Is it possible that the emptiness is alright
that the darkness that we fear the most
holds the most light
that the days we count hold no weight
that the relationships we share are fake
that the love we give is endless
that the smiles we show are a reflex of conditioning
that the lives we lead are reflecting nothing
that what we live for is meaningless
that what we seek may be worth nothing in the end
that who we depend on the most are as brittle as castles made of sand
what is there to expect
we make it what we make it
we create what we create
we do what we do
with or without others
we carry on
you got to
you got to fill the gaps with some kind of meaning
you got to drown the grieving
you got to carry on
when things change
it is just a reflection of how uncertain everything is
stop worrying
we cannot predict the future
just hope for the best
Plug 1.
The atmosphere is cramped in here,
Scratching thick rock to the edge of
A violent precipice.
The walls are quaking heavy tones,
Rattling thin shears of metal,
Something echoing about who has the bigger cock.
The men parade around in a circle of dance.
Drawing dense clouds of smoke into their
Sun beat skin.
Hands raised high in the sky exposing
The mechanics,
Everyone exposing their grit.
The circle is empty.
Two cocks on opposing sides.
Talons shimmering shine against the backdrop
Of every shallow face.
The fight begins in deafening roars,
Declaring fan favorite in the match.
Clawed blood stains in dirt,
Blind eyed swips,
Coating afeather dance for the victor.
The crowd is silent.
No one speaks.
All eyes on the man who had lost the fight.
A big time cat,
Ran with the most important of people
In the controlling cities.
His veins pumping blood madly
To his scarred face.
The crowd moves and then forms again in his wake.
Motioning for the champion,
A hard working man who had been deported
Back to the bad lands just a year before,
Pulling his mechanics out from his belt loop.
My friend,
The winner,
Had none.
He stood,
Petrified,
Sweat beading from the oversized craters of his skin.
The man circled him,
Blamed him solely for his disposition.
Taunting him with his eyebrows,
Winking,
Though not well.
Until he stopped circling
And addressed him from behind.
With a mouth full of death sentences,
He placed his lips close to his left ear and said,
"You win, the right to die."
And plug 1 shouted loud,
Flinching everyone.
Plug 2.
My friends body laid to rest
In the dirt of it all.
Face down with an impact mark,
Claiming his new look.
Everyone remained calm.
They weren't stupid.
Knowing this all too well
Like bomb threats after 9/11.
The made man chanting true victory,
Picking up the left cash that had
My friend's kids meal etched into it.
Plug 2 shouted loud,
Another lunar landing.
Plug 3.
The puddles became oceans calm.
People began to smirk in disguise.
Two slugs picked up and pocketed.
Free trade in an open market.
Plug 3 shouted loud,
Smashing like watermelon under the hammer.
Plug 4.
Overkill to say the least.
My friend's face no longer recognizable.
His brilliant smile chipped away,
Nose splintered just feet away,
For another man's creation.
Another man's insecurities.
I will never see Francisco again.
He will never make me laugh nor smile
In his distinct inaudible way.
He is gone.
For good.
For the rest of "time".
Plug 4 shouted loud,
Beginning the end of his memorable existence.
Francisco Venegas.
Murdered by Cartel for winning a cock fight.
i do not know what it is i desire
whether or not it is the bittersweet smell of his smoky shirts
or the smell of the chlorine after he gets out of the pool.
both are so mesmerizing to me
yet i cannot decide which would suit me better --
his relaxed manner, his sleepy blue eyes, his low voice
or his fluffy hair, his quirky attitude, the way he can make anyone feel comfortable
i don't know which is more beneficial to me
and i have asked many about this
about the choice i have to make
but i don't think i can do it
because i know that either way i will hurt someone
and i would rather hurt myself than hurt either of them
but i have a choice to make.
i have to choose which path i want to walk down
whatever the choice
i know my heart will hurt more than either of theirs.
Points Do Not a Poet Make
The poem is the afterbirth,
A conflicts resolution, an outcome,
Battlefield debris, the residue of
An exacting vision, a sentiment surging,
And your army of words, inadequate to the task,
Fighting to capture that insight flashed,
Each word a soldier, disheveled,
Crying, let me live, let me be saved,
Let me make a poem,
Let it be inscribed upon my victorious flag.
The poem is the sweat left upon the brow,
Having exercised the five senses,
The salt of struggle and debate,
It's completion, each word,
Both a victory and a defeat.
To write down any old notion,
A la de da rhyme of late and fate,
To write to garner points and pins of glory,
Is just, well, bloody awful....
And
Mocks us all who ache
To write but a single line,
That uplifts the heart,
Eases pain, gives delight to strangers,
And makes you laugh out loud
With shivery pleasure,
That usurps a whole day and night,
That is a poets true measure.
Mastery of the poetic,
Measured not in quantity,
But in tears of satisfaction
When others love the taste
Of newly born stanzas
Upon their lips,
couplets born and transcribed
In the wee hours of the morn.
The monkey chattered in my ears
his laughter became my tears.
A dry cackle that slipped through
each and every link that shackled me
and bound me to futility.
I called him Manny
mainly because it wasn't funny to give him a name at all
but strange things happen to those that fall beside the wayside.
There was no parable to make my life bearable
no miracles and no burning bush
the monkey pulled while I pushed or perhaps the other way round
until finally worn down to the ground
Manny decided it would be quicker to walk and bid me goodbye.
I wonder why I fed him for so long
right or wrong that's what I did
but now he's gone there's more for me
and I can see
that I am greedy too.
What is there left to do but fill my head
with thoughts of the living and of those that are dead
and decide into which category I fit.
To bite the bullet or take the bit
and cut one's cloth so it will fit
is the order of my day.
Manny's gone and I am on my way
hip hip hip
hooray.
lost
wandering
pleading
....
she watched them fight
the two people
who were supposed to love her
the darkness in her heart grew
while listening to shrieks in the night
in the shadows
Tears flowing
she punched a wall
until it cracked
Her crying heart
....
sometimes she would
climb out the window
and wait for him
by the lone tree on the hill
then she would let it out
head on his shoulder
his arms around her
just warmth
where none of the coldness existed
and he would make her laugh
but that was
torn
away
too
just like everything else
she was thrown
into a new world
alone and confused
she smiled when she could
made new friends
started to open again
just to be punched down
shattered
when all she needed
was to be loved
she cried for some time
but
nothing was the same
one day
she stood up
and wiped away her tears
she encased her heart
in an iron chest
to sink in the ocean
and s l ow ly
Unnoticeably
her smile was
Broken
not.. necessarily about me .. :P
Might delete later
Sit back, relax, these cravings make this couch feel like rehab
out of reach of my stash, feel like I'm crashin' but I already crashed
been here since work an' I can't feel my feet, crap!
Sit up, and remember everything that you tried to keep from thinkin' of
your account, the amount, dropping like doves
in these times of war, no heroes just whores, nerdin' out on the game of life
trying step it up on the score boards, tryin' ta live like lords in this world
that has no law, why not be an outlaw, tough cuffed, straight jaw
dealin' out pain like a war god, Kratos, dime bags is small tomatos
when you could push yayo, one call to my man and I could get a crateful.
Damned if I ain't a salesman, slanging nuns chewy doobies on the side, call me satan
and I'm the king of this world, it's hell, try escapin', I could have it
in the palm a' my hand if I made a move but then I gotta choose, play my luck
trust my fucking gut to keep from getting cut, like it's my only homie but he only knows
me cause I was pushing dro with the stonies.
I don't want a knife in my back, a run in with the feds or getting popped by the caps
tryin' ta dodge traps laid by cats that is jealous of my stacks,
I want a paradise where we all make racks, blast our music and blaze it fat,
sleep with both eyes closed cause we don't have to watch our backs,
too bad we were born in a world ruled by cash,
ain't never gonna have a globe like that...
Rap (I have no idea how to show what words I emphasize and how I say them)
Influenced, once again, by Andre Nickatina
"once more,"
she promises herself
"just one last time,"
she convinces herself
"only one or two,"
she negotiates
"how about a little small one,"
her words make sense
but she promises herself,
"only once"
too many times
and now
she is reckless
{c.m.}
I'm already gone
let's make it easier
because leaving is already hard enough
enough pretending will service us
help us forget how much we want to stay
in one place
lying together
Truth: I was never actually here
See you soon..
You who sit and play on your phone
Flinging birds is not a skill to hone
So why can you not see
You make me angry
And your cawing red birds make me moan
