Her palms are calloused, stubbed fingers gripping the rim of her lavender skirt with an intrinsic meaning.
The perspiration forming a battalion beneath her hairless armpits does not retract for the thunderous cry of a man preaching on his extra-terrestrial pedestal.
Baby boys seek the comfort of their mother's womb as they splay their partially formed fingers, twitching nervously.
Baby girls kick out.
The grubby sweetheart inside the technological box filters the realistic surrealism into a myriad of dented pennies, clutching her de-stuffed, de-figured, de-monized bear in one filthy hand.
The other placed on the ever-increasing, ever-decreasing bump, where baby boy and girl wait.
She's too young for this, and you know it.
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful kandi kids freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will make them look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuitions skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the abundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding orgasmic adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grim extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple thoughts and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be, beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move. To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but damn.
The there are over the counter candies, oxycodone, oxycotin and codone. Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, cocaine and speed easily obtainable to kids. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so that the kids parents can feel like their actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on them because they cannot handle they way their children actually are. Some parents actually do want help their kids and feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn’t so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterdays conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom, groans of apathy and the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system us but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and detcation so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share sexual fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones knowing they are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, god fearing, devil worshiping, mantras and meditation. Psalms, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Kabala, scientology and wiccans
Amish and Mormons
All spate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents staling social media, recordings of our personal lives. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protester, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi received every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to deplete these countries of their natural resources like we’ve done our own? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the murder machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, playboy, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s panties. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who raped them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the condom that was just thrust deep into their loins.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to creative something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chino, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the Rainey days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burley firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMTs, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere one inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout to no one, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to a shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it, it’s like eating glass it does no good for any of us anyway. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. Gay, homo, faggot, queer, how about kind, funny, genuine human being? The right to be married and divorce should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovahs going door to door, Mormons from Burbanks. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is on the rise, blood diseases, sexual diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years or some cant remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some cant even sleep at night but they still carry one. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. The be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Un hindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, kill, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The heartless selfish people who make the thoughtless decision to have abortions because they lacked the self control to take the time to get protection and do not want to deal with their consequences, feeling no guilt throwing away what is the very make up of life and love they had created themselves! Although there are those who do so for they cannot support what they have created and give it a life they deserve, I can understand but I still weep but I empathize with such tragic forked road decisions.
Mystery men raping innocent home walkers and killing them or leaving them to live their lives in pain and shame. We can make our own trouble but we can also undo them. No one has a right o put hardships upon us and if so at least I will fight.
Who are the ones to look for when guidance and facts are needed? Look to the poor, the unfortunate poverty stricken open eyed weary ones. They’ll tell you how things look at from t he bottom of the hill. Ask the ravers and hipsters, college students they tell you how it is when climbing the hill. Joyous, miraculous realizations illuminating the visions of the mind. Growing fields of love and dreams. Weeding out the falsehoods with ease.
Ask the children, so innocent and naïve, giving a simple yet meaningful perspective. Same as the geriatric wise ones who time wears thin. Both have intrinsic values and wants.
Talk to the lustful lovers they can tell you how in one moment a tangent can be created in one foul swoop. Or the leathered whip weilding, dominant/submissive practitioners of pain. They’ll show you the exquisiteness of pain and bondage, domination and twisted, alternative pleasures. The nine to fivers commuting as if their lives depend on it…and it does! They’ll tell you how precious every minute of every day is. The drug dealers, the drunks have outlandish perspectives, yes but they have merit all their own.
The mentally unstable, chemically unbalanced children of the sun.
The soldiers, parents of struggle. Or go to the metaphysical; God, Ganesh, Vishnu, Shiva, Gahandi, the Dali Llama. Ancient prophecies shed light on your darkest days.
Travelers have been to many places, come across many persons, seen many things. Interview a man from Munich, see what he has to say.
Confront a delinquent or a deviant, they have voices too.
We all come together in this wild weird universe where everything is relative. Where everything happens for a reason but without a single motive. A place where explanations and ambiguity go hand in hand. To achieve balance, understanding, self awareness, self confidence and control of emotion and thought; endless unconditional love and the notion to stand up for ones self must be acquired. Equality and tranquility flowing effervescently across the cosmos. No separation or bigotry no thought of color, race or creed, color and background. With all our senses heightened to see all the truth in the world, to smell the sweet aroma of familiar places, to feel the cool wind on a warm day, to taste the sweet and sour flavors that make up a day. And to hear all the wondrous sounds around us music, laughter, crying, honesty, lies and to distinguish between them without having to look.
The ability to articulate all you’ve seen and heard. Everything you’ve tasted and smelled and touched. The emotions felt, the thoughts you’ve gone over and over time after time. The eradication of grief and suffering. Heartbreak, loss and demolishing surprise. All the memories and people you’ve met there. The places you’ve traveled to, the relationships built and destroyed. The lessons learned or forgotten or maybe the ones haven’t grasped just yet they are you! They are us! All the same yet different to create a mixture of assorted frequencies and combinations of destines and the trails that take us their! So rise my friends Rise! RISE!
The moment you begin to believe in yourself will be a moment of pure elation.
The moments immediately following, in which you will begin to vocalize your newly acquired beliefs, will cause everyone that you love (who, coincidentally, were the very same people that had wanted so badly for you to believe in yourself in the first place) will choose their own beliefs over yours.
Following the aforementioned occurrence wherein you began to vocalize your beliefs, you will make (what will appear to everyone that you love to be) unforgettable/unforgivable mistakes. Please, keep in mind that their beliefs will forever supersede your own, which, when vocalized by you, will always appear to be vain and narcissistic in nature.
Your mistakes will then be completely disregarded by your own mind in pursuance of its intrinsic urge to afford you the relief/belief that you are a "good" person, thereby completely trivializing the aforementioned moment wherein you had begun to believe in yourself.
At this point you may or may not be imbued with a great "ah-ha" moment of clarity in which you will discover that your knowledge of "good", as well as theirs, has the very real possibility of being incorrect. If such an "ah-ha" moment does graciously permeate itself within you, you will grow acutely aware of the fact that your knowledge is, and always has been, a choice. You were the only one with the ability to choose the knowledge that you keep, as well as the things you have remained ignorant of.
You will then, and only somewhat facetiously, wish that you had chosen to remain ignorant of love.
After great trepidation and by making many more mistakes, you will come to fond that "true" love does, in fact, exist. Begrudgingly, you will then begin to accept that the existence of "true" love is something "society" revers to as a "harsh" truth. A truth of this nature will not be able to explained to anybody who does not believe in the possibility of its existence.
In situations wherein you will try to explain your personal perception of "true" love to another member of "society", you will be met with either: a perplexed expression of non understanding, or, a subtle nod of solemn comprehension. You will fall in the truest of loves with those who subtly nod.
Slowly, you will begin to notice that love, in the abstract sense, lies within the core of all "art". It will seem to you that the goal of any "true" "artist" is to describe something that is inherently indescribable.
You will then choose to either: try (in valiant vain) to describe that which cannot be described or, to simply appreciate the works of "art" that surround you.
You will subtly nod at beautiful paintings that will remind you of those you have subtly nodded towards.
You will subtly nod at songs that will remind you of those who have subtly nodded at you.
You will know that you will learn all of these things in your own time.
In your own way.
Do you people still not understand?
"It's me vs. society."
"Man, I sure hate society, at least I'm not THAT bad."
"Fuck Fox News, fuck societal norms, man, they couldn't be worse. Glad I don't associate with society."
You still don't understand. Why don't you understand?
Who even comprises society, anyway? What horrific people constitute that most disgusting microcosm, the one that everybody collectively seems to hate, the lowest of the low; those who the "At least I'm not THAT bad" crowd most loathe?
Don't you get it? You aren't that dense, think it through. Some of you already know exactly where I'm going with this, but the problem is, a lot of you don't, or refuse to accept it.
How big is society? Hundreds? Thousands? Hundreds of Thousands? Where does the schism begin, really?
Society isn't a collective. It isn't this very particular group of shitty scummy people, the worst of the worst, the degenerates. Not specifically.
Society is an ideal.
Society is the collective embodiment of the most antithetical people to every single clique on here. It is a projection, a concept, of the things that every group, every ideology on this ridiculously melodramatic world revolves around.
Of course you don't want to be part of society. It's an abstract notion that you have conjured up, with members who personify all the things you hate most: contrasting humor, ludicrous trends, immoral cultural aspects (such as the glorification of self-harm or certain treatment).
Still don't get where I'm going? You think this axiom is all there is to it? Here's the elucidation. You yourself are a member of this ideal. You've constructed the boundary, the region, the field, the area where you stand and have subsequently placed society on the opposite end of the spectrum. Or maybe, you're one of the few who understands this, partly, and realizes that there are inherent similarities between the clique that you call "society" and your own little haven.
You are intrinsic to the ideal of society.
You are part of the collective.
You interact with people on here. Anyone. Any social interaction. That's all it takes to be categorized.
Both you and your acquaintances, perhaps your eventual potential enemies, too, categorize you, from the very first second they see you repeatedly interact with a mutual friend. Where do you stand in this collective? I don't know. You think the boundaries are solid? You think that society, as an ideal, is fenced off with a contiguous wall? It is not. You are lurking in the blurred lines, the shadows of that set, that field.
That doesn't make sense, though. What's up with that? If society is my constructed ideal, why am I not exempt from its rule? How can I even be considered to be contained within its borders, firmly set or not?
Don't be so arrogant, so naive. Society is a collective construct. You have inevitably conformed to the misconstrued ideal that you have any relevance or impact on its borders, on its categorization.
You do not.
You are intrinsically a part of it. How? Every clique with a particular philosophy naturally identifies the opposing clique with its antithetical philosophy and it rejects it, publicly. However, this is a two way street. In order to make such a judgment, you must admit both the existence of yourself and the opposing group. You have formed a line, a spectrum. But, you are not alone. This is three-dimensional. Think of someone you believe is part of society. Got a few names? Right. There'll be inevitable similarities to the names that other people conceive when they consider the same question. You are therefore placing all those names, and yourself, your group, and everything you identify with in a region of comparability - put simply, in order to assert a comparison between several ideals, you are suggesting that you are in a place to be compared with opposing ideals.
You might think you're just an observer. You are not. You might be an observer, but you fall into the same trap. Of course, there are tiers of relevance, a hierarchy of similarity, and this is where the blurred boundaries come in. But, if you are even able to identify with the terminology "Society", you are subject to falling into that boundary, even if you are on the undefined edge of it. You have a conception of what that piece of jargon means, which means you can identify with it and reject its ideology. This is your downfall, as you come collapsing down into the same collective ideal as everyone else.
You are not exempt from comparison, even if nobody knows you are here.
If you understand what the phrase "Society" entails, even if it is merely your subjective definition, you have been constricted, bound by the ideal. You are a part of it, even if you reject everything I have said. The boundaries are blurred and you cannot remain under the illusion of contiguity. Your conception of the phrase is flawed by definition, because it is something you have categorised, that you have been conditioned to believe by this place.
You are a victim, but it isn't necessarily bad. It's only bad if you inherently reject the plausibility of it.
Maybe, just maybe, society isn't as bad as you make it out to be.
Riding down the stoic streets,
Whilst the shy blossoms indigo,
before the deluge of spirits,
Start trampling and parading,
After the long pandering lat night,
Mind and body pounding like a
A single procession hugs the horizon
and kisses the waves lapping on
Tossing and turning,
pulling head strings to remember,
gulping it all,
and put it down intrinsic,
with a nuance of perfection.
To Post a Poem!
Find me a postage stamp to write a poem on.
In imagery implicit.
One tiny spot.
A need to fill with written power.
Finding language every hour.
Intoxicates my heart.
My mind, my soul.
I shall write with graphite.
So if need I can erase,
on my postage stamp.
I need to analyse my space.
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest kill—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.
Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.
Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.
Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.
Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his loin,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.
Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.
An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures orgasmic, mantled in adolescent torpor.
Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.
Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.
Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The facial weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.
Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble breasts flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.
Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.
Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.
Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.
© 2013 W. S. Warner
My dad is an alcoholic.
I say is even though he has not touched alcohol for a long time, because when you are an alcoholic, you are an alcoholic for life. There is always something in the corner of your mind itching for a drink. I know this, because I can feel that this is the truth for my father. But we never talk about it.
My dad is an alcoholic.
When I was young I used to be woken up from the sounds of music playing loudly downstairs because my dad liked to 'celebrate every evening'. I had to beg my dad to go to bed, if my mom was not there, and I had to pull off his shoes and wrap the blanket around him when he was finally in it. When I was young, my dad drove me everywhere whilst intoxicated. When I was young, my father had an accident because he was drunk driving. I saw my mother's social life slowly deteriorate because of his drinking problem. He used to hit me quite a lot when I did something wrong.
Now that I'm older, that is all over. My brother does not know any better than the way it is now.
But my dad is still an alcoholic.
Since he has stopped drinking, he has lost all sorts of appetite. He even stopped wanting to celebrate things. He has stopped wanting to celebrate his birthday, new year, easter, even christmas. He hates christmas. I have to fight him to celebrate my birthday.
My dad has stopped being happy since he has stopped drinking.
Or maybe he stopped being happy long before that. I dont know. I just know there is an intrinsic connection between all of the things above but I dont see it because I am not him. And it hurts not to be him but to be on the sidelines and not be able to help. Because he does not let people on the sidelines in. He does not explain and he does not show, he merely is.
My dad is an alcoholic.
And I am here to tell you that that can still hurt long after the drinking has stopped.
People always clap for the wrong reasons,
And the best at murder are those who preach against it.
Evil is not intrinsic. It’s fashioned.
I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.
There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out.
I talk to God but the sky is empty;
This love is silent.
It’s exponentially bigger than you think;
It’s what you feel, but can’t articulate out loud.
Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.
And neither the angels in the heaven above nor the demons down under the sea
Or the ghosts inside of me
Ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
It’s easier to floss with barbed wire than
Admit that we love evil too well to give it up.
Youth is a blunder, old age a regret;
But you cannot find peace by avoiding life.
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
To struggle against this stupidity,
I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.
The troublemakers are just a handful,
And if our times are difficult and perplexing,
We become what we think.
The earth has music for those who listen;
There are times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling.
Nature is a haunted house—but Art—
Is not a thing, it is a way;
A parasitic on life.
It is easy to fool the eye,
But art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth.
We are killing a part of our souls
Every whisper of every waking hour,
And none of it seems real to me,
But everyone’s to blame.
Balancing at the presipice
On life's downward slope
Prentice of success
Ignoring of cues
Enveloped in pain
The blow of hindsight
Drenched in fear
Fruition of average