Hush now, Baby,
You wanna burn it all?
Let's ruin what's left of my body,
and commit it to this decaying tomb
(its OK, you knew it was broken anyway).
Im'a hold you tight, together we'll burn
Im'a hold you fucker, 'till you learn,
we had this life together -
now let's make it burn.
Eyes welded shut.
Have you heard the sound or felt the burn of a cigarette being extinguished on your skin?
Have you ever compared pain to pain?
Emotional vs physical.
No winner ever declared though that is what makes it beautiful, and ugly.
We praise beauty on the outside and ugly on the inside.
Sharing the left over love for ugly on the outside and beauty on the inside.
That is why sad songs journey through my heart and out my brain.
They are simply experiencing the emptiness that remains in such a full world.
A full world full of fools.
The emotional killed the physical as we continue to perish to a point of no return.
It can heal with time, though just like burns that turn to scars on your skin, emotional scars never fully leave.
That is the point of this poem.
To remind you of the burn, that sang for a scar, in order to appreciate the rain.
That laughing and crying spare no difference, and I love that we are all fucked up.
For indeed, in some way, we are all fucked up.
Though fear not the unknown, for that is everything, and nothing.
A beauty all can access to make emptiness feel at home.
**Another Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo Write
.............................
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Did not like the color blue.
It was far too blue,
To suit his taste.
He would have preferred
To unblue blue
Post-haste.
He did not care for the color red,
Or the shade it made
Inside his head.
For it was far too red
To suit him, so
The red, he said,
Would have to go.
Every subtle hue of purple he
Disliked with such intensity
Both his eyebrows would curl tight
And he'd grit his teeth with all
His might,
Insisting, as young
Marvin would,
That the color purple
Was of no good.
And in his own clever
Point of view,
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Believed that orange filled no purpose.
And that pink was nothing but a circus.
Both dreadful colors,
With shades and hues
No eight year old
Would ever choose.
He was, of course,
So very clear
He did not want a yellow near.
That color racked inside his head
Of things his Uncle Phil had said,
That yellow comes from garden slugs,
And oozes from the ears of bugs,
That yellow is what's left behind
When a katydid sneezes on the window blind.
It is the shade of yuck, as Marvin would say,
And he planned to keep that yuck away.
But on Sunday, May the twenty-third,
Marvin was certain he had heard
A greenish sound from way outside,
Beyond the neighbors subdivide.
He took the stair steps three by three
And ran out back under the tree
And looked as high as he could see,
When he noticed first a honey bee.
It buzzled up and through the dew
That glistened off the young bamboo.
Then disappeared into the light
That made the morning seem so bright.
He closed his eyes and listened more,
Which gave him ample reason to explore
The ups, the downs, the highs, the lows,
And wherever the greenest green-thing grows.
The sound he heard within the breeze
Made its way through the sycamore trees,
And he hunted low, then hunted high
This green-green sound that whispered by.
It harbored near the kettledrum,
Which was now the haunt of old chewing gum,
And he crept upon it from the side,
Without a sound, his brown eyes wide.
There was a charribbit, then a snizz,
Followed by a brumping, breathing whizz,
And he followed that collumping sound
To the kettledrum, and looked around.
There it was,
His green-green thing.
'Twas the greenest green
He'd ever seen.
With eyes that watched him watch it back,
As clever as a yellow jack.
It had four green slimy feet
Hidden in the loaming peat,
And plops for toes that plopped to here,
Nothing an eight year old should ever fear.
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Nodded primly deep inside,
Stared down at the green-green thing
With an inkling of real pride.
"Now that's a color," he said at last,
"The very best I've ever seen!"
And from then on the only color he liked
Was the green-green-green of green.
..................................................
Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler
......................................
“It always looks darkest just
before it gets totally black.”
-Charlie Brown
.......................................
4:11 am - The nighthawks are starting to resemble pigeons.
Train station is deserted.
An employee checks the bins as the tunnel fills with the ringing of a distant bell, heralding the arrival of the morning train.
42 minutes till my train.
I can smell the acrid fumes of the Ferny Grove train.
The behemoth pulls away-
empty.
At least I'm not existential anymore.
There is an installation of a coffin made from old bits of railroad,
"Not everyone makes it across the tracks"
This reminder of mortality is strangely fitting in a place of transit.
The true face of memento mori is shown.
Remember that you too will die, and everything will come to pass.
It's times like this that make me wish 'The Sound of Silence" was never written.
For its perfection in this moment comes as a burst of pure divine bliss.
The kind you wish would never fade away. But inevitably does.
And all we are left with is a memory of that bliss,
everytime we hear the song (after the first time).
As if we are recalling the curves of an old lover from the shadow of yesterdays gone.
Dancing beneath our fingertips, always out of reach.
Memory is never as divine as the moment that burnt it in.
----
4:29 am - It was ephemeral.
The trainyard announcer has a cultured voice.
----
4:41 am - I fear the muse has left me, beauty fled.
DEAR GOD - PLEASE LET THERE BE A CAB AT THE STATION FOR ME.
Selection 11 gave me the water i desired.
11 minutes till the train.
D.O.B. 11/2
Aquarius, 11th sign of the Zodiac.
Will I see the dawn rise from the train?
There is no light at the end of the tunnel from where I sit.
Inexplicably: I recall the cool river air that bathed us as we lay naked in your apartment,
the smell of cigarettes on our skin, the evening peppered with
scurrying, fighting possums
that danced upon your balcony.
I recall being inside you.
(Then I imagined you being eaten out
by a woman
her lips inside yours,
her curled tongue
inside your hot, bald
golden cunt.)
And I came.
Warm and glorious
my children of pleasure
caught in a latex coffin.
Your heaves of pleasure pushing against my chest
with the rhythm of waves.
----
4:46 am - On the train.
Fluorescent lighting is the devil.
Everything is garish yellow.
We pull up to the station near where you lived.
Your blue rose lives in a Chinese vase
and no longer smells
of Marlene Dietrich.
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 5: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-5/
Treasury Casino, 3:03 am. Monday morning.
Casino bars shut at 3:00 am in QLD.
I missed a place to sleep by 9 minutes.
My timing is impeccable.
2 hours to kill until the last train home.
An older man in a slate suit enters stage right.
Crosses.
Disappears.
Reenters stage left with brass buttons
lit up like embers.
The 9 network wants me to buy
stonedine frying pans.
And warns me about harmful gasses that have killed household budgies.
I wish I was more interesting.
You havent lived
until you've seen a man blow a pancake
off a frying pan.
Onto a plate.
----
3:12 am.
Late night bar personnel work in silence
cleaning beer nozzles and coffee machines.
They wander in and out of the scene under sophisticated lighting.
I wonder what to do about you, and what I'm feeling.
What our hold on each other is and when (if) the sword of Damocles will fall.
Is this truly tragedy to which we are destined?
I shudder to think.
And for this am I classed by the title
"coward"
or
"lover"?
----
3:20 am - Existentialism strikes a vicious blow. No coup de grace.
The blackjack dealer on the $15 table has a gorgeous face that makes me wonder how her body feels on a post coital morning. Satisfied and relaxed, taut through anticipation of further pleasure?
Straight raven tresses frame a heart shaped face that peers over the ridge of a white collared shirt, sprouting from beneath a black vest, tight at the elbows.
She deals with deft machine-gun efficiency. Not all bullets hit their mark here.
Her back curves with natural elegance down to a tight, young ass. The shape of it magnified by the black business pants writes itself as a factory on my mind. Light hands would fit well there, one on each cheek, her mouth open seductively, trading tastes and sensations.
There is a dying rose in my lapel.
It's sad.
I contemplate leaving it somewhere poetic but cant think of a place.
The thorns are still sharp.
----
3:45 am
The only place where time is invincible
is a place where it is hidden.
Casino's are such a place.
Here time cannot be killed.
Yet I have smuggled it in.
Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-1/
Part 2: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-2/
Part 4: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-4/
Part 5: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-5/
Treasury Casino - 2:30 am
From my seat in the smokers section
I can see the Brisbane eye,
the river,
and the performing arts center.
Streetlights are mans answer to the cosmos
"Everything you can do,
I can make better."
Once it was said that we were made in God's image.
Now we can safely say that God was made in our image.
I am in a quiet place of the universe, the night stretches on
visible through the stately
wonderous
walls
carved of old wood and sandstone.
I am in a suede armchair, winged for pleasure.
The ceiling in this room is twice as high as an ordinary room.
Circular steel balls hang down like a path of bubbles
left by a leviathan.
My water was poured with panache.
Let me set the scene for you:
I'm in the Treasury Casino, this building was once the QLD state treasury, it never changed really.
Sitting next to window that overlooks the river, a glass of water sits to my left. The room is the size of a double garage, maybe bigger. The floor and ceilings are made of old wood, the walls are decorated with a transparent gray fabric that remindsme of smoke. An old marble fireplace sits in a wall studded with tiny lights that resemble stars or candles. Above me is a series of hanging circular light fixtures that resemble a trail of bubbles left by a leviathan.
This room was designed for, and houses opulence.
The TV plays Eminem.
Peter Garrett dances like a Parkinson's sufferer.
And looks like Disco-Nosferatu.
We have killed the night
and neon power
and infomercials
rape the romance
once held
by late night solitude.
Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-1/
Part 3: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-3/
Part 4: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-4/
Part 5: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-5/
I will never stand,
in your spotlight again,
attitude is the villain
you and me cannot blend.
passed the wicked road,
you are trying to route.
Gave you things freely
reached as far as I could
but nothing has changed,
you did nothing did you?
time flew so fast
it left us down and horribly blue.
Please do not consider me
in your vision most likely,
I am dead and sinful,
I will look for better opportunities.
Grinded with feelings
that is nurtured to slide a slope.
never a positive outing.
ideas you promote
Killed my inner soul
Knowing I've stereotyped your kind.
Who would love to prolong this,
Stop this, You're Undoubtedly blind.
A whiff of smell
You left in the air
Keeps aloft my sail
In the rough weather.
A hint of smile
You left in my eye
Drives me miles,
Keeps my spirit high.
A hope for warmth
You left in my heart
Still fires my hearth,
Refuses to depart.
A seed of romance
You sowed in me
Gave love a chance
To grow as a tree.
I went to church today
I don't know what I was trying to find
Hopes? Dreams? A figure to follow and some worthy morals?
I wanted advice, I wanted to feel alive
I left there with these words resonating in my head
"Homosexuality and suicide are abominable"
a short phrase that sums the fancy and elaborated speech of the preacher
Only the sinful suffer, and I guess that's why I am troubled.
I've thought of suicide jokingly and seductively
more times that I could possibly count
I have kissed girls and I am openly attracted to them
I am not afraid of saying it and with respect, showing it.
According to the bible;
Lesbians and gays was a punishment for not obeying God
Suicide is a way of controlling your faith
And the only one that has power over you is the Lord.
God gives you what he thinks you deserve
He knows you since before you where born
and because of that he is more responsible of yourself
than yourself itself.
Your brains are too small
how dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts?
He created all and everything, all and nothing
He knows what he is doing, and in no way you can try to question him
I felt more small and insignificant than ever,
How did a invisible figure matter more than my logical arguments?
Can't I decide what I want? Isn't it my body and my emotions the one in play?
There's other 8 billion people and you try to guilt trip me because I want to end it all?
Sinners will suffer only the prayer can save you, you can't save yourself, God will save you.
Isn't it better to try to put myself together? Wouldn't I be learning more with that experience?
Instead of repeating words of prayers, shouldn't It try to save myself or solve the problems?
How dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts!
If God chooses to give you what he believes is right
Then why am I the one in so much pain?
Why good things doesn't happen to good people and to the bad ones bad things?
Is it because the bad ones will always pray?
I went to church today
I tried to find support,
I wanted to confess
"Hey, I want to kill myself"
I thought that well...
If so many people could feel happy by worshiping
I didn't loose anything by trying
I instead ended up gaining: guilt, trouble, and a feeling that I will burn in hell
So I apologize before hand. I will try to make it better and post the improvement, but it's late, I am tired and this is more a stream of consciousness experience after church.
I hope that at least my point gets across...
you made me so sick
you made me so sick i made myself sick
with the intention of ending up in the hospital
or better yet, dead
all in hopes that i could give you a taste
of your own medicine:
layers and layers and layers of pain.
but that was one long drawn out evil endeavour
and i'm glad i didn't succeed
because life shouldn't be spent with the intention
of trying to die
just to prove something to someone else
because no matter how much death
is glamorized in this goddamned society
there is nothing glamorous
about it
and in the end you will prove
nothing
there is nothing glamorous about
sticking your head in an oven
or drinking yourself into a stupor every single night
only to forget what you did or said or felt the next morning
there is nothing glamorous about
sticking your fingers down your throat
or carving poetic words into your inner thigh
just so you can feel or un-feel something
trying to die
does not make you
a tortured artist
it makes you
a miserable soul
yes, pain is useful
to create
without it i probably would not be writing this
but it does not define you
fuck them all
fuck society
stop trying to die to prove yourself to someone
dying proves nothing
take a hammer to the mirror
it's only a piece of glass
run into an open field and scream your lungs out
cry all of your fears out of your system like you did when you were five years old
stop being ashamed for feeling things
write down what kind of person you were this time last year
then next to it,
write down what kind of person you are right now
look at how far you've come
look at how far you've yet to go
be proud of yourself
think of the people who have left you
think of how good it will feel when you forgive them
think of someone who has left their footprint on your heart
now go tell them you love them
now leave your footprint on someone else's heart
make sure you tell them you love them
you matter
you matter
you matter
you matter
i swear to God i'm not joking
i don't fucking care if you don't believe me
and it isn't going to be easy
be terrified.
be brave.
you matter
you matter
you matter
you matter.
