A Man In Search of His Style
It so happens to be June.
It so happens that the picture window
Frames a contented, bay lit, full moon.
Searched for an answer lifelong
A devolving, lilting song refrain:
Man what is your tune,
What's your style, finally?
Examined so many rooms,
Tried out different beds,
Jumbled now, assorted, some sordid,
Some long winded, florid,
Some cursive, cursory and accursed,
Some so bitter-filled I shared them not
Lest I infect you, a sin in F major...
Love poems galore, and yet to come,
Many more.
Some seriously desperate suicidal,
Some ditty, even a mite witty,
Some eurythmic, most free versed,
Rhyming is where you start,
Free verse when you're all grownup,
But all this delay, begs the question,
What's your style, conclusively?
Con-cluded, cannot be all things,
Took the con to ascertain the
Truest course of my abilities
At Port Serenity,
I arrived
I write what I see,
A head lifted from pillow,
A seconds-long act of inspiration duration
Becomes in moments,
a fully formed poetic inclination curation
Literally my eyes see words awaiting coordinating,
Poems flying by, needing plucking,
How a child eats his morning cereal,
His rituals informing, of the man yet to be,
How our bodies lay, hair unbrushed,
Tying us into a conjoined knot
T'is the mundane, the profane of every action,
Makes my lips move, personalized prayers framing
Perhaps this is a condemnation of sorts,
Ordinary things might bake ordinary poem cakes,
Residue of an ordinary man, an ordinary poet makes
So be it, tomorrow is a farther day, when
My vocabulary may be a word greater, lesser,
But knowing now that the spring source topical
Fills a well so deep, so close nearby,
I rejoice, mineral springs, waters of inspiration, plentiful
No matter that plain words are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say, about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?
For this, if be, my gift meager,
I, on blended knee, freely embrace eager,
Promising you that life ordinar,
Together we shall celebrate'
Fully, and most fair.
June 15th, 2013
It's freezing in your bedroom
And I just wanna dream this bright day
straight into its darker face
I'm all wrapped up in your limbs
But I'm still shaking
You've got your hands on my thighs
I wish I could feel the warm
blood that drips all down the insides of them
But I'm ignoring every
sign that you slip in through my lips
You're pleading for my
attention at the climax of your affection
You keep digging your
nails into my shoulder blades
I know what you're thinking
Maybe a little pain will bring
my eyes up to meet yours
But I'm still looking down at your hips
And I could feel you starting to melt
Into the empty stream of my apathy
You're whispering every poetic word
you ever thought you heard straight
into my ear drums
I'm still not listening
An other night home alone
Lying next to each other
But hardly together
I shut the lights out an hour ago
But your skins still crawling
You're nestling me in the bend of your elbows
But I'm just trying to sleep
I wanna pray to your eyelashes every night
Like you do to mine
But I just don't believe in you
I don't believe in anything
And I'll still kneel for you
But that doesn't mean anything
It's all still so much nothing
We used to intertwine like vines growing up a tree
Now the only thing that intertwines is this dark and me.
You’re tequila for my bones and braids, the starlet in my smoke,
This trick has got its grip on me; my song’s become a choke.
True love never fails and that’s my failure in the night
Marijuana medicine taken ‘fore twilight
Thoughts resurrect like zombies, grow between my veins,
Even when you’re absent you still keep me insane
Poetic, pathetic, diuretic, drain me of my blood
Mixing spit and hate and love until it becomes mud
Sheets of shame and guilt’s to blame for my empty heart
Foreclosed, alone, this isn’t poetry, this isn’t art
Eighteen and way too broken to be reckless and to care
Pull the trigger, shatter me, pull on my long dead hair
Scar-less little dream-catcher holding onto golden wings
Baby girl with bad dreams drinking up careless flings
I’m an alien with history just looking to get high
I prefer my world fucked-up, on the rocks and extra dry.
by Jonathan D Maraccini
I am not a poet
Or a mathematician
I did not major in science
Or any subject to say the least
I majored in bad decisions
At least one I can call my own
I am a misfit
I bleed words for a living
And plan to die alone
I am an artist
An artist through and through
From each creative incision
My hate for her consumes
I have grown more lethal
I have become incurable
I am a hideous villain
This time I'm keeping score
I pity the weak
Have you not heard of me
If you have then you're a nobody too
Cause I love to dwell with misfits
Who feel what I feel
And see the glass is not half empty
The glass is definitely full
It’s filled with lethal poison
Poison for us to consume
So we embrace creativity
Until our lives are doomed
To the point we can kill
To the point we feel terribly ill
But before they kill us
Our magic will spill
And yet with blood I cry
As the words keep on giving
Every single worthless day
Until the story ending
Dear world have you heard of me
I could be the next great villain
This is just the beginning
Yet the rain kept on pouring
One morning
The rain fell over my head
Then time stood still
That is when I realized
How important the rain was
That is when I realized
Time never stands still
Time moves slowly
Then it hit me
My words aren't ignored
My words are lethal
I figured it out some time ago
Hello alter ego
And most of you have no clue
A poetic death is wonderful
As long as we set the mood
But the fact remains
I am no poet
I am the misfit villain
From each creative incision
You become a misfit too
VAPORSiX CREATiONS
.
Why does this world
react to senseless choices
perverting any and all the voices,
waxing, waning,
clout sustaining
their blank faces
when reactions shoot it back?
To mind the mayhem,
heed the poetic style
all the while
leaving hints on signs of protest;
standing your ground
couldn't be more profound
if a heart to start
the wings and waves of warfare
keep you at your best!
The key to greatness
is to erase the sameness
and take part in the heart's excursions,
never to take lightly
or even slightly
when your essence goes on vacation.
If you find clarity,
helping to expose the dark
that carries a devil's spark,
where even your eyes have failed to see,
then take it in
with freedom to dissolve within,
thus leaving it in the hands
of a soul who understands,
and matters to only
where your head has to be.
In that regard
your life will certainly start
to affect the only one
who tried to be your friend,
keeping at bay
the rest of all distraction.
-Mark Lack
Relationships are not easy-peasy,,
Some take work, some, self-sacrifice.
Some must overcome defects congenital,
Obstacles so great that the Roman Gods
Are asked to intervene,
Send down those hotties, the fiery Furies,
who punished crimes at the instigation
of the soon to be frozen victims
So to the chase,
let's cut,
My woman's has true blood,
H2O
In solid state.
Her body is icy, permanent frosty,
And requires regular de-icing
Before Take Off.
This condition being true of her
Every part except, her prima facie.
Even the bed complains,
Whining creeks and groans,
Sometimes it even screams,
When she get in sans pajamas.
I,
A bastion of extra human warmth,
As my poems bear witness,
Normal temp is 102,
I am the joy of her life,
For love, I make the
Ultimate sacrifice.
Her feet, medieval torture instruments,
Her bare hands, have
Killed lesser men and folkloric-ly,
Reputedly, she has flash froze and keeps
Some vampires in the basement fridge,
Suitable for reheating in the microwave.
You may think this charming,
This poem, an amuse-bouche,
But it ain't funny when I go to the
Emergency room for first degree burns.
Remember when Ralph's friend
Got his tongue stuck to the metal pole,
In "A Christmas Story"?
That was me, that was her!
But our together,
Approaching near five years,
Is a Survivor.
Two hurricanes, bitches named
Irene and Sandy,
A divorce from a mean spirited wbitch
That took so long
The Matrimonial Lawyers Ass-ociation
Had my portrait painted over their fireplace.
Even the icicles otherwise know correctly as
Her Extremities,
Have not come between us
When my lips kiss her neck,
Surgically remove heart with poetic scalpels,
Hold it, fluttering and with both hands, warm.
Her eyes close, and neuronic messages
Commence firing, telegraphed, messengered,
To the far corners of every Purim Persian province,
Let the wicked witch melting begin,
Commence the holiday of
Her Festivities.
If you think any man,
Could perform said feat of endurance,
You better checkout again the name of the
Man who authored this story,
For his name, with special powers, endowed.
.
slumbered in cold shadows by the lake
murders the darker side of pain
Is truth of center gained in aging years
My blood, food for my gun's allegiance
Earth becomes immersed in dance
She dances 'round the scholars like bees to flowers
pleading her case as bare ardor dons the bawler
My body be a temple seized
her eyes massage the scene with such finesse
Earth's veil opens to a heart attacked
in the last dissolving reflection of the moon
it's as if her soul had a dress to dance in
skinned faceless with a name of no mention
under the caress of the silken swell
Mary ambled to a moonlit pane
where their bloodied foreheads thrilled a bell
my hallowed atonement in small galleries of blood
My friend with moods of thunder burns a rose
plastered on swords with aggression
whilst inside the bosom of the angels
through the climax of murder's foreplay
bedight in lace and leather dress
Am I the one who seeds her dreams
Loaning warmth and passage through your doors
This mind will shelf its angst and start a bleed
How certain could I be in moods so dark
Dying in a bucket of tears and unlicked sores
like the silken blouse that clings to your wet body in the rain
amongst the shaded shroud of the evergreen
Reluctantly, my face performs a smile
In the days of kings and tyrannicide
propped upon tips of brittle grass
Our cling to peace breaks hearts in height of war
I have dreamed the death that half-dead men did dread
Transcending the ease of a loathsome self-indulgence
my bruised cage confines a wretch
to wallow a maelstrom of receding dawns
Her smile decorates her Angel stare
not knowing, yet, that triumphs would be scarce
within the taxing haunt of my cured tears
to kiss away their powdered faces
and whither thee unto a dreary trend
by monsters married to their lunacy
that crowds the minds of these jesters, three!
Undaunted charity heeds the frail assembly
lull the rest of tender essence
posh beauties of blissful foreplay!
a scent of J. M. Farina lingering with hint of peach
that knew too well the vacuum in no remorse
private parts were raped with moonshine
Surmise thy purposed scorn, thus now imbued
bounding just above a fervid foe that worsens
echoing through planks of thirsty fir and pine
Mind the silent menace taking drink alone
These knees will beg your softest kiss today
My anxious mind is vexed to wayward fate
In the glowing pulse of candle's light
breathing and inhaling love on each other's scent
in your bruised and broken birthday suit
receiving her fifty-fist first kiss
blueprints my fondness unassisted
crippling vigor for this wearer
to reign in on a howl of a Lycan
Dew twinkling on Plum and Poplar
frost-bombing my numbing tongue
her chest heaves a rousing patina
wherein my prowess evades an ego
while yielding a martyr's nerve
haloed in league of thorn and a devil's tide
in the name of God and his flawless house
through a prayer to that sting of ocean air
mid the spray of salt and squeak of kittiwake
Pebbles pinball down the gauntlet of jagged chert
whilst the battle of balance and cowardice compete
Wet winged on a perched bluff in a waning gibbous
climaxing in a ray's parade of our star's retreat
This regime, built from boats of souls
balled up in poisoned chambers
With some sleep and sharpened moxie
though ageless eyes mind wonderment and pleas
where breezes sip upon that tendered flesh
this love regards an angel, now a muse
Take heed the throng of rebel fiends, bewinged!
Though, Ishtar goads the Angel league with wrath
I seeded many womb and belly, panged
When war with man exacts the Earth, bestowed!
the taxing onus to collapse the pawn
wasted in the cease of a lifeless morrow
fickle in the guise of juvenile stares
quit the unfed belly of my greed!
at your flawless sterling step
Never give me crushed farewell
I am no worthy an insolent mess than the skin I'm not fit to live in!
birthed from the touched tongue of the poor
releasing rage to your earthen stage
as she burned in my brain inside electric veins
watching you slip, calmly, in and out of bullied wakes
And dawn became the night and surely to a dawn again
Will press my ear to winds and eyes bedewed
In where seditious tongues of others tax
Belligerent in their counter sass
And what to deeds are our futures breached
Dost by the hand of a heathen's bidding
Your speech succeeds your lies that stumble on
Where plenty swads of berries fill a fawn
As friend to none, but to her heart received!
Ten toes claw the vitreous strand and jetsam near a firth
wherein a caddish guise feigns the propensity of a dotard
fraught with wayward bouts of coprophagy and garroted rape
kissed the servile rainbow of tumbling polished sea glass
to come hither, breaking free of my nightmare's architect
Fortnight, in the throe and rue of my brutal dolor
Mine eyes drown in a copious gore of crimsoned cruors
My disheveled locks lay and lean upon a batholith leeward
Wherein does the weregild serve me mindful menace?
pirated from the lifeless heels of an august costermonger!
he unburdened his broken skull in a humbled bow
recorded in the defunct masks of brats and bitches
citizens plagued betwixt states of Cholera and hate contend to play hero
whilst insects graze inside my anus
for the weak, there's the wicked that never fairs remorse!
renting the roost of my own lethargic atrophy
that tallied the roster of all this lawlessness?
with eyes cresting to see the whites
soaked in waxy gore and semen
that only the songs from a meadow knows
through the bubbling rumble of the meadow
where shadows fall and doze
but the swell of fell tongues feign
but to marry unwise to marry a fool?
which doth not cage purity
Find me viewing up to a thunder's roar
and equip the mauler to bash the beggar!
Flies line my waist, a belt alive
at midnight I'll be silhouetted as I'm hung
My soul, bewinged, will part the clouds
My soul is the blood that bleeds the leech.
Those words of yours that warm within like wine
Can pirate wild hearts that bound and sail
Poetic justice wakens those it must!
in the lament of wayworn heroes to appease
offending mice and mind in Choleric dismay
Who walks the wicked walk, down today, unchanged; unchained?
Who resides, forthright, with delight by the wayside?
a kelpie bedight in magic rescues the daydream
For the willed and driven dilettantes
-Mark Lach
.
Why so far
to make sense of excuses
under glittered stars
head shaking off the abuses
of comprehending
your caged heart?
Black and purple rainbows
explode from my chest
descending Gothic cargo
to only the prettiest,
though she sees not
her addicting charm
from the very start.
Am I to think
in the maze of mirrors,
thoughts to dangle upon the brink
collecting only letters
when true adoration is received,
that I am alone in this?
No.
No, I don't.....
Her frosted canvas
shields her heart with thorns
perfecting her smile as
a respecting love is born.
Hearts declare the throng of angels
to assist us,
the realists in a bit of bliss!
Free your locks
that covet your naked cheeks,
above your cupped breasts;
create a pose of wetted lips
that shiver us to vivid socks
of where our dreams both sleep
in words of purest ardor,
giving in to free these hearts that bleed!
Amaze, bewilder,
confuse and deliver!
In the night
when your heart pours open,
hear my fervent desire
and poetic pledge
to veto all delusion,
to see through their illusions,
to take me with no question,
bottoming out and
sealed with the prettiest kiss
whilst atop a living angel!!
How beautiful to drink
of your sweet nectar
in our forever we both share;
with lips, respect, and poem,
forever!
-Mark Lach
All my poems are copywrighted!
Not a typo,
I am the cobbler,
The leather restorer,
The itinerant knife sharpener,
The wandering spice seller who knocks on your door.
My wares, my tools are my factory,
Where I fix what ever sorrow
You bring me in need of repair.
I am a smithy,
I am a wright,
So I am legally obligated to inform you:
Every word I wright, ever stanza healed,
Every fix-it-upper restored,
Has been authored by you,
All I did was
Copy it wright down
And returned almost as good as before*
but modified, in poetic form.
So when I warn,
All my poems are copywrighted,
My meaning simple, words crystal,
They belong to us, but mostly to you
Who are reading these words,
and were created to be shared,
writ in disappearing ink to vanish
if you don't pass them on!
Poof!
8:30 am
June 9th, 2013
Steal This Poem, N.Y. 10000
The way you speak is poetic
I get lost in your words
I lose track of time
When I watch your lips
form every beautiful Rhyme,
as if they were
to kiss my skin
(a thought I dream of)
the way you move
couldn't be described
just being written
every thing about you
might be imperfect
but not to me
my mind will wander
but it will never neglect
the thought of your
poetic lips on me
My first full poem in a while. Im trying to get my spark back
