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Jordan Presley Oct 2014
There’s a secret door
On a shelf in the back,
Begging, waiting
To be opened.
But the sly clock that ticks
Will never tock the tock
That will tell you how
The lock can be opened.
So you must find
The key that will wind
The old clock’s wily face
To get it to tock
The answer away.
And the key is still
Where it has always been
Behind the crazed locks
Of the wicked jewelry box.
But if you offer the box
A jewel of some kind:
A broach or ring or pretty pearls,
The key for you it unfurls.
Then with that key you can unwind
The wicked wily clock
And it will tock away
The enchanted lock
That tells you how
To open the secret door
Hidden on the shelf
In the back.
My adopted niece wanted a story on our drive home from the park tonight - this popped out and it's translated as best as possible from memory.
Jordan Presley Sep 2014
What is this happiness?
Am I to seek out, yearn for, grasp up mere moments?
-or is it a perpetuated state of being?
One for only the rarest and most deserving?

Am I the saboteur of my own making?
Am I the weak-willed wallower
Who falls further faster farther under
Behind and beyond the rarified
Deified reality of some form of happy?

Who CARES?  Jesus, who cares!?
What is all this for anyway?!

We ****.  We fight.  We feast.  We famine.
We rage and ruin the peak of our creations
-we, in harmony, benefit from mass assimilations
While singularly sink in to oblivion.
So was a rough day.
Jordan Presley Aug 2014
The ocean glitters - hot like gold on fire in that long line -
And the restless waves crash and die
Weaving back and forth
On their lonesome tide.

Is the sea lonely?
Does it long to be on the land?
Is that why it always dies with a thunder
And a crash against the sand?
Or is it so excited
To simply be alive
That it can't contain it's emotion
In the deep belly of the dark ocean,
And needs to crash with glee
On the empty sandy beach?
Hear those seagulls cry?
Flying through the day -
A wonder! -to be alive
And fly about that way.
Jordan Presley Aug 2014
Nothing - naught a thing -
Fills my festering Want Hole;
This void is a toxic warning
The same to blacken my pockmarked soul.

My sole desire seems ever
Changing shifting morphing
Into a new dream beyond waking
Remembering forsaken things forgotten -

And I keep spilling slipping sliding
Cascading ever sideways
Down the slippery ***** of my Want Hole,
So void-full
To the soul.
Whenever I get what I want, invariably, I no longer want what I have.

Edited out first stanza:

"I am a liar.

I perpetuate these paltry
Claims of desire which are
Proven false once fulfilled -
I am a liar,
Claiming desire when it's nil. "
Jordan Presley Aug 2014
Fill up the pages
With the stuttering nonsense
Drown out the noise
Of the distant excess
Too many distractions
It hurts the head
Fall down disgruntled
Alone left for dead
Sink without struggle
Into the noise now
If you prove unable
To shut it all out
To center yourself
Amidst chaos and rain
Fire and anguish
This human refrain
Hold up strong
Against the current
Swim above
I tried to do something with as little punctuation ('noise') as possible - hopefully the meter translates to its own flow.
Jordan Presley Aug 2014
What more is there to say?
How can I keep filling up this empty page
With the same tired words
Every single day?
Repeating always
That which has already been said;
When the words run dry
And their meaning’s dead,
I’m left with dull forms
That from this dark pen have bled
Black onto this neatly lined page –
My confusion, my sadness,
My infinite rage,
Will never be known
Or felt by another
As long as I hide
Behind these empty phrases
And worn-out, empty lines.
Go on now,
Fill up the page.
Notice how the words come now
With less and less grace.
How every single second
Spent on these lines in vain
Is ripped from my life
And can never be replaced.
Jordan Presley Aug 2014
I saw his name
And felt nothing -
What a wonderful feat!
To not have my heart plummet
Down my chest to my stomach,
And wind up on the ground in a pitiful heap!

I used to study the letters
And worry the lines,
I pondered the edges –
A victimless crime.
Rolling with their curves
Memorizing their bends;
Their small supple signs  
Stretching onwards, no end.

Yet now as I see them,
Strong, stark, and bare,
And though (as for that the passing there)
They belong now to another,
I recognize their shape,
And can still hear their rhyme,
But say now beyond all reason this season
Of torment gradually declines.

How freeing!
How liberating -
Oh god, this clean air!
It’s purer up Here – out………....………..
From behind all that doubt and despair;
Beyond darkness and fear:
A place where Stillness is born
And dawn is just breaking -
Where the daylight waits for waking
And nighttime dreams on no more.
Monumental moments when getting over an ex...
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