When I was little I dreamt I was a stringless kite
flying freely in the sky, I was the out-of-control wild
type you could never manage to keep quiet.
But when I met you, things somewhat changed and
you brought me back on land and showed me that
what I needed wasn't exactly in the sky but rather
right beside you. I decided to give away my wings
for one taste of your witty tongue and dangerous
love. The only problem is that deep within me, and
even though I had legs that I wasn't exactly designed
to use, a hint of feeling out-of-place
would always disguise itself in the most subtle
ways you would always detect and hate, absolutely
hate about me.

The idea of dying so I am finally free was tempting,
I've got to admit it was the only thing left about
that long gone dreamy girl you managed to
change completely. And it's all confusing because
no matter how hard I try to get away, I always
find myself stuck inside my brain thinking
about the way your lips form when you say
you love me. And I bet you hate the way mine
do when I say I don't want you. But baby,
if it hadn't been for you, I would have
probably ceased to exist by now.

Maybe I simply wanted you to love me
with my flaws and pain and sorrow
and everything that's me.

And maybe you cannot do that because
no human can love unconditionally.


F.Z.N

Ah, Pinocchio--povero burattino°--
Always in a scrape; always in a jam.
The irresponsible, wooden-headed numbskull
Couldn't help but fall for every scam.
 
A walking, talking stringless marionette,
Pinocchio really would have had it made
In a modest home with babbo°° Gepetto.
But, instead, the foolish youngster strayed.
 
Ignoring the advice of the talking cricket,
Pinocchio EVEN smashed it with a hammer.
That right there should have been a reason
To throw the little rascal in the slammer.
 
The Fox and the Cat had no trouble
Dissuading the puppet from going to school,
Thus involving him in a series of adventures
Which often made him look like a fool.
 
The Fairy tried to be a good influence,
But Pinocchio's lies caused his nose to grow.
Constantly ignoring responsibilities,
The misguided boy, suffered constant woe.
 
(Swindled of his money, hanged on a tree,
And saved just in the nick of time
From being eaten, Pinocchio had
Too many adventures to fit into this rhyme.)
 
Fleeing with his lazy school chum Lucignolo
To the Paese dei balocchi,°°° there Pinocc
Turned into a donkey. Of all his follies,
This one had to be a masterstroke.
 
Once again a puppet, Pinocchio was swallowed
By a giant Pesce-cane,°°°° and then guess what!
The foolish boy was finally reunited
With babbo Gepetto in the fish's huge gut.
 
NOT until Pinocchio thought about others
And proved he was an honest and caring boy
Did his fortune start to change for the better,
And the stringless puppet became the real McCoy.
 
Does Pinocchio by any chance remind you
Of any politicians out there at all
Who fail to listen to expert advice
And thumb their noses at common protocol?
 
And speaking of noses, we can also see
Politicians' noses grow as they tell lies.
Lying to themselves and to others as well
And ignoring our best interests and flouting compromise.
 
Such politicians--unlike Pinocchio--
Have strings to pull when performing for the masses.
The more they avoid solving REAL issues,
The more they end up looking like *****.
 
They also love--these clever burattini--
To sell a bill of goods and promise many things.
But someone out there--or some corporation--
Is slyly and cleverly pulling their strings.
 
Do you ever wonder if these same politicians
Ever think about or care how you feel?
Will they eventually--as did Pinocchio--
Prove they have what it takes to be real?
 
 
°(burattino/i) - poor little puppet
°°(babbo) - dad(dy)
°°°(Paese dei balocchi) - Playland
°°°°(Pesce-cane) - shark

- by Bob B

It isn't often that the sun refuses to rise.
Lately it seems to need encouragement.
Rising just a little later each day.
And when it is the sole reason that the passing of time is so named.
Everything caters to meet the new requirements.
Disregarding lunar activity.
Heliocentric minds have never felt so embellished.
A chaotic routine indeed.
Favoring those who won the right to stay apexed.
Only when so many fight to stay at the top.
Do all those in the middle lose center.
Compressing the foundation into neat distortions of the past.
Like laughing at irony meant to sting.
Or playing a stringless instrument​ to a deaf audience.
Captivating all the more.
For beauty lies in the only I that matters.

What’s the difference between unwanted and unneeded?
You’re unnecessary, verging on disappointment, disgrace
Breaking faith and bond, hoarding intent and hopes false
Unnecessary child

Give me pure existence
And watch me lose my mind
Without meaning
I’m fingerless and blind
Give me pure existence
And watch me lose my heart
Without love
I’m a stringless puppet

You let me rub sawdust in your ears.
You let me drip wax on your fingertips.
You let me defenestrate your free time.
You let me run my voice across your lips.
You let me think I can.
It is of my opinion that the basement here smells
of expensive wood varnish
and it reminds me of what you are supposed to be;
an old thought.
A grimy vexation.
A copper colored conundrum,
antiquated and nauseously green.
I hate it when you waste time with me.
You make me feel like we're worthless.
Sitting alone in a stone darkness
with both purple hazes
hanging in the air like rhythmic skeletons
strung up in a celebratory gallows.
I'm happy when I'm with you,
you two-penny *****
of wasted yourself.
I love you.
Now leave.
Out of our lives.
I would be happier if you were out of yourself.
But you knew that.

I know a cedar chest of a hundred years
and you are knees-to-chest inside;
not dead
but breathing through the keyhole
in a white evening gown
with your skin growing tighter against your ribs.
One day I will open the chest
and your blood will flow
and your eyes will open
and your skin will hang more loose
under healthy fat and muscle and life
and you may throw your arms 'round my neck
and I will cry as I love your touch
as you smile with joy
as I take my hand and put it to your chest.
Push.
Down.
Hard.
You will not escape to make me love you.
The latch will close and you will be silent,
breathing through the keyhole,
and I will not mourn.
I will try not to mourn.

You are beautiful,Time.
Why?
You burn heart-shaped marks into the souls of lovers
and whittle them away through yourself
and that is horrendous
yet you change not.
Villain! A pox upon you for a clumsy lout!
You must undress in simmering water for ramen or tea
because you refuse to change until I look away.
You make the voices of a hundred years past
hiss and pop on gramophones
because you didn't feel like sharing 2008's MP3s.
Oh, you wretch,
you curdle milk
and Captain Crunch disapproves.
You make car rides to Washington, DC unbearable.
You masterfully draw out the suspense in waiting rooms,
dangling gender verdicts of newborns over the heads of expectant fathers.
You ****.
You ridiculously unfair goblin.
You murderer.
You toyer of lives.
You are so beautiful.
You make life short so it matters.
This hate is a necessary hate
but so is my love for you.
You will **** me one day.
For that, I loathe every second you give me in your pitiful pity.
I wish I could rip apart every second and return them to the sender
and have them ignite on your doorstep
and burn your house down
and have you cry "I was only doing my job"
as your home smolders to ashes.
But right after I would buy you a nice dinner
and tell you that it's going to be okay
because you made some months of my life matter
and enjoyable and happy.
I might even admit to arson
to make you smile
or grimace.
Time, you toothless wolf.
You spineless snake.
You stringless marionette.
I love you.

I got it after he was gone
stringless and forgotten
I've picked at it for so long
writing songs of the downtrodden

Lord knows that he probably paid
a fraction of the price
not knowing history its played
without expert advice


My grandfathers guitar

its a National

it might need some work

its action is sub-par

blood stains and dirt

price is irrational

Id rather give my soul

theres no way in hell. . .

I would ever sell.


It is my only heirloom
found by accident
inside of a trashed room
given known Id relish it

Its still worth more than the sake
of what most think is right
and the tens of thousands it would take
is still not worth the price

My grandfathers guitar

its a National

it might need some work

its action is sub-par

blood stains and dirt

price is irrational

Id rather give my soul

theres no way in hell. . .

I would ever sell.

as if i can't read through the cellophane-covered love letters
from the boy who fingered my throat and saw stars therein
the one who can peel back white paint and whisper into the eaves
and leave in shambles a once fiercely built sanctuary

i prayed to the ceiling in the dimmest of the nights
to uncurse me, to sew me back like sally, sewn like you couldn't be
evidence from your hapless choice to take me in
your chest exposed itself: stringless, veinless, merely a wire-board

fourteen does not forget
don't say i miss you, baby
when you only miss my simultaneously
shut and open jaw

Mimes and clowns
Jesters and jokers
Making their rounds
To the chimney chain smokers

All walks of life
In chronological order
Bashful and blushing
Prepositions of stringless intimacy
Hellbent to find release

It's all folly
It's a misguided preface
The ongoing destruction of agriculture
Living under power lines
Filter feeding

Edit that
It consists of accessible ideas
"I ain't pointing fingers
I ain't naming names
But if the shoe fits
You can't call it a blame game"

Polishing off a bottle of Pinot Noir
As per usual

       -Tommy Johnson

Going inside and out
Compression to stretching
Something like breathing
Exalted expression

Who's playing this squeezebox?
Can I make a request?
Play something lively, loud, and fast

My heart's tied in knots
My brain's hanging on
By the skin of my teeth
For the length of one song

Dance like you're dying
And dance like you're dead
Life is little more
Than a song in your head

Break down the walls and let it all in
Dance as if this moment will never end

Move to the rhythm and jump towards your soul
Suspended stringless puppet under no one's control
Fall down to yourself right on top of the beat
Spinning in the center of where all the lines meet

Slow it down for the break and take a deep breath
Potential energy buildup for what's coming next
Those chills in the moment right before it all hits
Soul body and mind caught up in the mix

Hear it; explode
Supernovate the senses
The death of a star amid a galaxy of faces
To be born again
In a jet stream of limbs
I find enlightenment
At 150 bpm

let's beholden the mask clouded face
o
                                                             f
dying gods natural arteries corral brevity
stringless heart sheaf
bask crushed stems
in the crease of love wracked lips
  mercury heels slither

                                            to

boundless expanse's delicious meadow hair
wind whispering delicate veins
hard the soft meticulous shivers rooting

)ardent vine

                                                            ouy
are the              
                                      most



                0(

My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety

Misguided, unrequited, i have lost my light
And here i lie undecided
if sinking is a reward of being silent
Lost in a sea composed of
stringless, seamless puppets
I'm reluctant, broken, cracked and sewed in
Posed and told how to blend within
The flawless flaws of retrospective laws
Oppress what others call a
“Suitable demographic”

My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety

Attach the wires and deem yourself my master
Superiority begets a systematic wrath of
Powerless demons with a potent strategy
Demand my steps to guide you into the perfect victory
Media-- social media socializing the roles like ghouls of anesthesia
Taking the control, then providing a hole of grief, anger, less goals and lost souls.

My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety

Lithia steals away at dawn
From this monolith of calm
No way I can control her
She holds pieces of me in her palm

She fights like a tiger
Drugged and dragged
You caged her and enraged her
There's another one you've bagged
Dragged her into your bag

She pleads in the night
The night becomes her plight
My hold on her is tentative
Listless and stringless as a kite

She fights like a tiger
Drugged and dragged
You caged her and enraged her
There's another one you've bagged
Dragged her into your bag

Lithia holds pieces of me
Lithia holds pieces of me
She's hoping for release
She's hoping for release

She cops to a plea of heart thievery
But I'm still calm and in her palm
She cops to a plea of insanity
And I'm a monolith of calm

She fights like a tiger
Drugged and dragged
You caged her and enraged her
There's another one you've bagged
Dragged her into your bag

Lithia holds pieces of me
Lithia holds pieces of me
She's hoping for release
She's hoping for release

I've had enough of your games*
Things change life doesn't remain the same
You think that now you're back in town,
I'll fall to my feet and act a clown?
but don't you know, I know you never stick around.
I've had enough of these games
I'll admit you get by good off your looks,
Boy, I wish you knew it's too late for that, I've hit the books.
All I've ever wanted is something deeper something I'll remember
but the more you walked away, we grew crispy cold like December.
I've had enough of your games
You won't be hearing from me, this silence is the new way to be
I watched you smash what could have been a strong beautiful tree.
You won't be seeing me.
I've walked away. I can finally run stringless and free.
*I've had enough of your games

Waste time with me
just for a little longer
and we can finally be free.

Free from the rushing lights,
free from the starless nights,
free like stringless kites
soaring through the vast skies.

Sundays will come
no matter what,
yet let's see if we can
last just a bit longer
and maybe touch me
just one more time
until the long wait
between now
and next Friday.

.

*I opened the rusted iron gateway
bound in chain and wire, to find a landing
caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches
Magpie shadows course the rain soaked streets
and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers
from second floor moan filled parlors, painted nails scratching

Navigating the fog entrenched alley, garbage bins fallen
create a maze of skinned shins and bloodied lips
when I come to an arched opening, only hinges remain
The staircase up is dark, creaking under my weight
I count the holes collected in plaster walls yawning,
prior frustrations showing no mercy

The stench of tar and factory waste wallows,
catching me stumbling through the opening to the roof,
gasping in the ever thinning air
Dark clouds retaliate for earlier lost days
when stale bread pudding was a treat
served to those of less fortunate standing

What life is this to lead anyway, empty pockets
and hand me down promises, watching shadows below
taking chances and knocking up opportunities
Red door, black door, be careful which you choose,
for one color leads to the lower city,
the underground where ***** flows like crazed sewage

The other holds within ****** fantasies
and red lipstick smudges,
but beware when jiggling those tarnished handles
with your best foolish grin,
the cost is what you can't afford to lose

Swine roam the busy square freely,
splurging on last night’s tossed garbage,
grunting approval in an off key symphony
of stringless digestion, slobering regurgitation
beyond the blinded eyes of the others
lost indefinitely within themselves

Street lamps spit hot oil through fractured glass
dripping onto the formal evening wear
and diamond brooches worn by the elite,
making their way to the opera house where marble steps
are lined with evergreen topiaries
losing needles to the addicts of the night

A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains,
hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants,
as painted wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone
Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar
discoloring the moon and choking stars
with a filth to be reckoned with

I sit on this rooftop alone, looking down,
scarred legs dangling over the edge four flights up,
wondering if anyone would care if I jumped
When startled by a noise behind me, footsteps perhaps
I turn to see the beautiful silhouette of a woman, flowing hair,
hand extended, "I would," she whispers...

You left our mother a hat full of your songs
Our Pretty Sister - a wish upon a star
Little brother - a stringless guitar
Your other boys - your good looks and some charm
We've never had to bend a pretty lady's arm
With none of this - we've made it pretty far

I don't remember when you left  - Dad
I guess I was too young
I've never heard a word you've said
or heard a song you've sung

Like you I was a soldier
Unlike you - I never left my Post
You should have been there for Her
Our Pretty sister - needed you the most

What is this movements to the notes and rhythms,
The breath that breathe life it's essense of eternal ether?

Mourn to moan the formulation of birth to ****** propatuate procreation and then to final destination, cycling the very foundation of life, rebirth, and death in sound that carry over from one another.

Music preformed by guitar, violin, base, cello to piano, or any of the string instruments that symbol the living life strand of the life we wheel.

As our longevity is finite, but with infinite choices to play with strings until our lines are cut or break, and no longer play the songs we so love to hear so dear to our ears.

For a beat that tinker to our muse to the music that linger in the faint of our memories, those memories we try to keep close to our soft pillow and tucked away in our minds to comfort us in our less then pleasant boundaries leaving us empty, like a good age wine to lets us dream.

The empty cups shall be the reminder that sound and tone shall sieze to calm with stringless nights, the song has sang the final tune and forever leave it's mark on the heart good night.  

Until that final symphony reaches it final tune, accept the notes as it is a song we live in a moment, for all music good and bad has it's epilogue.

One must choose to play their music, and find their final notes to end their master piece in due time.

Will the river meet the ocean tide?
Where the mountains end and the sun does hide?
To forget and float away like a stringless kite
Is what I often wish to do.

To see the world in her eyes through sunlight beams
To never question these threads merging into tender seams
As night turns to day and a blue evening leans
My arms are doors that lie open for you.

Today, I wish to fly like birds that brave the wind
To be naked and shed this dying skin
Even though they oft meander, my thoughts are pinned
To a wall of words I raised and drew.

And yet, I arrive only as a letter
Only to be gagged, bound and tethered
Yellowed, unopened and set upon a table
Weather beaten and never to be read.

So find me a place where my bones can rest
In the rising tides, I was summoned by your zest
Now I tremble as you remove your dress
But I’ll hold you close like the words you've said.

Oh sweet perfection, you will always be just out of reach. From my grasp, from my sight, and from my mind. And though this thought begins to settle in my mind, the simple knowing keeps me forever at the mercy of my dwindling hope. So maybe one more night of stringless commitments or drunken stupors may help to mask the relentless pain that stabs at my oversized heart. One that has been shapped by your ever lack of presence in my life. Molded by the hope that my once ignorant mind could actually hold you in hand and in spirit. But like my hope, my ignorance has vanished from my childish mind and i now see not only the error in my ways but the politics that i will forever battle in the hopes to find the next best thing to perfection.

Someone please come, save me.
I’m drowning in a dried up sea.
I can’t handle the broken things.
Stringless puppets and birds without wings.
God tore me down one last time.
As I enter this rhyme,
He doesn’t know that I’m still in my prime.
Why did the all-mighty commit such a fearsome crime?
I have nothing left, I must submit and give in to the chime!

Here I stand now, at the edge of reality,
As the shameless light approaches I take a knee.
“Come now, take me!” I utter in unwavering pride.
How can I fear sleep, when I’ve already died?
The high evening tides can't wash away my blood.
It’s become one with the soil, now crimson mud,
Oh, Poseidon, unleash thy flood!
As my body falls to the ground, hear my deafening thud,
Take out your shovels and dig me a grave, yet better, a spud!

No more oceans and no more seas, just the roof and me,
One lonely whisper, one final plea.
Come back, and I swear you won’t regret it,
Come back before I lose what soul I have, this little spirit.
Cool air and a starry night,
Have I lost the war after this fight?
You didn’t break my heart, you took out an entire bite,
But I will not waver, I will live on, in your spite.
Why do I do this, from the dark evening, until morning’s light?
Try all I might,
You are the only thing, about which, I can write…

If I was a guitar I'd be stringless
Empty and shallow and cold
Lifeless and loveless, never grow old
I have no purpose, no life

If I was a singer I'd be voiceless
Broken and beaten and still
No sound to whimper, without free will
I am a failure, a lie

You take my hand and run
I hold on tight, bright like the sun
You close your eyes and cry
I kiss your pale face dry
We are broken and loveless
We are beaten and boneless
We are the forgotten ones
And all we have is room to run

Stringless lays the bard's lute, as he remembers the mistake of strumming to fierce during his story of the ages.
He has shared his story upon deafen ears.
None heard the tale of an incredible task done by he.
His song dances with the wind as he weeps.

Farmers and warriors alike seek the smith for his skill. Yet none find the tools they sought.
Undesirable guilt follows the smith.
His creations are misused and abused, never was war an interest of his.
Regardless of his intent to protect, his responsibility is to his people.

Becoming lost in the story can cause damage to your song
So lift up your shield, just in case it's too strong
Guilt and pain aside
Every comet has its demise.

Laughing little man
With no sense at all
Mysteries in his pocket 
Breaking, Building 
Cosmos apart. 

Laughing little man 
Friends with noman 
Meaningless, stringless 
I haven't changed at all 
Flashing images of the past
Broken apart so many times.

Laughing little man
Turn your head 
Moment of attention 
Laying on the lane

Don't you remember ? 
Laughing little man 

Forget, upset, reset. 

©sarcasticbong

a stringless guitar
sits cocked,
but I cant see the strings
or the songs
or the rhythm
or the motion
i can't imagine anything beautiful
vomiting from its chasm
because I don't see its strings,
thats all anything is
a title
a name
its what it is
what you are
a name
a guitar
what are you with no name
when your no longer seen or heard
then what are you
what is anything when nothing makes sense
when lost thoughts become known
when life becomes a decrepit ****
you take cause there isn't anything else to do
because you are no name but every name is you
because it was imposed
because it was said
because it was written
but mostly because its ******* law
and you don't **** with laws
thats unchanging
the law of gravity
yet boats still float
and we still jump
in hopes of more
more of this and more of that
we are always hoping for more
more food
and more guns
more medicine
and more love
and more friends
with more money
because more everything
is a more world
where more is no longer a word
but a ******* way of life
so when hoping for something you don't need
think of what needs more
what actually needs more
it probably isn't anything
except you
you need more love from yourself
more understanding for yourself
more friendship of yourself
more compassion for yourself
the more you give yourself
in the most unselfish selfish ways
the more you give to others
the more you can do and will receive
the more happy you will be
and the more more's you might just get
so shut up and stand up or sit down but listen
cause giving yourself more isn't always as easy
as it seems
so when you see that guitar without strings
please see what I couldn't
because that guitar still knows that songs are heard
and played and taught and sung
and lived and loved and hated
It just keeps going

The Little Boy

Out of a grave dark street
On a stiff and sterile morn
Walked a stringless marionette
With a ghastly ashen form.

I clasped my greatcoat close
For a ripping wind thrashed by
And pencil-thin limbs shuffled
Past a man who couldn’t cry.

Against the wrath of winter
Crying havoc round the lake
He wore defiant rags like banners
Wildly flapping in his wake.

‘l hope he soon finds shelter’-
Thought I wrapped up so warm
‘gainst the whirling swirling leaves
And a frenzied snowflake swarm.

His face then turned towards me
With lifeless stone grey eyes,
That seemed to have full  knowledge
Of  my  self-supporting lies.

So I pursued him boldly
As he scurried on his way
And threw my coat around him-
A shield  to storm’s affray.

Alas! I stumbled forward
And fell into the snow
For the stunted waif I followed
Had gone where I could never go.

Like a spirit’s stringless song;
Soundless and brief,
Beauty remains hidden
To those with prying eyes.

a stringless guitar
strums a lifetime of passion
a blind audience