trf - Hello Poetry

trf Dec 2016

“How Will I Know What to do When I Get There?”

Couldn’t grasp a report today… dear child.
My broadcast body tuned to this frequency
Wouldn’t turn the channel ‘mind so beguiled
Me and my ******* voracious tendencies
Like a blood clot in my brain these words are filed
This new sensation is my delinquency.

Let’s shut it off... and get away.
Flip the switch on my ten-pound nemesis
Can shoulders bear its weight day after day
So Long the time has come to finish this.

This child as pure as I am blight; Let’s both be free.
Don’t Plant the Red Fern angel, he has long to Grow
Son, here’s my soul, please interchange with me
Like the boy I wonder, “Where will I go?”
As I’m not so proud of my biography
Alright Jack, it’s time to Get on the Road with this show.
Hell is a library with only one book, The Inferno.

_TRF 12/13/16

Sometimes things hit you hardest when even the softest of things could knock you down.

#regret #sadness #shame #tenacity #santa #switchplaces

trf Dec 2016

Heir Rick Uh (Inherit- Stacks of - What’s Yours to Decide)

Up high above in the dark nights of fall,
Shines a Star that’s more stark than other flashing lights that lure,
Burning since the birth of time, hazy hindrances still may obscure,
Like bait that patiently awaits the oblivious all.

They say one is born every day, but only you illuminate bliss,
You can escape from this infinite space and when shooting make a wish,
Radiate through the hate, create a new fate, you are unique- Not a spate- and amaze everyone,
Oblique where I gaze you are nigh shiny sun.

She came, she saw, she wondered in awe, “where will I be?”
Are the words that pierced Stella’s skin written as a scrawl? Time will tell and we will see.

-TRF

Written on two cocktail napkins for a sad stripper who was stage named Star and who's real name was Erika. She was only 20 years old and had "Veni Vedi Vici" tattooed across her shoulder. She may have come and she may have saw, but I wanted her to conquer all and to free her from this despicable place where bachelor parties and creepiness blend in with the smoke and glitter. This Soul Snatcher of 20 year olds. Bouncers getting ******* and still keeping 20 percent. Using that tip money to pay off the cops so they can nearly **** Bachelors in the half empty parking lot for "getting too close and rowdy". **** this sinister industry for existing to allow even the option for people to make decent money. It's costing them too much for too little.

#resentment #fate #create #care #italian #femininsm

trf Dec 2016

Troy Would Be Disappointed Neleh

Seasons fall short as she celebrates wine and rejoices in its carnage.
Logistically speaking, we were miles away from Tripoli,
Somewhere near the edge of the desert when the barstools began to sink and the drugs began to take hold.
Amongst the indecent, Intolerant citizens of three,
Your name rings silent but Bustrophedonically.

TaXXXed like the Phoenicians, I meandered aimlessly,
True to form halted norm of reality.
Prelude thee of nomenclature and I without sin
“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the ******* towers of Ilium?”

Dreamersofsocietyinterjectthemishapenmoldofbeaucracysimoultaneouslypivotingbetweentwelveshotsandahippopotomauscarnivoresubstituteofdissarayabbrasionsstillgatheringdustamongthecravassesofmodernenlightenmenthowaboutabreakshesaidreluctanttospeakinebriatedanddisproportiantelypunctuatedwithatleastaverbalaltercationservingseveralthievesmishapenguidanceabrubtlysweepscreatingovalpatternsperplexedbypretensciousmonolopy
_TRF

trf Dec 2016

“Time is a Game Played Beautifully by Children”

An inner conflict was brewing in the brain of this Regal Man.
Snap shots of his world come and go, having lost time as his memento.

He never missed the most important meeting on his calendar each day, same as planned.

His insipid body, a vehicle driven by the same shiny things that attract barracudas.

A papercut on his tongue from licking an envelope, was a microscopic distraction.

Yearning for a momentary state of bliss, it was time for his sinuous routine to get on with the show.

The ***** induced a memory of his stoicism, brought back to life as an afterglow.

Disparate cynics, cannot fathom these deepest of depths.
Man can’t choose his D.N.A. like nomenclature.

Be blessed you are immune child and take a deep breath.
Habits may be hard to swallow by some; no plethora of education.
As much of a paradox as this may be, the pursuit of this dance is not feeling like death.

Knowing that every cylindrical spin of the pistol can determine the future,
Indulging in an appetite of chaos, will be sure to obscure.

Only hours before the celebration that gives thanks to our last Harvest,
A quandary this time was stewing in this stoic man’s galaxy.

On his left shoulder was a badger, putting his life to THE TEST.
To his right was an angel, her relentless pleas dismissed.

Like being beset in quicksand, he dreamed that option was best.
A thought went through his head but vanished like a wave at sea.
Licking his fingers to feel the wind he sang out, “Memeto- Mori”. (Remember Your Death)

11/20/16 By _TRF R.I. P.hriend

best friend left 3 children, a beautiful wife, friends, family and life...behind. as he took the road mainly traveled by the needle that escapes humanity. Selfish, some may say, but to not understand is the role we must play. Leaping to his splatter, this wretched vehicle was doomed to despair everyone involved

#love #suicide #sad #life #death #loss #time #memento #freefallin

trf Dec 2016

Does the Woman Make the Man?

Vivienne wriggled restless draped in a veil of veneer,
She could never pass the stage of sleep same as her street number three.
“Our cycles are synchronized”, so the moon she did fear.

Their marriage froze frigid until deliquescing at month three,
Her lunacy at low tide leaked on her ****** red bed sheet,
Like the snow that would thaw, end of winter in ’33.

As a muse Viv was perfect, but the man suffered defeat,
With her parent’s heirs to riches, resentment followed suit.

Could it have been Dr. Huntington she inherited? Viv was swiftly swept off her feet.

The white walls met her head like a drum beating mute,
As in the fourth circle, Pluto, dressed in a white coat shocked her brain.

Across town Tom was receiving an award, celebrating with the astute.

“*Viv ruined him as a man, though quite the poet he became”,
For if it weren’t for Vivienne, Tom would have acquired far inferior fame.

_TRF

Sometimes wherever I look I see three or the things that symbolize three. I thought only a Terza rima would be appropriate for TS and Viv.

trf Dec 2016

“Love Is That Which Lacks the Object It Seeks”

Indulge in chaos with an appetite of tremendous conviction.
Hastily retrace your preamble that drapes the window pane like the silhouette of a cynic,
Divulge the albatross of plight to escape eviction
And lay waste the shambles that shape a widow’ s pain beset by a mimic.

An insipid eye for uninspired lies,
She forged herself an eponymous name,
Like holding a vigil for a pessimist when in Retrospect the glass is half full.
An under-dog recounts our demise,
Misfortune subsides having only the ***** to blame,
Lack of abuse is an act of kindness,
As Jan-Erik Olsson has no sympathy for the devil.

_TRF

trf Dec 2016

Give

A dandelion allures an essence of the innocent,
Distinct from a ****, once puffed flurries offspring of homogenous descent.

Proletarian by nature, now **** without seed,
That puff propels my wealth and now I can lament.

Bees harbor resentment, “You can’t pollenate me!",
Enticed by sinuous poison and overlooked by the Bourgeoisie,
Cautiously creeping like honey’s viscosity in vain,
Synchronicity is cut short swiftly by A Coup de Main.

_TRF

— The End —