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There were black shoes, black shadows
white cuffs, white clouds
black shirt, black boards
white belt, white butterflies

You tell me, your world is black and white,
but,
I ask you,
"Is that all I saw?"
What more, my dear pessimist, you jeer,

So, I say,
Well, of course,
there were blue skies, blue scorpions
white doves, white daffodils
red roses, red blooded hooligans

You tell me, typical American -
so patriotic,
you bleed the colors you fly,
and die draped in your pride,

but I see you
in your myopia,
your dull diatribe of patriotism

I understand you

you are blind to the mind of your soul
you only see
what I tell you
you only see
what you consume
you do not see
what is between
the slats
of your window

when they shut
you do not peek

when they open,
you imagine night has turned to day
when they close
you prepare your bed for the night
despite the noonday sun
you are a prisoner of shallow waters
drowning
while ankle deep
hollering
believing no one hears you
shrieking - how the world has changed!
unaware that the shores move
in ballroom dancer rhythms
sweeping back
and forth
along the bay
because the seas are alive
but you are standing still

not even the earth
beneath your feet
is still,
despite holding your entire reality
safely,
motherly,
in the insurmountable expanse
of its grasp

Yet, should the earth shake
and rock you
should the hurricane blow
and displace you
should the mountains tumble
and smother you
should the sky open its celestial gob
and expel you
should the mother open her subterranean maw,
and swallow you deep
deep
would you, deeply, care
that the possibility of it all
was an open invitation
a sealed letter
that was never
at your behest
to open
and display its contents

I, too,
have bequeathed upon you
a sealed invitation
to the worlds I paint
with these jigsaw vignettes we call words
and all
you had to do
was open the seams

not with a file

a file to cut the purse
the bounty
of the promised speech
no
I ask you
that you but pry open my soul
with curiosity
and peer within the tattered layers of my story
my lives
unlived & overwritten
letter by letter
slip in that noodle protracted by your pineal eye
and taste the essence of the realities
you have failed to purchase
that meander about the words you,
selectively,
chose to ignore
like the milk around alphabet cereal
or the broth around alphabet soup
or the fine-grained blank spaces
the parchment
the canvas of woe
around the words that comprise
a stack of divorce papers
or an exam
or the dread of a long-awaited raise...

Imagine,
for a moment
ignoring the obvious
the letters,
the sentences and paragraphs,
the divorce papers
the exam
the pay-bump,
and just look
at the parchment - the fine-grained,
thin sheet of sophistication
touch it
taste it, maybe,
run your hand along it
the surface of it
or the edge of it
***** your finger on the corner
slice your finger on the edge
the paper has a malice that invites
your masochism
curiosity is power
but also
despair
peer deeper

turn your head about
lower it, sideways
all
the
way
down, and
press your ear,
left or right
against the parchment
the paper
the papyrus
the product
hear its screams
the CHURN-CHUG-GGGHGGHHGRRRRR!!!
that chainsaw
like a thousand hatchets
splayed out
dancing on the circumference of
a taught merry-go-round of death
cutting into the mother
the father
the child
the tree
cutting it open
that it may be cut again
again
again
tormented
pulled apart
pulverized
tenderized
pulped
poured
pushed
pressed
preened
­glossed - maybe
matte - possibly
the choice is yours
harvest the living
for the living death of your divorce
your exam
your raise
massacre those families
not just the trees
the bears, the deer, and the little fox, too!

I'm green with envy,
thinking about all that potent pulp
coming your way
the smell of it
place yourself in its abundance
the smell of industry
its factories
academies of excellence
an office
a school
a registrar, magistrate, Corporate HQ,
the Pentagon, the Taj Mahal,
Big Ben,
the daily mail of any place where
the morning paper
is LAW
and
should this be the first time
you heard the screams
just imagine being a tree
coming to pay respects to your family
smell that death
as you creep in
watch
look about you
at the carcasses
strewn about
in neat, pedantic stacks labeled, A4, A3, letter,
fax or snail mail?

My world is plenty black & white
& white & red & blue,
but it's also got screams,
and the stench,
the carcasses of the forest's children
fit for your pleasure
to tear up,
chew up,
gum up with saliva
and shoot through a straw
into the neck of a fellow butcher
and laugh
laugh and snarl and howl and cackle

Laugh
because,
you never dared to kneel down
pay reverence to the
screams
in the parchment
you let the blinds close
you dared not peek through
you let yourself rot there
in the closet
of your mind
in the dark
and when I say, I'm sad,
you say,
"That *****."
You don't ask,
what's around the sadness,
what came before and what could after,
what's in the folds of sadness,
guilt, regret, and loneliness kneaded in

no,
you look at the sadness,
the dull blue,
and you say,
"Yeah,
that's blue alright,"
then you close your coffin
and go to sleep
This poem became so much more than what I was expecting at the outset, and I love it, LOL.

Enjoy!
Cry me a river
of joy,
she said

I knew she meant it,
by the silence
by the memory of her laughter,
how she poked fun
how she rubbed me down with giggles of mirth,
bellies gyrating with angst
and rambunctious
passion

I knew it

It was not the idea
of her
that scared me,
not anymore
would I think of women
that way

What
it was
that scared me
was how I knew we'd say goodbye
and I'd be okay
for once
okay
and happy she said goodbye...

Happy we didn't shovel moats & forge keeps,
establish plans of attack & surrender
belabor, humming & hawing, over broken treaties,
over civilian casualties
the banishment of civil liberties
and the proverbial
dictatorships of,
"I'm not the problem, so, it MUST be you."

Reply with,
"Yes, it is me."
I knew it,
"I'm sorry!"
Jinx!
Not this time.

This time,
she said goodbye.
And so did I. At least, inside.
And she meant it,
and it was honest.
And so was I. A small comfort.
First of many...

Her goodbye was a kiss that could rival
daydreams
of memories that are
more remixed than the splotches of oil
on a painter's palette,
and,
more dibbled and dabbled, than ten playlists of slow jams,
in my arsenal of hopeless stratagems,
bearing the desperate subtext of,
'park your rear end
where I can't begin to ask honestly.'

Because,
honestly,
if this weren't goodbye,
I could only trade this goodbye,
for ten thousand "Hello's"
whose end and beginning are lost to the tides of status quo,
of forget me nots
and anniversaries,
and picture frames
of days where we forgot what 'goodbye' meant,
because we learned to speak the truth...

And isn't it the truth,
that goodbye,
was so much sweeter than,
I can't stand,
how much we fought for a t-shirt
that eponymously said,
"I cried over spilt milk, and all I got was this t-shirt."
because none of us know
the name of the game,
but we know we hate playing it
Sometimes, it's not meant to be.
And that's so perfect :)

Enjoy! :D
In the pasture of moonlit dreams
they sought the music and the seams
of realities caged by beams
of light hidden in a tomb of sins...

With brush
and pen
they strove
again
to awaken a long-lost friend

Humanity's aid, the devil's ruin,
a savior beyond what's worth pursuing,
for all are judged by saviors awakened
cast in iron
cage awaiting
time unwrought from plans abating
devil's deeds no longer
contemplating
their yields and wicked whims
now dating
cobwebs conjured
by idleness, hungered
schemes distorted
abandoned plunder
salvation came to the sleeping world, hence
for the devil's slothfulness made pence
duplicity broke itself in twain
devils freed and angels made
war in heavenly realms abound
demonic trickery, no longer purchase found
light shone down from truth above
o'er horizon, burgeoning sun commanded its wake
cast its sight upon the world
devils expired as does smoke unfurled
as do shadows in all-consuming light, unmade
and what became of that world then?

When the sun may set, we shall learn again...
What darkness shrouds, we forget, so too the pain,
for what the light sears, the darkness cools,
and what the light frees, the darkness feeds,
what the light starves, the darkness protects,
what the light feeds, the darkness drains,
what the darkness drains, the light protects,
what the light protects, the darkness hungers,
what the darkness hungers, the light favors,
what the light favors, the darkness despises,
what the darkness despises, the light understands,
for well made plans cannot thrive in darkness alone,
if the light should reveal the plans to be tainted
the zenith of sun shall burn the plagues of satan...
This site has been unwell for me for years.
I had been plagued by a bug that makes publishing my poems impossible.

I wrote an incredible poem a year ago, and lost it, due to this site's lack of integrity and sabotage of me. I emailed this site's creator and never got a response about recovering my poem, which was so vital to me that I made the effort, alas. In vain.

I wrote this poem back on August 19th.

It was a refreshing read. I hope to experience many more healing readings, and writings, like this one has been for me today.
Lo,
they hailed him
sweet in the fervor
trumpets murmur
triumph's pleasure
at
last
he said
the day is done
and judgment falls
upon the crown
that bore the sin
that bore their sin
that bore our sin
and cast it within
into the depths
of the hungry well
to drown in hell
to drown in hell
the sins they went
ne'er to return
and shut the well
amen,
the well

Lo,
they bid him molten praise
cast iron for his head
a new crown to wed
a new crown instead
for sin was cast away
into the well
into its hell
for sin is the devil
who tried and was not true
whose face was blue with envy
whose pride was green with shame,
and sin did waltz inside
like a prideful man to the gallows
for he takes his death with gladness
for his toils shall be put to rest
for his evils shall ne'er live again,
into the well, as well...
into its hell, do tell.

I saw the sins of man
become a squawking heron,
that claimed the bounds of heaven
and swallowed its own hubris instead
for heaven's beauty was a gift
so humbling
such bliss
the heron blazed with hellfire
and the hellfire was no more,
for there
a sun had shone
as if it never left
but the well did not know the sun,
and hell did not as well,
the sins and gallows hence
married their supper of crows
for carrion were they to themselves
manifold in its selfsame misery,
for misery sates misery,
and wrath sates wrath,
and pride sates pride,
and envy sates envy,
and lust sates lust,
and gluttony sates gluttony,
and greed sates greed,
but nothing sates the sun,
nothing sates the sun,
for the sun is sated of Himself,
for He eats of his own being,
to create for all creation,
infinitely into infinity,
the infinity of the sun,
for the sun is pure, and potent,
the sun is light, and grace,
the sun is mercy, and love,
the sun is forgiveness, and truth,
and these are the gifts of the sun to all.

These are the gifts of God by the sun.
And may it shine forever.
May the sun bless us all.
Nuff said...
Amen

Stay tuned for the sequel that "mayhaps" comes,
"Laundry Day." ;)
Oct 2022 · 2.6k
Predator...
Prowling,
like a wolf
on the periphery of the unknown
betwixt knowledge and dread
I saw the dark truth
I felt the gulf
the waste
the expanse
the difference in power
the taste of defeat
the vice grip of the inevitable
the long, slow bleed of my dignity
flowing out
with the gold of my entrails
eviscerated by my pride
how I dared to topple the monolithic,
undeniable truth
that there is always
a better you
a better me
a better us, out there
stronger
bigger
faster
smarter
more hung
more fashionable
more handsome, more beautiful, more androgynous
more capable
more accomplished
more patient
more... loving
more empathetic
they know more random facts
they've been more places
they've known more people
they've seen more sunrises
they've counted every moon
their worst is better than your best day
he cares for her more deeply than you did
she loves that
she's forgotten you
he tells her what he never told you
and she loves him for that
you were always afraid to find out
they never invite you because you're not fun
what a downer
what a bore
there's always that one person
upon whom your envy is never sated
they lope in moonlight
flowing locks of grace
teeth bared in a frightful grin
they know all your cards
they can play you like a fiddle
they're out there
where you fear to go
the apex predator
the person you'll never be
but dream you could
and dreams are all you'll have...
I'm a competitive person, by nature.

And this poem came to me as I realized, one night while gaming, that I'd never be the best at anything. I felt a sense of futility about any pride I've ever managed to feel concerning an accomplishment of mine.

I watched myself, small, in a sort of third-person view, question why it was I have ever striven for anything, when I continually run into my betters.

It was a scary realization. But, I believe, it's ever more scary when you have no powerful allies in the world, or when, even your allies fear the world at large, and you're all united in fear. It's a condition that humility fails to pacify.

A deep dread. A paralysis of hope.

Enjoy!

DEW
Oct 2022 · 2.9k
Folds Of Your Flower...
I imagine you
ever blooming
ever radiant
ne'er had you budded
nor will you wilt
poise pristine
artful to the letter
my memories of you
shall ne'er
idle in memoriam
they are
crisp and clear as daybreak
the sight of you breaks me open
not the raging flow of magma
nor the rushing of a river
neither the shooting of a star
ne'er the passing of time itself
what flows from me is pure
as it must be to be worthy
of your charm and wit and passion
my veins pulse with imbibed inspiration
I drink you in like forests drink the universe
slow and gentle
patient and careful
deep thirsts masked by soft touch
lust of your form masked by song
for your beauty is lyric personified
you are desire's orchestra
a tempest of pleasure
a monolith of midnight
towering with grace
casting shadows that embrace
long, oh, long I wait
in the dark
of the folds of your flower
caressed by your mercy
your silken petals soothe me
as I dream
as I pine
for a taste sure to be sweeter
than the bitter chaste of loneliness...
Written as an ode to an holistically beautiful woman.
This was a joy to write.

Enjoy!


DEW
Oct 2022 · 2.1k
Sequins Of Delusion...
After all
there was so much to hate
and no one cared
for what there was to love
the least of whom
was himself
and that
was why he drove the cleaver
THWACK
into the wood
right between his fingers
between yes or no
between bedlam and smug satisfaction
knowing he'd missed the mark
on a whim
though
should he have succeeded
he would go on a broken man
no
not because of the mutilated hand
but because of what he would do to himself
should he have abandoned himself
indeed
his tattered body
paled in reflection
to the cavity in his soul
where worlds of dreams had gone to die
and he had pleasure in their deaths
how he marched them on
the dreams
pied piper was he
to the vast
incalculable
sums of fantasy and waylaid plans
beneath him
his scales
his snout and snarl
his wings
a dragon
on a hoard of promised treasures
sure to be expelled
due the ravaging of time
due delinquency and self-wrought disaster
he was an effigy
to the great power of humanity
fallen in grace
subdued by cancerous desires
and poisoned
by fool's love
a rusted bounty
of sham hearts
open and willing
willing his demise
but he loved it
the attention
the destruction
for as it were poured upon him
in him
through him
about him
a pool of toxic ichor
his price for the abuse
was the sacking of the world
the decay of humanity
as they tortured him
they wounded themselves
ever deeper
salt in his wound
was salt in their eyes
rot fed to his belly
became rot in their souls
but they could not stop
they daren't
for they feared his power
they feared
his penchant to rule them
to lay waste to their weakness
mold them
guide them
command them
they feared losing
all their closely coveted lies
that dangled
like snow sequins
about their shivering
cadaverous bodies
malnourished
wanting for respite
from the cold
of their inimical
and unforgiving
reality
from which
escape
is a closed book
empty save for a warning
that what goes up
will surely fall
but what goes down
into the depths of hell
truth itself
where the ****** break upon their wickedness
shall salvation ring in the deep
and awake the beast
who rises to mount the peaks
another dragon
born for battle
destined to be pillaged of its cantankerous wealth
how
it gorged on humanity
letting them wear sequins on their bodies
rather than glory
verve for life
satisfaction in the passing of time
and joy in knowing the coming of the inevitable
they feared to be free
for the cage
they thought
fueled their spirits
but it was a charlatan's ruse
smoke and mirrors
hiding the puppet strings
clouding their judgment
obscuring the ability
to see that He was their shepherd
the pastor of their flock
and with him
all doors would be opened
all minds would be free
all bodies would be whole
and no blood
would be spilt
forever
and on into the waking
of eternity...
This poem hits so deep for me.
It came out of some incredibly deep subconscious musing.
The night after I wrote this was incredible. I had an intense and revelatory lucid dream that left me spellbound, empowered, and I was left not wanting of anything for a full week, which is unlike me as I'm usually thirsting for all kinds of experiences that I can't or wont have.

Anyway, I hope this poem brought something to you.
I hope it awakened something in you, as it did for me.

Enjoy!


DEW
Sep 2022 · 1.7k
Love's Eclipse...
Were you to ask it
query it
seek it
the answer to my heart
is there shade on the eve of love
indeed, there is
a shade like mountain's umbra
a gloom cast from the deep
a shadow that cloisters
clutches
croons in one's ear
sorrow of the like one wishes experience only once
if at all

There is a time to be glad,
but not on this eve...

Today, we experience love's eclipse
a respite from charm and wonder
a delay of inevitable passion
a somber
slow
seething
slump
into a chasm of finite eternity
where seconds last years
and moments are lifetimes
but not cherished times
not a calm before the storm
it is despair before victory
the long sigh of anticipation
as one is disemboweled
waiting for death's promise
a metaphorical death of
all our hopes and dreams
as the queen of night
suffocates our sun on high
we dream a waking nightmare
but know
it only lasts the night

And suddenly
like the snapping of a finger
it appears
not sound
but light
a pinprick
and
though small
it envelopes one's whole mind
a shard of light
like a rope of hope
penetrating your soul
you know it
the eclipse draws to an end

A sliver of its radiant face
the sun peeks round the corner of doom
smiling wanly at first
but as the eclipse abates
you know the warmth
the curling of fingers around fingers
eyes connected
you see them
as if having waited centuries to see them, despite it being first sight
embracing, you are taken adrift
into a flight so free that wings are an inconvenience
arm in arm with your lover
you cascade out into reality
up and down and down and up
the eclipse is no more
love is free
a breeze so firm and sweet that
your lungs feel brand new
your chest swells with pride
you're found
and you have found
together,
you and your lover,
ascend heaven's heights
and dream of eclipses no more

Bound in freedom
free in mind and soul
hearts as one
under the sun
despair
no longer takes its toll...
I recently helped someone grow past a particularly frustrating relationship experience they were having, with nothing but my perspective and some advice. They were moved to tears as they were able to recognize their faults and strategize a way to grow closer to their partner.

And with that, I felt inspired to write this poem about how, sometimes, life looks darkest before sunrise.

I hope this poem was able to move you.

Enjoy!


DEW
Sep 2022 · 2.1k
Return To Sender...
Tasting the cold rain
of her lullaby dreamscape
I floated through
her open streets
like open veins
where we carried out
our transfusion of love
such was
the umbilical cord of trust between us
such was
a long night's passions
not a drop wasted
she swallowed
the waters that were spilt in open corridors
rivers wide and winter white
ever fluid as they wound their way
into her dreamscape
spinning webs of reality from potential
and on nights
like this
I dream of who would have become if she loved me
but she dared not
and the cobwebs never spooled again
never cast their wide net
out into the hungry world
where babes go to die and ne'er do wells
eat breakfasts with smiles
I waited for her
and she never came
it was then I knew the brutal cruelty of the world
how
promises age
like foul eggs
wherein one thinks oneself soon to be fed
cracks open the vault of life
and goes mad
from the sight of the bitter truth
that all men die of heartache
long before their bodies give out
long before they never heard "I love you"
from tongues not forked
and lips not peppered
with the winter wonders
of myriad men
to whom love was also promised
and never made manifest
A sad poem to end a good day that somehow ended sadly :)

Life is funny sometimes, LOL.

Enjoy,



DEW
Aug 2022 · 2.5k
The Gleam of the Deep...
I told her reality is a lie
reality is a lie
there are cowboys and aliens
making music in the sky
robots and dinosaurs
dancing in the jungle
monsters and angels
playing checkers in the chimney

Don't bother them and their whimsy, she said
I'm what's real
like the illusory cold of steel
or the bellyful of a meal
I cook and I clean for you
I laugh and I sing for you
I hold and I cry for you
I feel no shame that I'd die for you
but you're far off in the aether
tempting ruin from fool's gold gods
and I ponder how long I should wait for you
to come down from the heights you have scaled

The heights scaled me, my darling, I uttered
they came creeping in the night
alighting me to the depths of hell
where the ****** weep with fright
they call out for mercy, I swear
and I do not lift a finger
for I am a mortal
only armed with prayer
It's best you leave me be
I will plan their great escape
for if anyone deserves no freedom
it is I
'tis I...

But she never left, did she
she clamored on for hope
that I'd be the man I was
that I'd not be tempted by the rope
I watched her smile grow dull
her eyes' glow became glassy
her encouragements lost pep
her savor for life lost flavor
and the gods grew quiet...
the fairies fluttered away
the aliens and monsters disappeared
guilt began to choke my spirit

Darling, I said, sweet thing
your smile wanes softer than the moon
what can I get for you,
a lilt? a tune?
She sighed and shook her head
"Your dreams await, my love."
I was shocked to hear the utterance
the defeat that marred her voice
I hugged her deeply, as if to stop her falling
lo, her spirit had ebbed into despair
frightfully, I told her, "I shant dream again."
But you always dream, she said, it wouldn't hurt to dream once more
Oh but it does hurt, I whispered, it hurts that you hurt for me
The ****** still call, do they not?
Your one voice drowns them out
What of the aliens and their schemes?
I will make plans for you, say the word
What of the cowboys and their adventures?
You are my adventure, my freedom, my home
I don't know, you'll be dreaming tomorrow, I must prepare the bed
I'll prepare it with you - you and I will make love tonight

After so long, will you have the stones?

I will be the mountain you're astride
stones enough for cobbled streets
stones enough for churches and keeps
I tell you darling, I am through
no dreaming, no sleeping, no games
I will lay you down tonight
until you say my name!

And the morrows were ever sweeter
the days skipped by with grace
no longer brooding over the dead
it was life that I laid claim to
my love, she held me tight like never before
cooing like a nested bird at the highest tree
she turns to me, says, "I have something to show you."
She leads me to the door and opens
but it was then that the doorway warped
a darkness suffused the entry
a darkness deeper than the cosmos beyond the sky
and in a that darkness, a gleam...
I reached out to touch, with my love grasping my hand
the gleam became a roaring light
and from it, the king of darkness himself

You were to be a hero, he claimed, a champion for them all
but here you stand at the threshold
here, you fight you last battle
I heard your cries to the hells
your pining for their salvation
I heard them cry for you
I heard them sing for freedom
it tickled me, their futility
until I realized, it had never been done before
for someone to light hell to a chorus
for them to weep no longer,
for them to hope
I've come to you with an offer
we shall see what you are made of
what can you offer for their freedom
what thing of value can replace my coveted ******?

I gulped, not sure what to say
was I dreaming again? Surely not!
But my darling was seeing this, too
this was not a dream at all!

All I ever had to offer, was myself, I said

And will you make that offer?

My grip on her hand loosened against my will
against my better judgment, I yearned to shake his hand
to make the deal
to save their souls
but I knew, or at least I was learning
things could never be that simple...

After me, I said, shall there be more souls to claim?

Always as the sun rises and sets
there is reaping, bills to collect
the debt of sin is final, and punishment is due
punishment for them
punishment for you

Can I have your assurance
that you will not take more souls after me?
I require your agreement
your acceptance of my plea

The king of darkness smiled a vast, soulless grin
Unless you make their decisions for them, you cannot change their fates
But you would give them a chance
a glimmer of opportunity to right their courses

Something else was nagging at me
Why, after all this time, was he here?
To make a simple offer?
My soul for the ******?
The offer made no sense
if I truly were ******, my soul would be worth less than any of theirs
I began to catch on to the ploy
I began to live the game

I don't believe my soul is worth the souls of hell...

Ah, a change of heart

No, I just don't believe the scale is balanced - my soul has the scale tipped

You jest

Don't tell me you can't afford my soul...

Wha- well how much then? I'd have to wait for new batches

I don't think you're up for bargaining

I can offer you a hundred years more worth of souls

You wouldn't come here for a soul worth so little - that's a sad offer

A thousand years more worth, it's a bargain!

I don't come so cheap, that's pathetic...

How much then, how much!

All the souls... of all time

Do you mean hell to be some kind of revolving door? No. Absolutely not. Actions have consequences, and the ultimate consequence is hell - that's fair.

Fair? Fair for billions of people to live lives of suffering, emptiness, and defeat, and sure, fail at it, cause catastrophe maybe, but ultimately all for the chance to live, only for all that striving, and all the weight of that suffering, to land them in a pit for eternity, experiencing a suffering unlike anything they'd ever imagined?
Fair? You have no idea what's fair and your bogus offers are indicative of that.

I felt her grip my hand tight. I held just as firm.

The king looked shocked, so... that's a no then.

Did you hear anything I said?

I heard, and if you have some means to change how the universe works, I suggest you start working, because I have work of my own to do.

That's it then?

Indeed.

With that, the king of darkness melted into the black, disappearing from sight, along with the dark portal. Suddenly, light burst from the now open doorway, revealing the green pastures beyond.

You saw all that?

She nodded. You dreams weren't for nothing, then?

I guess not. I breathed a sigh of relief. You had something to show me?

I absolutely forgot with everything that just happened. Are... are we dreaming?

I looked around, smiling. Everything is real, I said.

She smiled back, and let me out into the world where I had not ventured in years.

The first steps were trouble. My joints ached. The sky was too bright. But as we strode, it got easier. I began to enjoy it. She led me far, until I almost didn't recognize where we were. Up a steep hill with trees and shrubbery covering its expanse.

At the top, a small clearing, within which a tall tree stood. We rounded it, and she pointed at something, "Remember?"

I nodded, I can't believe we haven't been here since we were kids.

You're the one that brought me here the first time.

I forgot this place existed

This used to be your favorite spot

Things changed. We changed.

Change doesn't have to end life. It could be the beginning.

I hugged her. It could, I said.

What she'd pointed at was a carving of our faces I'd made in the trunk of the tree when I first began dreaming of the future. She was my dream. My first dream. Sad to see how I'd taken her for granted.

I want to help you, she said. I want to dream with you.

The dreams won't change anything anymore, I said, we have our answer. I want to start changing the world... will you help me with that?

She nodded.

I dreamed, I said, because I was suffering. I dreamed because I wanted an answer. Instead, the dreaming brought me into the darkness, and I couldn't escape. But with your help, I did.
Now, we take everyone else out of the darkness. We help them build a world where dreams are filled with love, not death.

I like that, she said.

We kissed. We climbed the tree to a good, thick branch and sat watching the sun sink into the horizon.

I thanked the heavens for my life, and, as I watched the sunset, sang to myself, at first in my head, then with my voice, and she joined in,
"Reality is alive,
reality is alive."
I honestly don't know where this poem came from but I love it, and how it turned more into prose by the end, in theme with the poem itself.

I've suffered a lot in life, mostly in my own head. And it's easy to forget how life's worth living when I step out of my fear and into love.

I hope this poem gave you something to think about or hold on to.

Enjoy!

DEW
Aug 2022 · 1.5k
The Paradox of Power...
She had the poison in her veins
I was trying to **** it out
vampire doctor
trying to tough it out
radio blunt in my mouth
receiving the truth of the devil
thought I was a running man
till I bottomed out on the level
where accidents happen
reality clappin'
praising my downfall
she's got the poison in her soul
and I'm the cobra of the year...

Strange how rain falls
like time passes
ones and zeros
stained glass of our past
rosier than we remember
darker than September
wish I could go back
wish memory were dead
marching on like ants on a hill
my will, and it's not steel
my passion for tragedy
has a fixation on old mills
spinning in circles
I'm caught in the drain
funnel of mayhem
funnel of *******
high on life, we chase the goals of the dope game
higher and higher
expecting our lives will all change
I question the Lord
more than I question myself
That's why I'm lost
cause you can't question the Law's land
purpose is powerful
peace is potent
patience is placid
power is purposeful
you can run around and question the question the question the question
but have the integrity to answer and you're adorned with blessings
high towers fall in the storms of change
tranquility is denial of the form of truth
acceptance of truth's realities transforms us

I taste it
the elixir of the problem of war
power is an addiction
addiction is a cage
to be free, we require power
to break addiction's vice grip
so you see the conundrum
a paradoxical illusion
it is placing our faith in the infinite that we grow
loose the bonds of human decay and sow what God sows
my belief is in the wisdom of man to choose divinity
those who choose death
are the eternal
wicked
enemy
wasting the fortunes
that we will harvest in the times to come
when humanity is free
to love
and love as one.
A bit of stream of consciousness here, but I enjoyed it.
Might record it for TikTok, but I need a good backing track.

Enjoy!

DEW
Jul 2022 · 1.9k
What's Left...
I romanticize humanity until what's left isn't even human.

I cook up fallacies about legal aliens and add a dash of cumin.

Your chef tosses salads in the pasta section of the grocery store.

Devil's just as confused, with a ***** and an apology at heaven's door.


You don't know, and no one cares where eggs go when they die.

Godzilla thinks of a car full of clowns like you would a sardine pie.

What happens when an elephant gets alzheimer's and loses keys?

Does the paradox consume an entire circus of trapeze-act-fleas?


I ruin birthday cakes by blowing off the frosting instead of the flames.

How I do that? Count backwards from backwards and say my names.

Bittersweet love anthems pollute the brains of conscientious dames.

Heavy metal doesn't pollute, it pacifies rage quitting from soul-******* games.


Out of the woodwork comes a limp ***** that would work,

Long hours only to find he'd pay millions for a Miley Cyrus twerk,

Which is worth about as much as an all-female circle ****,

Unless you add strap-ons, so strap in and lap up the knee-****-smirk.


It is unwise to handle scissors when one is being cutting-edge,

Because your accountants will dangle themselves off of a three-storey ledge,

When you cut up the ledgers and make light of, that is, burn, the evidence of pledge,

To the monkeys in your think-tank mailing feces to the upstart farmer's hedge.


Now I know you're sick of rhyming and of poems and of liver culling whisky,

But I must inform you of a pirate's missing eye, I've bought sight of something risky,

I implore that when this song and dance is done, you'll assuredly miss me,

Because I've told you everything about depravity, hence forth you must kiss me.


Beacons of hope shine much like cantankerous silver in the moonlight.

If you're a werewolf that will fill you with hope and with immeasurable fright.

One day the world will admit that I'm awesome and impoverished to boot,

Because when the song and dance is done, what's left is just an ounce of loot.
Another poem from my vault that I forgot about.
I wrote this poem today, July 20th, of 2015.
Reading this, I was astounded by the wordplay I employed.
There are certain things I've forgotten how to do poetically.

My poems now are more thoughtful, story-oriented, and laced with meaning.
This poem up here is pure play - wordplay, poeticism, rhyme, contrast, shock, mayhem, chaos. When I wrote poems like this, unknowingly, I did my best to dance around meaning. I played with it. Gave my readers just a taste of meaning as I, with comedy, made a spectacle of words.

I loved playing with words to full effect at the time. I was going through a lot of psychic pain. My illness was rampant. Writing helped ease the pain immensely and gave me joy.

I hope this little poem made you laugh as it did me :)

Enjoy!

DEW
Jun 2022 · 1.7k
The Raised Hairs Of Lions...
Give me the sea and I'll drink it
all of it
Give me the sky and I'll blot it out
cut it out
leave the gaping earth barren of its liquid dressing
and leave the sky naked of its blue face
there is no compare
that is
not to say you are not enough for me
not at all
it is to say you are more than I could have desired
more
than I could have dreamed
and I do not tire of you
not in my darkest moments
when I'm stretched thin
and there is no longer
a devil-may-care draped about my addled mind
when my patience snaps
when my jaw clamps
my eyes droop
my brain thumps against my skull
not even then
with the last vestiges of civility held in grasp
not even then can I think to lash out at you
not even when you poke
or ****
plod about my sensibilities
maim my sensitivities
not even then
not even when you roll your eyes
give me that long 'hmmmm - really...'
I don't give in to the nagging,
nigh satisfying itch to shake with rage
and curse everything that stems from the womb
I am cool as a cucumber
placid as a windless lake
I roll my shoulders
flutter my eyelashes
look you up and down
say,
'My... my... tired aren't you?'
Your shoulders slump
Your efforts to topple me abate
You nod your head
curl up on my lap
isn't it
funny
how comforted we become
when we are offered solace
in exchange for an argument
that neither of us
would win?
The first line came to me and I thought it was so funny.
So I wrote out a poem for it and I hope you like it as much as I did writing it.

Enjoy!

DEW
Apr 2022 · 1.3k
Great Lord Marra...
In a quiet inn
         in an aching world
there was a boy with mind
body and strength
he had the talent
the unyielding bent
to wield his power
to unrelent
he was sometimes cruel
he was often sweet
he was sometimes gentle
his word carried heat
people loved him so
his poise and candor
his mind was a joy
his work was pure splendor

he was asked
         from time to time
if you could lead us
with your mind sublime
what would you do
where would we go?
         beyond, he'd say,
to the stars and depths
to the moons and mountains
to the planets and systems
how long,
         they'd say,
would you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore."

his rise was swift
his patience deep
to the destitute, favor
to the broken, weep
his gifts were vast
his counsel practical
his word was bond
and ever magical
he trounced the greedy
imprisoned the malicious
righted all the wrongs
seldom vicious
and before long
his rule was secured
a man of justice and principle
tenets of cure
how long,
         they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore!"
we wish it so!


trouble gradually
like bubbles passively
breaking the surface
of his grand design
officials profited
underclass maligned
body for profit
"all are mine"
there was danger in the air
ripples in the well
poison in the minds
infirmity with no care
and sickness took hold
people lost their hope
they questioned Great Lord Marra,
how long,
          they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
          "A thousand years and a thousand more
          don't ask me again
          or there will be
          more..."

Chaos in the streets
desenters rounded
deserters uprooted
populace cowered
education
to the masses
knowledge of rights and potential
traded for respect of rule and power
hour by hour
day by day
toil was spilt
for the grand design
the work of tyranny
is cruel and violent
so was Grand Lord Marra
never certain
never quiet
         he would ask of his subjects,
         how long shall I rule?
they'd say,
         "A thousand years! A thousand years!"
"Never forget it!"
         we shant, our lord

Whispers arose
of a new power rising
someone true
someone firm
someone compassionate
someone alight
he roused the dreams in the soul
he broke the chains in the heart
he walked the roads that were barred
he climbed the mountain forbade
and slowly people turned to him
away from Grand Lord Marra
and that tyrannical father felt it
he felt the waning of his power

Like a dragon in the bowels
of our precious, sacred, love
Marra tightened around that
which the people ever adored
the grand design of toil
the great work of tyranny
the state paid for with blood
that whose edifice was a crypt for the innocent
and that someone who was hero
stepped up to that edifice
with chisel, hammer, pen, and passion,
he carved away that
which held the malice within
he let out all
of the death and destruction
that Grand Lord Marra
had caged in the people
the world played with their shadows
that had been nailed to the edifice and its steeple
and in time they shook free
of Grand Lord Marra's tyranny
for when they learned their freedom once more
the old lord looked old and feeble
not a thousand years
       nor a thousand years more
               nor a thousand years hence
                        and nevermore
just 66 years
it took to break free
of Grand Lord Marra
and his projected
infirmities

The illness left them all
         breaths of relief swept the nation
and the hero who had come
         was crowned the king of freedom
and he taught all who followed
how to wield the power he knew
how to be free as well
and every dragon of delusion slew
        peace would not reign forever
        new chaos would come
stronger than the last
        strong as the world and its evolving sun
but in this age, there was peace
        joy like never before
                 and our hero's name was remembered
evermore
evermore
        he did not live a thousand years
but his stories certainly lived longer
in the hearts of the people
in the hearts that were won

Yet a strange thing occurred
       sure as night conquers day
Grand Marra's visions of the future
       did not decay
                 they became the bedrock
of future design
        for light rests on darkness
the grand design
        two sides of the coin
yours
and mine

darkness for foundation
        light for revealing its depth
pathway into the future
        left and right steps...
Thank you for reading!!!
This was fun to write :)
I hope you enjoyed!

DEW
Apr 2022 · 2.2k
Winds of Victory...
Tempests may surround
in the worst of times
a storm to level ships
capsize friend and foe alike
waves that change not just lives
but memory
how tragedy frames our desires
as need, rather than options
as love, rather than responsibility
how the quilt of phoenix feathers
that we oft cover us for slumber
molts as we shed our tears
molts as we age through life
and though times do change
and shadows creep beneath the door frame
still we hear the voice whisper,

"The winds of victory are soon to come."

Memories are trinkets we trade for action
we trade for purpose
we trade for comfort
Efforts spent crafting the perfect memories
catch up to our imaginations over time
Snapshots we thought were sublime
Calamities we shut the door upon
In the kaleidoscope of reality
we can see their colors change
what was treasured becomes tattered with use
what was feared becomes power over abuse
As we build our lives from ashes
no longer need for phoenix feathers
as we shatter walls of illusion
fact from fiction
truth from delusion
we come to hear the voice command,

"The winds of victory are soon to come."

And there is a tumult in the cupboards
under the floorboards
in the rafters
an aching shout of protest
a rapping upon the windows of the soul
a look, in the eyes, of horror
a clinging on to the raft of hope
a desperate jump to the cliff of salvation
a plunging fall into starvation
a rushing flight into the arms of the past
a stepping back from its cold clutches
a fervent climbing of the mast
looking out to the distant horizon
seeing how light is carved from darkness
knowing how you were made this way
and that your limitations
are at the mercy of your love
walking forward, proudly saying,

"The winds of victory are here at last!"

And how the winds whirl about you
as you dance in the curls and twists
walking upon the waves of anguish
waves of guilt, love, and praise,
to know they all complete you
and that the storm is who you are
you build the foundations
that will prepare you
for becoming
a guiding star
that leads your loved ones to the noble place
where your dreams would lead you thus far
a place of healing
a place of trust
a place we all know is here
within.
To my friend, Amanda, on her birthday.
May this and every day be one of joy or little victories amidst the struggle of life.
Keep fighting your battles with your heart to guide your journey and your mind to light the way.

Much love,

DEW
Mar 2022 · 1.3k
The Name of Time...
Leaves fell
amidst snow's descent
Leaves grew
under sun's ascent
Times changed
and memories faded
Times changed
and I grew jaded

I was always concerned
am I left behind
will I yet grow more
is the deadline due
when will she get here
I am so **** late
I am so fed up
there's so much on my plate

I blew a fuse
my bell was rung
my clock ran out
there loads the gun
but before I go
I ask of time
what is your name
what have I done?

A gentle touch
an eve of peace
a staircase looms
a wreath of fleece
adorns me now
I make a vow
to see what waits
'pon yonder bow
it held my hand
and took me hence
to arid peak
to distant land
and there I saw them
low and weary
stooping dreary
sorrowed
teary

I said can't they see!
They need but wait
for their sorrows will end
by time it will be sate
and satan's hold
his clutch will loose
they shall be free
like airborne goose
but I saw myself then
like roast on the table
Thanksgiving dinner
feast for the sinner
of course they're broken
of course they don't know
because time waits for no man
man waits for time...

Another journey
to far-flung ages
where machines roam free
and lords are sages
people commune
in a peace distilled
from forgotten wars
from absence of pills
I saw them congregate
like ants in a colony
working in unison
for each other's grace
and there was a feeling
like waking from dreaming
how timeless it all was
where peace was manifest

But just like that
I was pulled from the panacea
from the vision of victory
from the dawn of destiny
a saw pain as prophecy
I saw pleasure as peasantry
I saw passion as poetry
I saw power as illusion
I saw my struggles as choice
I saw my misery as vice
I saw my vices as voices
voting down my ambitions
undermining my plans
I then strove for strength
I then fought for freedom
I then stood for salvation
I found the purpose I'd always run from
and it was then
that I heard the voice of time

It said you are my name
and you shall wait no longer
for you wait for no man
you are man no more
you are an agent of change
and the future is yours!
I'll just leave it there.
Felt some peace from that write.
I hope you all felt it, too.

Enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2022 · 1.3k
Picture Frame in Reverse...
The snapshot of our reality
was instant
was pure
it existed before our time
before we were ever sure

Magnetic was the bonding
snapping together like opposites
negative and positive meeting
where forces find the neutral
you and I were there
where brotherhood is beautiful

But my negative was a poison
an acid in the well
slowly unwinding
the potency of the spell

I watched the picture fading
like a manuscript lost to time
that which was made by God
corrupted by insanity's rhyme
there was a cyclical note
in the air of the night
when truths became daggers
and lies flickered alight

I was patient
I was penitent
my prayers were true and real
but our friendship was cut down
like prey under blades of steel
I saw my past catch up
like wolves in the dark
devouring what we'd created
disemboweled by matters of the heart

Who can cure these ailments
that live beyond the soul
while it watches the tumult below
hearts fighting in lieu of the goal
I was there on the battlefield
I watched the future fade to black
all I wanted was the love
that could bring my will to fight back

Brother can be lost in the world
they can spill the blood they share
they can get lost in the moment
and spite the fates that brought them there
it's hard to create family
but so easy to break it
because that which truly matters
is fragile, vulnerable, naked

We protect our love by how we lead our lives
with integrity, compassion, and virtue
so that in the moments life gets hard
we fall back not on the things that hurt us
but on the bonds that gave us life
that gave us the will to carry on
Mar 2022 · 1.0k
Waters of Life...
By the stream, they sang
as the waters of life flowed
and what grew by the waters?

I ask myself this question daily.
Rancid gutters, stench of rotting responsibility
passing problems forward
generation by generation
until the backs of our grandchildren
snap under the weight.

Just look at us now
buckling
faltering
searching for truth for healing for salvation
like every generation before
and I must ask myself
where are the waters of life
and what songs would I sing were I to drink them?

I believe it in my heart
that our song would be every moment
a chorus of peace
a chorus of love
looking into each other's eyes
no hint of displeasure or bitterness
haunting memories looming no more
forgiveness a currency of champions, we
and I cannot shake the mirth of it
almost oppressive - the laughter
I drown in it
aching at the sides
at first wondering, "What's in this water?!"
Then making it my daily drink - liquor forgotten
My daily bread the love of those around
and my gift to them the same.

Such a dream.
Lying back, sorrow at the sheer distance of that vision,
I stare into the ceiling
watching the cobwebs flutter
the waning daylight calls me to rest my eyes
bury my day's burdens
give control over to the weightless, mindless veil of sleep...
yet I lay awake all night
fearing sleep
because the beauty of that dream still clung to my soul
and should I have slept
the dream would die
and my grandchildren would have nothing
but this crumbling world we're building
while they'd wonder if I ever dreamt.

They'd wonder if I were ever free.

I did dream. I did hope to be free.
I will make this dream a reality.
I will find the waters of life.
I will share it with you.
Even if it were just a drop,
it would be ours.
You, me, and everyone,
for a drop of life is worth worlds of love.
Found this in my drafts written since February last year (2021).
I'm surprised it was there, I completely forgot I wrote this! LOL
Honestly, what in the world, haha.

Enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2022 · 227
Scars in the River...
Don't say it, I warned, I professed
Don't say
the tears of a woman
weigh more
than the tears of a man
I wouldn't dare, she said
for even though my tears could crush scales
their load could plant ten oxen in the dirt
capsize ships
they also carry the joy
that you are by my side
and your tears
bellow with the fear
that you are alone

I nodded
she understood

She rested her head on my shoulder
a weight that pleased me
a gesture that eased my heart
tell me, she said
about the scars in the river

I didn't know what she meant
a river with scars
what bled from it
water does not bleed
I told her this
she said
if water does not bleed
men do not cry
I said, men do cry
she said, then water does bleed
I ask, what does water bleed
everything breaks, she said
everything is made of finer things
fine things in men break, I said
who breaks them, she asked
women do, I said
did I break you, she asked
not yet, I sighed, not yet
and she then wished in her heart
that that would never yet be so

I wondered from then on
even after she broke me
even after I forgot her face
what are the scars in the river
what does water bleed

Then
on a day when the sun baked the earth
when thirst drove one to madness for water
when children dove in the lake
dogs panted cross-armed beside steaming asphalt
just to feel the windrush of the cars
people, blasting air-conditioning, counted their blessings
people, sweat sogging their ragged clothes, counted their woes
and I watched the sea give of itself to the sky
water evaporated heavenward
and I said to myself,
ahh - water does bleed

In the days that followed
the bleeding of the rivers, lakes, ocean, and people,
I watched the heavens weep terribly
like a mother in despair over her dead child
and I saw people drink of the sky
dance in the weeping
laugh - laugh to crying if they must
laugh for exultation of life and love
dance and roll and frolic in the richness of the land
and I asked myself
having seen the bleeding of the river
Is this the bleeding of the sky

Winter came slow
like death, we expected it
yet dreaded its presence when it arrived
how the snow choked the life out of the land
and we clamored in fear of the world without
We clung to one another
clung in ways I never knew in summer
intimate like a scarf around the neck
she and I snuggled in the sheets
no fear of sweat
no
sweat was desired
water was desired in every way
to break the spell of the arid air
she and I danced the way
only two bodies could
when connected like child to mother
she was connected to me
I was the nourisher
I was the farmer in the field
in her fields
in the fields of the future
generations could be sown and grown
and yet
they could cease to exist should I
deign to disappear from her
the cruelty of destroying the future was present
a cruelty that is
a man's purpose
to allow, or to abate

We held one another
by the window
watching winter fade
snow crept from the trees
the ground dissolved from winter white to early-spring brown
I watched the snow bleed
I then saw it all
the cycle of life
water and its many phases
and I turned to her
I said, "I love you."
She understood
as she held me tighter
shedding the weight of the past
she pressed her lips on my ear
said, "Thank you, my love."
And from then, I never scarred again.
My rivers never bled
and neither hers
evermore.
I shall leave this one with a simple note:
Find the loves that inspire you.

As always, enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2022 · 794
Dirge Over The Belltower...
I belong in the
dark rain
I reign in the deep fire
I belong in the joy and the pain
the love with no name
my weakness refrain
I lie
I conquer my desire
I reign in the echoes of my shame
I sleep in tomorrow's loving arms
I search for the beast to be tamed
but of all I seek
passion has branded me true
The toil of the earth paid my price
but I'm alive in the emptiness of cost
I'm in love
with devotion
a mistress whose price is unending
and gladly paid
I die to be her passenger
I die because death is my coin
but I'm disposed in the youth
of my innocence
where it yet knew the devil
It dances now,
steps wrought with despair
but every step leads me closer
to the peace beyond
I
never
belonged
in the ocean of the ordinary,
my wings can fly galaxies with a beat
evade calamity with a whisper
champion defeat with a bow
and embrace the inevitable with grace
and we awake...
In the hour of reckoning
light will shed upon the abyss
and we will learn
I never belonged with your enemies
because mine clothed me with armor
before the storm
I remained unbattered
unfazed by power's ultimate purchase
I lingered dead,
yet undying
my victory transposed into immortality
Thus, with enemies such
who needs a friend like you
not for whom I belong
not for a morsel of truth.
I kept this in my draft folder for a few days thinking about what I wrote,
trying to figure out what I could possibly say in reflection as my thoughts were empty,
then I figured it out.

Who you ally yourselves with in life determines the enemies you face in life.

For example: If you're a Christian or religious, your likely enemies are other religious devotees or atheists (in one facet of your life as large as you make it). Or we can say, if you work in the IRS, your likely enemies are tax evaders, crooked accountants and businessmen, or even the president.

All that to say, be careful what path you choose in life. Be wary of how you craft yourself. What are the contents of your mind, body, spirit, and soul?
What are the contents of your relationships? If you make unruly decisions in these matters, the end result is you will be at war with everyone, because you have no true allies: only enemies.

Furthermore, certain allies have great enemies. Enemies that prepare one to brave and master the conquest of being unstoppable in life, under the beck and call of nothing, and no one, but your highest ideals and precepts - ideals that guide you through any darkness, any abyss.

In knowing the power battling those enemies provides, any other ally is lesser by compare, for their weapons are toys, and allying with them leaves on vulnerable to even the bottom-feeding scavengers of the world.

Watch the people around you. Watch whose allegiances lead to ruin. They are the allies to avoid, who starve for better leadership and growth.

This poem depicts the tumult of being in a quest for identity. The struggle of finding yourself in the storm of this wild world, especially while becoming an adult - a self-actualized human being. That task is not achieved by all.

As always, enjoy!
DEW
Feb 2022 · 850
A Yolk Apart...
She was winter & I am spring
I was a budding poet
Her voice was pristine
I yearned that she sing to me
hear, she'd hold those notes in symphony
here, I grew to love her
there, in the twining of our love
in twain, we loved
she loved
I loved
She adored the lyricism
the play of my prose
the waves of emotion that
flexed curls in her toes
I arose
in ways akin to my nature
like wetting a letter
mail in the mailbox
unknown sender
I never let her in
but she did me
this way and that
in twain, we loved
I loved
she loved
I loved the shivers of her soul
sending quakes into my heart
the flute of her throat
the notes of her tears
bitterness, sadness, madness
she let it all free
in voice
in me
I cried, let it stop
let me out
let me not
I will stay
till I'm weary
till I'm old in springtime
till you're teary
In twain we loved
in twain we grew apart
old tires on the Volkswagen
ambling along
singing the old song
on and on
in twain, we loved
in twain, we wanted more
I wanted her to sing the same songs
she no longer loved her voice
she stopped singing altogether
I was wondering
Are we together
In twain, we loved
In twain, we grew sick
I ached for her touch
a poison like pancakes
sweet... for toothaches
the cavity of my desire was a trench
a gorge
with stench
that she despised
don't touch me
I'm not in the mood
don't look at me like that
like what
you know what
In twain, we loved
In twain, we sought freedom
I began writing the new chapters
the new adventures
enraptured
the tales spun like endless yarn *****
endless inspiration
endless distraction
you won't spend time with me
all you do is sit at the computer
don't you care about my dreams
don't you care about mine
I did care but you don't sing anymore
you know why
I don't
you should
In twain, we loved
In twain, we broke free
I wasn't rejected
look, an advance
that's nice
aren't you happy
I am, see
who's that
a friend
you only laugh with him
he's funny
I'm not
you are, just
what
this isn't working
not today
then when
not today, I can't, my dreams
I like him
I can't
this is my decision
why is this happening today
you chose
I choose you
you could have written songs for me
I did
you wrote songs for yourself
I'm sorry
me, too
In twain, we said goodbye
Yet in goodbye
We were together
She was fall, and I'm the summer I always dreamed
Basking in the sun of my destiny
Absent of the kiss of cold, where I left my innocence
Absent of love, where I left my heart
Along the westward road where seasons never end
Along the westward road where sweet songs end in silence
I typically write a good reflective note on these when I'm inspired...
However, this time, I'm just in awe of the experience on this write.
It felt good and I'm just afloat on the energy of it.
I hope you felt it, too :)

Enjoy!
DEW
Jan 2022 · 1.3k
Zeal of the Heart...
To my young eyes
To my innocent heart
I remember the world was a blueprint on canvas
It was a dream undreamt
It was a song unsung
As if in a crib, I looked about me at the stars of the cities
Constellations of people hung about
Their wounds and aches, joys and laughter, were the myths
Like the Zodiacs, groups of these people
Could define a person
Yet believing myself undefined, I strode out from shelter
Fearless
Untamed, I ventured to find my purpose
A purpose that would shake the mountain
Rain down the ash of winter
Smother the pits below my dreams
Cull the nightmares that stoke my fears
I waited
I waited, I waited
I tell you the waiting became my purpose
Finally, there, in the clutch of time, I found my calling
I will tell you all of the waiting
I will tell you, don't wait...

Don't wait for the door to ring
or the latch to unlock

Do not wait for the song to play
or the band to sit

Open the door
Be the composer
Be the pilot of your dreams, be the chieftain, be the god

While waiting for what I could be
I saw everyone else become

With the zeal of their hearts
I saw them build, I saw them grow
This one built a nest
That one stitched a doll
Now the doll's a mannequin and my waiting missed the change

I waited for the waiting to end
I waited for the wanting to decide
I waited for foe or friend
I waited until
there was nothing left inside

Where is the zeal of my heart
The timbre of my soul
I lost the sight, the sound, the love
because waiting took its toll...
Ultimately, I started this poem because I wanted a poem title that started with the letter 'Z' since I didn't have one. That's important, LOL. So important I got inspired, hopped off to a grand beginning, then got lost and saved this poem in a draft. That was May 2021. I was lost then, I realize.
The "timbre of my soul" had quieted. In mourning, it was still.

Yet today, January 21st, 2022, I managed to finish this poem. I opened it up, felt the passion in the words and just went at it. I'm quite satisfied not only with this poem but with the fact I finished it. Finishing, or even starting, longer poems has been a struggle for me.
Writing has been a struggle, all in all. But I will not let the fire die.
That is the one thing I owe myself.

Keep writing. Even if I am starving, in pain, destitute, heartbroken, wrathful, sick, lonely, terrified, abused, blind, crippled, persecuted, villainized, disillusioned, cheated, imprisoned, shackled, insane, exiled, abandoned, lost, confused, desperate, paralyzed, dying, I will do it. I will keep writing.
Aug 2021 · 751
Angels Among Us...
Is it not the grave that takes them from us
It is not life’s end
Nor is it cruel fate - lost time
Nor is it God’s law - mortal frailty
It is distance that molds our memory
Light-years of joy, sacrifice, love
Painted in echoes of light
Amidst the passions of our hearts
We are tapestries woven in the womb
Adjoining the wider tapestry of family
A rope stretching back to the dawn of man
And forward to the twilight
Distance
How those echoes fade as we pass on the torch
Those who bore us are not mere fires in the dark
They are our suns
The centers of our solar families
Children, like the planets of this solar system
Revolve around each sun
Mother father, father, mother…
And when our sun fades into the endless night
Into a distance beyond our understanding
We are challenged to become the suns ourselves
To hold the worlds around us with the same
Unconditional love
Patience
Truth
Mercy
That was shown to us
A gift to light our way ahead
Into the distances we too shall cross
As we forge the light we shall leave behind.

The burden we face
When we lose the ones we love
Is one of distance
Yet we bear this weight
Not by pleasures or pain
Not by striving or seeking calm alone
We bear it by passing time with those we love
We bear it by sharing the joys vested in us
So that one day, we are the ones passing on
Leaving behind the memories of the suns that birthed us
So that they live on in all we do
We all awake
To know that there are angels among us.
We know angels by how we loved them
How they loved us
And how love unites us all,
Even in the dark
Even when there is distance all around
And the inevitability of our mortal frailty fills us with fear,
Yet, there is an irrepressible force of the human spirit
Whether it is love, creed, or purpose
We feel it when those who have gone
Are still here with us
In our hearts,
A presence in our homes,
A familiar face in our children,
Or a letter in their handwriting
They never leave us.
So that distance
Is not there at all.
It is merely a measure
Of how far we’ve come...
I wrote this poem on Thursday, May 5th, 2021.

It was written as a gift to a coworker to commemorate the death of her father.

I believe this was the second (or third time) I'd written a poem to commemorate an occasion. Both times, I did so rather quickly and on the fly, as I usually do, which fills me with a desire to write more poems to signify life events.

I felt I accomplished a consistent tone of reverence and a toeing of the line between somberness and hope, all of which serves this poem well and which the words in the poem find themselves characterized by.

My coworker was touched by this gift and I believe she read it at her father's eulogy, which, in turn, touched me.

I hope this poem touches you all, too.
I hope that, if you've lost a loved one, that they are, too, angels amongst us.

Enjoy!
DEW
Aug 2021 · 172
Cadence of Sorrow...
I searched
searched the sky for her
Don’t know where she went
but I was
losing
my friend
No other lover has her voice
the rhythm of her mind
the presence of her heart
the lyrical cadence
of her footsteps
as she disappeared from sight
Looking in my heart
I chanced upon her soul
and lo, there she was
I let her out of the darkness where she put my love
and the air was full of hope
Not a sound was heard
quiet as the sun
quiet as the moon, my love
and we never left the door open
again
again
Once or twice, I knew
our passion met the tundra
colder than my fury
colder than the rains, can you hear me?
I learned the lion’s roar
in hopes of telling you
that I was too afraid
to love and love again
love and love again
and again
and again
and again
again
Tired of this pain
knives don’t cut as deep
tears don’t ease the pain
of my every heartbreak
And still, I walk the rope
searching for the truth
that I can never breathe in
truth harsh as the sun
drying up the oceans
Never was a truth so large so hard so pure to grasp
that I am
alone, alone
alone, alone again
because the music of pain is love’s refrain
and I’d die to hear the poetry
till the end...
There's so much I could say about myself
and what I said and wish for you to know in this poem
and, as well, wish for myself to know,
but all I can think to say
is I hope you are all okay - better than okay even,
or finding yourself there
searching
like hands in the dark
or an adventurer in a forest
for a way to the light
or a way home.

I spend a lot of time thinking about myself
and perhaps that is why I am so alone.
Perhaps this is why I push others away: so I can have
more time
to think about myself.

I hope you all find a way to be free of such a nightmare.
I hope you all find love, fulfillment, family, a bright future.
I hope that when you find that future, you share it with even those
who don't matter.

Life is too short to be living in pain, missing out on the good fruits
that can be grown and picked
from planting the seeds of kindness, meaningful action, generosity
and eating of what grows from those deeds
the kind of life we can be proud of.

Please do so
not for anyone else in your life
but for yourself.

Be courageous enough to love yourself like you were
the last and the first person
to discover love.
I am a caricature of humanity
- a picture of its seething bowels.

I am its sloshing,
quivering, yet wholly earnest intestines
made manifest - I am,
the inside-out freak show
we all crave
dancing before your eyes
oh, and what a feast of eloquent gizzards you witness!

Feast your eyes, my friends!

I am what you wish you weren't
yet know you could be
as you yearn to be as free as me
all your shame and volatile desires
all your sadness and madness
all your dreamful bliss
I profess it daily
in an ode to you, my fathers and mothers,
in an ode of love for absurdity,
I am the cartoon character made free of its stage
the puppet made free of its strings
the loon, made free of his rage,
a benign insanity,
not capable of harming a germ.

Don't pass by
by all means
gawk
it's my pleasure that you do so
breathe my callousness in
shudder at the thought of being so exposed
having all your human nature bleeding there
like my crying eyes
as I tell you of all my past loves
and how I still love them
yes
even the meatloaf
still eating it
that baby towel
still snuggling it
that algebra homework?
Still completing it
and there's a missing grade somewhere
in a dusty book in a warehouse
imagine
how I'd creep in,
decades from now,
hours before my death,
open that tattered grade-book,
pen myself an A+ for my immaculately completed work
- fist pump the air!
Take that Ms. Cramsworth! I may not have beaten algebra,
but I beat you!

Die right there
in that warehouse
amongst all the other freaks.
There's Bigfoot, who slipped accidentally one day, got impaled by a branch, then called 911 - he had no health insurance, that's all she wrote. Bigfoot's just another disenfranchised-American statistic now. Bigfoot's last painful hours were spent taking selfies with holocaust deniers and people fashioning MAGA hats - some with rifles for effect - it was then Bigfoot regretted voting for Trump and only then. You were just rudely-awakened from having sympathy for Bigfoot, weren't you? Poor baby. Save our souls.
Then there are the cryogenically frozen heads of the Illuminati we're all worried about - they're trying to sleep until humanity can make them superhuman bodies.
A flying saucer that was alien in so far that it was actually a time-machine from our distant future that brought people back to warn us of an all-consuming genocidal calamity, but they spoke a language we didn't understand, had genetically surpassed us, and therefore were unrecognizable to our labs, and we took their highly-advanced babbling as acts of war when they tried to **** the Illuminati heads - killed them then, so tragic - ate their gizzards for research. Now we're all doomed to die... Their bodies were lain next to the Illuminati heads. Centuries later, the same couple, now janitors from the freak warehouse, see themselves, find the time-machine-saucer, and start the time-loop again... inadvertently causing the end of humanity because they messed up the timeline.

... and that's exactly why I never did my homework.
Humanity is doomed to die in some distant future caused by the doom-couple and so I refused to put a brick in the wall. I refused because all I was was a...nother brick in the wall and I hated it.

Because as fascinating as I am.
As absurd as I am.
As much of a human marvel as I am.
I don't matter. I matter the least.

And so that's why I had to die in that off-the-books warehouse,
full of priceless and unmentionable artifacts.
They wouldn't ever put me there, but I had to die with the legends.
I had to give my life meaning somehow.
If I can't live a legend, I will die one... by the way the janitors put me in the trash out back anyway.
I end up in an east-Asian landfill somewhere, kicked in the face by barefoot sweatshop kids who just so happened to make the sneakers on my very feet. Isn't that poetic justice? What a send-off!

And so isn't that all a satisfying and cathartic end,
giving closure to the most absurd poem,
with the most random details,
wasn't that fun?
Just have to bust out a mad-****** like this every once in a while.
Seems an important part of my writing process and growth, LOL.

Enjoy!
-DEW

Find me on Twitter @TheGreatWilson where I write most often these days :)
Come say hi!
Feb 2021 · 1.2k
The Pursuit of Freedom...
Toe-skewered socks shuffled in years-tattered shoes
Patched-up tweed elbows rested gently; arms folded in poised disapproval
He was my teacher
A man steeped in the essence of the written word
Every bump and groove of his face were the syllables of a life long-lived
Stressed and unstressed beats of the tension between us denoted his impatience
For he and I saw the word a different way
He detracted the sweetness of my plum-purple prose
and I loathed the strictness and banality of his expert structure, his measured cadence
but we could agree on one thing
We loved the word
We loved every echo of it in the long night
After fires fade and blue birds sleep
How dreams tumble out of the mouths of snoring dissidents
See those murmurs become the dialectic, the dreams, of poets and gods galore!
We agreed on this
The desperate cry of freedom
Yet we could not agree on his score of my work
Which I had so passionately written till early morning
Rings of the moon beneath my eyes as I argue
And his stonewall-gaze leaves my arguments blunt
For you are young, he says, you do not know the way of the pen, still
With sword I could ply approval from his lips
Rend his flesh asunder
Feed the dogs and the birds
Leave marks on his children like slave brands,
The power of the sword could make him do as I asked!
Exactly as I asked…
But with pen I could get nary a nod
I abandoned my search for his smile that day
Yet not the pen
In fact, I pressed firm, not with the nib, but with my mind
Day by day
Hour by hour
Past midnight into dreamland, by the light of the cosmos I composed worlds into waking
Tirelessly, my fingers plodded upon the keyboard
I watched the letters tick by
On and on
Full speed ahead
As if I were running
Outrunning…
Him
That stonewall-gaze
Peering down at my soul from an emerald tower
Each keystroke was a step away
A step beyond, years beyond
I sought my pleasure where it could be found
The approval of my peers
My professors
My colleagues
My fans
Scores of adoration, as if by the metric-ton
Still running
As if a scarlet letter of FAILURE were etched in my soul
And just like that,
My running came to a stop
As news of his death reached the shore of my self-imposed exile
Exile from shame
Exile from disappointment
I saw myself more lowly than ever
As, for after all those years of running, those stonewall-eyes had gone to sleep
And had not cared for my embarrassment
My resentment
My bitterness
Indeed
It were as if I were fighting a ghost I created
And look where it got me
To the top of the world
Chased into an emerald tower
Alone
Fearing myself a fraud at the ease of my keystrokes
How could such talent belong to a failure?
Well the man who proved I was a failure was dead
And I realized
So, too, should my defensive pride live no longer
So, too, should I free myself of the fear that manifests the agonizing toll of the pursuit of perfection
So, too, should I realize…
Just because he did not approve
Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t approve of myself
Exit stage left
Where dreams await
And I learn to enjoy what the dissidents dreamed
A life in which our dreams live free
No longer sheltered in the embrace of our childhood nightmares
No longer living in fear…
It's funny, I've often reflected on this particular comment one of my English teachers gave me once.

What's weird is, at the time, I considered his comment a compliment, "Second-rate author," I never considered myself to possess authorship, much less being second-rate, so I accepted it as subtle praised and moved on.
Yet years later, when I began to take much pleasure in, and put focus on, my writing, I began to resent this comment of his.

Obviously, I'm a much better writer than when I was 16/17, but for whatever reason, this comment of his bugged me as I was getting my degree in creative writing.

It's also startling that I got some very cruel criticism from some professors of mine while getting my degree, yet none of them needled my brain as much as that which I heard as a teenager. The irony is startling, LOL.

Anyway, I myself am now a teacher. When I began heading toward this profession, I knew there was going to be some sort of transformative lesson I would learn. Something important. I kind of lead my life this way.
Yet this poem is every proof of what it was that I set out to learn and this is only the beginning.

I love when a poem comes together like this one.
I had the first 5 lines pop into my head ad-lib and I had such an itch to jot them down that I ignored some important things to wait on my slow computer to open up Word so I could record them.
An hour later and I have this poem, which I consider a beauty.
It's certainly pleasing to me.
I haven't written a long poem like this in almost a year.
I've been on a steady diet of writing Twitter poems, haha.

Last night, I was looking at my pinned tweet, which was the last poem I posted here, and I thought to myself, "I need a new one, it's been almost a year."
Lo and behold! The Lord provides, haha.
It was a great day for this, too, because this was a great teaching day.
Rewarding, valuable, transformative, a source for reflection and catharsis, all culminating in this poem here.

I feel quite satisfied :)
I hope this poem was great for you, too.

ENJOY!
DEW
Jul 2020 · 259
Portrait of the Devil...
It is not paint that his lifeless creature wears.
It is the make-up smears that animate its features.
It scares me not consciously, but with a deep sticky dread
hiding in the shadows of my mind.
Its face parades in color and shade, in light and dark,
but I know its face to be hollow.
I know its fingers to be as the roots of a tree
that feed on you at the slightest touch
and you dare not let it ***** you
love you
or all you will know is hate.
It withers down the soul of a man
so that he will never love a woman;
she will appear to be a siren
and he will run in shame from his flaccid courage.
It disembowels the soul of a woman
until she thinks her entrails more impressive
than any pecker;
she stumbles around like a blunt fork
never holding on to what she needs.
It enrages the soul of a lover
until he cannot bear to witness love endure without a scream.
All the while, its hollow face feeds
upon what glimmers in the sun and glows in the night,
a vacuum never sated,
never feeling peace's respite.
I've kissed this face and I'll never kiss again,
not until God and I can uproot the devil's sin.
I wrote this back in January of 2017 and discovered it while my girlfriend and I were reading old poetry notes to one another.
We've both been hurt in love and both had dark poems to share.
In reading this, I felt the weight of all the shame and fear I believe dwelled within me when I wrote this.
It was refreshing to share this with her, as, indeed, I had not chosen to never kiss again. Whatever the devil's sin was, I now view my relationship with it differently.
I've learned to forgive myself for whatever plagued me in the past.
I know myself to have deep veins of emotion, with high ups and low lows, so all the better to keep the peace.
Anyway, I hope you found something in this poem for yourself.

Enjoy!

DEW
May 2020 · 214
The Last Test...
A gauntlet, of sorts...
The proverbial frog in the ***, I was.
The temperature of life went from heaven to hell,
and I boiled and drowned in the hate I thought was love.

Question one: who prepared the broth?
Answer: Me...

Stuck in the endless quackery of bottomless insanity.
Tasting the brutal shenanigans of deviant savagery.
I came upon the realization that *** was a tapestry,
that I've been weaving since I was in nappies and won't give up gladly,
but I obsess over the embroidery and the glistening femininity,
what I now know to be delusions of romance and calamity.

Question two: who proved to be unwilling to love in the end?
Answer: Me...

Last question you knave, you hopeless bumpkin.
You wayward host of tasteless pumpkins.
My tactless whims for stagefright dumplings.
Deflated effigies of, "Oh... sweet nothings."
Darling, you crazy, you an expert on bluffings,
Teetering on the cliff, with your pinstriped stuffing.
I carry my shorts on the inside, on the outside I'm long,
Word play is horse ****, but if you understand me, you're wrong.

Question three: who sold their soul for entertainment in the end?
Answer: We...
It's nice to write another one of my nonsense, satirical poems again.
I gave a slight social-critic edge to it, but in reality I tried to focus on my own failings in life, my own troubles. Yet we do not live in a vacuum.
We all share the same mistakes, troubles, guilts and dreams.
So this poem tries to encapsulate that into the idea of taking an exam at the end of one's life to atone for all the ******* we've put ourselves through in this world.
Taking responsibility for what we do/have done in this world is the first step toward solving our issues, yet imagine only taking responsibility at the end of all things when nothing can be done but pay penance. A sad thing indeed...
Apr 2020 · 268
Soft Was The Light...
I wait in tantalizing agony,
skin prickling with lustful heat.
Silent is the night,
absent even of humming wind,
and croaking crickets.
She whispers,
saying the things I've always dreamed.
"Let us lay here
till the end of time
in each other's arms
dining on love
steadfast in wonder
only parting
when Earth is no more
and yet we remain
souls entwined."
The heavens open.
Worlds, once locked away, bear their cosmic fruit.
I transcend the confines of my mortal form,
tasting love like breath to the drowned.
Sunlight cracks the shell of night, peeking over the horizon,
my eyes part as I wake from sleep.
If but a dream of love could stir my soul in slumber,
what can love true do to a man's endless hunger?
I love it when poems like this come to me.
It's been a while since I felt so impassioned as to write something like this.
My poetry writing times come in seasons.
Could this be a portent of a season soon to flood its way into my life?
We shall see.

Enjoy!

-DEW
Mar 2019 · 319
Dreams Made Flesh...
No more a whisper
Such were the demands
Demands levied upon fields of dreams
Fantasies sowed into the field season o'er season
Crops rising bone dry and thirsty for verity
Babes who would never know milk
Carrion who would never know decay
Work that would never know pay
Such were these dreams!
Slave to the whims of whimsy
Tossed o'er a deranged sea, churned
Nay
Spurned by the ****** that cackle in the depths,
Twirling their hands as would a maestro
and the dreams dance by these strings
Reigns upon the centaur
Thought himself more man than beast
but his master proves him wrong
throttles his dreams like so many tragic ****** and still...
And still!
He dreams.
But the dreams begin to seep a saucy essence
The stuff of childbirths and ****** victories upon the battlefield
Both an emerging of brilliance and an escape of nightmare
Both a wailing cry and a roaring scream
And the scaffolding clinks and clanks around the wispy form of the dream
And it clinks and clunks its way up, providing the mold for new dawn.
The prophet, who is both midwife and sycophant, utters a chorus of impassioned voices singing to the ends of the universe,
while the dream bulges and creaks against the form of the mold.
The scaffolding breaks in an uproar of so many eggshell fragments, blasting forth like shrapnel
And the veil of ignorance is pierced by this awakening.
And a hush falls upon the world in a tremor of silence
And the ache is felt in the effort of producing a single thought
For all is absent in the wake of this dream made flesh...
"She is here,"
The paragons of ages announce,
"And she will command your pleasures until your pains are destitute... and you shall live no more, for what is life without pain."
Inspiration is such a funny thing.
Sometimes muses come thundering down and zap the mind with wonders beyond comprehension.
Thank God for such muses :)

Enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2019 · 464
Disparate Ties...
Two moons rise and one moon sets.
Spotlight captures the one who frets.
Caught unawares in pursuit of wonders.
Tears drops stain the gloves of blunders.
Slipped off to forget what we have done.
The gloves decay under rising sun.
One moon sets and another rises,
while the sun departs with myriad disguises.
If two moons were wed in sunlit dreams,
would we forego our plans for all good things...
Would pleasures unstitch our tidy strings
and delay our minds for fallacies to sing.
I admit I'm unsure.
Nevertheless I will try,
to wed the moons, to brighten the sky,
but beyond the celestial weapons of love,
an infinite yearning awaits our passion.
For there are many moons in need of another.
There are many suns that must shine on the two.
For at the end of the day you and I do not matter.
Wherever there is one, there must be two.
So I say to her, I must be with you.
Thinking about someone I adore.
Then again, if not her, maybe someone else eventually.
That's how they all say it works, right?
Many fish in the sea.
Here, I say many moons in the sky. Keeping in mind we only know the one. A little irony, eh?

Enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2018 · 561
The Phantom's Farewell...
Her death was like quicksand
I tried to escape the grief
I tried to run, swim, crawl
but, like spectral arms,
I was dragged back beyond the precipice
down into the gravely depths
down to my despair.

I sought after her and found crumbs
but the trail of bread yielded only hunger,
hunger for perhaps her scent
perhaps echoes of her voice as she fades
into the distance
perhaps her reflection trapped in a mirror
any sign that she were still living
but the world had closed her chapter
and my hunger became a fasting...
I once hoped for love everlasting,
but my truth will never be love ever-after.

Just when I thought hope was forgotten,
I found an envelope with her name scrawled upon it.
Her crest engraved the wax of the seal.
The torment of her abandonment sunk into me once more,
and the quicksand trickled all around.
How dare I imagine her again?
How dare I open this audacious package.
Indeed,
I pry open the letter with haste,
mouth dry, tongue limp like dry wood,
eyes bulging,
my nourishment is within this envelope, of course!

Indeed,
within it, I find cobwebs and shame.
A picture of her I had never seen.
Her arm wrapped around the trusted embrace of a suitor
and I cannot penetrate this world she has found,
I do not belong.

I burn the picture...
With each spark of the fading image,
somehow I am freed
and the chains she bound to my soul are now vines
I reside in a fortress, barren, but safe.
Unassailable.
Cold.
"Darling?" I hear.
My wife peeks down from the stairs,
"Supper is ready..."
Of course.
Of course a mistress can never be real.
She will ever be a phantom.
And phantoms can never say farewell.
They were never there.
I'm thinking about this feeling of never being satisfied:
of having what one desires only to realize,
our desires are just dreams...
and dreams, when fulfilled, are not guaranteed to be truths.

Moreover, the feeling of having far too much,
more than we can consume,
more than we know what to do with, but we continue eating,
and realize a man can be bottomless,
despite always being filled.

Anyway, just musing.

Enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2018 · 4.3k
The Greatest Story Untold...
The waves undulated as if
they were the backs of 100 wriggling worms
The sky shed tears as if
a 1000 angels wept for the death of hope
black clouds roiled, sparking with fury
casting lightning down upon the mire
but below, upon the sea,
a miracle was set to transpire.

A boat rushed down and over the waves...
Back and forth,
a juggler's ball tossed and turned it appeared to be.
Yet, despite the malice,
and the seething spite of the sea,
the boat was safe
snug as can be.

And in this boat was a silent baby
his eyes stared out into the turmoil
he did not understand the frustrations of the elements
how they wished to smite him where he lay.
Despite the twisting of the boat
he did not roll, nor did water coat
his soft cheeks, his baby blanket
he passed on into sleep,
into dream he
went.

He awoke to battles raging about him
the crashing of thunder
was the desolation of a mountain
the world knew war for the first time
deaths in the billions, no pasture without crime.

He stood as a man
with bearded face
skin like the earth
armor embraced.
He realized he held a mighty weapon
it gleamed in his hands
power coursed through his veins
down to his soul
up to the heavens!
A beacon of light he seemed to be
but heir to destruction he truly was.
He did not know what power does
to the feint of heart
to the well-intentioned...
He struck the ground amidst the battle
the whole Earth shook, oh, the chattering teeth!
The mountains lumbered to form again
as if by the shovels of skyward giants!
The battle paused for the barest of moments
the awe was palpable
like a kingly feast
but the people's hearts hadn't forgotten the pain
their hate surged up, like volcanic bile
despite their peace present for a while
the massacres began again in earnest
perhaps more so than before his deed.
No one knew the power he wielded.

He still had hope, he could do something!
But what greater act was there than mending mountains?
His heart was up to good,
but his mind couldn't ground him.

"I must stop their wanton annihilation!"
He roared within himself,
"Are they not my people? Am I not their savior?"
He went to the most heated battle
struck the air with his weapon
and every person's foe was replaced by their loved ones.
The battle ceased in an instant.
Each person stared in utter disbelief.
By what power had this happened?
It was said that mountains climbed back into place,
but what could summon loved ones,
even from the grave!
The fighting ceased despite their hatred,
and the stories magnified in flavor.
Many who were hungry
for peace from the storm of violence
fed upon the hearts of those in doubt
they claimed they knew who stopped the battle
they hoped to mobilize a peace effort.
He gathered these hopeful souls
banded them together so their efforts became tenfold!
Soon enough, the stories crept across the lands
across the seas
and underground.
For once, hope had purchased ground,
but hate, when cloistered, beaten back, starved,
becomes ever more malevolent,
ever more conniving.

He did not call his people an army,
he called them the Samaritan Initiative.
They did not fight their war with weapons of battle,
they fought with hands that mend and bind,
they saved the sick and the dying,
they uplifted the oppressed and those denying.

As time passed, his efforts grew,
but someone used his deeds as currency,
mobilized the scandalous, the warmongering,
someone hated he who mended the broken...
Someone plotted his demise.

He led his Samaritans across the world
each place they touched was left whole again
and though war still did reign, rotting and true,
he did not tire to end the end.

A new beginning he hoped to create,
but whispers that he was a fraud began to sate
the ears of those whose purpose it is to doubt peace,
they sowed the malice back into the healing wounds
soon enough, his power began to abate,
therefore, rumors seemed to be true.

He grew restless when he was barred from homesteads
barred from cities,
even countries!
Somehow these echoes of forgotten civilization rose
only to defy him
and he smelled someone's stench in the air.
His weapon yearned for someone's death.
For once, it did not wish to mend, but break,
and he felt spiteful all the more.
All the adoration he had garnered
had blinded him from his true purpose.
He sought out the taint that spread its tendrils.
"Someone."
He said,
"Is ruining my... empire..."

One day, while regrowing a desolated forest with his weapon,
someone came to see him.
She smiled at him, marvelled at his work.
"Who are you?"
He wondered, suddenly charmed.
"Someone you know..."
She grinned.
He spent weeks distracted and curious about her,
what was her riddle all about
and why did he feel her in his heart?
She did not seem to threaten or scheme
in fact her presence was a dream
and he yearned after her like nothing he knew
his mission delayed
his plans askew.
Many around him questioned him saying,
"Who exactly is it with whom you're playing?"
He would blush,
"Oh, someone..."

One day,
she did not meet him at their lover's spot.
She did not appear for a week, then another.
His mind began to churn about the months.
Since when had he last sent forth his healers,
or mended cities and silenced weapons dealers?
He began to be suspicious of her
he could have summoned her with a flick of his weapon,
but he dared not discover if she really were foe,
for if he should break, what can he grow?

Eventually, she appeared again,
smiling broadly, like an old friend.
He then knew the anger that so many harbored...
Oh, the twisted things he felt by her abandon,
the sheer weight of his turmoil felt too much to bear....
So he ****** it upon her without any care.
His voice was louder than a church bell,
flashing out across the forest where they would meet.
She cried out in fear
she ran from him swift
he chased after with guilt he couldn't lift.
He found her weeping by a well
on his knees he apologized incessantly.
"How could there be darkness in you,
the mender?"
Her question struck him in all places tender.
Doubt crept into his addled mind.
His weapon's glow flickered
his conscience was blind.
Surely not now should he have such trouble?
Could it really be so simple to pop his bubble?
"I love you more than I can bear!
When you leave me,
I begin to tear."
She nodded and held him close to her.

Someone watched from shadows not far,
they saw his frailty,
like a door ajar...

The months passed and he went back to work
new cities to grow and malice to mend
people saw him more for the savior he was
even though the rumors of fallacy were abuzz.

A special time became the moment of his life worthy of note,
a marriage to the woman whose life he knew by rote.
They consummated in the night and in the day.
Time seemed to stretch on and shrink all at once.
His happiness was a thing of infectious charm,
but all that glittered soon became alarm.

Upon returning home from time spent mending the broken world,
he returned to find his home
covered in blood.
He knew whose blood coated the walls.
Bones, ground into paste, smothered pictured frames.
Flesh reduced to pulp covered the floor.
His mind fractured in no way subtle.
The light of his weapon winked out with no rebuttal.
He wept uncontrollably in fits of despair.
The world seemed cold, frozen over,
desolate of love or laughter.
"I can't bear to live."

Someone crept in through the doorway.
"It's a shame, isn't it?
No man is greater than any other,
yet no man is born equal.
No man lives without love,
but every man dies alone.
Maybe you can understand now,
why we deserve our own genocide...
Maybe now you'll let us fight to the death,
and have our peace that way!"

He looked up and,
despite the pure evil that stood before him,
he did not see that.
He saw someone lost,
someone abused,
someone desperate for truth,
any truth.
He saw someone fighting to love something,
anything.
He saw someone forgotten by loved ones
after committing acts that person was unable to avoid.
He saw a frightened being
lashing out at the world
in the hopes that the suffering would end.
He felt boundless compassion.

"I have no power left."
He said.
"No power to mend or bind.
No power worth your scorn."

"I'm going to **** you now."

"If I'm to die,
I hope my blood is enough for all who suffer."

"You're no messiah! You're just a lie we all want to believe!"

"If I was just a man...
I would have died when you killed her.
I would have hungered for torturous retribution.
But you have broken no one.
You're someone who needs to see your own suffering
out in the world
to justify the injustice dealt upon you.
But for every drop of effort you put into destroying her,
I wish you never experience my pain.
I wish to mend what drove you to break me,
so no one else may be harmed by you,
or anyone you inspire to deal death."

"No, I defeated you..."

"You tried..."

The weapon flickered.

"No, no, you can't feel love for me...
You don't have the *****."

"I have very big *****."

"You think you can love me?
After how I destroyed you!"

"If I could be destroyed,
I would already be dead!"

The weapon burst forth with light!

The killer realized they were someone foolish
Someone lost
Someone in need of healing.
For if "he" could not be broken,
surely there was hope.
If he could mend mountains
bring back loved ones and unite lost families
grow cities from the earth itself
grow forests from twigs
and deny a cold-hearted killer
the satisfaction
the honor
of seeing the fractures of a shattered soul
in blood-red, swollen, tearful eyes,
perhaps this man,
this one man,
could reveal what love is
to the killer's own famished soul.

He saw something shift in the eyes of that tortured someone.

That's when he realized...
That's when he understood.
He had the thirst for solving puzzles,
but humanity is not a machine,
it is a collection of gears
each just as vital as the whole,
for the whole does not exist without the worth
of every individual.
And to ignore an individual like this...
Someone who stood at the center of all the woe,
the evil,
and the tragedy in the world.
To ignore them would be to throw out the puzzle completely.

"May I mend you?"

Realizing they were someone facing an open door,
that person nodded.

He struck that person with his weapon.
Light flooded out as if by the sun itself.
Time seemed to stop.
People looked up in wonder of the light.
The very winds halted,
seas stilled,
nature perked up in unison.

When the light faded, he saw himself staring in a mirror.
The man in the mirror had blood-stained hands.

He stepped across the threshold and hugged himself.
His darkness hugged him back and the blood seemed to vanish.

"I forgive myself for killing her."

His darkness melted into a bulbous, gooey form and sank into him,
as if he were some kind of sponge,
leaving no trace of the darkness visibly.
He accepted within himself that he was capable of
unimaginable evil.
He accepted that he had control
and that he was responsible for the health and sickness
of the world.

Around him, the world began to shift.
In fact, it appeared to melt into liquid
and splash around him.
The liquid became clear, like the ocean.
It splashed and slid,
rocking him about.

Light flashed!

The baby awoke, curious about the world around him.
His boat had touched some distant shore.
Flecks of water spotted his cheeks and he laughed.

A couple crept up to the boat.
"I swear I heard a baby," a man said.
"You're crazy," a woman said, "Out here?"
The couple looked within the boat
and found the baby smiling at them with his
toothless, innocent smile.
The woman held a hand to her chest in awe.
She tenderly carried the baby out of the boat
and rocked it in her arms.
The baby laughed.
The man reached out.
"Not that hand!" The woman said, "You just cut yourself!"
"It's okay, no blood anymore, see?"
He pinched the baby's cheeks.
The baby touched his hand.
His **** healed in an instant!
"Woah!" The woman yelled.
Feeling for a scar where there were none,
the man stared in wonder at the child.
"Honey," he said, "This kid's got potential..."
This poem sort of came out of nowhere.
It does sit on the border between a poem and a story.
I've been fascinated by the Poetic Edda and the Iliad, how a poem could be hundreds of thousands of words long.

So here's my little poetic narrative.

Enjoy!

DEW
Mar 2018 · 593
Full of Emptiness...
Floating in an expanse, trapped in a room
the walls could be the ends of a universe,
or a martyr's doom,
and I count the atoms of its shifting embrace
it dances within sight, but ever out of reach
truer things have never been more curious
the walls are my castaway beach.

Endless journeys coil within me,
my mind is a boundless jungle:
the predators linger in hazy umbra,
while the prey lazily graze
with eyes diametrically opposed.
I am some sort of misshapen construct,
a being lost to himself, but a target nonetheless.

****** into the deep
from which secrets sweetly seep
I find answers to keep
demystifying puzzles caged by sleep
the malice in this wonderland
nibbles at the soul with perilous teeth
just to taste the suffering
of a man who's trapped beneath
beneath the undergrowth of the city
within the fissures of a sidewalk
betwixt the folds of a chewing gum wrapper
he is gnawed by the everafter,
the what if,
the may be,
maybe.

Perchance he truly listened to the bright void
oh, how it oozes soft, eldritch light
the essences of somber dealings with ethereal misfits,
whatsay he consumed the knowledge whose
questions
once consumed him?

We all imagine that he would be
empty of emptiness...
but is there such a thing?
So, this is me just thinking about how I'm always stuck questioning why life is life. How did I end up here?
We're meant not to question this concept to the point of delusion, but I find myself daily deluded. As if seeking the answer can open a door from which I can escape.

My friend, do you believe in a transcendent escape free of death?
Maybe...

And with that, enjoy!

DEW
Feb 2018 · 543
The Last Time...
My old darling, she sighed,
as she relinquished my affections
roses and keepsakes,
delicacies and carnal delights.

Your pining weighs heavy,
she whispered in fatigue,
I cannot bear your sorrows
as I kiss you goodbye.

Holding my slack-jawed chin, she smiles,
this will be the last time,
for there is a world to see
that's bigger than you...

Her kisses needle
like the deathly caress of winter.
Her lustful embrace
like the coils of a python.
Even inside she is jagged and unforgiving
as is a cave sought out in desperation
discovered to be the abode of a black bear.

Yet I need her.

I cannot let her go.
I insist, take from me my skin,
my soul.
Whatever you need to stay warm.
Whatever will cover your hollow form.
If I should shiver, it is in my fear of your abandon.
If I should cry, it is the milk upon which you shall suckle.
If I should die, it is only that you may feast.
But please,
let it not be the last time...

Is it mortal anger that you desire?
Do you crave wrath in its divine fervor?!

Is it a devil may care grin you favor?
Do you lust for my cold shoulder, akin to tundras and the endless expanse of space?

It'll be fine, she says,
there are plenty more fish in the sea.
Fish for you.
Fish for me.

The last time!
I bellow,
any moment could be our last!
Any breath can become a rasping choke for life!
Any midnight stroll could turn you into roadkill!
Any night of the soul could be your last grip upon sanity!

Any romance can become a suicide.

Any last time could be your last time alive.

You say it's the last time?
Then our love is surely dead,
and I am that ghost wandering in those halls,
looking for you,
calling out in vain,
for you have moved on to the after life.
After us.

Last time?
I guess there's a first time for everything,
even the end.
It's a common thing for me to dramatize trivial things.
Or to ponder the complexities of a simple truth.
Not every simple truth must be simple.
And love is that most complicated example of simple truths.

Enjoy!
DEW
I said I'd never find you.
I said I was adrift in the nonsense of raw bedlam,
that the needles embedded in my skin
weren't stitching me together,
they were tearing me apart,
I said I was forlorn,
I said my heart was barren
I said my soul was sold,
I said many things,
but my excuses are old.

Trapped under a rock-slide,
and every rock an old lover,
bad romances to smother
face down in the gutter,
in which my tears are the water
that gushes in high tide,
trickles in low.

I scoured the world of love
by being restless
by being unrelenting
ashen and devoid of substance
the world spun like a top ready to stop
and all who were left were ****
feeding upon my misery with contempt.

It's true, all my fitful lusting,
all my callow obsessions,
all my inebriated braying,
cleared the world of reason
and made it easier for me to spot you.

You glistened in the gloom,
silken gown smearing the dust but
leaving flora in your wake.
In the same way, you enrich me.
My barren heart tilled and teeming with
pastures green, meadows whispering.

I hold you, heart to my heart, my darling,
as you embrace my soul to your soul.
Apart from you, the world is harming,
but with you, I am whole.
Maybe this is for someone, maybe it isn't.
Regardless, I'm pretty happy to be writing for the first time in a while.
Feels good :)

Enjoy!

DEW
Jan 2018 · 607
Feminine Fickle...
Her feminine fickle,
does tickle my pickle.
I sample the fruit.
Tastes like a sickle.

She cuts me with passion,
and when my pulse is crashin'
she decides to save me.
I wake up thrashin'.
I'd like to cash in,
on love's fashion,
but she gives me no portion,
of her cookie's ration.
Date: 2/24/2016

A strange poem I found while digging through my hundreds of iPod notes.
Notes that I haven't touched in a long time, so it's refreshing to take a look.
My notes on an old novel of mine are especially delightful :)
I'd share them here, but NONE of it would make sense to any of you unless you've got a black belt in insanity, LOL ;)

As always, enjoy!

DEW
Dec 2017 · 590
Hot Button, Good Lovin'...
I drank her in with my lonesome stare
I said,
"Give me that good lovin'
darling it don't take work
to turn on your oven..."
First she feigned indifference
then she sighed with deference
and I coaxed her in like a trout in spring.

Honey I'm looking for the hot button to push
some women will holler,
men like me will shush
cause the hot button just needs the right touch
celebrate good lovin' with me, don't fuss...

Politics are all about the hot button.
Men with the long arms ain't seen nothin'.
Law man bows to the law maker.
Hot button respects your journalistic prayer.

Some men see what some men hide,
but you can keep hiding if the law will abide.
Even when the law man says no-no
lawmaker's got a hearse:
'nother **, 'nother **...

Hot button's the only thing you'll see in print.
What your momma's momma says is what will glint.
The bird is the word, I'll say in vain,
but top dollar pays what's at the nose of the vane.

I've wanted to push the hot button all night long
classic poems galore, but mine are all wrong.
I guess I'll go back to where I was born,
chew a dog bone, scraps, with my baby teeth worn.

In the junkyard, I see yesterday's hot buttons
emaciated bells and whistles just struttin'
They've lost their minds and luster, no thanks
I'm like,
"These are the gals you see walking the planks."
Every day more hot buttons walk in line,
heaven is just a misery for these topics of history
but I polish them with chrome
I get desperate, what can I say.
I'll never leave a hot button to rot with dismay.

Just give me another hour, good lovin' can dream.
I'll bring a hot button to you, good Lord! It'll gleam.
So, I just wanted to write for the sake of writing.
I have a theme running through this, of course, from the title to the last line, but I also just wanted to write since it's been a while.

This poem doesn't have a consistent rhythm and I partly didn't mean for that to happen, but I also needed it to be this way because of the conversational tone of the piece.

In the end, it's its own little romp through resentment and frustration over my life firstly, but also the life we all share: the sorry state of the world.

As always, enjoy!

DEW
I’m struck
Struck, not by stubborn winds
nor seeping rain and bitter snow
I am struck by the audacity!
The audacity of life itself…

Grating insults hurled
middle fingers flashing like upturned fangs
sumptuous thighs, bare and glistening in the sunlight
heavy alcohol dripping off the cheeks.
Failed relationships,
I was bored so…
Isn’t that always the excuse,
as to why I can hear her
***** him
didn’t she know I’d be home?
Who cares.
It’s the audacity of life that bugs me,
because,
the simple answer, with every infraction,
is,
I do so, because I am.
Now leave me be.

But I know they know it can't be that simple.
They're all the 29th round boxer fighting a shadow:
an unyielding mass of darkness
chained to our souls
occupying no more than the air itself
yet heavy as the bedrock of hell
deep and destructive.

I've seen these shadows break a man.
I was that man.
So I tremble at the audacity of life.
Wherein the puppet manipulates the master.
Wherein the blind see more than the visionary.
Wherein the beggar is imbued with purpose,
and the money mogul strips his vassals of soul and sympathy.

Yes, and I have the audacity to write this,
like I give a ****,
when I'm just like you.
Another day...
Another dollar...
With this poem, I wanted to reflect on the reality of living in a world one does not understand, as well as the presence of hypocrisy that seems to be, not only a fact, but a staple of human consciousness.

How do we shake this weight?
It is our willingness to bear duplicity that splits, then weakens, then shatters our "self."
Every building needs scaffolding to become a grand structure.
I think humans are much the same.
Our lives get so complicated that we forget we are organic.
Mortal.
Fallible.

Anyway, enough for today!

Enjoy!

DEW
Dec 2017 · 471
Sleep is a Memory...
I tremble violently
the spirits dine with me
a feast of illusions break me
because sleep is a memory.

When did I last sleep
grains of sand ne'er grace my eyes
never caked with desert lullabies
So dry, I can barely weep.

I don't remember what nightmares are
and though dreams haunt me
I don't know where they are
they're neither near nor far.

I've been awake so long I'm twice my age
I'm so tired I cannot even call on rage
Lust lies asleep while I watch it slumber
Hunger feeds on itself in a sightless umbra.

There are times when the astral planes call me
I stumble, my eyes droop, I feel heavy
It's like I'm embalming, passing into shadow
But I must continue to work, for I am a slave.

Some day I will sleep and I may never wake.
Such waking would be a second birth, fit for a cake.
How many candles would adorn this pastry?
I don't give a hoot, so long as it's tasty.
I've been awake for 24 hours and I'm afraid I'll just pass out and wake up, 12 hours later, on the floor.
It's snowing outside, soup is cooking, and I've got great music on.
Does any of this add up? LOL

Hooray for randomness! Praise be to this random poem here!
May I finally sleep sometime... sometime...

Enjoy!

DEW
Dec 2017 · 608
Patient Storm...
The city was laid bare:
like a patient upon the operating table
I walked the streets with precision
I was the scalpel carving communities from the fauna
the city was alive, and so it was truly sick
concrete jungle
projects and penthouses
the beleaguered old traipsed about, silent, but not quiet
the youth, rambunctious and carnal, feasted upon the dying
With each touch, I soothed the soul
Kisses, like antiseptic.
Lectures, like stitches.
Like cumulonimbus, the raucous ramblings of crowds grew
I said to myself, "It is fine, this is life, let it live."

Youth, ablaze with carrion wings, descend upon the old
beaks barrelling forward, pecking and snatching decency
still there are some who help
swooping down like proud eagles, they shoo away the scavengers
they beat back the tide of villainy
they shelter innocence, foster truth
but they are not enough...
I carve out the **** of corruption
I ventilate the lungs of the city and plug the punctures
but the pollution is virulent and stubborn...
Still, I say to myself, "This is poetry, love is a mystery, let them be."

I will hear them cry in the rain
I will not know my place
I might extend a hand, proffer an embrace, but
they will shy back,
for man will become monster
and God will become devil... in their eyes: deluded; poisoned by hate.
I will wonder where I went wrong.
Will I try my best to turn the helm against the wave,
go THROUGH the heart of the storm?!
Of course, I will try
I will try,
but I will fail.
Man will flaunt his freedoms, those which were freely given.
Despite my grief, I will say to myself, "All things have an end. There was nothing I could do."

I wonder to myself...
How many centuries have I folded my hands against the storm.
Behold! It's patience!
It will ever rise,
It will ever approach!
So long as man lies,
It will reach for his throat!
Man will always feign surprise,
It is a sickness he cannot broach...
As the color of morning skies is calming,
The fumes of the rumbling storm are maddening!

I always let the storm build until the lightning sets the world on fire
because
I thought the storm was man's voice in an inimical life...
But I was wrong, the storm is the beast that lurks in the shadows.
It sets the table for carrion.
The beast builds the cumulonimbus, preparing the kindling for the floods of war.

The storm's pallor stains man's skin so ubiquitously
That he mistakes the storm for himself.
The storm is the color of sin: six in total.

I wanted to breath about the idea of responsibility: culpability.
Watching the world burn paints you as the enemy.
We have to do something, even if we're not sure why, or for whom.

God is the people. He is the future.
He (the "Wholeness" of our (human) being) is what we strive towards:
The Perfection of Humanity
The Peace of our Souls
The Sustenance of our Planet
The Respect of All Life
The Beauty of Divine Soul in All our Works
The Tempered Passion of Truthful Expression
Love for, and Security in, Ourselves that Spreads into Love for the Community
Patience Under Hardship and Tolerance Under Misunderstanding

Without setting our goals upon improving humanity, we feel empty.
If we're not focused on being good people, why are we even here?

That's all for today...

Enjoy!

DEW
Gloved hands flex in umbra of night
a cot rocks, glittering in the rays of moonlight
baby coos, shaking its rattle
the leathery hands stalk the craddle
finding their prey, the gloves seek the neck
like guillotine, they reap
... they reap

Every idea meets this end
Every dream of mine every prayer
In infancy they glow then glow no more
throttled by shame, they break
chastised by fear, they fade
I would rock them, nestled in coaxing arms, close to my heart
the clock chimes its hour with pride and finality
at midnight, the reaping begins
upon the witching hour, my dreams are snuffed
and nightmares usurp their place.

Is it torment to expect more of myself?
Content to write poetry and leave epic tales of heroes and nemeses to doom and dust?

How many old lovers have I professed my dreams to
how many friends have I bored with my tales
how many family members smiled as I asserted my storytelling chops
only so I could stop, even before the period could halt the last sentence of the novel, thwarting its purpose.

How many heroes clambered upon my doorstep
begging, pleading for me to pen their heroism
How many villains woke me up with their cackling
In the corner, sitting, their eyes glowing in the void of night,
smiling teeth too white
or too black
feathered hats bobbing as their malice peaks
when they hold snaking knives to my throat
and with morbid breath instruct,
"For the love of God..." they say,
"Paint me in a good light, but make my misdeeds known, **** you!"
And I would lay awake, dreaming of these worlds
until the clocks knell
knell
knell
knell
allowing the ebb of time
to wash away my desires, my talents
and the glistening, far-off worlds fade to nothing...

In the end, indeed,
even my mind fades
leaving nothing but a husk behind
and all who knew come to watch
hanging a tombstone upon my rigor mortis neck,
it reads the words,
"He tried, of course he tried
but the devil has his price,
and this poor soul couldn't make rent."
My most cynical take on my problems with writing long stories (some short stories and otherwise, novels): It's also the first time I've written about it poetically, almost therapeutically.

I remember a time when I could sit down and not leave until 5000 words (or midnight, whichever came first) sat on the page.
I remember when there was no concept of a chore, or bore.
But these are just memories...
Who am I now?
Someone unhappy, that's for sure!

I'm trying to do something about it, so I hope I can keep doing what I'm doing (had a list or goals here, but it's wayy too long).

Anyway...

Enjoy!

DEW
She's watching me
but she's never said a word
I know not her face
her touch
her aroma
I've only seen her eyes,
in the stars
for years
and I'll never know why,
her beauty claims the heavens
why,
her light cures the blind
and robs sight from the foolish
indeed,
I've stared too long
transfixed and fiendish, for just a taste
I would make love to her even if she has no body
I would kiss her splendor with my words
caress her aches with fragrant whispers
charm the bones of her imagination with tender glances
and consummate our bonding with admonitions of love.

I need no more than words
to know she loves me,
if she would but speak
yet she only stares...
Her smile is the constellations, I know
and her breath is the sigh of the sun
her arms are the rings of Saturn
and her ******* the moons of Jupiter
yet, I am but a man
I cannot make love to these things
so I pen this yearning,
bold
true...
Sitting under her, the Cosmos,
with passion, I enjoy the view.
This is one of those poems that I wasn't sure was coming.
It started out a little slow, searching, but I found the rhythm and I'm enjoying the re-reads.

I'm trying to avoid those gushing poem-notes so short and sweet this time.

Enjoy!

DEW
Nov 2017 · 544
Osmosis...
Often, these dreams pierce the veil,
between sadness and bliss.
Armies cross
bliss is defenseless
I wake up cold

My steps feel the weight of the stone floor
out to the window, my dreams take me…
Even awake, dreams command my vision.

The world is blind to me and I am blind to the world.
They do not bear my dreams and I do not know their torment.

If they knew my dreams,
they would carry me forward
hands on my hand
we move the bricks together
sight for sight
blindness for blindness
dreams for truth

The strange warmth of fellowship fades in loneliness,
as if it were antidote… or poison.
Still, the memories linger
sparking
yearning to blaze
but they cannot provide warmth
for they are dreams
and fires must feed on flesh.

The armies continue to pour
from somberness into bliss
the fires wink out softly
my eyes dull; my dreams fade.

And for once, I see what they all saw…

Darkness.
So, this poem ends on a dark note, like many of my poems, but it's the type of note that I'm not sure about.
Still, what I am sure of is, the message is about conformity and losing sight of ideals in place of stasis, or regression.
Things like, "I don't give a f**k."
Or, "I can't be bothered."
Even, "F**k you and the horse you rode in on."
These can be funny to consider, especially in a movie.
However, in real life, the tone is different:
it's why "motive" is so important to a police investigation.
If someone cheats on you, is it because you were an *******,
or was it because the person is an unabashed cheater who lied to you, every, day?
Boo-hoo, right?
That's what I wanted to touch on in this poem.

So, without further ado...
Enjoy!

DEW
Oct 2017 · 725
She Fades Away...
In dying day
we trust dismay
Like scent of edible death,
it marks the forlorn path
that marks the traveler
that marks the soul
that feeds the beast.

I cry upon the balustrade
I climb the walls
assail the roof!
I cling to hope and tidings sweet...
but hope, she fades away

In misty day
haze thick with ire
like defiling spear
it pierces the shepherd
who ushers the flock
who bicker and bark
who worship the beast.

I thirst 'pon fetid ocean
amidst mustard fog
oar strokes batter the brine
frost clogs the air, my freedom, my heart
while the sun hides his face for shame of the world
every other face is a mask, and beneath it a mask
their truths are lies and their confessions are lies
so I brave the ocean, seeking her wholesome face
Her voice is the bedrock of countless miracles.
I peer into the cloud that hugs the sea
her face smiles in the obscurity
I reach out to touch her visage
but hope, she fades away.

For years I sought her company
I wished for odes to reveal
the residence of her testimony
Her word would defend, like steel!

Yet when I finally found her,
my grasp bound death's door
I realized I was the hope
that no one will know anymore.

As hope, I fade away.
I have tried my best to describe my life's struggle in this one poem.
As Mahatma Gandhi said, "Be the change you want to see in the world."

We can't complain about nothing changing when we're the ones unwilling to change.

Enjoy!

DEW
Oct 2017 · 408
Eye of Truth...
She gazed, transfixed with dread
The path stretched on in hunger for eternity
Although it had not turned its hunger upon her
Despite its silence, its passive existence
She heard the road like war drums
Its rage was flame and steel
She broke her gaze from the path
And consulted the shaman
The shaman, upon giving her earthen herbs, sent her to wander
In the forest, where no path exists, she lost herself
She heard a voice call out to her, “Resfeber…”
The joys of life escaped her in the musty heat of dappled light
The rains tore through the canopy, washing her fears away
She began to lust for vision, for purpose
The wandering filled her with a desire to know the unknown
For all around her swelled the inescapable, the densely profound
And she happened upon the path once more
Its narrow vein was like the canal from a womb
She stepped out upon it, tasting the freedom of escaping the shell
She flew off, out into the storm
Seeking the eye of truth
Braving the harsh road
For the narrow path leads only to heaven.
Hadn't really written a long poem since the end of July.
I'd spent July doing 30/30 for Tupelo Press.
Basically, I wrote 30 poems in thirty days.
It changed my life in really important ways, many of them subtle.
The confidence I gained has waned a little, but I'm trying to hold onto the lessons.

So, here it is, today's poem.

Enjoy!

DEW
Jul 2017 · 468
The Relativity of Agony...
Listen
The nuclear fallout of a lie
So powerful the dye
Snakes its way-into every life-it
Breaks the mold, impending strife-it
Takes the souls-of every washed-up child
The tsunami of the call of nature will divide
Human nature is but a pawn, do or die
I hate to see the hunger it provides make you cry
Toss out the rhyme
I want to see you sweat when you hear
This
Most people will once upon a time fear it
It’s the attention of a demon in your house
Preying on your unit, infecting you when you spoon it
Sleep
Is where it finds you, invading your dreams
I’ve tried to find meaning in the ugliest things
But something stares back and it has no face
You don’t know its watching because you believe in race
You believe in consumerism, except what’s consuming you
More than sticks and stones
More than ticks and thrones
I realize, you’re out of the box, so pack it up
You don’t realize, you rely on the fox, so back it up
The wolf can come in many forms and many norms
It’s inside the books you sell, the lies you tell
The things you yell, the ring of the bell, at close of life
So understand the meaning of youth is edge of knife.
Farewell to the beautiful things when we create
For the vanity of our souls consumes what’s on the plate.
Another rap-poem for you to see,
another story woven by the whispers of infamy.
Trembling with scorn and fear,
these are the words I hold dear.

Enjoy!

DEW
Loyalty and power,
I gotta take a shower,
My salary’s forgiveness
In history I cower.
Ahem.
The sharpest devils were created in wealth – in wealth
That money power getting bad fa ya health – fo yo health
I climb the lady of liberty
Holding the fire of infamy
**** girl, how tall ya. gotta. be?
How much a man gotta pay for a woman to be free?
If it costs him his life, the debt is paid
For just an hour a day, living death is the wage
I can’t even start about the water we wade
Constituting ignorance, no more to a slave.
I predict the government will feed on your hate
And product your anger to the tricks of the trade.
There’s more to the story,
I’m ****** and poorly,
Ganked and gory,
Just ignore me,
Cents and sore knees, forgetting my name is Jason? Lord, please!
They’re brainwashing with
trumping ******,
jumping ******,
crazy info?
Know what you’re in fo
When you
Turn on the telly, the venue, is
Just another place for kids, welcome,
We’ve got another ****** for your cerebellum,
Gosh!
You’re welcome!
Mosh! Jump up, jump up, and don’t frown, when
They murdered more babies in jars.
Again?
That is if your mother’s in a jam...
When?
I don’t know, half past midnight in the twilight zone,
Which means absolutely nothing when a dog is a bone
Under your house
When you mistake your cat for a mouse.
How many things do I have to get backwards
For you to realize I’m doing math with slick words
Calculating fascination, a concoction, a plantation
Of seeds so small they appear not to exist
Turn the page and out comes a fist
Rattling down the road is canned laughter
Wait up a minute I’m down in the rafters.
So much energy today this poem had to be done,
and though it's more like a rap, the web had to be spun.

Enjoy!

DEW
Jun 2017 · 574
Beatnik Turntable...
I’ve sat within that crowded room.
Elbows, like the knobbed tree branches of a forest,
sway with mirth and freedom.
Yet, my heart lost its fire long before.
And as I sat, I sighed the rousing air
of the room with carouseling dancers,
and felt that no one was there; not even myself.

There are many things that solitude can inspire.
We desire what we can only hope to have again.
Yet, how lucky am I? I dream of things I’ve never known.
I see her hug his hip to her hip, whisper in his ear...
What did she whisper?
He will tell one dear friend,
and that friend,
will feel what I feel – a burst of elation, a drop of envy – a deadly cocktail.
And that friend will go on and wonder, “What if she were mine...”
And I know because I was that friend who tasted her in his words. And dreamed.
I dreamed until the dreaming kept me awake
until the dream cannibalized other dreams
until the dream put visions of her in the clouds
until the dreams, dreams, shattered-my-soul!

I was the one who told my friend about her.
I crafted her beauty and charm with such power to disarm, using my silken language,
and he tasted her essence in my words.
So, now I sit here.
I sit here in this room filled with carouseling couples.
I can only sigh,
as I watch her dance.
What does it take to be in love?
Sometimes, it can take a fool as much as it takes a prince.
May 2017 · 1.1k
Lady Sea...
The sweetest words
embitter my Lady Sea.
Nor can fire evaporate
that raging ocean.

When a man speaks
with voice of mouse,
hear her shriek-ethereal
nullify even love-potions.

I darest ask her,
mustn’t I dare?
Wouldn’t even a grimace,
tease my loving stare?

Lady Sea, storm in your soul.
Were you to splatter like glass
wouldn’t I still find nourishment?
Just an element of you.
Just a taste.
I would consume it infinitely,
leave none to waste.

Lady Sea,
lady see, I whimper, I pine.
Your wish is thine.

Lady Sea,
hair like nimbus sail,
I paddle at your door...
To no avail.
How do you know when you're in love and, most importantly, does it even matter if she doesn't love you back?
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