badwords

badwords Dec 2024

What happened to you?—the Question hums—
A truth that aches to hear—
The scars you bear, the weight you hold,
Deserve both care and fear.

A thorn once struck—a tender bloom—
And tore what none should mar.
You fled, a wolf without your cloak,
Still learning what you are.

The shadows twist, the pain feels vast,
The world a cruel refrain—
But wolves don’t cower from the night;
They rise, despite the pain.

Yes, harm was done—acknowledge this,
And mourn what you have lost.
But strength is not in what we keep;
It’s in the paths we cross.

The forest whispers secrets still,
Its roots run deep and wide.
Your howl need not be filled with rage—
It’s power, redefined.

No hill will answer, nor the stone,
No breeze will bear your blame.
But healing waits, and scars will fade,
If you will speak your name.

The monsters, real or shadows made,
Hold power while you flee.
Turn, wolf, and face the life ahead—
It’s yours, and always free.

Rise up, O wolf, and claim your place—
No shame in what you’ve been.
The scars you bear are marks of grace,
And proof of strength within.

A reply to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4928631/the-wound-of-shadows/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJL-lCzEXgI

badwords Dec 2024

The Morning After

Hush, little bird, though your cries ring true,
The weight of what’s coming hangs over you.
You speak of a sky too heavy to hold,
Of a world too weary, of lives grown cold.

Yes, rivers fade and forests fall,
And humankind, blind, heeds no call.
Each thread they pull, each fire they light,
Tugs closer the end of their fleeting might.

But little bird, lift your weary eyes—
There’s beauty still where ruin lies.
The earth will heal when the noise is done,
When silence blooms under a gentler sun.

Fields will rise where the towers stood,
Roots will drink what was spilt as blood.
The seas will churn, the storms will sing,
And life will burst in the heart of spring.

Hush, little bird, there’s grace in the end,
A cycle no hand can break or bend.
For nature waits with patient might,
To cradle the dark and birth the light.

So let them falter, let them fall,
Their echoes faint, their shadows small.
A better world, post-human reign,
Awaits in the wake of their fleeting pain.

Sing not of doom, but what’s to be,
A quiet earth, reborn, set free.
Hush, little bird, your fears may rest—
The world will thrive, in time, refreshed.

In reply to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4928508/beyond-the-point-of-no-return/

badwords Dec 2024

Give & Get

A song I am working on:

Intro
(Instrumental)

Verse 1
A polished lens, bending light, 
Through echoes lost in shadowed sight. 
Fragile loops that give, forsake, 
Patterns form, then gently break. 
It’s what we give, it’s what we make.

Chorus
Through the prism, we collide, 
Colors bleed and intertwine. 
A give, a get, we seek within, 
Where do I end? Where do you begin?

Verse 2
Ripples chase a tattered thread, 
Binding lives—the seen, the dead. 
We burn to heal, we give to claim, 
In mirrored glass, it’s all the same. 
We give, we get; we play the game.

Chorus
Through the prism, we collide,
 Colors bleed and intertwine. 
A give, a get, we seek within, 
Where do I end? Where do you begin?

Instrumental Break
(Instrumental section with subtle melodic elements building tension.)

Bridge
Fractured hues and shifting tides, 
Truth and beauty coincide. 
What we give, what we get— 
Is your love a game, or is it regret?

Refrain
What we give, what we get,
Lost in moments we forget.
A fragile spark, a fleeting flame,
In mirrored glass, it’s all the same.

Outro
Through the prism, time unwinds, 
Shattered light, redefined. 
A give, a get, a fleeting sin— 
Where do I end? Where do you begin?

A re-work of a piece I wrote to make it more relevant to romantic relationships:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4927292/altruisms-mirror/

badwords Dec 2024

Bedtime

I rest.
To not wake.

badwords Dec 2024

A Song of Absence and Iteration

Sixteen years of silence carved in black,
A void where shadows linger, thick as tar,
The Cure returned, a specter trailing back,
To sing of lost worlds, and the scars of stars.

Depeche, meanwhile, kept the clock in spin,
Their gears grinding, turning, time’s soft waltz.
Iterative whispers, where noise had been,
Polished mirrors reflecting past assaults.

Smith’s lament, a chasm deep and wide,
Bleeds fresh from wounds that time could never seal.
Their gothic hymns, a requiem to guide
Through mourning’s labyrinth, to truths surreal.

And yet, Depeche embraced the tide of years,
Each album stacked like bricks upon their wall.
A steady march, a symphony of gears,
Chasing echoes through the digital sprawl.

Where Cure's return is death kissed by the light,
Depeche hums neon, humming in the haze—
An endless pulse that stutters through the night,
Reborn, again, in labyrinthine maze.

Two paths: one absent, brooding in the gloom,
The other endless, weaving threads of fate.
The Cure, a ghost revived from timeless tomb,
Depeche, a clock, rewound, yet never late.

badwords Dec 2024

Howl for the Neglected Child

(after Ginsberg)

I saw the best minds of my generation
rotting in pews of plastic devotion,
minds crucified on the spires of indifference,
nursing at the dry breast of the negligent mother,
who whispered false comfort into their despair.

Who abandoned them to the marketplace of ideas,
where belief is bartered for validation
and faith is a commodity sold in plastic bottles—
"Drink, children, drink! And forget your hunger!"
while the true bread is locked away in vaults.

Who dangled freedom on a chain of commandments,
who promised salvation with one hand
and shackled with the other,
who built temples of glass and steel
but left their children naked in the streets.

Who said, Love thy neighbor,
then turned their backs on the screaming masses,
whose prayers bounced off the ceilings
of mansions paid for with their guilt.

O negligent mother, how many times have you
fed us poison wrapped in scripture?
How many lives have been consumed
by your hollow embrace,
your lipsticked smile of "community"?

I see you! Preening in your stained-glass mirrors,
baptizing us in the blood of indifference,
teaching us to fear the void
while you sell tickets to its edge.
Your children are dying in the pews,
hands outstretched for meaning,
and you say, Only if you pay.

But I will not bow to your porcelain idol,
I will not drink from your cup of conformity.
Let the wolves come, let the fire rise!
Burn the temples! Smash the altars!
Let the ash of false faith scatter on the winds
and fertilize the soil for something real.

Call forth the prophets of the street corners,
the howlers, the wild-eyed dreamers,
the orphans who never knew love,
but will plant it in the ruins of your empires.
We will scream until your pillars crumble,
until the children are fed,
until the world is reborn.

Synopsis:
"Howl for the Neglected Child" is a blistering critique of modern faith’s failure to fulfill its promise as a source of nurturing guidance. Written in the style of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, the poem captures the disillusionment and rage of a generation betrayed by institutions that masquerade as caretakers while perpetuating neglect and oppression. Through vivid imagery and rhythmic invocations, the poem paints modern faith as a negligent mother—offering hollow comfort, perpetuating transactional love, and exploiting the vulnerable for power and profit. It culminates in a rallying cry for rebellion, urging the destruction of these false systems and the birth of something authentic, born from the ashes of disillusionment.

Artist’s Intent:
This poem is intended as both a critique and a call to action. It reflects the growing alienation individuals feel toward faith systems that prioritize institutional survival over human connection, reducing sacred truth to hollow platitudes and commodified spirituality. The "negligent mother" serves as a metaphor for faith’s failure to nurture the spirit, echoing societal patterns of abandonment and conditional love.

Stylistically, the poem borrows Ginsberg’s unapologetic, freeform style to evoke a visceral response, combining raw emotion with incisive commentary. The artist seeks to provoke readers into questioning their own complicity within these systems, inspiring them to reject complacency and pursue genuine spiritual and communal nourishment.

Through this piece, the artist aims to ignite a revolt not only against modern faith but also against any institution that promises care while perpetuating harm. It is a demand for accountability, truth, and ultimately, liberation.

badwords Dec 2024

Altruism's Mirror

Beneath the surface of our giving,
A quiet echo, always living.
The hand extended, the gift bestowed,
Holds traces of what the heart is owed.

In every act of kindness shown,
A seed of self is always sown.
A smile exchanged, a burden shared,
The giver leaves their soul ensnared.

Transaction speaks in whispers faint,
Not loud enough to mar the saint.
Yet woven in the tapestry,
Is the thread of reciprocity.

Evolution’s pen, so deftly writ,
Has carved the rules; we benefit.
To give is to connect, survive,
To keep the fire of bonds alive.

But purest light, we chase, we yearn,
For altruism that won’t return.
A gift devoid of self, of gain,
A spotless deed, untouched by stain.

And here, the fallacy takes form,
A standard raised against the norm.
To cast aside what’s real, profound,
For lofty heights that can’t be found.

For in the real, the flawed, the small,
Lies beauty woven through it all.
A kindness fraught with give and take
Still soothes the wounds that living makes.

Should we dismiss imperfect grace,
Because it wears a human face?
Or hold it close, and see it whole,
A blend of heart, and mind, and soul.

The saintly act, the selfish cheer,
Are not as distant as they appear.
For even joy in giving free
Forms part of our humanity.

So let us honor deeds once spurned,
Where subtle trades of trust are earned.
And measure worth by what is done,
Not by the motives of the one.

For if perfection is the goal,
We’ll find no virtue in the soul.
Yet in the flawed, the fractured light,
Shines something real, and something right.

Reflection
Altruism is no saint’s domain,
But the hand that lifts through joy or pain.
A mirror held to humankind,
Revealing heart, and what’s behind.

A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926937/what-about-me/

**Synopsis**
This poem, Altruism's Mirror, explores the multifaceted nature of altruism, juxtaposing the realistic, transactional aspects of human kindness with the idealized concept of selfless giving. The verses acknowledge that altruistic acts, though often celebrated as purely selfless, are deeply entwined with human psychology, biology, and social constructs.

Through vivid imagery and reflective tones, the poem weaves a narrative that critiques the pursuit of "pure altruism" as an unattainable standard, likening this pursuit to the **Nirvana Fallacy**. It invites the reader to embrace the imperfection inherent in acts of kindness, emphasizing that flawed and transactional altruism still holds profound value in fostering connection, survival, and mutual support.

The poem also highlights the inherent beauty in altruistic acts, regardless of their underlying motivations. It challenges the dismissal of acts deemed "impure" for carrying elements of self-interest, reframing them as authentic expressions of humanity.

**Artist’s Intent:**
The poet aims to reconcile the tension between the ideal and the real, urging readers to move past the binary of "selfless" versus "self-serving" acts. Through this piece, the artist seeks to celebrate the complexity of altruism, emphasizing that its worth lies not in its perfection but in its impact. By embracing the transactional nature of giving as part of the human condition, the poem calls for a more compassionate and pragmatic view of altruistic behavior.

Ultimately, Altruism's Mirror is a meditation on human nature, inviting readers to find beauty in the nuanced interplay between generosity, self-interest, and connection. It challenges the notion that altruism must be pure to be meaningful, suggesting that the flawed, everyday acts of kindness are the truest reflections of our shared humanity.