travel these warped roads,
someone who can deal with the world without turning all of it into a poem,
a girl who doesn't have to fake forgiveness for rides to practice and isn't forced to worry about crossing lines and homework or turn signals or disappointing adults and landing standing tucks and being sharp at football games or homecoming dates and not pissing off my stupid "friends."
Along with all the other everyday irrelevance that won't mean anything in 25 years.
What do I even care, anyway?
Does anyone actually care?
Isn't it all just bullshit?
But as my phone rings and rings unanswered and my doorbell stays silent
I must come to the conclusion that I am just another human being having the same damn emotions as everyone else and that, in fact,
My friends don't want to hear once again about that fight my mom and I have been waging on and off for about 3 years and how it literally drains my will to live and worms holes in my mental health.
I must not be that girl who pities herself-
the one who lets her watery-gray sadness spill over the sides and splash into other people's laps, bringing down lighthearted conversations on the quad about homecoming dresses
For God's sake, Gabrielle
keep your shit to yourself.
Splash your face with water, spray a little febreze, fetch your plastic bags and fake smiles.
No one likes a bad smell.
How sweet the sound
Her body hit the ground
By the tongue of and angry mob.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but your word
It does desert me
God save a wretch like me
I once was lost but now am found
Was blind but now I see
On bended knee, they took all of me
By the million
Ashes to ashes I turned to dust
God Save a wretch like me
The lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
Two hours I was procured
A child alone
A camera phone
No one home
The devil’s moan
An angel’s groan
Your light was never shown
Save a wretch like me
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hollowed be thy name
You never came.
Thy kingdom come, thy will was done
On earth as there is no heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
As I can't forget those who trespassed against me
You are the kingdom and I felt your power, hour after hour, your glory
Forever and ever
I was once told that I could go far if I wanted to
But the first step would be to leave my home
And no leaf would want to fall from the tree
If it knew that it would crack beneath the weight of my sole
Or, at the very least, pissed on by a dog in the park.
No raindrop would agree to join land
If it knew it were just going to end up in a cloud
If we knew we end where we started
Why would we start in the first place?
Learn to run before you crawl
So getting back up is a learning experience
Because pushing forth in perseverance
Should not be a regression to your younger days
If a genie gave you three wishes
Would you be smart enough to negate the loopholes?
Or would you come to terms with your own impermanence
And price that good things come in threes?
you don't have a favorite color
your parents are divorced
your mom dated a man who later became transgender
you have two brothers but you would've had four if your mom had the twins instead of a miscarriage
you like your dad a lot better than your mom
you have brown eyes
you only named one of your dogs - daisy
you've never broken any bones
you're on the swim team
you hate all your friends
you got your haircut yesterday and the lady at the salon was hitting on you
don't you dare tell me i know nothing about you
you like playing xbox
your favorite game is minecraft
your favorite movie is 300
your walls are purple because it used to be your stepsister's room and you never re-painted it
you listen to rock music
your birthday is february 25th
you only have one cat
you have a cat calendar
your background on your phone is a cat
your ringtone is cats meowing
you really like cats
don't you dare tell me i know nothing about you
you smoke weed
WE WENT TO HOMECOMING TOGETHER
AND I SENT YOU A PICTURE OF MY DRESS
AND YOU BOUGHT A BLUE AND GREY TIE
BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT MY DRESS WAS BLUE
BUT IT WAS RED
RED LIKE THE THOUGHT OF YOU ASKING
FOR A PICTURE OF ANOTHER GIRL'S DRESS
HER GOD DAMN BLUE DRESS
YOU LIE TO ME ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT YOU'RE HIGH
WHY DO YOU ONLY TELL ME I'M PRETTY WHEN YOU'RE HIGH?
WHY DO YOU ONLY TELL ME YOU LOVE ME WHEN YOU'RE HIGH?
WHY DO YOU WRITE ME POEMS THAT MAKE ME THINK YOU ACTUALLY GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME?
IF I TOOK THE FUCKING JOINT AWAY
WOULD YOU EVEN KNOW MY NAME?
I GUESS YOU'RE RIGHT
I DON'T UNDERSTAND A DAMN THING ABOUT YOU
We are the eternal marriage
Of blood and mind.
The saints in their rapture
Ne'er held eyes as sweet
Nor hands that unearthed a homecoming.
But I, lost among the found
Stranger in A strange land
Have but the dawn to spin for your veil
And each star forged in the host of man,
Will take your cheek only to gift a kiss
Upon your lips.
With surf stained sigh
These are the dreams
In which I sink
And tomorrow you will think of me,
And tomorrow you will think of me
As I remember
These leprous hands
Which once danced in
Betraying a dream.
Hello, Old Friend, I just wanted you to hear me.
I think you heard every word, but I see you now fear me.
I used to get nostalgic remembering our talks under starlight
When we idly spoke of dreams, and other things; the world felt peaceful at night.
But today I spoke of blood and smoke, and of human violence.
I watch the widening whites of your eyes within this choking silence.
I apologize for pretending we could carry on as before.
You say you don't condemn me; they shouldn't send me off to war.
I wanted friend's reconnection, not hollow pity
I recognize you can't sympathize with the dying of a moral identity.
Out of grief, not guilt, I sought my friend. This was not a confession,
No vain imagining of a simple moral or life lesson.
Don't wanna' hear soulless, canned regurgitations
Of your textbooks' and professors' second-hand explanations!
You avoid my eyes, staring intensely at the floor.
We both can list my sins, but why is it only I can list yours?
Solipsism to the point of narcissism-
You live a predatory lifestyle, bitch you're bored and wanting more.
That's it, then. Goodbye, Old Friend.
I feel worse haven spoken, and I won't speak of this again.