He was the shadow of a lonely man,
struck by fire, and sparks, and the shock
of a long lost ghost, of,
the girl he had loved.
He lost his touch as he had fallen,
and had swore he was tall with
the faults of his own, but,
he lost like a petal
left on it's own,
in the fall of his winter;
he never did bloom.
He left his beloved in
the scent of his clothes,
when she faded with dismay,
and he forged her signature
like the deed to his soul.
He built her a home,
a set of bones, like a chamber,
in his only chamber.
Beneath his metal chest,
of a soldier who had lost,
and his love in his heart,
caged in like a menegerie.
There, she was safe,
and she was kept tight.
A little memento,
that she couldn't fight.
A lock and a key to keep
her in place.
She was locked in his heart,
and she couldn't escape.
But, alas, she grew restless,
and knew she must go.
But he kept her in place,
in his chamber, her home.
64 squares and 32 pieces
white and black or black and white
pending your thesis
whether your black or white
they all have the same features
8 pawns, simple creatures
8 x 2 is 16
infantry disguised as peasants
trying to get above the 7th
to the 8th and replace
their meager form for something more severe
2 rooks, sitting on the edge
2 crooks robbing everything perpendicular
to the perimeter provided the king
doesn't falter in his pledge
When the night rolls through,
the knights roll through.
Puffing green goo, these squares or cubes
will move an L make a 7 and snuff you.
The bishop will say a blessing
as he stumbles across the board.
Moving forward diagonally,
these drunken priests drink towards
a leader hung with dressings
The queen? That greedy broad
thinks everyone is a pawn.
constantly placing her place
in the face of those trying to take her place.
The king orchestrates the beat
carefully placing his feet before god.
His feat is living, no great givings,
giving up the wrong square will make his crown your treat
Theres this chemical found
in the books you love
that makes the smell of turning the page
Reminding me of every word I've ever learned
that wont fit the smell of a number two pencil
with the language given.
I will try.
Because I was taught elementry things that I still dont understand
like how to give up.
What is taught isn't always blowing through your sense.
So lend me your ear and hear this.
Help me remember the miracle
of tragic wealth,
where oppurtunity in the ventures of wallstreet
is worth more than everybody else
and somehow still
no child gets left behind.
Leaving only our parent's nuerosis that become our friends
inability to write poetry.
The form of a child is something to be ashamed of
and you better believe that the ink can't speak
because growing up
that lesson that did sink in
under your skin is how you've never been able to say what you mean.
So run along lil duckling
traffic wont wait in this brisk pace
of a life you better learn.
We don't have time for nature.
A mother we grow to think we were born into
but out of?
the biggest lie to convince us
that such a thing as original exists
when the closest to original you'll get
is the collage of your human experience.
Turning school children into ducklings
reality into god
war into novels
spanish harlem into charity abroad
body language into a farewell to your fear
and journal studies into truth
but if I wanted to talk about the absolute
it's poetry I'd read to you.
Because when I saw god
I had to
To even come
every bead of sweat evidence of
the good work
the lessons learned
and all the things that I must burn.
To keep pace in this place
climbing a catalogue
when my time comes
i. I’d tell them of the moment you spoke about your favorite cartoon characters, and the way your face flashed when you described them to me. How innocent that brilliance was and how guileless your mannerisms were. And I’d wish they understand why I fell in love with the feeling of your innocent enthusiasm about some nonsense cartoons no one else cared about.
ii. I’d show them all your worries and troubles stacked on top of one another in a carelessly balanced house made of playing cards. And while they were appraising these I’d point out how selfless you are. How your troubles were never centered around your own joy. And I’d wish they see that the house of cards I showed them is a reflection of the person you are. The kind of person who’d knock those cards down if they had your name on them instead.
iii. I’d paint them a picture of your mind as I see it. Full of intricate ambitions, contradictory emotions, unreasonable doubts and absent-minded memories. I’d use black and blue pen to dot your journey here. And bright red to show them the great places you are destined to go. And I’d wish they stand back and appreciate the amalgam of colors instead of questioning why. There isn’t a single spot on the canvas I seem to fully understand despite being the artist.
iv. I’d take them on a walk to the place we first met. I’d make sure it was a sunny day first, just like that one. I’d tell them I didn’t think much of you at all when I first met you. I’d make them sit in that same spot, and feel the same way we felt as indifferent strangers. And I’d wish they understand that despite the seeming insignificance of that moment, I look back and am convinced I see a halo of light above that place and the beguiling simplicity of that day.
v. I’d tell them how tightly you hugged me when I was sad. How softly you touched my arm when you assured me that nothing was wrong. How quietly you showed me an overflowing friendship that’s waiting to combust And I’d wish they understand that it’s not just how wonderful it was breathing in the smell of your old jacket. It’s how wonderful it felt, feeling the weighty presence of a thousand words unspoken.
vi. I’d warn them before they meet you, this is what I’d say: “It’s easy to make that boy laugh, but it’s hard to win him over. His love is not on display, his mind has been sent to the dry cleaners. His laugh has been blocked with by caution and logic. But don’t ever say you don’t understand that he’s a wonderful human being”, I’d hope they understand your appearance is all pretense.
vii. And if someone asked me why I love you, this is what I’d say: It is hard for me to imagine going through the rest of this life and meeting another singular human being like you.
-Asterisks indicate the necessity to pop your cheek with your thumb.
-Answer the two questions correctly and I will give you a hug.
He fell asleep while traveling time
where a true name
becomes everything else.
So please give me a minute to explain myself
through the doorways
that I see champagne on a windowsill
walking across the room with blue
and fine china feet
saying again and again
the words become a song
singing and swinging the bottle like a dinner bell for thirst.
A kind that we've settled to quench
and somebody else's dream.
So don't pour my drink.
I'm trying to uncork it with my thumbs.
and I still have a tongue
so I will use it and I
I will use my thumbs to push back time
becomes a baby.
Dr. King becomes a baby.
Until the left and the right and every dead genius in between
Tiny feet trying not to crush the wet salad of the lawn
because it is green,
like my heart
that has learned
how to break fine china.
let me tell you
it's a lot more tiresome than a blue dream
but he fell asleep on a boxcar crossing Germany
where mustard gas
drowns you in your own lungs
and he tries to breath between the joints in the track
Asking again and again,
"Who killed me?"
"Who am I?",
until dinner was served without grace.
Until my head becomes stiff and bubble shaped
having been conditioned by
So we should tell all the baby hitlers,
that become children
that become us,
that a lie
is what you become
when abusing language to distort a reality.
And when you make a fist
you are handing lies out at random on a silver tongue.
But I still have one
and I still have thumbs
so sorry to burst your bubble but,
I don't mean to put
I know it hurts
to have something so precious as the world
But walls hurt worse
and through them only muffled sounds are ever heard
until your world is made of mute prisoners
that have forgotten what silver
really sounds like.
for I also have ears
so give me second place
and I will throw the medal against your walls.
the universe doesn't look like an ebony tub,
with knobs we can't ever see,
full of infinite shining marbles to everybody.
is a library of language,
so free will isn't a book written in english.
those know nothing infants trying to travel,
Belonging like this medal bouncing trying to sing
off your wall
Where again it will ring,
we've all been runner up
we still get annoyed when another doesn't enter our library
instead of trying harder
let me say grace.
Let me set l o n g tables
with the gruel that's been given
served on b r n.
with sterling silver.
There are a few types of music
Music when you're happy
Music when you're sad
Music that makes you think of someone
And music that doesn't meany anything to you
Until certain things happen In your life
And it just moves you, speaks to you
Pushes you through the through
Glides you through the smooth
Music that I listen to when I'm only thinking of you
But I never tried poetry
And now I realize
Poetry can be used
To explain love in great detail
An image in a readers mind
But love can mean many things
To the writer
So the reader has to relate to it in someway
Dig deep within the lines
It's like finding a diamond in the rubble
But when they do eyes are wide
See a poem has to flow
Tell a story in someway
Poems that only make sense to me
My mind is thinking of new
Lines every single day
See I never wrote poetry before I came here
I see it as a land of peoples
Story's and Dreams
A land of people who
Get heat-broken and Shattered
And write about the things they've seen
But poetry for me
Are my Demons scrawled
Across these pages
And my story's to tell
This place is where I drown them
They lay there in that thing
The thing I used to call the Wishing Well
If they're here, they're not in my mind
Emotion in my lines
But the reader has to Look, Imagine and Relate
But when they do, their eyes wide
Now I know this
Poem may not be the best
And It's not meant to be
Because this is a poem that will only make sense to me
Just another Demon
I have thousands and this is just one less
I didn't mention the Angels
Because they're quiet
They only come when I rest
I think a lot
But I know they're always silent
During the Test
I'm hoping you are well today,
I've just read something rather beautiful
that has inspired me to say:
Thank you Thank you Thank you
Lord, I've never felt this grateful
for every single thing in my life,
even ones-at times-angry and hateful.
Starting with the biggest first,
thank you for my parents,
for even when I'm scared of them
I know that they'll be present
at certain times of need
and perhaps someday
they will meet a wife.
Next thank you so Lord
for my sister,
angry and annoying,
just like a blister
She knows every inside joke
and we can laugh together,
quoting, singing, dancing, mocking,
truly two birds of a feather.
Thank you so much for
all my friends
Lord knows without them
I'd be at wits end. :) <3
Thank you for everything
I take for granted
like loving parents
who actually wanted
a little baby,
a little me
when they didn't know
what I'd turn out to be.
Running water plentiful,
Safe healthy food till I feel full
Not living everyday in fear
that I'd have to face
a gang rape scare,
a solid roof above my head,
a box of pads beneath my bed.
A plethora of coloured pencils,
don't need stencils.
Thank you for the hands
that learned to draw before
they were taught
to even write the alphabet,
did you know of the attention
that I would get.
People notice me and my creations,
ask me to do a transformation
of a screwed up line, out of place,
they joy I get from their face
when they hold up
something I've done
and shout to their friends
'lookit what kim's drawn!!'
Thanks for my perfect
and you kept Sara safe
when she fell off that log,
Were you there when we pulled
that tick right out of Puck,
so many tries,
but got it out with some luck. :D
Of course thanks for
all those boys,
the ones with beards that
still play with toys.
For my linkin Park buddy,
and Ed of course,
who hasn't been here
(having been sick as a horse)
Thank you for Beatles,
Green Day and for KISS
thank you so much Oh Lord
for giving me this.
I'll no longer roll my eyes at mass
when we say we praise you, each lad and lass.
Instead I'll throw my hands in the air
Shout Halleluiah! for the presence that's there.
Let me tell you about a place
where adults can come to play
It's an adult Disneyland
and there's no end to the day.
The fields are lined with vendors
providing meditation spots for free
I even found a tied died Jesus
twice in one day to save me.
I slid on rainbow water slides
rode a multicolored ferris wheel
I surveyed miles and miles of wonder
flying high on a pink seat of steel.
There's a strong sense of community
that serves one communal mean
to convey one's self expression
though art and sustaining green.
Sandalwood swirls through the air
and joins music's pleasing taste
That fuels the hungry thousands
to dance in an ecstasy filled haze.
Camps proudly fly their country's flag
and speak one universal truth
That art and music hold the key
Sad road trip home........
See you in '14
"She is such an excellent student in English,
and I'd ask her teachers why her grades were low
and they'd say she wouldn't turn anything in. And
it was true, she'd say this isn't ready yet, it's not perfect."
Perfectionism. That's it. I don't have it, God knows
but after 500 years of therapy I can look any psychological ailment
in the face...now she's dropped out of college and
he is not happy, my former boss,
"she says it's a 'gap' year" like the British Royal Family takes after
prep school, to be sent to rope cows in the British Empire,
Be an Australian cowboy and post to the trot like a proper Englishman
He's right, it's not a gap year.
He speaks so quietly, he has judged me so harshly
pathologized me, behaved as if he is perfect and I am nothing
this is quite a large crack in the perfect facade
and I'm still here wondering
so I do what the courageous do and I google perfectionism and
before long I gather details of a childhood spent trying to have accomplishments
so your parents will notice you, a childhood where your feelings aren't important
an emotionally impovershed childhood lacking mirroring, positive mirroring because
the parents were to wrapped up in other things or they didn't really care and suddenly
I understand why this boss of mine would dig into my very soul
because he is so much like my parents
and yet, so afraid, because if I can google this,
then so can he, so why doesn't he when he's the one
with the degree in psychology, so why am I the one
trying to figure out his daughter's problems
and I know the answer
I want to solve mine
Is it the Jew in me? That kind of willingness to look into that vast
horrid place of self hatred and take a flashlight even and look
at the bloody mess of a psyche and try to attend to the wounds
to heal, the be willing to walk in, squishy entrails cut off
and bloody under my feet, to try to sew them back together
to get the whole system working again.
I want to e-mail her the articles I read about her
I want to heal her, I want him to read this and know
that he is known and he was not such a good father
and she needs help
but no. it is only me I hope to understand
as I realize I am in the cave, the immensity of my own psyche
trying to understand it, fix it, yet again
why does it never ever fucking work out
why can't it just stay
in place and