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Are you patiently persistent, or persistently patient?
You are encouraged to be both when under the pavement.
Yet, in the world of the living, everyone's rushing.
When you blow jobs from the government, blushing.
When you smoke cars at the dealer, pushing.
Ideas laced over one another like a hero in addiction.
Pleasure locked in fervent battle like out her space friction.

I need a place to die where love is infinite.
Hostess: "Another cup of gin?"
Me: "That's it, I quit!"
Hostess: "You don't even work here, Jim?"
Me: It's weird, I know, but this moment isn't working for me,
I've got to split..."

We need to live in a place where you can't get addicted off of spit!
I don't want to buy pleasure, don't you ever make it an option,
do you like broken souls, so broken that the empty's rotten?
I've lost my nerve with this, so I can't feel a thing,
Reality: "Sir, we've been calling you for years!"
Me: "Oh, couldn't hear the ring... from where I dropped it!"

I'm divorced from this insanity, reality? Travesty?
I show up at bars, saying, "Let me out!" Bars of steel!
It's a hard sell to be sober. I'm sober, man. "For real?"
Everyone wants the pleasure: a jolly good time!
When someone's sober, well, it's almost a crime... (it might be)
Beer? No. Poker? No. Swear word? No. *******? Ummm...
:)
Maybe...
>:-)
No.
:'-(

What a land. What a hopeless, marching masquerade of: huh?
Dear diary,
Life is strange.
The end.

LOL
If you need an explanation, every so often, I write a bizarre poem. I suppose it's like getting the bats out of the closet, feeding them rats sneakily stuffed with garlic, and then hiding their bodies in a museum, whereupon you immediately regret your decisions...

Enjoy! (I'm sorry if this was too weird for you, LOL! Wrote this last week after election day.)

DEW

Writer's note: wow, a breath of fresh air reading this at the end of the year. What a journey this year has been! I was ashamed of this poem, thought it was too risque, but I now have no idea why I was so scared... especially after that election, LOL! I'm going to post all my weird, comical poems now, all at once!  :o)
Two horses galloping on sun-kissed plains
Hoofprints on roses
Hoofprints rippling surface of quiet lake
Hoofprints carve your name on yonder moon
Because we’ve been everywhere, and I was everywhere with you

Are your fingerprints on the back of my hand?
Must I be careful not to touch someone new, lest they know you’ve been there?
Would they tremble in fear?
Such love! They would say. It burns bright even in dying!
I needn’t fear such things. I’ll never touch another.

Should I cry? Would tears express such sorrows?
If I were to bring peace to the world, would I ever find my own? Such sorrow.
With such sorrow, would ****** sate the wound? Worlds reduced to graves and still sorrow lingers.
Such sorrow must burn away of its own ilk.
Better to have loved then lost? Better not to have loved you, at least.

I laugh.
The miles between us were a drop in the ocean. Truly, they were.
I can't get far enough from the memory of us... because I am the moon upon which your name was carved.
Better just strip down to the bone and walk to the nearest monastery...
The music wasn't reaching him.
He was starting to wonder,
was he really him?
The picture fades in the portrait
rim,
but it's okay, if who you are is dim,
because the world is brighter than your
sin
but to him,
the world fades in its global
rim
and his life loses its flavor
love loses its neighbor
It's kind of hard to think
when your job is slave labor
It's kind of hard to wink when happiness
is hard to savor,
but that doesn't mean you've got to hate your
creator.
How does life go on when you're empty?
You hunger for more,
but in front of you is plenty
Why?
As time ticks down
from eleven,
the suffering is worse
when all you want is
heaven.
I hope you enjoyed this :)

DEW
Like cadavers are so many lovers.
Drunk on a table for two,
laid out and cut open
examined, weighed and cataloged,
yes,
cupid has your number.

He sharpens his arrows.
"Oh, how cute! He's like a baby!"
Shut it!
He's a monster.

It was nothing serious.
Angela and I were noncommittal,
then,
it just...
Happened!
I kissed her and she lost her footing.
Her legs slackened like climber's loose rope.
Angela fell, hard.
I pulled out the arrow. (I only wish I had disinfectant.)
She was breathing funny. I wasn't sure what bit her,
but when her eyes flickered open,
I felt the shame she would never know.
I looked up in time to see a fluttering of white.
A dove? I was too naive.
Angela started to get clingy. That's when I got stingy.
Soon, I began to ignore messages selectively.
Eventually, she was a fading memory.

Monica. Jessica. Lisa. Monique.
The story kept repeating itself.
"Get a grip, love was chasing you! Some should be so lucky..."
If that grip is cupid's neck, give me two handfuls, please.
I nearly stopped ******* around altogether,
haunted by feather after feather,
but I really just learned to play it safe.
Cut them off after a couple of weeks.
I'll never forgive Cupid, that rotten ****.

Her name was Felicia.

It was day thirteen.
I had my copied and pasted, "Sorry," SMS ready to go.
We were engaged in pillow talk,
it was nothing serious.
Sarcasm turned into playfulness.
We rolled over,
she had me pinned,
she nibbled on my earlobe,
and with artful tongue stroked
years of pain
from my soul.
She reared back.
Our eyes locked in mutual reverence.
We smiled and embraced letting our slick bodies revel in the moist residue of our tender frolicking.
It was then that I felt the itch in my shoulder blade.
Color and warmth fled my chest.
It was with a numbness that I let her go,
and reach back,
and felt the long spine of the arrow,
like the stem of a scythe.

The weeks that followed were a heaven
that I had always hoped not to enjoy
and felt ever more guilty in knowing my unfettered happiness.
Simple pleasures I once knew were then mountains of joy.
My passions magnified were as the flames of the sun.
I even feared I could turn her away with mentions of my love,
but this was not an unrequited venture.
We shared in admissions of our deepest affections.
There was not a moment passed in yearning of our old lives.
Even shedding light on our past imperfections was a delight
incapable of breaking the spell.
Truly, this is the purpose of youth; this love; this roaring of souls entwined.

Is justice blind?

I certainly felt this token of nature cast its judgment upon me.
No sooner than I had finally accepted my new reality, did I watch this sheltering bubble burst.
We weren't as open as I had imagined, of course, I shouldn't be so naive to think so.
She disappeared. I was distraught for what seemed like weeks, but.
I got a phone call.
The phone call led to a hospital. Within the hospital, a room.
Within that room, she lay on a bed, head shaved, smiling weakly.
I sat hesitantly by her side.
She grinned as she pinned me with a pink ribbon.
"You'll fight with me, right?" She said, as her eyes searched my soul,
quivering, yet there was a fierce strength behind the weariness.
"If I don't fight, I'll lose more than losing you."
She lay her head in my chest. A chest that could lend its power.
Looking out of the window into the horizon, I wished for things I never considered to be signs of hope. Yes, I'll fight...

In that moment of my life, it was as if I weren't alive.
Perhaps my body was waiting for me to return: sitting there, breathless.

Are brave words the measure of fate?
Oh, I wish this were so, yet some battles only time can win.

I didn't go to the funeral. I simply asked that I may scatter the ashes.
It was a moment for two. I stood on a cliff by the sea, a place she and I loved. I spoke to her, in ways I knew she deserved. I scattered the ashes, and I knew she had returned to the promise of life, a place beyond time and pain.

And so, time passes for me.

In time, I am ready to love another.
A familiar itch in the shoulder blade.
I know the arrow is there.
I look up and there is cupid, smiling.
No need to hide from a gracious soul.
I gaze and I whisper:

"Please, Cupid. This time, don't leave me breathless."
Enjoy :)

DEW
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
I stand on the edge
Why should I care
I'll tip this way or that
and glide in the air
It's all a game of how I can stay
when my feet no longer bleed
cut down to decay
My wounds are the grooves from which
music plays
The knife is the needle;
that's how I behave.

I stand on the edge of a blade
My journey splits me in two.
I forget who I am
each eye's a one-legged man
I want two things at once
Each thing, two things more
I feed the hydra,
carry me, carry me
The thousand-headed-beast
feeds the world.

I dance on the edge of a blade
because there's freedom in my abandon
There's hope in my tragedy
There's life in my dying
but the dying never ends.

My only silver lining
is the blade
of this guillotine... and
my only hope
is this dream within
a nightmare.
I hope you've enjoyed this one and,
are able to reflect on the things I've dug up.

Enjoy!

DEW
We look at the world, why, we must wonder...
Whose nightmare am I living, whose blunder?

He casts off his shackles and buries this,
Yesterday does: the seed of destruction,
Lord of slaves, devourer of bliss.
Canticle of woe; death's pound of mutton.

He consumes it today, with sickle, and,
Calamity the teeth, death the mouth: sand.
Just my idea that any problem that we see today is either, because of something we did yesterday, or because of something we avoided yesterday.

We all know this to be true, but whether as an individual, as communities, nations, or as a species, we engender calamity by refusing to do the things that will solve the issues of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, by refusing to come together and eliminate our iniquities.

It starts on the ground level.

Change yourself = Change the world
What excuse can I give,
to be let go,
to be let live?

My passion has burned out,
embers of my will burning,
no longer.

Tempt me out of my shell,
why don't you,
why don't you stop?

Remind me of why I failed,
go on,
go on that journey for me.

I'm tired, okay?
Let my weak heart beat to barrens,
and barren to dust.

Let my shards of bones,
rattle like maracas within,
the sleeves of my destitute muscles.

Let the scratching of my,
weary "days gone by" voice,
remind you to avoid my troubles.

Forget about me,
so that not even remembering me,
will rustle my grave.

You stare at me in the restaurant,
when I say all this, plainly,
your mouth gaping open.

My excuses have prepared for me,
a greedy grave; I stand up, bow,
"Excuse me." I walk away.
It doesn't have to be a restaurant.

You could be an adolescent talking to a teacher, a lawyer talking to a client, a father talking to a child, a spy talking to a CIA director, a hermit talking to a pet, a police officer talking to a chief, a political campaign manager talking to a candidate, or a President talking to a nation; inside the body and mind of these people can be one ubiquitous feeling, "I want to give up right now and be victorious as I tell you, 'I quit.' "

I've been getting very tired and felt this poem suited a desire of mine.

It is and it isn't unique to me: the sense that I can never be good at anything. Or that I can never be good at anything that I want to be good at.

I hope that one day I will be able to look back on this and laugh.

That day, I hope that I will finally understand what it is to achieve something that makes me happy, but more so that I have found something that I will only doubt on the "very" worst days, yet bounce back without a care.

Perhaps that is too much to ask, and I'm not that kind of person "uggh"

What is your greatest flaw?

How do you overcome it, and what battle scars get your gears grinding on cold nights?

#boredom #tiresome #pain #enemy #emptiness #apathy #regret #help #desire
I pushed on by instinct,
As far back as I can think,
I walked into a new world,
On my way back home,
I found a pearl.
Whispers of some exotic girl,
Sound like lies when you're alone.

Stop, haunting me.
Stop, haunting me.
Stop, haunting me.

I left home for some adventure,
And of what I found I wasn't sure.
Seems like she was more alive than dead,
With this madness I will lay my bed.
You always think you won't be harmed,
By what doesn't exist (not in this life).
When you're far away from love,
It's all you've ever missed.

That love!
That love!
It came from above.
There's no other love.
When you're pushed off, the brink,
You will only find, what wasn't extinct.
She may not be what you wanted
Some days when you think you're haunted,
It's her... it's love...

Going back to where I found the pearl,
Surprised to see she is a different girl,
A new love to pave the way,
These really are better days,
For God there is only one praise.

It all seems like it's going to be kosher,
That shows you never really did know her,
When she stabs you, you see the light,
You're filled with unstoppable fright,
Because she's the one that ended up dead.
How could you be tricked by a bed?

That love!
That love!
It came from above.
There's no other love.
When you're pushed off, the brink,
You will only find, what wasn't extinct.
She may not be what you wanted
Some days when you think you're haunted,
It's her... it's love...

You feel like you've nothing left to loose,
Your tears as bitter as the *****,
This may just be the end you deserved,
That should be the part where you swerved.
Crashing into olden days,
You see that love is the craze,
Your broken heart's disease burns.
The sickness of a twisted love,
Haunts you like a sticky glove,
Just check out where you checked in.
Leave your heart where you'll leave your sin.

This love!
This love!
It came from above.
There's no other love.
When you're pushed off, the brink,
God will find you, when you're extinct.
It may not be what you thought you wanted
Some days when you think you're haunted,
Just pray... it's love...
Alright, soo... You may have realized these are lyrics.

The thing is though, I think they go hand in hand: poetry and lyrics.
I've been trying to write lyrics "in a sense" before I tried writing poetry... not true technically, but also "technically" yes.

I woke up today with this song in my head. I imagined it being performed by one of my favorite bands: The Fray.
I have the guitar riffs, the bass, the piano, some electronics, even violin in my head. On days like this, I wish I studied music.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.
I hope you understand it, too.
If you don't, just ask :)
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
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
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
He didn't want one at all.
His parents told him he needed one.
His friends told him he never had one.
"A lover?" he chuckles, "I abolish the siren's call!"

Years pass.
He lives on entertainment and work alone.
One day, he witnesses a theft; he thinks it crass.
A pursuit begins and into the skies, how high he has flown.
He nabs the thief, retrieves the pearl, and to the girl he doth go.
Reclaiming the treasure, her eyes alight, she delights in the victory.
"Thank you!" away she walks, tears from her eyes flow.
He knows not her name, or the nature of the game's history.

Days bass by.
He remembers the smile, the warmth of her heart, the passion.
He packs his things: home, family, work, friends, "Goodbye!"
He tracks her down, "I brought you honor," he's not done,
"Lady, I will bring you love every day, every hour, every moment,
If you but make me feel as you did before!"
Has a man ever before made this promise? She muses of endearment.
"I know not what I did, not that it matters anymore,
For what you have said, in my heart, has opened a door."

That feeling again! What feeling was this?
An agent of bliss? A love carrier's kiss...
He would not abandon her,
Lest things return to what they were.

The first year was quiet, riddled with passion,
Love-making, for each day, there was a limitless ration.
Yet a simmering day, cooking chaos and infamy,
Out of it was born a crook dripping with villainy.
He named himself... "Brute"
He thinks death is loot.
He collects it like a farmer consuming every shoot, every root.

Our hero did sense this, somehow he knew.
"What ails you?" she asks, "Just give me a clue."
"Our love is still strong," he notes, "But arounds us brews a bitter stew."
"What can be done?" she asks, "What must you do?"
"I must survey the lands, back to the place where I flew."
"My pearl, take it, if you die, I will mean nothing."
"Your pearl? For me? Surely not! A lie, you're bluffing."
"Take it my love, and remember me always,
When your heart aches, remember these good days."

He sighs and takes it, kisses her and flies,
There is one he will refuse to permit goodbyes.

Above the land he saw it, but his heart stopped short,
Because of dastardly things seen, horrors to report!
"No..." he moans, "Not on my watch!"
The villain had found his woman, a beauty to botch.

He flew down to their nest,
Clutching the pearl at her behest,
The clouds distorted his view,
Through them he aggressively flew,
But,
Before he could stop the end of this land,
Brute accomplished what he has planned.
"Love is no more! You were too slow to matter,
I'll drop her withered body! Hear her bones clatter..."
The hero sees the deed, but he understood her words,
Now that he has a piece of her, he can move onwards.

"Your villainy is strong, but you have not tempered destruction,
For you will soon meet, the power of my instruction."
Brute raised an eyebrow in amusement,
Is this man a cow? For I shall milk him into entombment!
His deathly gaze steady, the villain prepared his onslaught,
But our hero inhaled the clouds themselves, disturbing nature not,
"Clean up your mess Anthony, and never do this again!"
Hearing the voice of his long dead mother, Anthony, (Brute not),
Did as he was told never approaching another sin.

Our hero knelt beside the remains of his lover,
He let his tears wash her bones, for he loved her like no other.
He took the pearl that she had given him,
Pressed it into her skeletal palm on a whim.
Lo and behold!
Life seized her corpse like a gust of wind.
Embracing each other, true love they uphold.
Through them, again, the human race may begin.

Revolutions are born of feverish desire.
Thorns in the hearts of millions and fear in the minds of billions.

Heard across the whispers of machines, spoken to the minds of onlookers.

Entrances carved into the souls of children by myriad opinions.

Young ones engraved with a memory, reared to despise terror as one would hookers.

Advance the agenda. Propaganda distributed; phones, theaters, televisions alight.

Losing our souls to the terror, we huddle in our whining and dining rooms.

Lips loose and battering what we don't understand, they're the terrors! Don't you understand?

Destitute is reason in the fanatics worlds away, yet in our very homes.

Encouraged to make poor our own empathy, as we seek them out.

Solace lost on our tongues we devour them, mercy removed from our bones.

Everyone knows we have to get them first, right? Right. There's no other route.

Right is confused with fear. They've made us just like them. Just like them.

Vie for change! Do it all you want, but you can't change them, not with sinful might...

Entrance them with modernity, educate them, sequester them, it's a farce, a problem.

Aren't we the beasts? Shooting missiles from a, "Wicked City," televisions alight.

Grand mess we've made, hypocrisy ten miles high, sin ten miles deep.

Right. Where were we? Who shot last? Compare past to past, continue the fight.

Already we're planning, where to strike next? Whack the hive, make 'em weep.

Vanishing like shadows in all-encompassing light the terrors disappear.

"'Enraging us again,' coming soon!" the sequel should be good next year.
I wrote this after the "Paris Attacks" last year.

You might get the sense that I'm downplaying the situation, but, if you pay attention, what I'm actually doing is shedding some light on the role that the media plays on the world stage and exposing the power of ignorance, and its effect upon society.

Ignorance is the downfall of nations mighty and meek alike.
Genteel in droves
she's drug of choice
you stay at bay
but follow her voice

It's often said
"if looks could ****"
her beauty's hooks
a lustful-red pill.

Your brain's a machine,
gears and all
she'll gum your works
the plane will fall.

She'll get you good
you'll never see,
the innocent girl
she claims to be.

Once you're on the slab
***** as a building
the devil ***** you dry
your bones for kindling.
Never fail to write the tale of caution.
It never changes, because the enemy
is always the same.
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 a holistically beautiful woman.
This was a joy to write.

Enjoy!


DEW
I forget where I forgot you...
That place is a ghost land,
it's a dreamscape,
it's a netherworld,
where Styx was our path
and death was our guide
for into life we emerged
absent of one another.

When I remember that I don't remember you,
there is a gentle flutter of the heart
or the buoyancy of a smile uplifting the balloons of my cheeks
even the pull of earthly forces
a magnetism that I'm sure slams us into walls
across time and space
when we can't escape the force.
I'm forced to regret my shame.
My heart splits apart where glue,
like melting-hot pizza cheese,
can't protect the seams and my memory is suddenly
seamless.

There you are.
Cradled in a vignette.
It's snowing, and I've fallen over.
My friend cackles next to our Quasimodo snowman.
You fear that I am a basket of eggs
sliding toward the precipice
time counts down
you fade
I smile,
and tomorrow
your haunting is a stormcloud
the past comes raining down upon me...

"Good morning folks, it's 97.8FML; look's like we've got repressed memories. Visibility is low. There's a sharp depression chill sweeping over. The tears won't let up; about 70litres today. Better have good wipers, it's looking like a long weekend. And now, we have a word from our sponsors. Kleenex."

The memory surfaced the same way you found me.
Out of the blue, like an angel: of death or of life, I don't know.
Sleeping is harder than catching butterflies.
When I count the sheep, they have your face.
When I think about you, it's a circus.
It's a mixture of laughter and staring into a wall; the occasionally thrown chair at an invisible lion and the whiplash of my dreadful anger.

It doesn't make sense. I last knew you in the time it takes to grow a forest. And here I am. In a thicket of bedlam.

I used to forget that I'd forgotten you.
Now, I can't remember you're not worth the memory.
So, it seems like it takes me a long time to process my emotions.
Maybe over half a year ago, I had this resurgence of feeling for my college sweetheart. It was strange. I've been thinking that I probably never processed the emotions properly. Over the past couple days, the memories came back again and I saw things in a light that I've been afraid to consider for, years. How does that even happen? LOL

Anyway. I was also thinking about the people we forget without even thinking about it. People we couldn't even imagine if our lives depended on it. I became painfully aware of that the other month or so, and now I've been keeping tabs on how I do it and I don't know what to think. I'm just confused. I suppose I care for the wrong reasons. Maybe because I've been forgotten by people that I wish remembered me. Anyway, this poem echoes that and probably many more things as well as the two aforementioned topics.

I hope you've enjoyed this piece :)

DEW

P.S. I've been thinking that writer's block is actually just a secret craving. We have to search our feelings and write about what our heart (if you want to call it "Muse" that's up to you) is trying to say.
Keep that in mind!!!
"Unconditional addiction" are these terms,
I think of this servitude as good germs,
I understand pain is an emotional whip,
Drink in this short quip: have a sip.

And when you've had your fill, just chill,
Break through this illusion with the power of will,
When you're striking stones to light your fire,
Will lightning be created? That's overkill.

We have an addiction to stimulation,
An addiction to nonsense,
Through every trial and tribulation,
I find my mind's dense,
When will I stop stumbling?
How about a continual fall?
Every floor has a ceiling
And every ceiling a floor.
Without these things, there's nothing
But a continual thirst for more.

Have I said enough, have we won the game?
When you're old and poor, there'll be no one left to blame.
Every stranger's face will really be the same.
Not one will be your family, not one will share your name.

An addiction before you knew the word,
An addiction to emptiness,
An addiction to "wait, I'm searching"
An addiction to "haven't found it yet!"
Too often have we lost our way,
Too seldom have we stopped our play,
And now that we have cut the rope,
Your world will fall, now, ain't that dope?

Nope.

Everything's addicting,
How are they put to rest?
Stop being conflicting,
Just simply pass the test.

Outside of reality is inside.
Inside reality is outside.
It's all one and the same.
There's no poison like fame.
Had a lot of fun with this one.
Feels like an 80's rap when I play it in my head; try it out.
Tiny necklace locket
resting on a rock
it
gleams in the sun
next to necks that met a gun.

I wonder why they left
they
left my soul bereft
of the dreams I wish to hold
oh, the story's growing cold.

They were dreams!
My dreams!
Whose do you think they were?
I was the one with all the youth.
You put your hopes on my shoulders,
didn't you?
So why did you leave me?!
It's not my fault I forgot the
dreams...

The colors run from my face
and twist and turn
down
down
the drain
leaving stains that
I wish
were the mark that I'd be
satisfied with leaving on the world,
but
no one appreciates a colorful drain.

Even when the end of your life
is a paradise
does that justify the hell you've been through!
Don't you wake up
in the heat of summer
sweating
and wish the nightmares would just pour out, too!
Why is it that the biggest fish,
in the nets of our minds
are the angler fish and the puffer fish?
Terrifying and poisonous.
Rancid and unappetizing, because we leave them
out in the sun
afraid to touch our own dysfunction!

What justice is this?
My father wasn't father enough!
Why did he sleep all day?
When he died, didn't I already know he was dead?
Did I experience a déjà vu no more feeling than it was a jagged knife?
Am I dead too?
Is that why I think this is hell?
Is that why I wondered if there are souls? The confusion borne by still being flesh and blood, yet being so ghostly that I couldn't scratch the itch of my bleeding soul.

Justice? If you cry inside, does anyone hear you scream?
Can you?
Only when it's too late.
The last drop of the blood of your soul spent.
Mortgages! Taxes! Insurance! Loans! Employment!
Yes, please, they're all a merciless enjoyment!
A ceaseless tickling of agonizing fun.

What choice do we have?
The choice to tell those who tell you, to tell those to tell that person,  and on and on that it's enough!
We're tired of being told money is life-blood.
Why should my ability to live be based on how much dead tree you've been siphoning from the life of the planet I am worth? Am I a resource?
I'm sure that's in your audit, isn't it?

Citizen #11899382280 is complaining again, send him back for conditioning. Advertise some more bacon and send him to the hospital again so he's distracted, this will distract his whole family. We'll advertise a specific hospital he should go to to them so they feel compelled. When he's at that specific hospital, we'll shorten his life as our insurance. His family will think he's graying because of the stress of the heart attack, but it's really the drugs, which always look the same, yet are increasingly more destructive. We'll send Lawyer #448322783 in to talk about his retirement and will. The family has requested him, but Lawyer #448322783 works for us. Lawyer #448322783 will edit the will to suit our intentions. Once the will is arranged, we will increase the life-shortening medication, which will, in and of itself cause complications. We will introduce a catalyst to forego the critical time we have to avoid his otherwise impending and damaging insubordination. When Citizen #11899382280 is dead, we will retrieve the damaging and insubordinate files from his HelloPoetry.com account and erase his existence. Were he alive, he would find this poem ironic that his emotions, being a matter of the heart, led to a death that was a matter of the heart.

From the heart,
Your loving government & your ****** life
Pain and suffering.
The face of our existence.

I hope you've enjoyed this.

DEW
I just need attention,
Love and its invention.
Sanity on the rocks,
I seize with supervision.
Ice cold to the touch,
Her ******* in my clutch,
I love it so much,
But I'm frostbitten it's such,
A beautiful thing.
An old Facebook post of mine.
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
He clears his throat,
offers a hand,
lady afloat
begging to stand...

but where is she now?
The gentleman's moon...
his strides upon Earth
whose labors to croon?

Here, gentleman, hear
her breaths are so soft.
Need this dough like skin,
a taste so aloft?

Her pulse like a symphony,
her steps on pools glistening,
her lips your night litany,
her hands light-wrought ivory.

Gentleman she swoons!
Her hips like snow dunes,
her words gentle noons
that light up your Junes.

Yet you stay away,
your respect holds sway.
Though she is nectar,
you drink not as night
does day.

Your gentle ways
lengthen the days,
though distance kept,
you oft' purvey
a sense of love,
as she turns your way.
Enjoy!
Body of shame.
It haunts in tatters.
All this grief smites all that matters,
'til there's no one left to blame.

It has the fading scars
of good ol' times
plastered
like flaking paint:
Tattoos of radiant beach sunsets;
forgotten "beneath" a shore
of its memories
like an ordinary pebble
under a mountain of stones.

Ethereal grasp
never touching a thing,
yet finding itself
touched
by desire.

Where goes the time?
Past yet to come.
It has broken scales that balance wine,
yet it's sober to passion's drum.
Haven't written anything here for a while.
Been writing too many twitter poems, haha.

I hope you all enjoy!
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
how we broke
how we broke
how we broke
we were

we were made
no

we were born
we were born made
made
for each other
like the flower
blooms
made
blooms
made
blooms, made, to bloom
from its seed
the formula of life was written
and you were my blooming
you opened my eyes to the light
to the aridness of the dark
but
I saw you
linger
even as you taught me hope
how you toed the shadows
thumbed the seams
of life
to give death
a peek

and I shuddered
for I know it then
how I loved you
that's why
I learned to love goodness
for I remembered how
every time
the darkness spat you out
the blood
was too much to clean
it had to be burned
prayed away
commanded
warred with
your blood or his, as well...

I learned to love the light
but in time
I would learn
I loved the light
so much
for saving you
that I
learned you into forgetfulness
into regret
I learned you into spite
as, despite how I loved the light
because of you
I learned, I only loved the light
in the end
the darkness ate all that made you
visible
to my heart
visible

but I still knew you
knew you
I still knew
you were all I ever wanted
dreamed of

even in loneliness
abandonment
even in the arms of a thousand lovers
fragrances beyond aroma
beyond memory
beyond touch, I felt them
and in the midst
of the tumult
the waves of their sating
the kaleidoscope of *******
a thousand sighs
a thousand hot, sopping shivers
a thousand moans, all whispering,
tenderly, my name,
all in your voice
your voice
in your voice they chorused
and I was abloom
with the hearing of you
in their thousand harmonies of one you,
I loved you, all over again
and realized how,
though I love the light
the darkness in it,
what brings contrast
meaning to all the joys of life
what brings purpose
is how you, in your darkness
are my darkness - that you do not complete me,
you empower my reason to live
and I see you, unliving,
never knowing love
as it is the curse of your being
when you are with me,
you forget the dark
you forget the pain of what awaits in it
and you cling to me,
like breath in the lungs
like blood in the veins
our clinging is,
       what IS

and you become the light
you become it, as I
become the dark
to give you breath
to give you force in your heart
that it may be again
that it
your heart
may beat again
I become the dark
I lose the light
that you may see me
beyond the glare,
catch a glimpse of me, again
for when my light is lost
I know you will abandon me
call me cursed,
unholy, for what need a man
a thousand holy ululations of wives enthralled
to hear his wife
scream in the dark
that she has lost herself to dark princes
who ever would be princes
for kings they never became
and never would become
patricide of the light, they earned their keep
as princes
fallen, with you they played,
in your womb, and your blood they drank
that's why,
a thousand was plenty enough, to drown out
the sense of loss of you, from the abandon of me
that you purchased your pleasures
I made love, made marriage, made home,
with a thousand women, as still, you were never lost to me

still you were what bloomed again
with every peace found
I kept a part for you
every new light I loved
I loved you greater
I love you still
I love you as the time of day loves itself
right in the moment
in the present
where, when we first met
first kissed
first made our way, across the altar
made love, in those presents
I am present
with you, your presence is with me
I know you
love you, in the midst of our present
our every present
you are the gift of living
in my heart, my soul
my spirit,
the morning birds are your laughter
your touch
your will to love me, despite all we've suffered
you are eternal
and I am nothing
if not faithful
to a woman who has never been
what anything is worth
giving up on
for
or to, when you are that weight, on the scale
I am the balance that never tips against you
I am that one flesh, weighted with you
for to abandon you, would be to not love myself
and so, that that I love myself, has me loving you,
I wait for when you, yourself, will love you, too,
for maybe, if I'm lucky, for the first time, you will
finally, begin to love me back, for the first time...

... maybe
It's strange what life can be when we forget how to persist in what's important, and remain faithful to all of those whom we love who are important, regardless of what they do or what they mean to us due to what they've done.

"Love conquers all." (A conclusive-paraphrasing of 1 Corinthians 13:4-7)
they break
what they can't buy
where i own it
the land
the deed
the deeds
the first meeting
a hand, gently, cupping her hip
i remember her
in ways she doesn't
in ways impossible
the flutter of her eyelashes
taken aback, then
softly
as a feather fall
drooping of her eyelids
curving of her lips
every moment from then
till mine, slipping off
her emerald slippers
as she groped her chest
soft panting
anticipating
no breath was there for fear
only for joy, and weeping for pleasure
but i was not there
i was already here
in mourning
for who could cherish a night so sweet
forever
surely i,
i tell you,
for i am ever there
in the midst of every meeting, i am absent
stolen away
by love's first embrace
in the coffin
in the death of life, to love, i slumber
for the sun of onus
debt to what tills the earth
i till it not
for i shall never be he who makes her
wait
till
later
i till the day, au revoir
to distant lands, yonder, seek my morrow
seek my yesterday
but today, i'm with her,
as if with child
as if burdened by an impossible future
by myriad questions,
chemistry, timetables, passports, important dates
we are alchemists
she and i,
abed
amidst the dread of toil and bore,
we are parched of pleasure
we seek it,
it is
no one else's
but ours
we mine it
between fear and flight
we fight time and being
we fight ourselves
we fight the womb, what is without that which is opportune,
the midst of our seeking
farming her waistlands
for diamonds, for oases, for meadows, for flowers unbloomed,
i sought her mind for love
attempted
she denied me
pressed her thumb to my lips
said every word i never dared dream
a woman say
and still
ever more she spoke
and i was entranced
enraptured
askance at how
my mind
my bark encrusted body
came alive
with her grace, healing the rigor mortis
of ages past
suppleness of time, unwound in length
now newly wound in electrifying sight
awoke me
alighting the sinews of my brain
with wisdom, truth, and recognition of the life before me
truly alive, and wanting of me, from marrow to end,
and all at once
by ken i learned, how
barren
the world was
without her
despite her, even,
as, i thought, surely i had known charm, before her...
surely, i had known truth, and victory, and love, before...
nay,
i knew,
naught was i in keeping of any bauble the world trifles
in one's company,
with prices aplenty,
all to conjure the mystery, majesty, misery, and deceit of value,
only
should one glean the truth,
to sup of the waters
of love and its dew
to be there
at the hip
and taste of the river
from forefathers and ancient mothers,
from maidens and warlords
from kings and queens,
they all passed down their sweat of brow
the blood of swords and season's flow
to have us know
all for us
this was done
and you all
waste it
tirelessly
merely
talking about love

while,
i
dream it
eat of it
live it
enjoy it...

why not you?
This was one of my most fervent writes in a LONG time!
It was HARD to get out, though fast to pen, and I love it all the more!

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
We live in mist and cloud
searching for warmth and mirth.

The mist fades, the clouds falter.

We each stand on a peak.
I see her glimmering smile
it banishes doubt and worry.

Who knew a smile could
be
so mollifying
so
filling, yet distant?

I look below
to the treacherous
valley.
I shiver at thought
but
omens cannot purchase
my hope.
I march forward.

Across the chasm
of maybe so
and
perhaps not
I fight the tide of
blistering denial, of
mourning and loss
but as I near,
her smile loses its bearings
it slackens and crumbles
smeared in shadow
it dies slowly
so does
my
odyssey...

Without her sunlit smile
to light the way
through treacherous valley
and darkening day
I wait, in wonder
of my eager
stupidity,
and waste away
in ravenous dismay
for her smile does fade
in the nearing
when will I learn that I
can never get
close for comfort.
We don't seek love and romance
for the sake of love and romance.
I believe we do it to escape darkness.
Much as light banishes shadow.
Love banishes loneliness and pain.
So we struggle onward,
through treacherous valleys
hoping to peak
at a wondrous experience.

Enjoy!

DEW
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
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
traces of your beauty
reflected in the isle of my dreams
I float on the waters of duty
I'm as loyal as your conscience deems

lost in the pearls of your worth
I escape the madness of greed
in all the green and quenching earth
love: the most powerful seed

out of its bud grows the universe
so many, unfurling wonders from beyond
stepping into them I see your shame
trapped in your festering pond

but each stride out of your mire
is a height conquering sickness and death
time spent favoring wholesome desire
makes one full of promulgating breath

yet still the climb is vicious
tricky traps and trapping tricks abound
at times it will make you listless
other times it is glory's sound

in the end, there is no end
a thirst for silence, a forgotten friend
in thine tireless hour of  magnitude
it is the breath of hope you defend
Enjoy!

DEW
On the stage I took with pride,
I had seven notes to sing.
With passion they couldn't deride,
My voice was marveled for its ring.

The first was dealt with gusto,
The winds did chime and blow!
The second stunned them, lo'!
An excitement I did not know.

A trio and quartet resound,
When the fifth did make a sound.
The sixth went gracefully hollow,
The seventh took a great bound.

Now hear, all septet of voices;
Didst I bellow to great rejoices?
For when I woke, darest I croak,
Laughter; for my dreams were a family joke.
I wrote this back in October of 2010.

I thought it was an interesting idea and just went with it.

I'm glad of the result :)
The looming night felt
The cost of things unknown
The ease as cumbers melt the
weight of umbrage over throne.

Desires that gently glide
o'er delusions quilted soft
a tower of blistering pride
dreams drifting along aloft

We will always dream of more
when the axe comes to grind
upon our anchored necks
as our heads are left behind.
Just a short little deep one here, LOL.
Although the subject is serious, it's kind of fun.

Enjoy!

DEW
Toe to toe, blow for blow, cheek to cheek, ouch!
Wrestling, meddling, thinking at crouch.
This war must be won with might: tooth and wit.
Yet the weight of it all leads one to sit,

Because to wait for end's call is to chomp,
At eternity's bit; hoping for hope's,
Groping; Loping, running into a romp,
From the pit we know our roads were steep slopes.

"Come closer," the djinn says, "Penny for thought?"
Does man do nothing but submit to gods?
Government? Deity? Family? Frauds...
Three syllable words cage us in a cot.

New day, a new lesson, we say with mirth,
Because we're eternally caught in birth.
We die before we ever see freedom.
God's love letters... read 'em, weep o'er 'em.
I don't often write cynical ones, but when I do, they're infused with a potent bitterness and frustration over my life and what I believe to be the sadistic (sometimes masochistic) comedy that we find ourselves in, or, at the very least, that "I" find myself in.

If hope that this doesn't pull you into my world. Just consider this a window. If you find yourself pulling at and perhaps "pulling out" the proverbial "hairs" of your mind, over this, consider what is occurring in your life, and know that when you read this, this wasn't just a window for you, this was self-reflection in its purest manifestation.

Knowing that, what's important is how you move forward and "not" how you drown in the torrent of your own sorrows.

If you're wondering why I'm even saying all this, then you're fooling yourself if you think this poem had no effect on you.

I'm a frequent passenger in lengthy rumination. I'm always surprised when I realize how something has affected me.
The sense of pride in how we "assume" something hasn't convinced us in its passing works in the same way as a person has repressed memories: they think they don't remember (we think we aren't affected) yet there is a part of that person that acknowledges the memory (we have accepted the idea in our subconscious, ergo, "Mr./Ms. Subconscious, the pack rat").

How do we encounter this part of ourselves?
That's the funny thing about life.
Most of the time, we encounter the issue when the time arises.

Now, this is the time to wonder, "Why mention this at all?"

Well, we are better at confronting an issue when we are prepared.
Problems tend to gain momentum, *******, until they have the strength to knock us down.
If we recognize the issue when it appears, and understand the tree by the seed it grew from, we are better at uprooting it from the source, rather than hacking at the tree, only so that it may grown again.

Have a good day :)
Disharmonious.
It was all a clash of black and blue,
for nonsense that intoxicated
for agony that liberated
and they all cried, "Stop!"
in lament of the gunshots...

Contagious.
Virulent sentiments
of violent out-pour
score to settle score
danger lurking freely
and they all cried, "More!"
in lament of the gunshots.

Pandemonium.
Tasting villainy
masked as necessity
they marched openly
tongues oscillating
ticking time-bombs
explosions of chaos
harbingers of bitter consequence
too bitter to gag, but only to die,
and they called, "Jesus!"
in lament of the gunshots.

Silence.
He wandered,
through the empty streets
of our souls departed
where myriad tear meets
the shaking martyr
and he burns the world
to start anew
anguish and memory discarded,
in lament of the dead.
Lament the loss of innocence,
in partaking of evil
without conscience for love.
What do you hold dear?
I've seen it.
Tasted it.
Owned it.
Thrown it away.
I've loved it, hated it, ignored it.
This is what we fear:

The primitives unearthed the obsidian.
Their eyes caressed its semi-reflective luster.
Their fingers ran along the smooth confines of purpose,
or rather, surface,
it was cool to the touch
and obsidian whispered its secrets
imparting realities the primitives sought.

Tree bark was no longer an obstacle.
The flesh of beast
land, air, or sea-bound
came away like loose clothing
and the people rejoiced, teeth all the whiter.

One day, whilst digging with his prized tool,
one man found a sparkling oddity.
It puzzled him deeply.
And so,
he unearthed it
and sought to reveal its
mystery, disrobing the dirt that clung
to its crystalline body this thing, this... diamond
in the ruff was beautiful, but truly,
what worth was beauty
in light of the fill
of belly?

The man put faithful obsidian
back on the shelf
and joined his hard-working brethren at the fire.
In the night,
a stranger passed through the village.

The man sat at his fire,
chipping the stone from the crystal,
entertaining the astounded onlookers
as he perfected the gem.
The stranger looked upon the diamond
and she delighted in her providence.

She stood at the fire of the meal place
allowing its haunting glow
to cast her face in flame and shadow.
She announced,
"Look upon his treasure.
This is no mere stone!
A fist of this
diamond
can buy you king's riches
in Assur.
This man cares not for that..."
And with that, she skulked into the shadows.

Those whose hungry eyes
spoke for their hollow hearts
came forward and pleaded with the man.
If he does not care for the stone,
mustn't he choose a kin who does?

"You care not for the stone!"
the man declared,
"You care for the debauchery of the city!
I must keep this to ward you from death."

Their pleading became insistent
then ravenous,
but the man defended himself,
until one deranged man,
drunk with the fantasy of the gem,
stabbed the possessor in the back.
Thence began the war for the diamond.

Who should be the
rightful
possessor of the diamond?
Bloodshed can be no true reward.
Bodies lay strewn across the floor in warring poses
teeth gritted
eyes glaring
one ****** palm sated with the prize.

The stranger danced into the bankrupt fray
snatched the gem from the dead grip
clutching it for herself.

She smiled her yellow smile that
by her sin
could only be cleansed
by the innocence of the crystal clear gem.

She walked off triumphant.

All around, obsidian glittered in the fires
that now fought to consume the village.
The first man crawled in the dirt,
like some blood-trailing slug,
trying to escape the inferno.
Trapped, he leant against a wall
and obsidian clattered to the floor.
He picked it up,
"****** are those who delight
in fill of fantasy,
o'er fill of belly!"
There, the fire consumed him,
screams and all.

How unfortunate it is
for the meek to pay the price
for the world's greed.
I love that spark of inspiration and what follows.
Kudos to all you poets out there who've influenced me to this point.
You've made me stonger, and for that, many thanks!

Enjoy this piece to the fullest :)

DEW
He must imbibe, he must throttle their fear.
Father to tribe, demons hold him dear.
This drunkard devil, this fiend to sin.
What cage shall they next hold him in?

His throat is parched! Their vessels full.
If he took one bite, would it be harmful.
These animals, they litter the streets,
For what good are they, except to eat.

He roams the towns, he roams the dale.
To satisfy him, no man may prevail.
His cold red eyes, his calloused hands.
He will reduce the world, to empty sands...

The marching procession of his feet.
Mounting, fleeting, death, upon all he meats.
Blood drips from his hair, tears in his eyes
To this feral man, no one tends to his cries.

There he may ****, and here he may choke.
Blood he may drink, as if milk were a joke,
But why pursue his death, when you are worse?
You are no victim, he suffers insatiable thirst.
Written on this day, 6 years ago!

Every time I read this my eyes bulge out of my head.
It's just laced with violence, teeming with death.
If you find my poem, "Conquistador," on here, it's similar in this way, but that one has a powerful narrative about a romance, which many enjoy.

As usual... Enjoy!

DEW
In times of need,
we bleed and plead
for better days
and to be freed.

I'm losing sleep,
oh, how thorns reap,
I'm that flat tire,
I'm what roads keep.

I'll rust away,
become home to nothing,
and in my stead,
the mice will play.

A resurrection
of sanity's election.
I'll live again
in times of need.
All up to your interpretation on this one :)

Enjoy!

DEW
Words like "baby" aren't depressing
when you quench me like salad dressing.
You're the drapery in my soul
when I think I'm empty, you know I'm whole.

I rolled out of the womb,
a lump of clay, motionless, fidgets,
screaming for love.
I shambled through life,
a *** forming, cracking, breaking,
searching for myself.
What I eventually found was precious,
but to hold onto this truth proved to be a war.
The chaotic braying of battle subsided
when you fixed me with your eyes
and crossed a room
that seemed the length of an ocean
to pass your living breath into my bones
and I was as an instrument
in your hands.

I was amazed to find,
that I too am your castle in the storm,
that I am your raft over the deep,
and I am humbled
despite feeling so powerful
because something so precious
lies in my monstrous hands
and this brittle gift
is what bonds the bricks of my flesh.

Like a piano, you play me,
and all wonder why I sound so well.
They look to you and they know,
through joys and broken plans,
I'll be safe
in your hands...
It's been a little while since I wrote something.
I had such conviction with writing, especially through the first half of last year, but you know... life :)

I'm trying to connect with writing in a new way, somewhere deep down. I guess I'll know when I figure it out.

As always, enjoy!

DEW
This joy is one to have.
This joy is one to know.
This joy was once a calf,
Into ox it soon will grow.

I've made up my mind about darkness,
And made it up about the light as well,
So when the darkness wears a dress,
Although it hurts, I'll send it to jail.

My heart won't pine for lust,
Its silver sheen won't rust,
Its daggered teeth won't injure,
Its pretty mouth won't whimper,
But when it's had enough drink,
Of the nonsense in this life,
It will spread irrepressible joy,
Knowledge of God not strife.
I actually prayed before this for the power to write a good poem.
I'm glad I was given this to share, I like the rhyme and the rhythm :)
From the depths of the sea, they came. Homeless.
Creatures of hapless form, and formless bodies.
Animals carved in the nature of blindness,
without godly supervision; deities.

Convicts they were; that which is wrong,
Leaving behind a world lost to them. Alas,
Their crime is that they did not belong.
But even in exile, they hold debt to their past.

They flopped, they crawled and oozed,
Out of old skin, they became something new.
So the years passed and frequently bruised,
They became gargantuan and further still; grew.

Inhabiting a land, once uninhabitable; now tamed.
Creating dominion over raw nature, they climbed.
Hills, valleys, mountains, volcanoes! They claimed.
Even in the face of annihilation, they climbed.

Above it all they choose to rest, touching the sky.
The creatures learned time, then they chased it.
Always pursuing it, always getting one step ahead. Fly,
They soon did, faster, faster, faster, they chased 'it'.

Until they broke out of the awesome surface.
Like once before they made prints on lands once untouchable.
The creatures are creatures no more. At least not all.
But, soon. All the creatures will float away 'pon solar winds.

I look back on the first of them all. The scared,
Unsheltered and curious creature of the old world.
It looks upon me, with questioning, unaware of destiny. Unprepared,
In its dark eyes, I see light. Light that I am closer to taming. Knowledge unfurled.
This is a poem that I wrote on this day, 6 years ago.
This is actually one that I'm not excited to post here, entirely.
However, poetry is poetry, hahah.

Enjoy!

DEW
As the sun set,
I waited for the cool breeze.
I had not felt yet,
the moisture of cold
in the joints of my knees,
but out over the churning waters,
of my mistress, sea,
I was reminded of you
and what I dreamed we'd be.

Too often on nights like this
when the moon affixes my eyes
to the heavens aglitter
I remember your face asweating
and I won't be forgetting
the scar on your belly
that I caused and won't regret.
We'd given birth to a world
that we cradled in our arms,
and we split that world apart,
each claiming to be Atlas, or Hades.
No God deserves such precious gifts.

As the sun rises,
I walk out into the pastures.
My feet are christened by such little blades,
but it is my heart that's cut, torn, bleeding,
and I'll never see you again,
because you died for one of our worlds.
I went outside of myself for this one.
I hope someone can connect with this.

Enjoy :)
I never used to feel haunted.
Until I lost what made me whole.
On my arm, she I flaunted.
Now she's gone, where is my soul?

Where is it? Where is the music?
My foot lies flat, no way to use it.
Now she haunts me day and night,
in the hollow where I hear the blues.

There's no music, like a funeral,
still, she plays the blues.
I'd held out hope still knowing all,
until I heard the news.

She's dead, not the way I am inside,
because I can still kick buckets
and there are no more dreams for her.

It makes the haunting deadly
what if we were wed? hic!
why aren't I dead, too? hic!
We'll never be together now...

Who is she, you ask?
She's my muse, who sang the blues.
She kept my feet and hands in tune.
My muse knew of all the birds in June,
their calls cataloged in stacks like dunes.

I don't know where she went,
but the haunting is severe.
She speaks in the hollow of my soul,
but, if I'm alive, why can't I hear?
This happened to me back in 2013.
I spent a month or more completely empty of inspiration.
I couldn't write stories, I couldn't write poetry (that was typical at that time anyway) I could barely write anything for class or read what I was meant to or wanted to.
It was an abysmal time during which I watched a lot of anime and tried to avoid anything fun.
I don't think this time is anywhere near as bad as three years ago, but I do feel very weird. I hope I come out of this as a better writer than before...
... come back, muse! *tear*
If you ever wonder why
poetry is flames,
you will hear my name
whispered in your room,
cocoon-cocoon-****.

I am the embers
inside the hearth of the storm,
I leave behind remembrance
to keep you safe and warm,
I live in lingual form,
cocoon-cocoon-cooon.

What stokes the flames,
when the heart is fading
when life is braiding you
into a mess
the stress
confess
sorrow is hard to impress
ravaging you, leaving you
less
yet the flames burn on
poetically strong
indomitable words
right or wrong,
they are the song
of the chirping heart
from end to start
a noble art
and my name is there
please, don't stare,
cocoon-cocoon-****.

I leap from the pages,
from the fires of the ages,
I have no name
but my poetic, rages
I leave behind my...

Cocoon-cocoon-****.

I fly away,
belatedly soon,
but I leave behind
a cocoon,
for the butterfly sheds tears
racked up over the years
rising from the waves
of paupers and slaves
for the butterfly craves
the cow.
I had a lot of fun writing this one.
I can only hope of the same for your reading experience.
It's a fun one to think about!

About the last line:
"The butterfly craves the cow," is my expression of the human experience. An experience that is constantly redefining itself much as a flashlight in the dark can discover the world and yet only have fill of a moment that is constantly passing; not empty as it is constantly filling; a strange fluidity of experience in which we search for more.
An experience in which, even when we do attain humility and contentment in our lives (steadying the flashlight), it becomes our mission to maintain our state of peace.

Butterfly craving the cow, is to crave the source.

It is to crave the truth. It's what we call "real". Something that lacks deception. Something we can weigh and is open to understanding.
We develop the idea, as we grow up and imitate our society, that if something is secret, it cannot be real. Yet today, we are shedding this idea in favor of fear. That led me to the church in my own life. Christians are comfortable with the idea of there being truths unattainable in our transient moment. Truths that are permanent in a life that we cannot do more than hope and prepare for.

Whether or not this is possible, we have to come to terms with the human hunger for fire and why religion, and especially the Abrahamic religions, are so good at satisfying this hunger and changing people from their core. We have to seriously consider the idea of God and understand that if we continue to think of him as an idea, our transience will surpass such flimsy conceptions.

Enjoy!

DEW
My brain ticks with a different kind of vigor
My brain licks at time, tasting new flavor
My brain thirsts for what isn't mine, nor my neighbours
My brain bursts at the dreams by a prickly Jailor.

Hail her, she mounts the mountains in attempts to see thee.
Completely unphased by the fountains that writhe beneath me.
I turn my back in revenge, revenge that bleeds me,
Dry of my vigor, dry of my fire for I am clay. See?

Mould me she said, with eyes deeper than gold strewn caverns in the beyond.
They perplex me, so, oh, so greatly they vex me, they stress me of concern.
I burn, nay, I am clay, so I yearn for this. Fair lady may I ask for one last kiss?
In my stead she kissed a statue instead, and left a mark, a deep copper red.

Goodbye she said, and she left the statue be, till the earth caved in, and so did the sea.
I cannot tell you how, or even of when. Or of when, or even of how can I not tell you?
Wow, I can tell you I saw a sky blue.
Or black, after Jailor's attack. Halt!

Stop dreaming! Oh please, do stop it henceforth!
I am mightily weary, must make trip to the north.
Lonely I have been, for you have not been.
So wake up and walk with that lop-sided grin.
Oh, what a tiresome companion you are,
Since I have made haste to journey thus far,
With you left behind after I had begun,
So pick up those feet, and away wierdy one.

Off we went, with my dreams in tow.
Whether I will have chance to taste them, I do not know...
But I know one thing, a something so grand.
When I next feel weary and dreary of hand,
I shall await to journey, that dreamer's land.
I wrote this on February 23rd, of 2011.

Five years, eh?

Yeah... five years.
Somehow, I'm learning to be a poet all over again.
Jeez.

LOL
I surf through a crowd,
click, click, click,
am I slick?
Am I sick?

The faces cascade, each one like a molecule
in a waterfall of desire and liars and fire.
Do we sit here to burn or to yearn.
Do we ever learn or feel concern.
It seems I will never tire to conspire
against my own soul on this wire.

I'm wired.
The screen crackles a strange glow.
The bits and bytes tell me there's hope.
Ones and zeroes like so much knotted rope.
I hang on her every word,
oh, my shame is ethereal.
I want to stop seeing her,
but my hunger is serial.

She whisper's, "But wait...
...
...
...
... there's more..."
and I die to be born her prisoner.

In lust we trust,
the internet anthem,
the trumpet of the millennia
our senses abandoned.
The cascading fire, behind the screen,
the ache inside: my mind? my spleen?
I must be rotten,
how could I not be,
their alluring words and forms,
imprison me.

Can I break free? Qui-qui? Hehe!
It's a total lie, there is no greener grass.
So I hunger for more of the poison that made me;
I seek to drown myself, like a manly baby,
"Gimme more! A little more!"
They stand in shock,
then retreat to their bottles,
ignoring the ticking clock.
Back to her and her and her,
the ones who will never love me,
who've ensnared me to drain me,
me and me and me.

There are different kinds of blindness,
many we will never be ****** enough to see
but when the blinds are open,
can we really change what we see?
Do we come awake to a ruin,
a festering, aching, screaming lump of chaos
that we are but fingers to... this abomination.

I surf the crowd
and when she comes again,
I'll just change the channel,
and a new face materializes,
her beauty renders me thirsty
I smile my sleekest smile,
I recite the uncanny words,
"Mirror mirror on the wall."
So, despite my words in this poem, this is not just a sort of commentary on online relationships. This applies to many of the unhealthy relationships we engage in on a day to day basis, stretching back into our earliest memories and forward unto our deaths.

I can only hope that this poem will help people who might be fighting their conscience to consider some powerful self-reflection.

Have a great day :)

Enjoy!

DEW
Justice,
Was my way of seeing,
The world's mandatory madness,
Until I understood,
Justice...

The sun shines,
On the unjust and the just,
Alike, because to call all this madness,
Is also to be undeserving of,
It's true wonder.

In order to understand,
One must be threaded through the eye,
Of the needle, and stitched into the multi-layered fabric,
Of this bountiful, tightly-wound world,
To see the mighty hand.

When you trust that justice,
Has your best interests at heart, you will not,
Fight the ebb and flow of decisions calling you out to experience,
The thrill and trauma, and pushing you back,
To count your many blessings.

I've often said, "Look at that! Wow!"
And not understood you consider it commonplace,
Because you gave up in seeing the finer details of something known,
Not knowing you didn't know, and not seeing,
What you have not tried to see.

My God is a thing of fire. An inferno of change.
His hand of destruction is bested by his hand of love.
His will of iron is only tempered by his relentless emotion of truth.
His laws of eternity are only understood by the wise.
His home houses only the decidedly divine.

Imperfection is just ice,
Floating on the surface,
And when it all melts,
Endless waters arise,
Washing away our hate,
Our disasters, petty cares,
But bringing them back,
Because once again,
Justice preserves the good,
And the good must rise, too.
I like this one.

It communicates my feeling of "ascension".
From where, I won't tell you.
I will tell you, "There's a reason why people believe in God. A good reason... a great reason."
No lover alike.
A chill, but a respite
from summer's dogged
immolating
bite.

I recant the blessings of summer.
Autumn hath a kiss
that I fondly
remember
or can't
forget.

Wishes of plenty
promises veiled in wintry charm.
Mother nature tames the land:
Spring and Summer the lofty arms;
Autumn and Winter the legs,
giving longevity to the work
of creation.

I beg of thee,
gentle season.
Kiss me softly.
Reap my lips of the memory,
but fulfill me in the reaping:
let me rest in the heavens;
a last kiss for the dreaming.
I tried to keep this as mellow as possible as I wrote it.
I hope you can feel that aromatic effect and sway in the words, as if from a breeze.

Enjoy!

DEW
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?
I'm leaving it up
to somebody else.
The battle scars
are notched on my belt.

Come take my wounds,
I'll leave burdens behind.
I'll shut myself in
and close the blinds.

I didn't know there was a battle
that could be fought within
against the weight of
despair
and the fires of sin.

The kindles of hope,
the ladders of strength,
tested by life
and its brittle length.

Just lay me to rest
where I
unsheathed the sword
come strike me down
in absence
of the Lord.

I'm seeking the peace
that I struck to p.i.e.c.e.s,
that I replaced with pleasure
and its demanding releases.

When you're broken down
and I'm broken in kind,
let's give up the fight
and leave burdens behind.

It'll all crumble,
the world and the sword,
and we will all mumble,
eternally
ignored;
for sinners will stumble,
in sight of the Lord.
Feeling a lot stronger than I have in a long time.
Hopefully, this will make you stronger, too.

Enjoy :)

DEW
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