From the day he arrived
Each inch nervously shook
I could only surmise
The beatings he took
The abuse rendered still
By only raised voices
Yet humble and still
in everyday choices
Each morn he'd surround
the perimeter of our hearts
Wrapt in safe ground
Playing the part
His pastoral wag
Enlightens the day
Never to brag
Always to play
So now layed to ground
To univeral nest
The goldest of downs
Heel boy, and rest
I am not The Enemy, not the demon
Not the man who caused you
Nightmares, body rigid, sweat streaming
Late night screaming
Nights of tears, the culmination
Once again of childhood hidden fears
The weeping, the crying, so many tears
Cold cadence after a night of joy
"I don't love you anymore," careless
Words, what are you to him, some toy?
Kindled spark way too soon rendered
Momentary unsure a withered bloom
Desolation winter park you linger
Momentary frozen cinder arch
Sealed the hopes as seen splintered cracks
Of hope exposed a million pieces lay
Was once a dream I dare to hope, deep
Within inside sealed silent screams
I should have known in matters of
The heart, my heart, nothing is ever
EVER as wonderful as it seems
Fortune favored me at least, you never
Held my heart and I don't still care for
You deeply, but that lack of ownership
Saved me the sickly sweetly
Taste of thorns pricked through
Heart flesh, friendship never now is
Much more safe, smart, I don't still
Want for you any of the best...N O N E
No rest, fuck 'em, fuck you,
Back to start...
- Johnny Raven
© Copyright 2012
I miss thee, I hath to admit
I want to witness again thy stunning smile so sweet
And how th' sun always kindly, and generously, touchest thy dark hair
Then shalt thou breakest into endless jokes and childish wit
'Fore rising a tender smile, as we greet each other by th' circular stairs.
I bet thou art still remarkable and stupendous as usual
Thou whom I'th known since last grey fall
By th' ponderous sleeping lake; in th' midst of a burly night;
Thou stared through me with a pair of unfathomable eyes;
as though thou couldst makest everything in my heart-better and right;
and yon, yon colourlessness of th' night, shinest so beautifully as butterflies.
Thou wert, indeedst, not th' paleness I had dreamed,
thou wert not bleak, thou wert not mean.
Thou still shined brightly though chilled and dimmed,
thou wert damp, but sunny-just like th' nearby shuffling trances
to which I had never been.
At times thou canst seem lazy, ah-but thou'rt indeedst not!
As just I do, thou liveth thy life from dot to dot,
thou leapest from time to time in my story,
thou, though far away, somehow always seem near,
and be sitting here idly with me and my poetry.
Thou might be close not to my ears,
but I canst listenest to thee; as thou eat and pray,
and as thou waketh, to every single inevitable day.
T'is life, which canst somehow be bitter,
shalt at times corruptest thy happiness and thy laughter;
wringing thee into false devotion and meanness,
but be sure, my love, t'at I shalt be thy cure;
I shalt be thy unhealed passion and all-new tenderness.
I shalt be thy first salvation, honesty and satiation;
I shalt be a scarf t'at giveth thee warmth, and thy hated mediation;
hated and dejected by t'is dreadful world, my love,
t'is world which knowest not t'at love is everything above.
And I shalt be thy heaven, and holiness,
and thy greenest grass when it is too dark,
as t'is world hurts and drivest away from frankness;
and within its grim sacrifice, lettest go of its single spark.
Ah, thee, thy innocence is just like my own soul,
but it is what makest thee divine as gold;
thou art ever pure, and incessantly pure,
and thy jokes and ventures and preachings flawless and true.
And in t'is weary life-which is sometimes faultless but unsure,
thou always makest me feel honoured;
makest me feel brand new.
Ah, Kozarev, thou art my immortal twin star,
and thy lips my sophisticated fragrant moon;
thou art my umbrella in yon idyllic heaven afar,
fade away not, but thou drifted away too soon!
My love, but sketchest again our undying night,
t'is time with a new bosom of light,
and giveth me comfort within which,
and flinch no more, for I shalt not flinch.
Thy genuinity is my nature,
thy childishness is my cure;
for t'ere are no more lips as naive as thine,
though t'ey oftentimes seemest spotless,
and t'eir toughness, seemest fine.
Ah, Kozzie, only fate t'at shalt makest out paths eventually align;
fate who hath sent me sweet prophecies, and a truthful bold sign.
Let me be thy grace, and thy sole, immortal lady;
let me be such craze, so t'at thou shalt always be with me.
I shalt be thy doll, and thy very own addict;
I shalt nursest, and cherishest thee every day of the week.
And joy, and its miraculous delight shalt be ours alone,
fallen fast asleep by night, and renewed by upcoming morns.
Together shalt we teasest every passing minute and hour;
and treatest all 'em nicely, just like how we deemeth t'at laugh, of ours.
And when nightfall greetest, sleep, my love, sleep;
thy red, innocent cheeks shalt I kiss; thy greatest dreams shalt I keep.
Kozarev, and fliest me again to th' melancholy Sofia,
wherein our peace shalt dwellest, and be cheered and alive.
But let me first fetch my old, talkative umbrella;
for Sofia shalt be full of rain; but one t'at makest it safe, and thrive.
Ah, Sofia, our little haven like yon nearby oak chatroom,
old as it is, but still-tenderer t'an t'is ever lonely gloom;
I bet Sofia is still warmer t'an t'is fraudulent war of my heart,
though it is, of now, far and sat by a land wholly apart.
Oh, Sofia, in which our love shalt be adequate, but still-inadequate,
for our love is more benign, ye' at times-more capricious t'an fate.
And it is raw, but ripe, like a mature cherry;
it hath neither tears, nor hate, nor brave worry!
Ah, my love; but again fly me, fly me, t'ere-
for cannot I waitest to live my life with thee;
and so promise t'at I shalt not bend, nor go else anywhere,
so long as thou shalt stayest, and liveth thy future years with me.
Oh, and I shalt forsaketh thee no more;
and disdaineth thee no more-thou art my sonata!
My delight liest in hearing thy sonnets be told;
thou sitting by me 'fore moonlight, down on th' starlit piazza!
Ah, Kozarev, please no longer makest my heart sore-
I am sick to death, I detestest t'is grief to th' core;
Burnest my heart's cries, and indulgest me in thy arms,
I shalt brimmest in thy glory; and gratefully lost, in thy charms.
As th' world turnest so weak and rough,
we shalt be th' sole ones to fall in love;
but our idyll is one t'is envious world cannot gather;
as it growest bleaker, as it turnest worse.
But Kozarev, having thee by my side shalt be enough;
and my days shalt be no more sad, nor tough;
Thou art th' candle, t'at lightest up th' life within me,
thou art th' candy, t'at livenest up all my poetry.
You would always leave early
at the parties,
up in your bed was safe
not in me though
as i crawl along your side
late in the night
I'm finding less and less ways to describe the innocuous sensation that manifest in my meat bag mind whenever I look into the unrelenting depths of the city streets, of the crimson arched bridge, of the ethereal concreteness surrounding everything at everywhere. How limited are my intuitions. How incredibly flawed I have been since birth yet what I saw and felt those day looking out the second story window of the old catholic school classroom, those things where true. The size of my uselessness rivaled my desire, everyones desire to remain golden in our youth, exalted in (existential) immortality, survival without posterity, actualization without all the hired bullshit. A relic of tomorrow who felt safe in twilight-collective.
There once was a TV network
That made me want to exult
But now I am sad and despondent
And it’s mostly Steven Moffat’s fault
I enthusiastically started Doctor Who
Who’s chronology is twisted and bizarre
It seemed like such fun to travel through time and space with a man
Who used a blue box as his car
But soon the companions’ aspirations
To travel to planets and stars
Were crushed by the Void, lost love, and gargoyles
And the Doctor is lonely and scarred.
Not yet wise, I began watching Sherlock
His deduction left me amazed and bamboozled
He and John drank some tea, and solved crimes with glee
Although each case took quite some perusal.
They lived happily with their cool flat decorum
Mrs. Hudson made biscuits below
Then along came the menacing, mean Moriarty
There was nothing that he didn’t know.
Because of the fallacy that Sherlock’s a fake
He’s dead and John’s in the doldrums
The only thing done to commemorate him
Are John’s “I do believe in Sherlock Holmes”
Hoping for a show that was boisterous and happy
Instead of the peaceful, yet sad
I turned to the medieval Merlin
who was quite a cheery lad
He worked for the king’s son, Arthur
who eclectically chose his knights
There were sirs Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon
The bravest people in sight.
Merlin used his job as camouflage,
His secret he did not divulge
for if they all knew he was a powerful wizard
In his execution King Uther would indulge.
Since Merlin’s destiny was to keep the prince safe
He faced many scary things
He would cower in fear, but when Arthur was near
He felt brave enough to sing
Merlin’s feelings for Arthur were obvious
But does Arthur feel the same way?
When Arthur deigns to exchange dialogue with him
It instantly brightens his day.
But Lancelot died doing Merlin’s job
And Arthur is in love with Gwen
Morgana, a wizard who was once Merlin’s friend
Is evil and wants Camelot dead.
So the Doctor is lonely and growing old
Sherlock left John all alone
And Merlin feels guilty and outcast
They’ve lost all the good they’ve ever known.
And I am left crying and angry.
How could the writers do this to me?
But still, they’re the best shows I’ve ever watched
And I’ll always love the BBC.
I like British TV shows okay
When I look at my baby girl,
and I see her standing there,
Born This Way t-shirt,
Pink dye all over her hair.
I've seen her grow up,I've seen her
become who she wants
I've held her hand and I've put
band aids over her cuts.
With that devil's music
on her grave,
and her uncanny way to stay
I remember her as a kid
remember before she was this.
Tuckin' her in bed at night
giving her a good night kiss
May she never love her same
gender forever remain straight,
And when you finally fly away I'll be
bidding you a long farewell
Wishing for a memory
that doesn't strike me as Hell
But whatever path you take,
I'll watch behind you, keep you safe,
For Foreveeer Young
Foor Evvveeeeeeeeer Yoooooooooooung.
Song by Rod Stewart.
My love is torn apart
Like the yarn that comes from your sweater
You know it’s there
But you never know when it will start to unravel
Unravel 'til there is nothing left but one long string,
What’s left is my love for you
From the tints of red and blue
I never saw anything quite as beautiful
The way the thread touches your soft skin beneath it
Like it wants nothing but to be worn,
And worn out
Your love runs deep
But it doesn’t tap into the water
That makes up 90% of my body
That comes out, is for you
That doesn’t come out
Is for you
I keep most things in
Like a safe that has been untouched for years
The dust on top aches to dance
And whirl about
But its duty is to hold our families most prized possessions
The type of holding that no lover knows
Birth certificates, life insurance, wills,
But does any of that matter aside to prove we are but a tiny piece in the puzzle of life
We see ants like we see people, just another thing that is in the way
We’d rather stomp on their souls than lead them to where light is
Because if someone is in our way
At the wrong time,
Better believe we will make it right
Have to be at this very important meeting, at this very important time, to get very important money, to buy very important things
What a shame
We all are
But you never shame me
Sitting at the top of the highest tree
Looking about with your telescope eyes
“We are all tiny fragments found within the oldest ship in the sea!”
Underwater broken up and scattered about
The captain tries to collect us, reconnect us
But would rather drink instead
He is our god, for all we know
His head is cloudy and his eyes are dull
He gathers our pieces to construct them as one
But is rocked by a wave and loses us forever
What were you to me
But a dream,
On the flower that I gave you
Two months after we met
That you kept on your dresser
As if it would make a difference if it was there or not
Your ocean like eyes showed me the answer when I showed up that day
I was lost in them but I heard you say
“I’m going away”
My heart sank like an anchor holding up time on a never ending clock
Ticking away until one day it stopped
...if not here?
Where are you safe
...if not at Church?
Where are you safe
..if not at home?
Why are you not safe,
if you're in a place that
sings of love and joy and peace,
a place where love prevails and
evilness will die.
What if you are the evil
they want to kill?
Why do you suddenly feel
betrayed and scared with the people that
have lived and cared for you,
what if you
can't tell them
Where are you
Freedom is a myth.
There is no time,
and no society
where it can be real.
And I can offer proof...
with actions comes
an ethical lifeline
which ties you to
resting on it's pulse.
I see the reason,
I see the logic,
the neatened box in
which our world is
I crave release.
I crave a freedom
to break the bonds of
and be me.
Be mad without the fear
and be happy
and be free
and to not be scared.
To still feel safe
because I don't,
and I really rarely
I am yearning...
for an impossible dream.
To have a day,
which I don't calculate,
and wait in fear of
And that is what it'll stay...
And hauntingly wonderful one