tara-liz-driscoll - Hello Poetry

Departures and Arrivals. The dust hasn't yet settled on the torn up trail behind me. Particles still linger in my hair, my teeth and in the air around me like they own me. I wonder, even though it seems like I've dearly departed, if it will ever settle and I don't necessarily expect it to because maybe it has to sock it to me so no sweet amnesia can shew away the memories of what it was that got me here to this place of growing respect for all the potholes and all the unpaved roads. Driving in the dark tree monsters slide bye one after the other, their silent dialogue giving me the shivers like so many other things in the world do, cold sweat running down my face as the car rattles and the music stops and there's only the sound of dripping rain. Tears, like rain aren't separate from sweat. They're constanly recycling and bleeding into one another like night bleeds into day. I get that and I even love that because where does hardship go if not to tears? Stuffing grief into the cracks of the bodymind is a recipe for sick. I get that too. People may tell ya to take a pill, have a swig, do anything to bully your discomfort away but you sense and you know that you sense and only you can sense what it is you have to do. So you keep on going because what has drinking the sweet numbing Koolaide ever done for ya anyway? And it's a relief to come out of the comatose to watch the rose-gold sunrise coming up over your landscape as your gears shift on the broken hill of this awakening; laser sharp beams of light gutting the nonsense out of ya, your feet touching down onto solid ground and you feeling shaky but all aglow in your skin and this departure is telling every cell in your body that you have arrived. There will be other departures and other arrivals, other days and other nights but for now, in this moment you have arrived and you don't give a **** about and you're almost grateful for the dust and the particles and the freaky and the the not so freaky fallout hovering over ya like a halo 1/2020

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Aug 25, 2022

Aug 25, 2022 at 10:00 AM UTC

Departures and Arrivals

Departures and Arrivals. The dust hasn't yet settled on the torn up trail behind me. Particles still linger in my hair, my teeth and in the air around me like they own me. I wonder, even though it seems like I've dearly departed, if it will ever settle and I don't necessarily expect it to because maybe it has to sock it to me so no sweet amnesia can shew away the memories of what it was that got me here to this place of growing respect for all the potholes and all the unpaved roads. Driving in the dark tree monsters slide bye one after the other, their silent dialogue giving me the shivers like so many other things in the world do, cold sweat running down my face as the car rattles and the music stops and there's only the sound of dripping rain. Tears, like rain aren't separate from sweat. They're constanly recycling and bleeding into one another like night bleeds into day. I get that and I even love that because where does hardship go if not to tears? Stuffing grief into the cracks of the bodymind is a recipe for sick. I get that too. People may tell ya to take a pill, have a swig, do anything to bully your discomfort away but you sense and you know that you sense and only you can sense what it is you have to do. So you keep on going because what has drinking the sweet numbing Koolaide ever done for ya anyway? And it's a relief to come out of the comatose to watch the rose-gold sunrise coming up over your landscape as your gears shift on the broken hill of this awakening; laser sharp beams of light gutting the nonsense out of ya, your feet touching down onto solid ground and you feeling shaky but all aglow in your skin and this departure is telling every cell in your body that you have arrived. There will be other departures and other arrivals, other days and other nights but for now, in this moment you have arrived and you don't give a **** about and you're almost grateful for the dust and the particles and the freaky and the the not so freaky fallout hovering over ya like a halo 1/2020

38

Do ya ever feel like a shipwreck adrift in the water Pieces of ya scattered like a lamb after the slaughter, a mere shadow of your former sweet innocence barely bobbing above the big sonar rinse? Can't believe what ya read nor believe what your supposed to believe. Can't help wonderin' bout the agenda Definitley can't pretend not to. I suppose ya just have to go a bit numb Drift on the wave and play kinda dumb. CCTV surveillance, so called necessity, oh **** big brother's watching ya *** Google is god and god is dead Oh **** the'll crucify me for what I've just said. Street lights ain't just street lights anymore they're stickin' cameras in 'um expecting us to eat crow. We'll all be robots that's the plan punch ya in, download, scan. Chips in your brain, chips in your nose they'll go with us wherever we goes. The grammar's all wrong. It's the prediction text. No need for fingers. it's all effortless. We're losing our common sense and our low-fi cities. I'm losing my mind and I dont even feel ****** They're cuttin' down trees 'cause they're blockin' our signies and burnin' and lootin' 'cause they've got some agendies. We're loosing our birds, they're falling out of the sky. Would connecting the dots lead us to the wyfry? Losing's all right once ya get the hang of it. Be fine in the mornin' and get back in the swing of it. Turn on the screen, see what's new, choke on our Krispies 'cause we forgot to chew. Ah who cares our thoughts ain't our own. It's all covered and programmed by our phone Yea It's all fun and games when there's nobody home, dinner's sprayed and modified to the bone. God knows what's in the water, the vaccination. No worries we're all sci-fried and on vacation. Ah yea they've got us all pegged and amplified, can't sleep anymore, we're all irradiated and wyfried. Wyfry, shake, scramble, grill an' bake uhuh it's the burnin' down of the human race. ah yea it's the slow fry and burn at the stake.

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Oct 17, 2020

Oct 17, 2020 at 10:19 AM UTC

Scifry Wyfry

Do ya ever feel like a shipwreck adrift in the water Pieces of ya scattered like a lamb after the slaughter, a mere shadow of your former sweet innocence barely bobbing above the big sonar rinse? Can't believe what ya read nor believe what your supposed to believe. Can't help wonderin' bout the agenda Definitley can't pretend not to. I suppose ya just have to go a bit numb Drift on the wave and play kinda dumb. CCTV surveillance, so called necessity, oh **** big brother's watching ya *** Google is god and god is dead Oh **** the'll crucify me for what I've just said. Street lights ain't just street lights anymore they're stickin' cameras in 'um expecting us to eat crow. We'll all be robots that's the plan punch ya in, download, scan. Chips in your brain, chips in your nose they'll go with us wherever we goes. The grammar's all wrong. It's the prediction text. No need for fingers. it's all effortless. We're losing our common sense and our low-fi cities. I'm losing my mind and I dont even feel ****** They're cuttin' down trees 'cause they're blockin' our signies and burnin' and lootin' 'cause they've got some agendies. We're loosing our birds, they're falling out of the sky. Would connecting the dots lead us to the wyfry? Losing's all right once ya get the hang of it. Be fine in the mornin' and get back in the swing of it. Turn on the screen, see what's new, choke on our Krispies 'cause we forgot to chew. Ah who cares our thoughts ain't our own. It's all covered and programmed by our phone Yea It's all fun and games when there's nobody home, dinner's sprayed and modified to the bone. God knows what's in the water, the vaccination. No worries we're all sci-fried and on vacation. Ah yea they've got us all pegged and amplified, can't sleep anymore, we're all irradiated and wyfried. Wyfry, shake, scramble, grill an' bake uhuh it's the burnin' down of the human race. ah yea it's the slow fry and burn at the stake.

44

At The Cafe I heard her say to the teary-eyed lady as they sliced their custard creams, " Move on and go find someone else" As if suggesting to take that knife and slice that face out of her brain and replace it with another. As if perhaps she should cut out her heart and separate it from the rest of her. I suppose the thoughtless lady was only trying to help. I suppose that's normal procedure in such circumstances. Like quickly go find a lollipop for god's sake. I felt like saying to the broken woman; wait a bit. No need to be in such a rush. This terrible ache, this fierce wrenching this oozing sore is love disguised. You'll come to it. You will. No substitute necessary. That someone else is waiting in the dim horizon, fresh faced and true with eyes that pierce through the mish mash of dough and syrup of wounds and ruins of love and war and sharp metal objects. That someone else is you, whole and undisguised. You can't rush that. You'll come to it You will.

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Feb 23, 2020

Feb 23, 2020 at 6:07 AM UTC

At The Cafe

At The Cafe I heard her say to the teary-eyed lady as they sliced their custard creams, " Move on and go find someone else" As if suggesting to take that knife and slice that face out of her brain and replace it with another. As if perhaps she should cut out her heart and separate it from the rest of her. I suppose the thoughtless lady was only trying to help. I suppose that's normal procedure in such circumstances. Like quickly go find a lollipop for god's sake. I felt like saying to the broken woman; wait a bit. No need to be in such a rush. This terrible ache, this fierce wrenching this oozing sore is love disguised. You'll come to it. You will. No substitute necessary. That someone else is waiting in the dim horizon, fresh faced and true with eyes that pierce through the mish mash of dough and syrup of wounds and ruins of love and war and sharp metal objects. That someone else is you, whole and undisguised. You can't rush that. You'll come to it You will.

29

Nights Are For Stuff Like This It's 3am. The city's sleeping and I'm not. Lights like scattered dots burn dim outside my window. People are dreaming and I'm awake thinking of the life that's been passing through me like second hands-smoke lingering in the slowed-down traffic of my DNA. Nights are for stuff like this; stuff like silken roads through ragged hillsides, feelings blacker than night that disappear in the day light, prisms bouncing off grey ash, tiny sparks falling through trap doors, never again to be seen nor heard, nor taken for granted upon the long laid train tracks of this ongoing dance. Memory like loaded simi-trucks taking me all the way back through corn fields and hay, through old hard hitting rain that goes clank, clank in my brain. Scars cutting through my skin opening again and again like songs that you hate but can't stop singing on endless streaming highways-hitching a ride inside my mind, pitch-perfect pristine and off-key in the dark, on a night like this blue black over amber gold. I'm a million miles further away and one mile closer. Signposts loud and large selling big hopes for happy dopes, emerging eyes now gone from me peering through clouds because they can, because they probably always will. Because who knows how far they've gone and how far I've come on this night of all nights awake in the grid of passing stars and dividing lines, now merging into my lane for better or for worse where gratitude needs no promotion, because it just is or is not. Because it can't be faked. nor pimped. Because it has no need for patronizing nor apologizing. Because it's outcome, a side effect of nights like this where everything makes sense and where nothing makes any sense at all in this gigantic freeway of time that will eventually reach a dead end. Where sleep will come 'cause the poetry will have run itself off the bend. Ah yea nights are for stuff like this.

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Jun 26, 2019

Jun 26, 2019 at 9:29 AM UTC

Nights Are For Stuff Like This

Nights Are For Stuff Like This It's 3am. The city's sleeping and I'm not. Lights like scattered dots burn dim outside my window. People are dreaming and I'm awake thinking of the life that's been passing through me like second hands-smoke lingering in the slowed-down traffic of my DNA. Nights are for stuff like this; stuff like silken roads through ragged hillsides, feelings blacker than night that disappear in the day light, prisms bouncing off grey ash, tiny sparks falling through trap doors, never again to be seen nor heard, nor taken for granted upon the long laid train tracks of this ongoing dance. Memory like loaded simi-trucks taking me all the way back through corn fields and hay, through old hard hitting rain that goes clank, clank in my brain. Scars cutting through my skin opening again and again like songs that you hate but can't stop singing on endless streaming highways-hitching a ride inside my mind, pitch-perfect pristine and off-key in the dark, on a night like this blue black over amber gold. I'm a million miles further away and one mile closer. Signposts loud and large selling big hopes for happy dopes, emerging eyes now gone from me peering through clouds because they can, because they probably always will. Because who knows how far they've gone and how far I've come on this night of all nights awake in the grid of passing stars and dividing lines, now merging into my lane for better or for worse where gratitude needs no promotion, because it just is or is not. Because it can't be faked. nor pimped. Because it has no need for patronizing nor apologizing. Because it's outcome, a side effect of nights like this where everything makes sense and where nothing makes any sense at all in this gigantic freeway of time that will eventually reach a dead end. Where sleep will come 'cause the poetry will have run itself off the bend. Ah yea nights are for stuff like this.

40

Expectation We bow to our gods Our demigods Take sides Give credit where we think Credit's due ***** at the other An exercise in hope Despair, disgust An act of rebellion Worship, boredom A little entertainment Perhaps Oh Holy Night is blasting But it's business as usual What did we expect? The Donald's having another Rad hair day Merc is mixing up yet another shot In the arm of the unsuspecting ignorant Monsanto's engineering one more Pernicious stew for dinner World War Three pending At Arm's Dealers Inc A trader goes Kachung A raven drops his doodoo Really What did we expect? Shiny stilettos go clack clack A homeless man shivers in the rain The guy on the bike gives ya the finger Grandma turns on and drops out Can ya blame her? Another heart-breaking day For the broken A little goodwill For the willing Martin Lawrence sneezes And we can't help ourselves Hilarious Charley Sheen loses his knickers In repeat spin Another bad news nugget For the rag-mags What did he expect? The jingle bells jingle It's tinsel time again The gift can go bye bye in the mayhem In this the season of high expectation It's good to have less expectation To worry less, to feel more Share See what happens Expect a miracle or Expect nothing The gift Ah the gift The present Presence That is all What did I expect? 2015 for the present

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Dec 23, 2018

Dec 23, 2018 at 6:30 AM UTC

Expectation

Expectation We bow to our gods Our demigods Take sides Give credit where we think Credit's due ***** at the other An exercise in hope Despair, disgust An act of rebellion Worship, boredom A little entertainment Perhaps Oh Holy Night is blasting But it's business as usual What did we expect? The Donald's having another Rad hair day Merc is mixing up yet another shot In the arm of the unsuspecting ignorant Monsanto's engineering one more Pernicious stew for dinner World War Three pending At Arm's Dealers Inc A trader goes Kachung A raven drops his doodoo Really What did we expect? Shiny stilettos go clack clack A homeless man shivers in the rain The guy on the bike gives ya the finger Grandma turns on and drops out Can ya blame her? Another heart-breaking day For the broken A little goodwill For the willing Martin Lawrence sneezes And we can't help ourselves Hilarious Charley Sheen loses his knickers In repeat spin Another bad news nugget For the rag-mags What did he expect? The jingle bells jingle It's tinsel time again The gift can go bye bye in the mayhem In this the season of high expectation It's good to have less expectation To worry less, to feel more Share See what happens Expect a miracle or Expect nothing The gift Ah the gift The present Presence That is all What did I expect? 2015 for the present

63

Rope There's no point in splitting hairs No point in pointing a finger It's done The pages are all torn Trashed and scattered And dragged through the gutter Like yesterdays garbage And all that rope I supposedly gave A phantom There never was a rope, A leash, nor a chain Those things are not for sale At the well No there never was a rope Except perhaps For the one attached To the water bucket From which We still Quietly sip Through The miles Of sea And storm And time As long as we stay This way This well Will never dry up 2016-2017 for the attempt to make unconditional, the conditional.

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May 20, 2018

May 20, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC

Rope

Rope There's no point in splitting hairs No point in pointing a finger It's done The pages are all torn Trashed and scattered And dragged through the gutter Like yesterdays garbage And all that rope I supposedly gave A phantom There never was a rope, A leash, nor a chain Those things are not for sale At the well No there never was a rope Except perhaps For the one attached To the water bucket From which We still Quietly sip Through The miles Of sea And storm And time As long as we stay This way This well Will never dry up 2016-2017 for the attempt to make unconditional, the conditional.

32

Can't I can't kiss *** Must be something i ate in class Or was it mother's scalding tongue That'd scorch ya just for fun Or maybe brother's saucy mouth That'd shake ya 'til all the loot fell out No I can't kiss **** Can't figure out this stuff You might call me a brat Say I'm a loud whiskered alley cat But it could be that bull in **** Dying for just another hit Whatever it is I can't seem to kiss *** And if I did now I'm done Maybe it sounds crass But god help me I'm no good at kissin' *** I might get hell for this An You might think I'm takin' the **** But I just don't have that kinda class I just can't I can't kiss ****

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May 10, 2018

May 10, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC

Can't

Can't I can't kiss *** Must be something i ate in class Or was it mother's scalding tongue That'd scorch ya just for fun Or maybe brother's saucy mouth That'd shake ya 'til all the loot fell out No I can't kiss **** Can't figure out this stuff You might call me a brat Say I'm a loud whiskered alley cat But it could be that bull in **** Dying for just another hit Whatever it is I can't seem to kiss *** And if I did now I'm done Maybe it sounds crass But god help me I'm no good at kissin' *** I might get hell for this An You might think I'm takin' the **** But I just don't have that kinda class I just can't I can't kiss ****

25

Blubber Sometimes I get tired Of all the blubber The grinding of systems The metal to the rubber The pushing of points The singing to the choir Pickaxe in place of featherc Look there's a bird upon the wire Maybe potions going dry No thank you please And fingers going all stiff While here awaits the feast And vases laying all smashed Words sitting there all torn Lets gather the broken scraps Rearrange them and be reborn Maybe it's me and only me Closing an old and tattered page Maybe I've overstayed my welcome On an old and creaky stage Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now The crows I think they've left But the cinders upon ash Still burn bright upon this hearth Out into the clearing See it twinkling up ahead An inkling of some something Some of us have thought of and said Merlin's done it agian Con-Ed's shut down Tesla's come into power And White Bear gets his crown Oh And George Carlin is pope Shakespeare is president They both know the ropes And you what ya think? Wink, wink

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Apr 25, 2018

Apr 25, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC

Blubber

Blubber Sometimes I get tired Of all the blubber The grinding of systems The metal to the rubber The pushing of points The singing to the choir Pickaxe in place of featherc Look there's a bird upon the wire Maybe potions going dry No thank you please And fingers going all stiff While here awaits the feast And vases laying all smashed Words sitting there all torn Lets gather the broken scraps Rearrange them and be reborn Maybe it's me and only me Closing an old and tattered page Maybe I've overstayed my welcome On an old and creaky stage Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now The crows I think they've left But the cinders upon ash Still burn bright upon this hearth Out into the clearing See it twinkling up ahead An inkling of some something Some of us have thought of and said Merlin's done it agian Con-Ed's shut down Tesla's come into power And White Bear gets his crown Oh And George Carlin is pope Shakespeare is president They both know the ropes And you what ya think? Wink, wink

40

If you ask me how I am I just might tell you. If I feel like it. I might tell you that there are weeds growing willful up around the old shed, that the creepers are out of control, that there are multi-coloured ladybirds ******* at old wounds in the hollow of my heart, that acres of wild white daisies are mad with Spring in the fields but that soon they shall wilt because that's how it goes. If you ask I may tell you how I drew blood from a prickly rose I couldn't stop myself from touching and that it still hurts years later, that some short-sighted clever creatures devoured too much honey from the beehive in my back yard and died there fat and over-fed. If you ask me how I feel I might say 'fine' but don't believe a word. Fine!! If you ask me how I am, and you really want to know, then search my eyes for the spark that links souls and breathes new life into old secret hiding places we didn't know existed, down there in the gully where maggots love to linger and make silage, where tombs are built to keep dead things buried and comatose. if you ask me and I'm not saying you will, then be prepared to drop down to where lifeless things may want to come back to life. If you ask me who I am, I may say that I'm a cosmic river of luminous liquid that spares no gellyfish from their own refection, where dolphins stare speechless into the lost Polynesian deep blue of rusting wreckage. If you ask me how I am, be sure you really want to know cause if I'm in the mood, it may be a long trip and you may need a toothbrush. So if you ask me and you probably won't now, but if you do we shall sip wine of a kind for drunken lovers lush with the alchemy of bitter grapes aged and morphed into the sweet drippings of reckless angels ready to yank off another lid.

0

Apr 19, 2018

Apr 19, 2018 at 6:25 AM UTC

If You Ask

If you ask me how I am I just might tell you. If I feel like it. I might tell you that there are weeds growing willful up around the old shed, that the creepers are out of control, that there are multi-coloured ladybirds ******* at old wounds in the hollow of my heart, that acres of wild white daisies are mad with Spring in the fields but that soon they shall wilt because that's how it goes. If you ask I may tell you how I drew blood from a prickly rose I couldn't stop myself from touching and that it still hurts years later, that some short-sighted clever creatures devoured too much honey from the beehive in my back yard and died there fat and over-fed. If you ask me how I feel I might say 'fine' but don't believe a word. Fine!! If you ask me how I am, and you really want to know, then search my eyes for the spark that links souls and breathes new life into old secret hiding places we didn't know existed, down there in the gully where maggots love to linger and make silage, where tombs are built to keep dead things buried and comatose. if you ask me and I'm not saying you will, then be prepared to drop down to where lifeless things may want to come back to life. If you ask me who I am, I may say that I'm a cosmic river of luminous liquid that spares no gellyfish from their own refection, where dolphins stare speechless into the lost Polynesian deep blue of rusting wreckage. If you ask me how I am, be sure you really want to know cause if I'm in the mood, it may be a long trip and you may need a toothbrush. So if you ask me and you probably won't now, but if you do we shall sip wine of a kind for drunken lovers lush with the alchemy of bitter grapes aged and morphed into the sweet drippings of reckless angels ready to yank off another lid.

29

If George Clooney were a fisherman would Amal have taken the bait? If Angelina had been a char Brad would have given her a tip or maybe the slip and that would'a been it. If Montgomery were disguised as a *** Alice would go home when her shift was done. If your boyfriend worked down the sewer would you go all the way down for the cure? Do ya think Melania would'a said I Do if he couldn't afford his daily hair-do? Set for life or a set up for a life of strife at the house of white? Would Tiger be putting more ***** if Wood's be zipping it all the way up? How many wolves in sheep's attire get through the BS detection without as much as an ounce of rejection? How many I Love Yous slip down the loo only to end up at the other end of the grand sue? How many roses does it take to say it when you no longer can locate it? Makes ya yawn doesn't it! Still we're all chomping at the bit. Would risk it all for just one more hit, a total hissin' fit of the I Love Yous.

0

Apr 8, 2018

Apr 8, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC

I Love Yous

If George Clooney were a fisherman would Amal have taken the bait? If Angelina had been a char Brad would have given her a tip or maybe the slip and that would'a been it. If Montgomery were disguised as a *** Alice would go home when her shift was done. If your boyfriend worked down the sewer would you go all the way down for the cure? Do ya think Melania would'a said I Do if he couldn't afford his daily hair-do? Set for life or a set up for a life of strife at the house of white? Would Tiger be putting more ***** if Wood's be zipping it all the way up? How many wolves in sheep's attire get through the BS detection without as much as an ounce of rejection? How many I Love Yous slip down the loo only to end up at the other end of the grand sue? How many roses does it take to say it when you no longer can locate it? Makes ya yawn doesn't it! Still we're all chomping at the bit. Would risk it all for just one more hit, a total hissin' fit of the I Love Yous.

28