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Jacob Parnell Jan 29
These days, I spend my lazy days coming up with phrases to say.
A delay is to wait.
So what am I waiting for?
A torn deliverer departs saying life is an art form.
Sworn to protect his endeavors.
Swift and as light as a feather.
The blue embarks to make his mark on this world
in
due
time.
So I wait, and I wait out the hate this country has torn into.
Pandora's box locks from the outside.
I'm not hiding, I'm living in plain sight.
In
due
time.
We all wait until the day turns bright enough to ponder more.
We have all fought the night enough in excellent form.
In
due
time.
We will rise as a nation guided by unspoken voices.
Verses and choices.
In due time.
We stay alive till the coming of dawn.
That's just fine.
In due time.
Generations wait belated unto their fate.
This is our time.
We rise up.
Uncriticized this is our time.
We rise up.
One as a nation.
Two as a people.
Three as a crazed individual on a soapbox.
Four as the children with smallpox.
Five as the ones who just try to stay alive every night when the light shines too dim.
Six as the individuals who act on a whim.
Seven as those who pray to get to heaven but work all their days at a seven-eleven.
Eight.
Those
who
wait.
Well wait no more.
We are the infinity score.
The war torn worlds go down when they sleep and so as not to make a peep we plan in silence. Abstracting violence with peace. We sit in hollowed out churches without verses because if we speak the truth the worlds seams will undo, that's power.
One day will speak for hours for us.
Those of us who are meek and delirious.
Still stand proud.
Yes I'm loud.
Say into the light signs.
Stay until the night time.
Weigh it all and that's mine.
Yes I'm loud.
Take the voices. Reiterate the choices. Learn it through osmosis until we're comatosis.
Gleam what we mean when you read all these words.
Your life is better for it.
Just a phrase as it turns.
Abstract poem about certain dreams that I've had.
Heart settles for a second or a millisecond more.
Dew rises leaving the world in a smokey haze.
This is not a phase.
This is just me.
She prayed.
I stayed away from all of that.
When I was younger, everything was "as a matter of fact".
Everything was reading newspapers for the comic strips.
Everything was detective novels fit for my young mind.
She left it all behind, not by choice.
She was my voice.
She was my mom.
Mom..
mom..
mom.

She watched me read poetry with sweaty pits.
Fear hiding behind my eye-lids.
It helped that she was there.
It helped the fear.
Performing in front of people, something I didn't often do.
Now the smoke rises leaving only dew.
Who am I now?
What will I become?
My mom knew me but someday I'll say she only knew me when I was young.
I'm not ready for that.
I'm not sure I'll ever be.
That day will come and the dew will rise again.
The dew behind my eye-lids.
A poem about my mom. She passed away almost a year ago now and always supported my poetry. I know she would be proud of me.
Jacob Parnell Dec 2018
Its never my intention to settle down.
Always a crook more than a clown.
I look into your eyes and find they are forever friendly.
Going down the road. Wherever you send me.

The real injustice is when justice wins and locks you up instead of settling sins.
Where to begin?
Even those who claim to be holy said we're born into sin.

Those who really know me would say
"Personality is a thing to weigh and then be pinned up"
when sin is not enough.
Forever grateful.
Then walk on along your way… smashing the grape bowl.
Into wine, I find we have a more pleasant conversation.

Imagine this while we kiss, a moment of blissful sensation.
You're on the planet of misfit toys.

Meanwhile this guy is happy with his new Rolls Royce.
So happy he might as well rejoice.
Well guess what?
Its not a choice. Not an option.
You must go about your day.
Til death pops in.
You see we're all just locked into fate and settling down is just a wait...

Instead you do something about it.
Rock your head… invest your wit.
Set fire to an entire island.
Have a fit.
Don't address the silence and the silence wins.
Basically a conversation with my girlfriend.
Jacob Parnell Dec 2018
The following is art.
The following is the hardest part.
#hypnosis
#hipster
#anexampleofpie
Sometimes I think that the more I learn about the world, the more I can change in it.
Other times I wonder if ignorance is key to immortality.
Still... I come to the conclusion that thinking a thought is far from scientific and so I save the idea for another day, life, or year.
The more I think, the less I know.
The more I change, the less I grow.
The less I stray, the more turns gray.
The more I wonder the less I want.
The more I pray I may have my day.
Hears the lesson let ears be taught.
Part one: forest rhymes with city.
Lessen the key, break the lock.
Set scene; forestry.
Like a dog in the fog on a log I encountered.
"I have my ways" in a voice that I pondered.
"A road yet wandered, is kept in heart." Said a voice on yonder.
Cheek roses.
Chill dusk.
"To be fair; (I replied in a civil new tongue.) A hair unkempt, is stray, in part."
The dusk settles.
Inept new learning styles to teach kids~
Grass changes.
Dew rises leaving Seattle in a smokey haze.
A part in half.
North, staff, remember.
~set guns to phase.
Behalf of setting the scene of Charlie's untimely demise I will now take you to the world he called home for an unmarked amount of...
Electric May
was the name of the foggy day where the confused man chose his path in his-
dollars turn to
~this is just a phase
My mind's own whistles.
~is that even a phrase?
garden
train station
Is this all a dream?
#clay mation
Science-tag.
Theory? Fickle.
"Get out DA way."
Said the man in an overcoat that was dressed like a pickle in a displaying emotional fashion.
"My soul's new crystals.
woman twelve o'clock"
Part two: crystal rhymes with missile.
-set around Christmas time where man finds for the first time he is dying.
He stands tall.
"It's all okay."
Clumsy wind tickles.
>October dreams.
Coal burns nickel.
Seasons loss, soon to pass.
Eccentric quarter.
Fall (wiggle) down well.
Never fickle.
Never can tell.
Restless.
Meanwhile twelve turns to one.
"Better out than in I always say"
-shock, wobble, Spock and a movie reference.
Part two of one half.
If I die today.
Tomorrow revived.
If the machine unkempt,
I stay alive.
Checklists.
Life...
(Box)Insanity,
(Square)clarity,
(Check it)equilibrium.
Heart breath for a second or a millisecond more. Fire burns inside so I'm knocking down the door. Witches stay alive so we nail them to the floor.
Bored?
Civil unrest.
Always wanting more.
Super protest.
Poor Saint Nick.
Antics protect.
One.
Indecent holler.
Blue stands for
Tolerance.
Gun.
Pie.
Iron meet the ants.
Hollow for sure.
"Miss?"
The true floor now chants.
Forever unsure.
"Behind your eyes you (never) seem to rest.
I'll find the gleam men cannot test.
Meaning I'll find you when the stars are cheating.
I'll lose the road.
I'll burn the start.
Fire to Spider-Man.
Our web's apart."
Reckless.
Smart.
Wise or witty.
Tell me oh reader...
What rhymes with city?
#Spock
#winning
Fun.
Pity.
Pun?
A CITY.!
In parts
A new wave of poetry
Jacob Parnell Dec 2018
Warm shadows, forgotten names, a torn and tired journal stands for all to see within the flames.
Whispers from the past.
Light dances on the sea.
Wisps of the future.
What we're born to be.
The lights will draw you in.
Love will mend your heart.
It bursts, the dawn of day.
All of it, faded memory within the start.
Id like for you to stay.
Golden river beneath the sun.
Moon submerged, the days tend to run...
These days.
These days for you and I, our fingers pricked by brush and lovely roses for our eyes.
Smelt it, your nose did.
Slipped beneath the hush hush tide of yesterdays home miss...
Once I had a home of stone. Ask it to be bold if...
So alone in yesterdays home this...
Brick by brick our love was sown.
The puzzle pieces sing for peace in the melody of the past and lovely roses.
We grind it up from stone to sand and feel it, just as our toes did.
We waste our halos on instrumental ears and chase away the cold along with the fears of yesterdays run.
Sub Mental fun.
Our peers are plain, beneath the tide, beneath the sun, i try and write in the brightest way.
And yet delicious treats line their way back to the shore. The shire falls. Wisps of the future drinking on the past.
Watch us soar.
These halls of greats.
I prefer whisky to wine made of grapes and yet a man of god would fast and then would ride on his high horse fast like he were the last man special inside.
So special is a snowflake in the devils eyes for he lives in the heat.
No surprise.
I take the leaps without looking.
No sunrise.
To defeat the light and he's all alone, rookie.
I'll summarize...
Mr jack and Mr. brown get what they need.
Baby words fall trickle up towards the unknown and unpracticed.
I planted the seed.
Fickle flakes lack this sensation.
Tentative imagination.

This all leads to light sometime.
I find it in my rhymes.
Memories find they are satisfied.
The present gives them peace.
I am not perfect.
I write my mind at least.
I love you.
Its about the past and how we cant change it and yet it leads to great things in time.
Jacob Parnell Dec 2018
<3
My life had become unhinged, bereft indeed.
You came into my heart and I believed.
Oh love. The great. The one.
Oh how you've stood by me.
A brain sick, cosmonaut.
My mind would lead.
I blushed when you came in.
The brush was crimson on my cheek.
My adoration for you leaked.
You are what with all my life I've longed to seek.
A poem about my girlfriend.
Jacob Parnell Dec 2018
Madness is majestically killing me from the inside out.
I shake about in a lonely haze.
Madness will figure it out.
Lame brain match train mash cherries in an apple orchard.
Who am I really helping here?
Am I writing this out of fear of leaving a footprint or the idea of being meaningless.
Manic Monday's lead to astral Sunday's eventually.
And finally we all plead with the seed to grow in a barren wasteland.
What about now?
What about shouting makes it okay?
The same with planes arriving causing delay.
Life… is about checks and balance's… and keeping your brain attached while they try and ***** it away to nothing, burn it, and leave you in the gutter.
"I'm dead!" you will say, while secretly you hide it away and pretend to be a useless zombie inferior to everyone else.
I'm still here.
I never knew what that means until now and how it is a statement but it is also dangerous…
Its like inviting death to dinner while you take your sweetheart out to lunch.
"I'll see you later." you say and just like that, without an instant of delay you're gone.

It’s a song.
And we all play along.

And another thing…
What's the deal with hand dryers?
Have an electric float.
Because even with a cherry on top you could've used a towel.
Speed up the process….
So you dry your hands and then go in to sit through a meeting about tea.
We are all so bouncy, bounding more than strides when we're born and then…
And then?
And then we all start doing things that don't make sense until it slowly drains us of all our money and we end up in the gutter.
Again.
Always with the gutter…
Like… why throw a curve ball through life when instead of being happy you found yourself a wife.
Married out of wedlock.
Found yourself a *****.
Speak as an intrepid person.
Well, now watch me soar.
I'm a lyrical principalist with lots of disciples all of whom I miss.
All of whom I miss.
One more time for this…
All of whom I miss.

And… its not like that bad. I'm not like.. A sad lad.
Its just, if you were born to do nothing… you might as well enjoy it with your friends.
But.. They were all born to do something.
So now I sit here on the fence.
Sort of a combination between humpty dumpty and a stray cat.
A strange combination at that.
No compensation for that…
Giving use to a fence.
42.
About; insanity, madness, and missing friends
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