riq-schwartz
American
I will write until my muse is silenced and my fingers deny their dexterity. Words will spring from me until the font runs dry and leaves me parched at last. These days, I write largely about writing, my wife, or finding new ways to ridicule this or that particular peeve. Some days bring stylistic stricture, others I aim for the most uncomfortable shades of haphazardous words, while most yield nothing because I am one of my own villains.
All I have to do is, "Hello, how's it going?"
and the scene is set.
Some swell of social masochism
stuck inside my head at best.
That step one is a doozie,
but not taking it means staying in.
So going out's the other side, ****
seems I've lost my coin again.
Alright then.
Here, let's try this then.
"Ain't seen you in a while, man."
-Been busy. Girlfriend, house, and job.
-No time for getting out a lot.
-I'm moving next month, see ya round.
Oh. Now I see.
Seems everybody else but me
is doing fine, is growing, building, going,
getting paid and getting laid
and all I said
was, "Hello, how's it going?"
Now I know. I'm either made
of stoic parts expressing little
keeping down these feelings brittle
cracked, sharp spines in blood seek sunlight
or to contrast this, they just might
be the other side of same.
I mean, they could be saying things
convincing arguments of health where
they don't have to face themselves.
Regardless. I'm unguarded
and this talk was quite unhelpful.
I'mma go now. Think I see a friend who just came in.
I'll try again.
"Hello, how's it going?"
And I'm answering this time, I'm fine.
I'll take a double short
with *** and coke and wedge of lime.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
It's so hard to compete
with well shaped human form.
My lines are all bulky,
uneven, and lumpy.
I've no ******* to caress,
no hips and no rear.
That is, I do have them,
but you'll not find them here.
It's so hard to compete
sipping long slurps of mead,
somewhat sweet, something biting,
when shots come much quicker,
they get you there
down the line
move along
spending time
wisely. I
have to take mine.
I can't rush this.
You must understand.
I'm a poet. I hold these words
tight in my hands.
I release them, but slowly,
like time's grains of sand.
There's no **** here,
just titles.
No models, just writers.
Our words are our craft.
We drink, we expire.
If photos are worth just one thousand words each,
then I am the camera
with the film out of reach.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
So many things to say.
Between the floods and raindrops,
pain and heartthrobs,
living for better, for worse,
for now,
for following through
on the sins we commit to.
Somehow
we expect to see light.
I can feel with my skin
but it's blistering,
I can't hear,
but I know you're not listening.
You'd be here
anon and otherwise
punctual.
Instead you're a societal gut-punch
who makes me puke.
Truthfully, I'd set camp come the dusk
where I knew I could feel the warmth
from your bridges burned.
Feel the light, dried and cracked.
Tell me what you learned.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
So today, I think, I
will simply search out my own people.
The thinkers, believers,
soothsayers speaking in acrylic discrepancies
between what is and what will,
what might and ought but won't as long as.
It's so simple, they say.
Just apply yourself daily
and try not to sway
lest your habit break.
Then striped of practice,
you take up your vows again.
Simple, it seems.
Except that I'm swearing daily
**** all this!
Tropes and tricks!
There's no ease here.
How could there be?
Baring me scarcely seems
to meet the measures
of rarely seen wear and tear
but these **** seams are holding true."
Remember you have only to apply
once daily doses of madness and hope.
If memory serves, it's these
worthwhile self-service tricks
that have woven our sails.
Drink the seas. Come and capsize.
You'll finally meet me.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
I might be a budding botanist.
You see I watch you take root
in the back of my mind,
while your deepviolet dreams
flower up from behind.
With my withering construct
and green disposition
your ivy league discord
leaves fetid pollution.
my limbs aren't strong enough
to hold you at bay
so I'm prone to let grow on me
whatever you say
these seedlings sap strength
and succor my faults
i could fight back
but what use against this garden gestalt
i am tripping on lilacs
or maybe just lies
and its only a matter of time
till we die
so im keeping my footing
my head above water
and were i a fish
not a lamb to the slaughter
my frame it grows thin
growing gaunt, growing weak
and i cant help but feel
this is what you would seek
then i cant help but feel
i was wrong, and so then
i will try not to go
about feeling again
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
Oh, I can't - can't you see -
witness such things as these
and stay entirely nonplussed as waves on the seas;
as the sun sets and swaddles
the canvas of clouds
in her shadows and shrouds, while the stars come out
peppering & salting the night sky
we meanwhile lay by
and get baptized again and again
'til we both die and rise to the heavens
of rich conversation
alive in the wealth of ourselves
But there's no Saint Peter here.
These celestial bodies maintain what can only be seen
as an esoteric echelon with humanity eschewed
and no regard for our whims and wiles.
This is where our verse breaks down.
Here is where.
We don't have words to fuel their fires,
make them burn brighter,
send them our life - we can only admire
and pray that our subjugation is enough
to appease these pocks against pureblack.
These rebels mirror us in some manifest destiny
blended with beautiful blasphemy
that they presume to appease God
by simply not being human.
Well this does not bode well for us, I dare say.
I can no more avoid abusing the air for a day
than I can embody radiance.
I've learned my place.
Here beside you, I've collected myself,
my thoughts, my things,
and I can swallow mortality as its own punishment.
I cannot allow myself to go unnoticed, though,
so I'll show myself out.
No idea where I'll go.
You are welcome to stay still, lay on the grass.
I'm certain keep watching and some comet may pass
but I'm off to find somewhere the sun won't set
and these hands can be bathed in warmth of work and wealth
and these bead-eyed bodies can look down through ozone
and I...
I can simply ignore
and carry on my merry way.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
you and me
we barter like kings
and haggle away
deplorable things
wage wars, set siege
whatever it brings
and care not until
our epitaph sings
you sit swaddled in morality
wide-eyed with ideology
and conversational felonies
beneath a narcissist cowl
I sit asunder thunder rolling
let my thoughts get lost while strolling
meanwhile you are stalling, drawling
your self-inflicted toothless scowl
you and me
we barter like kings
we wear our wealth
in copper rings
until tomorrow's
daylight stings
the whites of our eyes;
the stumps of our wings.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
His thoughts smell like caffeine.
Defied the day/night drummer, he did.
Watched the world nearly die
then awaken unaware.
Ready, though, for the autopsy,
searching for the COD
he read in the wrinkles
of street lamps and satellites,
"Death due to the search for life."
Instead he wrote, inadvertently,
the biography of the day,
playful and concise,
wise despite his best efforts.
I'll not write it all down here,
so as not to plagiarize.
Suffice it did no more that night
to keep the world from sleep.
Supine he waited, wished with
baited breath. Each fulcrum
of solar ascent went
slowly, wholly over his head.
Each night laid him down
something elaborately unseen.
Each of us heard his rhymes
and in turn
wrote him off.
*Daylight simply hides the shadows -
passive state of things.
Life simply hides the death
which time inevitably brings.
Mourning dove finds company
and to the other sings.
I pick for you these roses,
but we're waiting for the rings.*
- unsung
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
I's stuffed with mouthfulls
stuck bombastic swabs back, silly tonsils
attract this kind of swelling
blood flow filling brash, crass
rusted filter engorged but not gorgeous.
Leaking, not porous. I'd fight for us
but you're the one fighting me.
So I stuff this all down from the surface.
It's worth it. You see,
argumentatively I concede to the truth.
You withhold resolute and spew weather.
I'm better. I hold it inside. Stuff it down,
bottle up all my thoughts and I swallow them
frothing and foaming in cheeks around teeth
gargle responses, apologize
but I's stuffed with this awful,
awful mouthful.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
I've resolved to hold out hope
Some offering resilient
Passed down, an heirloom
From day to day to day
Through this damning night courier
I sell this trinket for a pittance of sleep
Please, just ten more minutes of pittance
And so hopelessly I'm found
Face first in down, safe swaddled dreams
Abound to excavate another vein
And so hopefully I'm found
Panning for dreams for passing tomorrow
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC