Bright windy November
with the slap of cold sun sending frowns
and the absent rain not beating down
choleric substitutes of alcohol withdrawal
and spatial omissions of home fires stoking
empty remembrances of faded potential and
misplaced amorous regret
Haunted by the lingering smell of the souls of
last night's GUINNESS intake staying swell in
the nostrils which is in reality the gulf breeze blowing
gullshit down the river Liffey giver of life.
...And here I am Dublin pillaged and funded
en route to the hour-rate slog
shiny white commerce bleaching out of
windowsills distracting from rooftop
Chiaroscuro serenading a sky
which old junkie forgotten Sons and Daughters
will die under.
Boots tapping mock-goosestep to the ground
past a girl who speaks on her IPHONE to someone
who presumably not only wants to be seen speaking
to someone on their IPHONE but who also cares enough
to listen as the girl announces to all-and-sundry
human dodging on Bachelors Walk this fateful morn
that "I realised what my problem is Now! People
think i'm saying N when I'm really saying M!"
.....quite an existential crisis you got there, EH DOC?
("This girl's SITUATION belongs in a scenario in the TV show GIRLS which young
Woman Europe-wide have embraced as their spiritual saviour in an era of Consumer
impulse control. By placing the mundane generalities and perceived social failings
interpreted by young American female comediennes as instead representing a means and
self-forgiveness and attempted new-wave soft-core feminist self-celebration young American
actresses are inspiring a new generation of young woman to speak openly in a more in-depth level about everything that usually happens to themselves or some girl they know"-From "The Post-New Male Gaze: Interpreting Critiques of Stereotypically Feminized Pop Culture in Westley Barnes's "Notes on a Rant: The "Took Me Up To Dublin Where It's Famous" Notebook
This is the new white noise.
White Irish Male Critiques perceived socially-announced problems of White Irish Female over White Technology on a white morning in a grey city.
A grey city which subliminally stinks of shame and left-over guilt and of spending too much money on tecno-toys and new-improved nullifying debauchery and even rent during a significantly rough stretch of fiscal years. After a lot of years of white nonsense, really.
But this is where I took myself, and this is what happens once you take yourself here and this is where its famous for it.
Once Monto-based FUNDERLAND for the rich and royal turned over-waxie infested tenement slum district and second city of an industrialised economy waiting for the rest of the world to pay its way.
capital of green and squeaky saviours of the third-world who made some money and forgot about everyone else they used to know back home. Mr Poverty, Mr Humbleness, Mr Sense of Catholic Shame.
Until the rents got too high and they had to move home again.
no matters what it achieves, always putting itself down.
But I can adapt.
I've lived in Rathmines and Portobello before living in either was a
really hip decision to make.
I can find somewhere else before its gets gentrified
(after I find some job that's not worth complaining about
or I eventually leap into becoming to middle-class
to complain about it.)
enough that its a headache living there, too many men wearing the same winter
jackets. Too many packed restaurants and your local actually *preparing the tables
in the run-up to the Rugby game on Saturday.
The less of all that, the better for me.
I used to day dream about all of the above, honestly, but I
somehow managed to regain my innocence by living through it.
As for the girl who discovered self-realisation on her (through her?) IPHONE?
She'll be alright. If that's how she starts wading through the floodwaters of relating
herself to the world, misunderstood syllables, name-fails and all, this time in twenty
years, she'll be laughing. Don't worry yourselves, she'll adapt with the times.
Sure, Dublin's famous for it.
Plenty of poems from broken hearts who got loved then dumped.
Women writing poems about wanting a man back after he dirty dogged her.
Don't take rocket scientist to know something wrong with that picture.
Clue to men who ain't going to stay put even if he put a ring on it.
He's flirting with everything in a skirt, He ain't attentive after he hit it,
You gotta be the one always calling, He don't call unless he wants to hit,
He gets defensive when you want to know why he wasn't where he said he'd be.
Those are signs he's c-h-e-a-t-i-n-g and so are the ones coming up.
You catch him in lies and he makes you think your losing it.
He closes window of his computer when you enter the room.
All his is password protected and he wont tell you his passwords.
He's getting and receiving text messages he wont let you read.
He leaves the room when he gets a call.
If you answer his phone you get hang ups, phone rings until he answers.
He wont let you meet his friends or his family.
He starts arguments so you wont go with him when he leaves.
Men don't get pissed cause I'm ratting you out. Read one too many
heart break poems to be sorry for truth telling on my gender.
Men think about sex when they not having it.
If he don't want to hit it he's hitting it else where.
Coming up is ones to skip and avoid.
You can skip the ones who look at your cleavage and not your eyes.
You can skip the ones who live with mamma.
If he wants you to hurry up and quit talking or makes you feel like you
can't do nothing right, skip him too ladies or you gonna be bawling your eyes out over him.
bess was her name,
she had soft pale skin,
scarlet red lips,
blushed pinky cheeks,
her hair long and silky,
her smile as if the sun had just ripened a mango,
well it used to be,
she no longer smiled for nothing seemed to make her happy,
from the largest mansions to the smallest flowers,
but none of it pleased her,
she no longer had friends,
after all no one wants to be with a miserable person,
she did have one secret that she was forever forbidden to tell,
No one knows to this day,
where bess is,
or her strange secret,
but just one person knows,
the mindkeeper knows,
but the mindkeeper is too hidden,
in the place not a living soul dares to go,
in a place with more and more filling the place every time.
My love is all tangled up in my desire
Twisted up like flaxen rope in barbed wire
When our hands touch, warm and innocently
The spur of desire wants your hands all over me
When I taste your mouth on my lips
That's when the bridle on my passion slips
When my mind takes control and my thoughts run away
I know I'm still in that place with nothing left to say
Does anyone know that the line between right and wrong is so thin
Does anyone know temptation quite like the one who's already given in
i saw the sun rise and set on your skin as you told me stories, old, real ones. we were at the beach, this is a landlocked country.
your cigarette is dying now. but you have a pack on your pocket, of the company the same name as my father's. i want to laugh whenever i see it. i could name a few things the same color as the dull golden it is and write a poem, but that wouldn't make you stop smoking, would it?
now you're driving a red car. i'm riding shotgun. you drive, quiet. i can only see one half of your face. we seldom speak when i see you. it's not a highway where we're driving, more like the roads in this city carelessly stitched together with those in perhaps, rome.
there's a bend in the road. my cousin taps at the window, it rolls down. he wants to know if i want a visa to paris. you look at me. i look at you. we haven't spoken yet. i open the door and leave with my cousin to get the visa to paris.
we're driving, again. but it's a jeep this time and she's here too. the road is empty, it's the youngest highway this valley knows of. you stop at a bridge. there are old, dark skinned women from the hills, surrounding the jeep. they're tapping at all our windows. i'm looking at how beautiful the gold bangles look on their wrists.
we're in a huge empty room. there are three shower booths, and a single black leather sofa facing each one. she's sleeping on the third one. i'm watching her sleep from the first one. she's beautiful. i see you leaning against the booth in front of me with your arms crossed. i wonder who you were staring at.
and each time, i woke up wishing the pillow lines on my cheeks were from the creases in your shirt and not the pillows.
i stopped running away in my sleep after i kept seeing you.
Waiting on this girl who cant decide.
She gives you mixed signals
Because she displays the signals inside.
Her heart tells her one thing
But her mind says another
She loves you
And you know that
But she cant decide how much.
She wants to hold your hand
And sometimes she'll look at you
With this look
You dont know
She wants you to kiss her
She knows you want to,
You've told her.
But she hasn't told you.
She plays off hard to get
Because she wont give you the okay
She just needs you to kiss her
Out of the blue.
She likes the same bands as you
The same hobbies and obsessions
The same love for food and music and art
Your hearts and minds
They scream at the both of you
she tunes out her heart
And listens to her mind
As you tune out your mind
And listen to your heart
You ask her
Over and over
If she'll be your girl
She always says no
Her heart says yes
So just kiss her
So her heart will drown out her mind
Because her mind only confuses her.
Her own emotions are her worst enemy.
So just kiss me.
You know this never should have happened.
I was never suppose to write a single poem.
Let alone have followers, comments and views.
But here we are and I have you to thank.
And this is my thank you to you all.
My first round of 'thank you's' goes to my followers.
Devlin Andrew Harris, who is quite remarkable, followed me before I had even written anything.
Charlotte Weigh, my most favorite person in the whole world
Nicholas Jones, you were inspiration behind 100 of my poems; yes I counted.
Alysia Michelle; if you ever find yourself in Oregon we'll get some donuts ;P
Harry J Baxter
Nolan Fillman, you have no idea how much your following me, liking my poems, and comment meant to me.
THE WHITE RABIT
Floyd Allen Michael Redenbaugh
Nat Lipstadt, who is beyond brilliant and honored me with being a subject of his writing
Jonny Angel, thank you
Miss Jade Murder
Emily Rose Williams
Timothy, the nicest commenter ever
Peyton, she's pretty fantastic
Tyler Lynn Pulliam
Fadi Shaker, thank you
Kevin Song, sorry I'm not much of a talker
Soul in Torment, beyond words of the skill this one has.
Kelly Rose, thank you
Bailee K, missing you girl
Bilal Kaci, thank you too
Blue K, greatness she has
Tristan Costello, hello
Sadie K, the one with her hands covering her face
Queen of Pancakes, yes you
Whit Trash and Retarded
Ryan Cullen Macleod
The Masked Sleepyz
Okoye Chude Maryanne
and Haley Madison
Next my thanks wants to go to those who took the time to like and comment.
Ernest Gone, one of the first
Joshua X Noheart
Joshua Wann, this guy is the stuff
Andrew Joseph O'Donnell
A Mess of Words, you have no idea how highly I hold you. If this is a 'mess' I hope it never get's cleaned up
Austin Skye, thank you
Heather E Perry
4 different ---, why are you hiding from me?!
I wish I could cry
Kitty named Bailey
Whinging Wonder, I'm sorry
Chandin Clinton, I was never more honored.
Enter Name Here
Sally A Bayan
Yong Hwan Son
Rose Saba, thank you
The Wolf on Red Street
Josh Nunn, hats :)
N, hey you
Michael J Davies
Alexandria Christine Lund
Andrew Siegel, thank you
and Jade Ellen Peel.
And of course to all of you who read my words.
That means a lot to me.
And sure I could have simply said
"I hit 20,000 views thank you all!"
But honestly it means SO much that I needed
to thank each one of you individually.
I am know the pain and frustration of having a name misspelt so let me know and I'll fix it :)
He wants to sleep.
But there are answers out there of which are still undreamed of.
He pushes on despite the dreams he is deprived of.
What fickle rest he gets he tries to make the most of.
He just wants to sleep.
She wants to sleep.
But there are things she simply cannot rid her mind of.
She thinks the thoughts she dares not ever think to speak of.
There are things she knows her mind cannot talk her heart out of.
She just wants to sleep..
He wants to sleep.
But his future he must now reach out and take hold of.
There are so many things he wishes he could be a part of.
But he knows it is all his life right now can consist of.
He just wants to sleep.
She wants to sleep.
But there is someone out there that she thinks the world of.
Yet someone she can't help but feel she is not deserving of.
The person she needs to be she surely must fall short of.
She just wants to sleep.
He wants to sleep.
He wants to be free of the thing he's under the thumb of.
But he works to be someone he knows he can be proud of.
Only then the burden he holds can he let go of.
Then he can finally sleep.
She wants to sleep.
But there is no rest of the wicked or for those in love.
She lies for hours thinking of the things she's impatient of.
She finally arises, her thoughts she must now write of.
Then she can finally sleep.
my heart is my front door
and she is the curious fly
I see her out of the corner of my eye
as she flies about
she explores me from top to bottom
and I don't mind having her around
she can stay as long as she wants
as long as she doesn't make a sound
it's nice having company in this house
I was alone for quite some time
took a vacation to find myself
I traveled through my mind
turning the ugly things into beautiful seashells
the salty air may dry my skin, but I love how it smells
I woke one morning
to the sound of buzzing
I grew to hate the sound
it seems lovely and sweet
I let the vibration rock me back to sleep
sitting in a rocking chair
I watch as she soars past me
following her with my eyes
she flies in patterns I've never seen
making me dizzy
the head rush becomes addicting
she flew out through my open door
the same way she came in
swift, and curious
she viewed the outside
the way she viewed me
nothing to be sure of
it's been months
I haven't seen her since
but I can still hear the buzzing
It gives me headaches
but I still leave my door open
even though I know she isn't coming
I want to know her
I see her smile in the darkness
I want to feel her like no one else can
Her voice is intoxicating
I absorb her every word
She pours me another glass
We sit and jabber about meaninglessness
A caged animal howls inside my head
It wants out
It wants to taste the flesh
It wants to chew the sinews that hold the muscle to the bone
It wants to test the heart
She sits there in herself and the time
She sits there like a rabbit in the grass
Unaware of her surroundings
The beast unleashed
Drunk on the night and the moment
It takes its chance
Then lays back down
Its victim confused and intact