phillip-b-frank - Hello Poetry

to sit and think about what to write smoking a cigar and scratching my head listening to knowledge, and listening to nature dopamine building to the reward of the afterlife its potential is held onto all through life, and found when we leave this world. pure adrenaline no smoke and beer. cold nights on roofs watching the fireworks far away it's funny how when you move--even though it's all still there--the best changes just when you don' t want it to. But you knew it would, you moved away. you made the choice. They made calls but you were already gone... If I really wanted to be someone...I would be me, but with those unlimited resources to go back and relive my childhood, for awhile. But, then what would happen to me now... Would I still be too tired to get up at 7:25AM?

0

Feb 17, 2010

Feb 17, 2010 at 9:37 PM UTC

phillip-b-frank

What to Do

to sit and think about what to write smoking a cigar and scratching my head listening to knowledge, and listening to nature dopamine building to the reward of the afterlife its potential is held onto all through life, and found when we leave this world. pure adrenaline no smoke and beer. cold nights on roofs watching the fireworks far away it's funny how when you move--even though it's all still there--the best changes just when you don' t want it to. But you knew it would, you moved away. you made the choice. They made calls but you were already gone... If I really wanted to be someone...I would be me, but with those unlimited resources to go back and relive my childhood, for awhile. But, then what would happen to me now... Would I still be too tired to get up at 7:25AM?

16

it's the red background and the sketched face since i started years ago and i haven't finished yet i'm kinda going crazy with stress and i leave the paints out all night long i guess my progress could be called grandiose, though! except for the fact that this began many years ago i lack the drive to do but impulse to sleep is here one more night the paints rest with the potato hopefully whites, yellows, and black have no fear.

0

Feb 16, 2010

Feb 16, 2010 at 7:37 PM UTC

phillip-b-frank

paints on a campout

it's the red background and the sketched face since i started years ago and i haven't finished yet i'm kinda going crazy with stress and i leave the paints out all night long i guess my progress could be called grandiose, though! except for the fact that this began many years ago i lack the drive to do but impulse to sleep is here one more night the paints rest with the potato hopefully whites, yellows, and black have no fear.

12

I thought of you last night, those memories so sweet of our past so passionate. The kisses I would hold back just to get you closer to me, it was the game I played that made me smile inside every time. I thought of the beginning... the jazzy music, there was that cold night air, by the car last year... There was that thump-thump-thumping in my chest when I envisioned us together; the intensity of the game I played. We would walk around the city, you knew me, and I knew you. The problem was just that you apparently knew us...and I did not. We met each others parents and all was sublime, but just like me, I felt that...tension. I never let you know, I was always the perfect guy--or at least I thought so. Finally, it came to a sunny day, and as you squeezed my hand and stared up into my eyes...you told me...I didn't have to say anything back...?? You said, "I love you." At that point I truly was not sure WHAT to say back, what to say back that would be honest. I held you and kissed your hair--and grimaced on the inside with fear--I didn't say anything back. Only thump-thump-thump... A couple weeks later that uncertainty's pressure had built, and to say goodbye to you was all I could do. I appeared in your doorway without a warning, and the words like acid stumbled from my lips and corroded your fragile figure. There was no talk after that, your bright and flower-like persona froze whenever I came around. Smiles found their ways to frowns. I had to leave the town. Last night I had a memory of you, and today a friend called to say they saw you... I heard you asked about me. Now I wonder if last night and today have found coincidence among each other... or am I just the hopeful fool?

0

Feb 16, 2010

Feb 16, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC

phillip-b-frank

Coincidence of Memory

I thought of you last night, those memories so sweet of our past so passionate. The kisses I would hold back just to get you closer to me, it was the game I played that made me smile inside every time. I thought of the beginning... the jazzy music, there was that cold night air, by the car last year... There was that thump-thump-thumping in my chest when I envisioned us together; the intensity of the game I played. We would walk around the city, you knew me, and I knew you. The problem was just that you apparently knew us...and I did not. We met each others parents and all was sublime, but just like me, I felt that...tension. I never let you know, I was always the perfect guy--or at least I thought so. Finally, it came to a sunny day, and as you squeezed my hand and stared up into my eyes...you told me...I didn't have to say anything back...?? You said, "I love you." At that point I truly was not sure WHAT to say back, what to say back that would be honest. I held you and kissed your hair--and grimaced on the inside with fear--I didn't say anything back. Only thump-thump-thump... A couple weeks later that uncertainty's pressure had built, and to say goodbye to you was all I could do. I appeared in your doorway without a warning, and the words like acid stumbled from my lips and corroded your fragile figure. There was no talk after that, your bright and flower-like persona froze whenever I came around. Smiles found their ways to frowns. I had to leave the town. Last night I had a memory of you, and today a friend called to say they saw you... I heard you asked about me. Now I wonder if last night and today have found coincidence among each other... or am I just the hopeful fool?

23

Good times...right? then surprise darkness surrounds flashes and fighting strength g o n e strapped down engine roar environment of light teary onlookers racked with pain hazy recollection questions abounding cause, drugs? no! Tests..Tsets..Tetss..Tests unwelcomed results Tests..Tsets..Tetss..Tests solution, drugs? i guess life ruined secret, hidden flash and smash secret, well, revealed best year ever? . . . . . Right? But doesn't life go on?

0

Feb 10, 2010

Feb 10, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC

phillip-b-frank

ElEcTrIcAl StOrMs

Good times...right? then surprise darkness surrounds flashes and fighting strength g o n e strapped down engine roar environment of light teary onlookers racked with pain hazy recollection questions abounding cause, drugs? no! Tests..Tsets..Tetss..Tests unwelcomed results Tests..Tsets..Tetss..Tests solution, drugs? i guess life ruined secret, hidden flash and smash secret, well, revealed best year ever? . . . . . Right? But doesn't life go on?

27

Hickory dickory dock... the mouse ran up the--holy crap! what am i doing?! i'm writing a-- Oh yeah, the CLOCK! The clock struck one, and I had some fun, when the mouse made a mock of an old school rhyme; it's those questions that cause one to regress back in time, to a younger age of reason and thought... To remember how family was, and how time has changed it; and that no little mouse scurrying down a clock, could turn those hands back to hickory dickory dock.

0

Feb 10, 2010

Feb 10, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC

phillip-b-frank

Untitled, Nursery Rhyme?

Hickory dickory dock... the mouse ran up the--holy crap! what am i doing?! i'm writing a-- Oh yeah, the CLOCK! The clock struck one, and I had some fun, when the mouse made a mock of an old school rhyme; it's those questions that cause one to regress back in time, to a younger age of reason and thought... To remember how family was, and how time has changed it; and that no little mouse scurrying down a clock, could turn those hands back to hickory dickory dock.

12

Like painting or drawing…or writing. Times of grief because the inspiration just does not come. Frustrating, heart palpitating, teeth grating… Just do what works! But what helps? Maybe…to sit in silence, in darkness, try and figure it out On your own. After awhile it gets old. Who knows what kind of black ball the frustration builds into Inside Pushed down deep and compact… The inside stress that eats away to your O u t s i d e Death.

0

Feb 7, 2010

Feb 7, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC

phillip-b-frank

Inspiration

Like painting or drawing…or writing. Times of grief because the inspiration just does not come. Frustrating, heart palpitating, teeth grating… Just do what works! But what helps? Maybe…to sit in silence, in darkness, try and figure it out On your own. After awhile it gets old. Who knows what kind of black ball the frustration builds into Inside Pushed down deep and compact… The inside stress that eats away to your O u t s i d e Death.

13