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jonathan-firmin
jonathan-firmin
American A man, nothing more.
The sun beats down as the motor hums incessantly away. The smoke offering from the cigarette at my lips curls heavenward as I plant my feet firmly in the dark brown earth... It is Spring once more. My concerns and worries that accumulated with the winter snow have melted away, not to return for many months. Yes, now I have something else on my mind. Tilling, planting, weeding. Growing with the season. I am born again, brand new. Thriving in the warmth and rain and rich soil.
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Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:29 AM UTC
Planting Time
I shut my eyes to the midday sun and feel the warmth, it surrounds me. As I wonder what, is yet to come, This world, as of yet, it still confounds me. So I walk on down, the hot dusty road, As I think of whats left of my family. My brothers, oh, like seeds on the wind, They scatter to escape this harsh reality. For my father-o, is long past his prime He feels it in each step and every memory. His friends are all gone, his hair: no longer blonde It's been too long, three-quarters of a century. My mother cares, for her mother and my dad, Though she, now too is getting older. And all she wants, in this God-forsaken world Is her sons to come home married and sober. All of these things, they echo round my mind, but so do my own dreams and my desires. Only twenty years I've lived The love they needn't give In the sun, these thoughts will make a man perspire.
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Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
A seed on the wind...Or a root in the ground.
Tired, sweaty; fingertips and arm hair singed beyond recognition. Egg yolk and beef broth smeared down a crumpled, black apron. Aching feet, back, and head after twelve hours in a cramped, screaming kitchen...Doors closed, dishes washed, liquor drunk. Sleep finds an exhausted body and a mind racing with new recipes.
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Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
The Cook
The gaslight’s on, the bills are due, and I don’t know if I’ll make it this time. I find my feet taking me, as they often do, to the place, where optimism is distilled. I soon find my head bent at my altar of red, crushed leather and polished walnut, sticky sweet with ferment. Praying in the manner my father taught me, fingers furiously counting laps on my brown glass rosary. Here, I ask and receive my daily bread. Here I find my fellowship. I look to the familiar faces of the congregation. Their warm laughter and quiet despair Mingle in the dimly lit room. Becoming one. Inseparable. I look to find the shepherd dutifully tending his flock. Receiving confession and ensuring everyone is under the influence of the spirit. I walk home content. My troubles forgotten.
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Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
"Public House" of Worship
Wild, unkempt branches point in every direction; covered in vines, they conceal a ground covered with shrunken, warped and misshapen apples that fill the air with the smell of ferment. This half acre plot was once only a small part of dozens of acres of upright, handsome trees bursting with ripe, crisp apples. The once quiet county road that rambled past has been straightened and now hums with traffic. Coffee shops, bars and upscale apartment sit only a hundred yards from this field and as people drive by they often wonder, "Why isn't this overgrown eyesore made into something more useful, a Walgreens perhaps. After all, everyone needs condoms, headache medicine and sleeping pills."
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Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC
The Old Orchard
Somewhere in the quiet distance, I hear it. The sound I have been waiting for. The echo of it rumbles far and wide across the land. I look around and see the frightened and confused faces. I also see knowing smirks on some faces that are then quickly hidden. I try to blend into the crowd but somehow they know. In their fear and confusion they are capable of almost anything and I begin to doubt myself. But soon they realize what I have done, they realize that I have utilized the most dangerous tool in my arsenal. I did not fire a gun, I did not plant a bomb, I instead planted an idea. An idea that will quickly spread across the land and threaten their way of life. They are scared, they are anxious, but best of all...they are intrigued.
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Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
The Most Dangerous Tool
The moon is obscured by clouds and a thick fog settles into the valley. The rain has stopped but thunder still cracks ominously in the distance. Lightning illuminates the horizon as if a great battle were taking place. The warm summer breeze rolls through the trees as I walk home with my thoughts.
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Untitled
They tell me what's cool They tell me what's not Go back to school Or go where it's hot Take one little pill to make you feel sane Save up your money to pay for a game This one thinks that and that one thinks this All in the time it takes me to **** The women will love me if I drink ***** They tell me these things and I get confused If I buy a new car, then I will succeed It's all about wants, who cares what we need More people on Earth than ever before I sleep on my bed, but wake up on the floor A new phone comes out, throw my old one away I don't think that I can keep living this way Where will it end, Where will it stop We're born to live but we live to shop They tell me whats cool, they tell me what's not I thought that I knew but I guess I forgot I thought that I know but I guess I forgot
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
Advertise
The truth is clouded from our vision In a plan to steal our minds They want us to be fat and happy So we don't care whats going on They fill our heads with empty knowledge So they don't lose what once was ours We gave them power for a moment And they took all that they could rob We sit in a half drunk stupor And watch whatever **** comes on While they walk in the front door boldly We don't know that our stuff is gone So what, you say you're fat and happy And now I've talked for way too long But you will see in the near future That what I say is far from wrong. Cheap thrills are driving me insane Don't know whether it's spit or rain The time has come for me to shout it Free bread and circuses mask pain.
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Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Panem et circensis
The moons so bright tonight I wonder where I'll go I walk the streets of town But I walk them alone I fight the cold off With a bottle and a prayer No clue where I'm going Or if i'll make it there. The silence of the empty town Echoes in my mind The snowflakes frozen in midair For the rest of time I find an empty alleyway And then I settle in I go to sleep so freezing cold And don't wake up again They find me in the morning light Covered up with snow No job, no home, no family I had no place to go.
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Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
No place to go