tronixton - Hello Poetry

I write. But Why? Because I must? I have to? I want to? I must, deep inside, have to want to. I want not to write because I have to, Yet I must write because I want to, Yet I write with pen, key, pad, and spacebar. I hate writing the most when I must write little, Yet I Must want to write when I want to write much. Now, when much is written, and little from me, Is it still poetry? If written for no one yet everyone, Or layered between that which is not me That which is not human That which can only see, The words themselves and translate to action. Not inspire, but cause. Where once I wrote to uplift that most complicated machine, Now I dictate to the most powerful, Yet least imaginative. Least want. Because I want to do. Writing is doing, Insofar as it is creating, But I must write. Yet I have to write. Yet after writing to the machine, I must write to myself. Both in meter and constraint, And both absolute. One must be correct, One must be perfect. One must work, One must do. I am responsible for the machine, Yet I am the writing. Thus, I must have to write. I must want to. But I must make myself Want to must have to write.

0

Apr 19, 2020

Apr 19, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC

The pen

I write. But Why? Because I must? I have to? I want to? I must, deep inside, have to want to. I want not to write because I have to, Yet I must write because I want to, Yet I write with pen, key, pad, and spacebar. I hate writing the most when I must write little, Yet I Must want to write when I want to write much. Now, when much is written, and little from me, Is it still poetry? If written for no one yet everyone, Or layered between that which is not me That which is not human That which can only see, The words themselves and translate to action. Not inspire, but cause. Where once I wrote to uplift that most complicated machine, Now I dictate to the most powerful, Yet least imaginative. Least want. Because I want to do. Writing is doing, Insofar as it is creating, But I must write. Yet I have to write. Yet after writing to the machine, I must write to myself. Both in meter and constraint, And both absolute. One must be correct, One must be perfect. One must work, One must do. I am responsible for the machine, Yet I am the writing. Thus, I must have to write. I must want to. But I must make myself Want to must have to write.

42

My quill set for the page, Yet my mind’s eye is upstaged, Betwixt them sits a wall, But here no war shall be waged, I search for beauty and pathos, Yet my aperture gathers only stone, If the barrier were to give itself kudos, For having left my page all alone But to think of the possibility, That the wall itself but not a writer, That the curvature of the laden brick, Creates a paradox of the block.

0

Mar 11, 2020

Mar 11, 2020 at 12:53 PM UTC

Writer’s Block

My quill set for the page, Yet my mind’s eye is upstaged, Betwixt them sits a wall, But here no war shall be waged, I search for beauty and pathos, Yet my aperture gathers only stone, If the barrier were to give itself kudos, For having left my page all alone But to think of the possibility, That the wall itself but not a writer, That the curvature of the laden brick, Creates a paradox of the block.

12

The battle done, Remaining combatants one, Gazing up to the gray cloak, Tailored to the palace of the moon, Threatened only by the ever-fading emissaries, Of the ailing sun. Each a perfect sentinel, Of solar prowess technical. The ceasefire teased opposite By the lunar composite, Of that sweeping cloak, Choked, Where the moon once woke. Neither one nor other, As if my breath could the life Of either titan smother.

0

Oct 10, 2019

Oct 10, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC

An Eerie Urban Night

The battle done, Remaining combatants one, Gazing up to the gray cloak, Tailored to the palace of the moon, Threatened only by the ever-fading emissaries, Of the ailing sun. Each a perfect sentinel, Of solar prowess technical. The ceasefire teased opposite By the lunar composite, Of that sweeping cloak, Choked, Where the moon once woke. Neither one nor other, As if my breath could the life Of either titan smother.

16

Honk. I flinch at the noise, Staring straight at the alloys, Of the behemoths stopping m… HOonk. Stopping me from reaching my destination. The journey that forms the foundation, Of the treadmill walking m… HoOonk. Walking me in baby steps Just so that the next, Class I take could let m… HoOoOonk Let me live my life And be free from this strife. Let me move forward instead of HoOoOo… Being stuck in traffic.

0

Sep 11, 2019

Sep 11, 2019 at 7:14 PM UTC

Rush Hour

Honk. I flinch at the noise, Staring straight at the alloys, Of the behemoths stopping m… HOonk. Stopping me from reaching my destination. The journey that forms the foundation, Of the treadmill walking m… HoOonk. Walking me in baby steps Just so that the next, Class I take could let m… HoOoOonk Let me live my life And be free from this strife. Let me move forward instead of HoOoOo… Being stuck in traffic.

18

From deep within, all of our souls begin, With unweighted steps from the shallow breaths, Of every race our young hope was to win, Against any of the James, Marys or Beths. From deep inside, we try so hard to hide All the insecurities we suppressed. In every person we hope to confide In how we are exterior obsessed, From deep inward, all the steps we have heard, From all the mentors we once could have known, Tweet just a beat louder than the blue bird. Right here is where all of our fear has grown. After passing over the peak of mirth, We sit humble again for our rebirth

0

Apr 12, 2019

Apr 12, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC

Rebirth

From deep within, all of our souls begin, With unweighted steps from the shallow breaths, Of every race our young hope was to win, Against any of the James, Marys or Beths. From deep inside, we try so hard to hide All the insecurities we suppressed. In every person we hope to confide In how we are exterior obsessed, From deep inward, all the steps we have heard, From all the mentors we once could have known, Tweet just a beat louder than the blue bird. Right here is where all of our fear has grown. After passing over the peak of mirth, We sit humble again for our rebirth

14

Free It’s a verse I’m averse to, But the walls of Whitman crash No less strongly than those waves His pen chiseled in mind. How can one find meaning And Structure, when the structure itself Is left behind? See? Polysyllabic scheme could hold Me But how can I Hold Myself to rules that cannot exist? Chess with no pieces Or Twister with no board. Completely free, Yet completely free. And more than all, How to let anyone see. With rhyme gone its just... Me Where does one move forward When the axis is so Free

0

Feb 16, 2019

Feb 16, 2019 at 12:08 PM UTC

Free

Free It’s a verse I’m averse to, But the walls of Whitman crash No less strongly than those waves His pen chiseled in mind. How can one find meaning And Structure, when the structure itself Is left behind? See? Polysyllabic scheme could hold Me But how can I Hold Myself to rules that cannot exist? Chess with no pieces Or Twister with no board. Completely free, Yet completely free. And more than all, How to let anyone see. With rhyme gone its just... Me Where does one move forward When the axis is so Free

26

Time makes the heart grow fonder, As the ropes of friendship fray, I know that thoughts will wander, Despite what good intentions say, As places remembered, Now places long forgotten, Each experience membered, By memory gone rotten With miles and miles, Between once good friends, Thousands of styles, And more wasted weekends. Despite all of a life’s resistance, I hope we all can close the distance

0

Feb 6, 2019

Feb 6, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC

Distance

Time makes the heart grow fonder, As the ropes of friendship fray, I know that thoughts will wander, Despite what good intentions say, As places remembered, Now places long forgotten, Each experience membered, By memory gone rotten With miles and miles, Between once good friends, Thousands of styles, And more wasted weekends. Despite all of a life’s resistance, I hope we all can close the distance

14

Negative B plus or minus the square root of Y are we toiling ceaselessly at a moving metric held to a key? Cant they see we long for ludicrous dreams of what has yet to be? Please feel free to cautiously calculate lives on your PC. I simply want to take an altogether frivolous jaunt Through the gaunt valley only in search of a singular croissant I wish to flaunt my flag high, over the skyscraper’s pristine font. I will taunt the authority of all of boredom’s confidants. I am inundated with risks and dangers understated To a concentrated masses that are always obligated To be unsated by the life they are designated. Translated and transcribed as numbers so shortly graduated I am terrified of the chance that I am miscalculated.

0

Jan 23, 2019

Jan 23, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC

Miscalculated

Negative B plus or minus the square root of Y are we toiling ceaselessly at a moving metric held to a key? Cant they see we long for ludicrous dreams of what has yet to be? Please feel free to cautiously calculate lives on your PC. I simply want to take an altogether frivolous jaunt Through the gaunt valley only in search of a singular croissant I wish to flaunt my flag high, over the skyscraper’s pristine font. I will taunt the authority of all of boredom’s confidants. I am inundated with risks and dangers understated To a concentrated masses that are always obligated To be unsated by the life they are designated. Translated and transcribed as numbers so shortly graduated I am terrified of the chance that I am miscalculated.

13

I wake up on a restful Saturday morning 5 DAYS 6 HOURS my phone with another wake up warning 5 DAYS 5 HOURS 45 MINUTES I settle at the table for a modest meal 5 DAYS 5 HOURS 10 MINUTES finding a ripe banana to peel 5 DAYS 5 HOURS I steady myself at my impromptu home 5 DAYS 4 HOURS 30 MINUTES the bright screen in monochrome 5 DAYS 4 HOURS the words on the page leading me astray 5 DAYS 3 HOURS as the time simply flies away 5 DAYS 2 HOURS with pen and pad I get to work 5 DAYS 2 HOURS scribbling like a listless clerk 5 DAYS 1 HOUR 30% my mental state in steep decline 5 DAYS 30 MINUTES 30% living to a deadline

0

Oct 27, 2018

Oct 27, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC

deadline

I wake up on a restful Saturday morning 5 DAYS 6 HOURS my phone with another wake up warning 5 DAYS 5 HOURS 45 MINUTES I settle at the table for a modest meal 5 DAYS 5 HOURS 10 MINUTES finding a ripe banana to peel 5 DAYS 5 HOURS I steady myself at my impromptu home 5 DAYS 4 HOURS 30 MINUTES the bright screen in monochrome 5 DAYS 4 HOURS the words on the page leading me astray 5 DAYS 3 HOURS as the time simply flies away 5 DAYS 2 HOURS with pen and pad I get to work 5 DAYS 2 HOURS scribbling like a listless clerk 5 DAYS 1 HOUR 30% my mental state in steep decline 5 DAYS 30 MINUTES 30% living to a deadline

23

Velvet shrouds my chest, or silver binds my neck Either servant like the rest, Or one who holds them at his beck, Either a King at his best, Or he who shines his deck. I admire the feel of velvet cloth, The esteem of shining silver, The markers of a life eased in sloth, Or one fought for on a sliver. A life survived on measly broth, Or foods only chefs can deliver, Either one will tell you, Which one binds them tightest, On the silver will they sell you, But it bears on them the lightest, King or servant will do, Struggling with the slightest. The only weight worse than the gavel, Is that of the satin, For news of it will travel, Even to the heights of Manhattan, For the silver will not bevel, Nor will it read you the Latin, the velvet will force you to level, With the weights you’ve tried to flatten.

0

Oct 27, 2018

Oct 27, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC

The Weight of Velvet

Velvet shrouds my chest, or silver binds my neck Either servant like the rest, Or one who holds them at his beck, Either a King at his best, Or he who shines his deck. I admire the feel of velvet cloth, The esteem of shining silver, The markers of a life eased in sloth, Or one fought for on a sliver. A life survived on measly broth, Or foods only chefs can deliver, Either one will tell you, Which one binds them tightest, On the silver will they sell you, But it bears on them the lightest, King or servant will do, Struggling with the slightest. The only weight worse than the gavel, Is that of the satin, For news of it will travel, Even to the heights of Manhattan, For the silver will not bevel, Nor will it read you the Latin, the velvet will force you to level, With the weights you’ve tried to flatten.

26