Home screams "42!" in red and white
Push it to the side
I have no time tonight
We are all separate, but wholly one
They are all separate, but wholly one
Father, Ghost, and the Son
Strange meetings in the middle of everything
Stare at the ground,
while your gaze starts to sting
How old are you?
How old am I?
Why did you grab my leg?
How did you notice my movements?
Where are you?
I want nothing to do with tomorrow.
Because self pity of today is overwhelming.
Knowing better doesn't change the actions
And my hip wants to pop out of its socket
On the streets of whe'ever the fuck in Oregon
Loss and gain
Measure the same, but one feels so much
heavier than the other.
Push beads back
Hold her hair back
The only difference is sharing loneliness with another
I'm not saying that I understand, fully what's happening here.
[Soul searching, or so I've been told]
But I know that you and I are worlds apart.
Is there this great of a disconnect between the rest of the world and I?
Because the Internet
He was tired of the ordinary and he wanted something new.
He wanted to hear the sound of the moon.
He wanted to taste the tides.
The sound of the cacti growing in the desert was like music to his ears,
but he could not remember anymore exactly just what it sounded like.
He wanted to go back to when he did not have to remember
because he could hear it always,
but he could not go back.
Time had put him where he was
and he could not turn back time, but it was not just a matter of that.
He knew that somewhere he had lost his understanding of himself, and with it
his conception of the world
He did not properly understand
the instrument with which he experienced the world
so he was not appropriately situated to judge what he experienced.
Once he understands what he is
he sees his flaws
and learns to work with them so they are no longer flaws.
The rays of the sun fell in a multitude of rays through the trees,
the canopies acting as a colander; taking up most of the rays
but allowing some to slip through
where small trees and shrubs seemed to congregate.
One of the rays fell on the boy
and as it did he opened his eyes
and as he did he was no longer a boy.
I came and then I came to
And all those things I said about you
Maybe that's why I'm here
He thought, while the darkness around him swallowed him both physically and spiritually.
Tonight didn't end quite like I thought they would
Endings taking the form of sea men being shanghaied into the nearest boat
No alcohol this time
Just pure ambition, or the lack thereof
Writing is the only thing keeping me up
That and spiritual distress brought on by the royal we, man
[insert pop-culture reference]
Unsure if you'll read something that was truly meant or me
And the hypocrisy that I find when lambasting someone for using the Internet as their diary, when I do the same, but cleverly disguise it as poetry
This is block text with no form.
There is no rhyme scheme nor is there timing.
1) you know you left your favorite pair of underwear at my house, do you want to come and get them?
2) I miss you more than I miss my home
3) you're like a part of me that left and I really want that part of me back
4) you use to call me beautiful, I looked at myself in the mirror, said those words and cried because it wasn't your voice
5) I miss your voice running through my skin
6) remember all those times you would call me and tell me you miss me? How come you don't do that anymore?
7) I hugged this tall boy that reminded me of how you would slouch to hug me and I smiled so widely I was as happy as how I was when I was with you
8) the boy next to me smells like you
9) my brother came home and your name slipped out of his mouth or it sure seemed like
10) I miss you.
11) I saw you staring at me and when I went to smile you turned away
12) it got me sad like how when you told me you didn't like me
13) remember that time you kissed me? And you said you hope it doesn't change anything? You lied
14) it's been almost 4 months and my lips still ache your touch
15) I wish you were here
16) we were never in love but oh boy, how we could have been
Funny the things we recall.
Images that flash through our brain.
Some most vivid for me were of an old man.
Skin like creased parchment paper,
Lined and yellowed with age.
The veins visible just below the surface,
of a thin near transparent covering.
Liver spotted flecks of red,
Charted paths of years of toil,
Palms callused forever from a life time of labor.
Big fingers knotted and misshapen,
The two inch tip of one gone missing,
Saw taken, at age sixteen.
Looking at those old hands, one could hardly guess
That still there remained gentleness in their caress.
For an old dog, or a little grandson in need of some
Companionable affection or parental love.
Those aged hands could also make things,
Toy sailboats, and wooden trains,
complete with caboose.
A cool flute whistle that actually worked,
He said it was like the Indian’s used out Oklahoma way.
And he would know, he'd cowboyed there.
His hands taught me to tie my shoes,
Open and close my first pocket knife.
Those same hands could become birds,
rabbits, butterfly's, all sorts of things.
When projected up on the wall,
Silhouetted by a naked back light.
His hands knew magic too,
Could pick silver coins right out of my ears.
His tired face matched his hands,
visual weathered, creased and
wrinkled road maps,
Of 89 years of rugged life traveled.
Yet, his lively pale green eyes remained
forever fraudulently youthful prisms,
Eyes and spirit of a much younger man within.
But it is his hands most of all I shall remember,
Their imposing look and their reassuring
touch of tenderness.
I shall never forget my Grandfather’s hands.
Literature lulled the longing; left some life.
Eliot spoke of hollow men that could be mutilated but whole. Tempting!
Auden lamented that despite the wish to turn back time we cannot stop clocks,
Volatile as we are: love does not last forever.
Every word etched upon the page made me realise I was not
Miss Havisham; but in my pusillanimous dress I kept close
Every touch and promise, and the deepest secret nobody knew.
Heaney enticed me with warm thick slobber; yellow in the sunshine, but
Eyes not mine own met me in mirrors and I felt sad that
Reality is not a poem, or a piece of prose and despite looking deeper
Each desire reflected back at me were ones I dare not meet in dreams.
Tennyson's Lady of Shallot weaved its magic but not enough for you to keep an
Old wife. I lost my glow, although even now, my lights still twinkle on dark nights in
Dickens' London. Red lights in dark doorways telling tales of a wronged
Rebecca, Jane or Moll all with different dimensions and
Each with her own story to tell, like me,
Although none of it really matters in the end does it?
Maybe now it is time to yield.
It is horrible keeping a secret from a loved one as each day passes by,
The depth of the pain runs deeper each time I lie,
As I look into your eyes,
In my head I say, "I Love you and I am sorry."...
I am sorry for the lies that I have to keep spewing to you,
But I know you...I have known you my whole life,
And the facts will cut through your heart like a searing knife.
So I continue to cloud your mind to keep you at ease,
Because it would literally kill me to watch you cry on your knees.
I do it because I love you and you are everything to me.
And I do it because I appreciate everything you have done and given to me.
So I will continue to do things that I know in my heart is not right.
I am not a saint nor a devil, but I will continue to be your bright and shining knight.
I wish there was an easier way to my real life story,
Therefore again I will say, "Mom I love you and I am Sorry."
The Rogue Poet
I smile through the blood
And laugh with every hit
Smell the booze on his breath
Won't be the last time yet
Got scabs on his forearms
And anger in his eyes
Throws me around and
My cracked lips smeared
With his hate coming down in
Ruby red droplets
He grabs me and hates me
But I already forgave him
For tomorrows bruises
Long as I don't lose him
Big as a rock
Only thing that anchors me
But he is lost in his own sea
I see him drowning in his eyes
Confusion sweeping over him
Lays himself down on the couch
And I flee to our room
And land on the bed
Feeling skin puff up
Here and and there
Feelings forgotten with each
Will I ever be loved?
I wipe the blood from my mouth an spit it out, grinning
Big and laughing,
No, no one could ever love
A bloody skinny fool
I walk out into traffic, laughing
with my arms out
I spin as the cars are passing
they say there's no atheist in a foxhole
but I've been in one my whole life
realizing it, took some time
I couldn't imagine making it to where I am now
if I were to have been blind
I can't wait to be buried
with a tree planted over me
I'm taking a mulligan
and next time I hope I plant better seeds
I tried to come up with all the reasons why I can't stop thinking about you
I came up with this list and if it doesn't make sense now, it will in time
I can't stop thinking about your smile because it is a time machine
Bringing me back to the days when I had all the time in the world to stare at the stars as each would gleam
When I broke toys instead of hearts and I didn't have a problem playing with fire
The flames were never tamed, I was always to blame but I had been the only one burnt by desire
I can't stop thinking about you because your voice is akin to my pen
Promising to stick with me through thick and thin, writing every wrong that there's ever been
And when you lose it, I fear I will lose it and never find another reason to stay out of this grave
I can't stop thinking about you because your words are like the light at the end of the cave
Here I was enslaved but you gave me hope for a brighter day. A sun with which to awaken
I've taken my God forsaken faith and reinforced it with your love, it will not be shaken
I can't stop thinking about you...and sometimes I don't know why
But why would I fly away when I can hold your hand and see the beauty of the night sky from your eyes