I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.
What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.
There's a problem with having to be inspired to write shit down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.
Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.
Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.
the drifting sinew
sore and elongated
finding resolution in the rushing pools
seeking their bays and harbors
for uplifting a city
gravel and granite and cement articles
the loosened grains between our toes
trembling highways and thin skies
for me this is about noble forces
about flying birds and rolling whales
the viking apes and sagely elm
our lifted pillars
of sweat and stone
stand trial against the kings and queens
and will you bear false witness
for the sake of these implications?
In the suburbs,
I am driving through the dark heat
of summer night
in a luxury car I don't deserve
to a house that is at least three times too large
In the suburbs,
I am a college graduate,
headed to medical school
and I won't pay for that either
so the remainder of my school fund
is being spent on pettiness
Which is what much of it went to already.
In the suburbs,
my phone flashes
with your neediness.
You shouldn't have left
but I was never there,
not for you or your friends
at these high school reunions.
In the suburbs,
all I have are the scraps
of trembling hands on breasts
and sticky fumblings
cloaked with sweat,
of drinking in dark basements
that stunk of my young, bad conscience,
of halcyon days
In the suburbs,
the wind licks from my tongue
the scent of alcohol
but throws dust in my eyes.
In the suburbs,
I switch off the headlights,
and race along the blackened asphalt
as the moon lights the way overhead.
let me into the stream of humanity's mumblings
this emotion thick on my face
my words live
fill the pages
yet i remain an empty vessel
a winterbound torn down dark amusents
of self sabotage
strife and the wonderful treasures
the sweat pours
like an announcement of desperation
breathing in gasps
it would ease my sorrows
it would ease my soul
weary of the day
lets gather our wits about us
to make safe passage thru the
oncoming silence of darkness
your odd socks gather in the corner
along with half a dress
and a broken stroller
the child sleeps silently
the long years unwind before me like a grand sketch
subtle and deep with mystery
unfinished portraits of long forgotten friends
surge forth like a strong breeze
and catch my sails
carry me forth into distant times
where something was shared
and a face comes clear...a place
September nineteen seventy six...
a young striving for mastery...but it was because of....
but the sea is an unforgiving lady
and before i can see
what lay there
the memory fades
Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest
Our clang of metal forming metal
Our laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying lanterns for our light
A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone
Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires
Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen
The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
For a way of escape will never be
everyone's trying to say stuff and it's so important
i go crazy in the summer because of how much i sweat
i sweat so much i could fill you an ocean and promise that if you drink it you'd survive
you and me on a deserted island filled with desserts
cream puffs and personal sized blueberry pies like the kinds they sell at ~whole foods~
except better, cause this kind of blueberry pie is chalked full of gluten
you and i could live on this island
my sweat sea, dissecting us from everyone else
we'd eat sweets
and get so fat and lick at each others faces, not even bothering to mutter that the other
has cream on their cheek
You decay me open,
Bare to the hiccup of the mind.
You wash me in sweat,
Saliva on my skin.
The line fair in my teeth,
It's a good catch.
I fall open,
Tongue tied and what not.
I am untrained in lucid.
Carry me into dust.
Float me in wind,
The cursing gust of regret.
I live to watch you work.
You move like the rapids,
I have no choice but to let go.
With all of me,
I thought to those hands that draw my strings
why do ghosts only haunt the living?
Fear slithers down from the stains on my ceiling
coiling thickly around my throat
dripping feted sweat
from the tips of its' fangs
“To Spur You To Run”
so down the darkened hallways and
out to the dirty
downtown streets I flew
skittering fitfully between the alleys
for risk of being seen
before slipping into that same empty bar
me oh my, what dim corners you have
ducking onto that same crooked confessional
oh great bartend, what clouded eyes you have
where I am promptly handed
my glass of Sorrow
deliver me from evil
atop a napkin wrote with print
“All The Better To Drown You With.”
it seems I have forgotten
if this sip or the last
was bitter or sweet
but it burns my eyes
twists my ribs, thickens the wind
and in the moment I see that face
out beyond the foamy waves
that shore upon the dregs
oh hallowed face of Judgement,
it seems blackened ivy has taken root
around your eyes
"I Tip Your Service With A Nod"
every block that I stumble by
orange streetlight onto the sidewalk
which whetted feet find liquor slick
thus put nose to grindstone, idiom or no
I hear the whispered Fury
when I fall down far enough
when my ear is planted to the earth
addressing me curtly
burning up through the asphalt
and stretching uncomfortably underneath my fingers
she lifts me screaming from the molten gutter
"To Hell With Forgiveness"
I find none other than Passion
standing under a spotlight
always dreamed of becoming a star
on the next street corner
you burned out far below the heavens of the hollywood highrise
she beckons me over with knowing gestures
but you still wound up center stage
“I Am Cheap and Love is Dead
Buried With All The Other Fairy Tales”
to which I respond
“We Must Make Due.”
She came and left swiftly
departing with the last of the warmth
in this empty room
douses candles in gasoline
burning half as long but twice as bright
after which I rose and went to my window
ans listened to the chirps of Melancholy
singing of sin.
Copyright ©2010-2013 Sean Winslow All Rights Reserved
Where a rapid heartbeat and short breaths reside
A cold sweat lingers, feelings of past revive
Older now, still only a child inside
An adolescent soul, but adult in mind
Cold, alone......... scared.
My body aches from fighting.
I won, but at what cost?
Revenge shouldn’t be the answer.
They took her life, my true love.
I’m crying, crying like I’ve never cried before.
A life for a life, but at what cost?
I became the person, I set out to destroy.
I’m a monster, a creation the devil himself devised.
I’m alone, cold, and nothing to cling on to.
I have nothing........ nothing.
There’s only one thing for me to do.
I’m picking up my choice of death.
You’ve done the most evil thing imaginable.
It’s time for you to go.
I’m taking you with me, back to where you came from.
Forgive me Father, for what I’m about to do.
I’ll see you in a few seconds.
Five....... My heart is beating fast.
Four........ Sweat is covering my face.
Three........ My heart is beating faster.
Two........ Hello love, good to see you again.