5 Sensory Deprivation Relevations (Happy Birthday Will Shakespeare)
I the smell of sad
odor colorless like ***** similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling saddlng, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will’s)
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
stink
don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ****** your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I, who has your sadness smell into my skin cells crept
*waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face*
there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all
this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present
II the taste of joy
the joy of cooking is not a gene in my litany possess,
but the buttery taste of joy I know, I know,
it’s a real princess rarity,
the hard costs of finding and keeping it,
I’ve paid endlessly and willingly pay on
the taste of joy is like presents under the tree,
shock surprises delights lives/life, customized, infectious
(except for socks, no matter how joyously exceptional),
joy to those whose buds never blossomed for its taste
readable on some one else’s, anyone’s ****** expression
I think of it as the taste of fast traveling cumulus whites
upon my eyelashes blinking as they are speeding you by, but happy
for ten more behind before the evening stars takes over
the taste of joy is physical, there can be no denying,
concentrations can be found in the lips and the fingertips,
which you think of as a tandem, someone else’s on mine
but it ain’t necessarily so; the taste of joy, shared I, having submitted to others kisses carried on the wind that
found their mark and were well received,
poems from the heart
that arrive well,
as their intended is sleeping, and
as intended, as waking gifts
the taste of joy in droplet tears
when you are notified that words
you joined in holy matrimony made you cry,
because the reader did, wept for two,
the weeping of contentment released,
free at last from container confinement;
this particular taste of joy is in the
recovery and recognition that these
are not for you,
just joy peculiar these tasted tears for whomsoever sheds them
III the hearing of truthful
truth am told is oft served cold and hard up for the hearing,
best avoided tween noon and midnight and any time a
bathroom mirror is in the vicinity; though religious men lie
too easily; bathroom mirrors cannot; a character flaw for sure,
but the truth to be trusted is this: no one is truly contented, always there are the richer, the more famous, the employed and
someone above who has more, more burdens of a different sort,
better quality losses and pains unseen not dreamed of
truth tastes terrible and is awful sometimes noisy painful;
it hides well in the stink of sad exposed to the atmosphere when exposed it turns red humans blue
truth may set you free, free to be what are you are or truthfully
an admission of what greatness you have to release the trick is
use the correct scale, do not let the wrong sized ruler rule you,
the truth, if you hear, hear it unfiltered w/o the bias implanted
by not your people; hear your poet voice growl like a blues singer and be truthfully satisfied like no thing no person only you could hear it as you intended it be spoken
IV touches of fantasy fantastic
secret confess: touch my fav cause when its juiced with
mental visions of what might be, it Saturday satisfies and let me weep happy smile silly and is mine all mind; yes another’s tip
has sorcerer powers of revelation
but alone by myself I yet
relevate
and flow; my hands are right sized, my arms reach around myself for so designed, and the pleasure is mine to give;
mine to take,
neither better or worse if self-administered,
touch myself anywhere anytime and fantasy over dreams wins,
rise up, touch is a language and I speak six or a hundred;
listen to the sounds of touching and be touched human
V insights for the sightless
at last we close the deprived
with an elegant elevation
sight overrated when imagination exists,
cannot be restrained
this the revelation
you have proffered and preferred all this time
have pity on me
I crystallize the unseen with the replacements
of my conjuring
the other senses lend a hand
telling me look up look up, be life save life
let your madness blossom in the spring airs,
the coolness of a first fingered ungloved snow
sight,
a mathematical function from the other four derived,
sightless an impossibility for with one alone defeat the
sensory deprivation and give tongues to words
epilogue
read my face
incapable of,
deprivation
but how now silent bow my head to Will
for teaching the way of words
traced upon
a fool or a king's tongue,
two too human,
so that poet may ken
his senses keener,
all for the better,
for the betterment of all
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
if existence is merely an illusionary veil across our lids
then the inner euphoria that comes with this deception
must merely be a vindication of a life well-lived,
a life well-deceived.
if the misery and despair that drove the slits on my wrist
were simply drifting facades, simply an imitation of tangible grief
then which part of my suffering am I supposed to believe
was a concrete part of the life
I assumed that I lived.
if so,
why do we plainly disregard the ticking clock set upon our souls
the unrelenting countdown to our demise,
and commence the futile cycle of attaining earthly affluence
too worthless to transport into the abyss
that charters all that you believed.
what if the breeze brushes your final flame
and no god exists to magistrate your sins
and solely the predicament of non-existence
occupies the nullity of your fading essence.
then is living truly a desolate state
with a hopeless beginning and an unavailing end,
and just the perpetual succession
of a life fully, entirely, deceived.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
Every girl in the kingdom followed her steps,
the way a cub learns to roar when his father bites a neck.
A child from the cold end was asked to reign the throne
by a gold hand. The cost veiled against the velvet curtains,
she was deceived to say yes.
How beautiful, they whisper, sight of rosy cheeks
and soft hair, gems carved into the hem of her dress.
She won’t disclose the violet lesions on her body
after having pledged her loyalty to the blue-eyed darkness
seated on the high throne.
If braids mark beauty, and bruises mark people,
does abuse mark love? The maiden moved the brush gently
through the delicate auburn waves. Better to stay silent,
or the king will have your head. The maiden denied,
grace breeding reason.
The queen wore her crown and directed her knights
to rise. Outside the walls she was glorified whole,
a display of the elite. Inside the castle her command dissolved,
auburn braids ripped off and scattered. After all, the kingdom so desires
a formidable king for power.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
bed sheets spread and suitcases zipped shut
holding the best of our things, the ones closest
to the heart.
my laptop prepares for a week between rooms
where I laugh in one and drink in the other
while I write about you.
I greet the long empty roads to the airport
and my navigation congratulates a new
distance that we’ve shared.
with (not so) hidden anticipation and
a fresh wave of timidness as my arms
link behind your neck once again.
so we start all over, building caresses
and conversations, lightly once again
to ignite the covered flame.
my nose forgets the gripping scent you bring
that fills my head with a pain your
searching fingers can’t locate.
your love for books and the details of your eyes
got lost between the texts and calls
from my drunk dialings to yours.
it’s harder each time to let your hand go
and release your body from mine, not knowing
when will be the next.
I never cry sober but when you boarded
the plane, the crucial drive back home
met my tears along the way.
the borderspace between our two lands
force a distance that disappears the moment
I remember the 8am smile on your face.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
The moon feels lonely
But how it feels,
I know.
People just always
Come
And
Go.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 12:46 AM UTC
Don't go across the world for me
Because I will only find a way to make you leave
Even though my sadness is too hidden to see
I promise you, some nights I find it hard to breathe
Don't set yourself, on fire to make me smile
Because after a while, I will decide it's too hard loving someone who gives me what I desire
And I will only want you to go the extra mile
Though it's shocking to me that someone could love a person so dire.
Don't blame yourself, because I can never trust again
Because I run away from anyone who sees through this grin
And all I think about in this brain
Is that you didn't feel like loving an entity as vile as me was a sin.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
reminiscing the days where i could write
proper poetry
where my thoughts were unleashed
with no shackles of conformity
now, i am surrounded by serenity
but this serenity does not,
let me write beautifully about the
beast within me.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
i sit here in my room
wondering and scanning through
all the places that i have been to
i look myself in the mirror
blood and emotions coursing through
but thinking twice,
about pulling the trigger
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
ultimately, it was a war we lost
one fought with water against ice
one fought wholeheartedly, but only on one side
it ended with him losing, and her winning
stealing the finale and leaving him longing
but both were destined to be losers,
from the beginning
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
that's the problem with putting others first
you've taught them that you come second
if not, third
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC