though i've tried, but in vain;
for it's me, you still blame.
our relationship, a razor blade;
a beautiful diamond, ruby red.
smoothing out edges, no one dared;
all i'm left, is shattered and shred.
we won't go back now,
keeping to our vows.
drenched in a world of silence,
hoping to deface violence.
it's funny how comfortable i am with not sleeping
and surely i know it's healthy to be eating but,
i havent eaten a really meal in months
my mom never noticed, in fact, nobody does
this worlds full of some that make weird decisions,
then they mess up and we're just supposed to listen
i got alot of simple problems, from scribbles to songs from bills to concerts,
but there's one problem , that always gets me
its how at the end of the day kids go hungry
and what about how nobody listens to those who speak softly?
I wish most days I didnt drink my coffee but my problems never come off me, in fact
least with glue you just pick at it and usualy it goes away
i want to stay ...in a safe place, I wish the world wasnt a paperchase, I wish I was bass, I wish I had no taste, to just hide and hide inside some days
that will be my escape
I don't come here much anymore.
Too many memories.
They say every house has a tale to tell,
Every rusted door jam a mystery.
That window over there, looking pale
And yellowed with age
And dust and yesterdays wonder, I broke
Way, way back before Grandpa had his stroke
And Grandma left her rocker for the last time.
I'd thrown a baseball right through it.
Pa was drinking then, the hard liquor,
And he whipped me raw out back behind the shed
With the full buckle. He reminded me
Windows cost money we don't have.
She was six or seven then.
She was just learning how to ride a bike,
And she was proud as can be.
She would hang out by the hollyhocks,
Pretending they were scarecrows,
Naming each one,
And telling me she'd found a pirates treasure
Buried out there near the windmill that still needed
A coat or two of fresh paint.
She was that shine in Momma's eyes,
The one person in all the world Grandma would tell
Her stories to -
Stories that would bring Eleanor
Into worlds of imagination and wonder
She'd never known before.
And Eleanor would drink it in,
All the color and fire,
That lingered in every word.
And when she wandered that late October night
Into the fields,
We searched up and down with lanterns lit and flashlights, And the neighbors helped,
And we found her come morning in the silo.
I guess she'd climbed in to explore.
You can't breathe when it hits you. It's like it
Sucks the air right out of the little space you find ,
And the weight of the grain slowly drowns out your Thoughts and your struggles, your prayers
And your cries. And nothing's left to do
But feel that terror
Of nothingness pull you away.
So many memories...
And I was angry then. Angry at Pa,
I blamed them for everything and then some.
I learned to smoke , and I did it well.
I learned to swear, and I was good at it.
I didn't stay home much after that.
I left, hitched a ride to New Castle Valley,
And then to Porterville.
I didn't care for schooling,
So I found a job feeding pigs.
That lead to butchering. And I was good at it.
I could lose myself in it. In the thunder of the sin,
Found some satisfaction in how they bled.
I didn't go back til after Dad died.
He'd lost everything, did a bit of drinking,
Spent his time in the county jail,
Did more drinking
When he got out.
I'd learned Grandpa died of the pneumonia,
And Grandma had a few strokes.
Nobody ever told me what happened to Momma.
She just disappeared.
...and over time I grew less angry.
And I'd talk to God at night,
Sometimes I'd talk to Eleanor, cuz I knew
She was up there with God doing angel things,
Probably riding a bicycle real good by now.
Time marched on and I made due.
But I don't come here much anymore.
This place haunts me.
The silo that claimed Eleanor now a rusted heap
Of wood and metal that watches every step I take
...and I hate it,
I'd burn it to ashes if I could.
The porch where Grandma's rocker sat
Is weather beaten and tired.
And the stump where Grandpa would sit
Trimming his fingernails with that pocket knife
Lays on its side, victim to the winds of time
And those echoes that whisper things I thought
And I lose it for a moment
And have to mop away a few tears.
Me, a fifty-six year old blubbering fool,
Still picking at the scars.
I can hear her voice,
As she circled the gravel road on her bike,
Kicking at the small stones to get the bicycle moving
Just a little faster.
And I can almost see her sweet face
And her eyes so wide
They captured the Autumn sun like a rising star.
And there's Momma, hollering "Supper's ready."
And Pa, slamming down the hood on
The truck and wiping the hot sweat from his brow
As Grandma's little rocking chair squeaked its protests
Into the wind.
And there was Grandpa,
Grinning and pocketing that knife
And kicking mud off his
Work boots and heading on in.
No, I don't come here much anymore.
This place holds far too many ghosts for my tastes.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
"You fall out of your mother's womb,
you crawl across open country under fire,
and drop into your grave."
...on this Saturday afternoon there is a street fair in Greenwich,
You step off the 1 train at Christopher Street station and all along 7th Avenue,
the little sidestreets, Bowery, Commerce, give me that old Dutch sensibility
Street vendors and street people eating, laughing, trying on five dollar leather clogs
On a day that is slightly drizzling, we pause to consider the trees
In a flash I understand the world you come from when you say you normally stay on the East side of Lower Manhattan, you start counting the colors on the street and ask where all the Spanish people at?
there is this reversal, a turnaround, a recognition in me that binds me to you, when I realize you can teach me how to be young and dance with my hips, when I know that you can give me what I've craved for so long, freedom-the opportunity to face all my fears- and the chance to be a wild thing. I am nineteen, for the love of God, and I never got the chance to rage and abandon all cerebral intelligence and just live in the realm of the senses! But for now, I'll settle for to know myself better and to live without apology-but of course, there is a certain fear with taking that step and giving all of myself to you.
Yet I find myself considering it as we walked with your arm around my shoulders and my hands on an eight dollar bag of Swedish candy. I know you know the effect you have on people, other women especially, I see the way they eat you up with their eyes. But then again I'm only beginning to notice the same kind of attention from men as I walk down the street-though I owe that to you too, giving me enough confidence in my body-to sway a little bit more.
And the fact that you repeat thoughts and ideas that have been constantly looping in my own mind makes me believe we are on the same wavelength. Like when the lights suddenly flickered off on the train and you glanced up at me and said how much you love it when that happens? Goddamn, it sent my head spinning.
And now we are together, supposedly. But of course I always keep in the back of my mind the possibility that everything you are is a lie and you could wake up one day and say I don't want you anymore and just walk out my life with both hands in your pockets.
If that happened now, I could say fuck you and move on.
But if I love you the way I want to love you and the way I long to be loved, all of that mind body spirit crap, a piece of me would just break and float away forever.
I guess that's a risk I might have to take one day, and I find myself considering it as we race each other to get burritos and later on I flick some water in your face and you just stare at me with a faint smile on your lips. So, at this moment, I am too much with you. It scares me when I think of what I might feel for you, and so I am on the edge of a precipice here-wondering whether or not to run with you.
I who have nothing.
I who have no one.
Adore you and want you so.
I'm just a no one with nothing to
Give you but oh. I love you.
He. He buys you diamonds.
Bright sparkling diamonds.
But believe me, hear when I say
That he can give you the world
but he'll never love you the way
I love you
fifteen year old heart had ever heard. A cover done by the great Jamaican singer John Jones.
Rap is a many splendid thing
It comes in colours far and
It lives in conquerors
The hearts of ferocious kings
Drinks 40s while cycling alone
At three in the morning.
Becomes the world
Rap/tao. What’s the difference?
Rap could knock tao out the park.
O how the thought of God attracts
And draws the heart from earth,
And sickens it from passing shows
And dissipating mirth!
Tis not enough to save our souls,
To shun the eternal fires;
The thought of God will rouse the heart
To more sublime desires.
God only is the creature's home,
Though rough and strait the road;
Yet nothing less can satisfy
The love that longs for God.
Oh, utter but the Name of God
Down in your heart of hearts,
And see how from the world at once
All tempting light departs.
A trusting heart, a yearning eye
Can win their way above;
If mountains can be moved by faith
Is there less power in love?
How little of that road, my soul,
How little hast thou gone!
Take heart and let the thought of God
Allure thee further on.
Dole not thy duties out to God,
But let thy hand be free;
Look long at Jesus, His sweet blood-
How was it dealt to thee?
The perfect way is hard to flesh;
It is not hard to love;
If thou wert sick for want of God
How swiftly wouldst thou move!
Be docile to thine unseen Guide;
Love Him as He loves thee;
Time and obedience are enough,
And thou a saint shalt be.
Frederick William Faber
I don’t need a roadmap.
Perfection is everything
Tap, dog, rain, everything
Flood of the world.
im not sure how long you expect me to just sit here and watch you day after day be so perfect
and it's the craziest thing that day after day its been that way
i wish we could just meet up at that market that you speak of and
i'm sorry i didn't make it to that concert its not that i wasn't thinking i was just sleeping
if i die without saying anything, it can go a bunch of ways
i could get shot up by a cop but then again it could come from a gand or band
but if i die before i do say anything at all, then the world stays the same, and yeah it wil still fall, but the people will continue to suffer, which is what they need, they don't deserve to know what i know, plus it's to insane to hold what my rhmyes'll do to this world, in a second, i cant let them catch me, but the words will never justify how my life has been so i'll , a movie couldn't do it, and neither can the people i put in my will.
I am worth more than anyone before and to me your gold is foil for it's not talent it's a metal, but see to me talent is priceless kinetic energy processes it makes for provisinary comment which lead to heightening objects which is what keeps us on on to the next one kid
people holding eachother back
preventive care is always there
like a scratch you cant itch or a friend you cant ditch
preventive care, it keeps you chained to the ground
but preventive care also keeps the world going round
the most important preventive care, is to brush your teeth
that, plus to eat, or else you will starve in the street
some say drinking water is a myth, i havent had time to test that out
i've been to busy preventing false care and typing what i think about
and sometimes i think that preventive care is false hope
like all care is
and on that note
about that, i'm certain