jon-martin
American
I've literally been writing for almost 3 decades. I've been published a couple times, and this seemed like fun. I also take some Pictures.... / I also wanted to add here that I have no problem with criticism, or messages, and would like to hear/read opinions and correspondence.
So, we must, again, face the inevitable human dark age. When the filthy, diseased hand of dogma closes it's fingers around the throat of logic and reason. Science bowing it's weary head to the masses of religious ignorance, and the intellectual giving way to the impassioned imbecile. What course is reason, when we can simply shout down that which disagrees with our bias, and predetermination ?? Why think, when we merely have to scream ?? What apes have we become that volume supersedes reason ??
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
And then she knew,
And all of a sudden
Every touch
meant something different.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
I'm relatively sure
That you don't know how it works.
And I'm absolutely certain
That you don't know how it hurts.
There's a little scar inside,
That twists up when I write,
And, as deeper digs the wound,
The pain begins to bite.
But tasting all the dreams,
And their shards of broken glass,
Leaves you wan, and wanting,
For a sweet, imagined past
That there's no way to recapture,
because it wasn't really there.
And you remember that you're lying,
And the wound begins to tear.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
What happens to the stars when there are no words
to write, no songs to sing, no pictures to paint ??
What happens to the stars, when thought stops, and
flow breaks, and vision blurs ??
What happens to those great galactic giants, when
the world turns upside down ??
The sojourners of galaxies, spinning time itself out
before us, in the wake of eternity, left silent in
some poets dream...
Titanic powers of fusion fire, burning for the
lifetimes of a thousand humankinds, churning
with the gravity and desire to hold the universe
together, invisible,
because the painter cannot see...
Stardust, everything, the gears of immortality
turning useless, marching on in solid state
remembrance of romance, and lust, and love.
What happens to the stars when you leave
a poet speechless ??
What happens to the stars,
when you leave me nothing to say...
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
And then you stopped and smiled, pretty girl,
painted in blonde hair. "Pretty city", she says,
and the only place my mind turns is the lonely
light, left on in the apartment across the avenue.
What if it was our light ?? What would our world
be, if that lamp lit our home ?? These vacations
we'd taken, memories we'd shared. The sand of
the thousand beaches we'd walked on, hand in
hand. That light left on, after the fight last night.
When we walked away. her clothes still on our
floor. Her smell...still in our bed.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
Time crumbles over the years, eroding
under the weight of "I should have been
theres", and "backwhens", and "I miss
yous". And, as it erodes, it leaves the
bittersweet smell of what was, complete
with a little taste of memory on the back
of your tongue that will never quite go away...
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
Soothe livid thought
give cool, quiet birth.
See with one time,
across solitary dawn.
You voice sound,
yet give rain color.
This storm rhythm,
meager, though soft,
over stone could not hold.
Brilliant music beside,
celebrate every drink of wicked wind.
Imagine red.
Taste. Dance. Sing.
Through winter night,
and summer morning.
Slip by like water,
not under myself,
or beneath love,
but remember after who & what you are.
dance through change,
& leave life happy.
When music is poetry,
hear with love.
A heart must speak
between language & thought.
A poet will use
lightning & dirt.
Sound is vision,
light is word...
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
Have you ever had really high hopes for a thing,
And then, when it happened, didn't know what it means ??
And you find your mind running to every extreme
But somewhere on the way, you just left the scene.
All these delusions, I call self-identity
And something that's lost, in the path, right ahead of me
Terrible nightmares, my own mediocrity,
Fighting for air, as I'm losing my sanity.
Hoping for hope, or for something forgiven
Losing my faith, or having it driven
There's only so much, one mind can envision,
And mine's all but full with the ***** I have given.
This terrible feeling called dying inside,
The sweet, sweet release of losing your mind,
These sharp, broken bits are the dreams that you find,
And sometimes I wonder, which one was mine ??
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
It was like holding everything I'd been seeking,
It was like having a lost part of me asleep on the pillow
It was like a million lost dreams coalesced into the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen
It was like nothing I had ever dreamed
It was like nothing had ever gone wrong
It was like some gift, given by an uncaring universe, just to make sure I was ok
It was like I had never been awake, and every cognition was sleeping next to me
It was like I had never even known what beauty was
It was like a conspiracy of everything I never deserved
It was like watching everything I ever wanted walk away
It was like losing things I never knew I wanted
It was like pretending you were with me now
It was like forgetting your smell
It was like wishing I knew you...
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
These are the moments poets write about, paintings waiting. Quiet city streets at sunset, building, highrise sentinels of man's unquenchable thirst for conquest, and all of us together under one sky, waiting.... This radio screaming in my ear, Bon Iver, Conner Oberst, the other poets that wander these lost, lonely alleys. Sun's rays fading, as city lights rise. The soft blue becoming the strange azure, that fades to my indigo incandescent familiarity. This nighttime refuge of lost souls, wandering the frozen streets, and becoming something more than the sun can make them. That soft, ragged, imagined power coming from within each of us, in the open darkness of a concrete river. Nothing has changed but the light, and the new light makes each of us something more than we were in the rays that preceeded it. There is nothing to take away, nothing to subtract, nothing to glean. Just this place, this almost-lostness, betraying in itself the proclaimed divinity of dark. Stepping back, without looking behind, not knowing that the fear in front of you cowers before the monster behind your back. Just. Live. Be, let the being become you, and embrace this inner-self so few have seen, so few have touched, so few have truly loved. realize that all things wear a darker form, and the things that lay in wait under these city streets are dangerous. The way a chainsaw is dangerous in the hands of a child. There is no way to know who will get hurt, and once the chain of events is initiated, there is no way to safely remove the weapon from the hands of the naïve. Things that bite, hiding in dark corners, and laying wait for the lost, weary, and heartbroken. Lighted hallways, entrances into the other realm of indoors, torch-lit passages into forbidden and mysterious kingdoms. Every stairwell lit. The bannister to the lower, and upper, a stripe on walls as I drive on. Two million bulbs of nightlight security, and still this city finds shadows in which to hide fear. Dark corners for the lonely, and blind alleys for the lost. Every heart beating, fresh hot blood, and no warmth to share. Scared and alone, wanderers all, until the burn of the light we call home beckons us there. This passing of time, a gift, from gods unseen, and hands unheld. Colded fingers for want of a lovers touch, or the precious gift of familiarity in a foreign land. Alien landscape, and this, my unfettered direction of ambiguity. Directionless wandering for want of a chosen path, and no choice but to take the offered road. The fear secondary only to the loneliness, oh that curse that comes again.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:45 PM UTC