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John H Dillinger Dec 2020
My pen aligns with my insecurities,
faltering,
when all I want to do is kiss you,
to understand the mysteries of the soil.

However, I cannot write.
My heartbeat is in my fingertips,
the words are buried
and the page, for now, lies blank.
Struggling with new experiences, insecurities, and not being able to to express, which, for me, is the creation of a bedrock truth. A poet full of holes and hope..
John H Dillinger Dec 2020
I'm amazed how the pages keep turning,
Forever unleashing new learning:
A slap in the face
       A gentle yearning.
A death, a birth
with every revolution of the Earth.
A loss, a gain
                       The accompanying pain
And the endless horizon.
John H Dillinger Dec 2020
The Swell


We see a human face

and the fear that drives it's heart,

so easily forgotten

for the things that pull Us apart.

From the start, We will treat you as a person-

it's up to Us where we go from there.

Together, We could tear down our prejudice

for a chance with love and care.



We relinquish the need for a universal control

so that new growth springs

from cracked concrete,

mielony mor.

Nature will inherit The Earth.

We listen to Her,

Her suppressed wisdom,

channelling Her Power,

Resilience

& Tolerance.



We Touch,

Hear a heart beating,

it's reactive rythmn,

as We step closer to one another,

the intensity of connection

building

branching

and reaching for the light.



We understand all there is to understand,

that We will know nothing

before The End,

before The Horizon.

Time is our commodity

and, We know what that should cost.

We understand the value

in Becoming

lost.



We embrace the coming change

as inevitible,

beautiful;

We would not stand in it's way,

shackle it to Our will

or deny it's murky reality.

We are in metamorphosis.

We evolve

and resolve

to find another way, Our way.



We find something new

beneath each word,

from every colour,

move through space with all Our senses,

open,

putting nothing under cover.

And, taking Trauma as Our lover,

We will nurture each Other.
John H Dillinger Oct 2020
They both let go and take control
falling, they get caught
in each others spaces
so that, compassionately,
they can look one another in the eyes
as they dance like a seed on the breeze.
part of a series exploring intimacy in our world.
John H Dillinger Apr 2020
I'm haunted by the ghost of a young Bob Dylan,
followed by William Blake, beating a prophetic rhythm.
I'm a fraud, a flake, exposed in Plath's diary -
Maya Angelou has caged me, my song falling flatly.
This poem is about insecurities as an artist, being halted by your very inspirations.
John H Dillinger Apr 2020
But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because, either your daddy was too,
or, you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now, even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.


But the day will come, I'll be classed as crazy, man,
already feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.

Because they'll nab you from the streets, it's the master's plan,
until all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, but never to understand:

Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight, they won't see the light,
But from the Endless Night, you & me just might

because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.


'Cause only the blood in a diamond means it's not worthless,
the value we imprint are just absurd curses.
We all know what's hidden there, under the surface,
so, who teaches us acceptance and what's it's purpose?

We're all in it together, we're all complicit,
our lives connected by this something illicit.
Adopted by the collective notion, we choose to forgive it
and perpetuate it's frameworks, instead of letting them diminish.

Alright, let's have a break. Drink some response a bil i tea,
marinate in what's around us and all the things we neglect to see.
Where have we been looking and why do we think we're free?
Calm down and carry on? **** na, that aint me!

But in revolution, don't we just come back to the beginning?
Spinnin' round and round, in a ******' hellfire rythmn;
it's enough to leave you questioning each and all decisions,
or, just **** it all, sit back and watch the visions.


Like a pig to thunder: all big eyes and wonder -
As our world comes crashing down, ripped and torn asunder -
we won't get very far with all our property and plunder,
what would William say then, I wonder?

Some are born to Endless Night, but then, it all flies apart,
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark.
It's my one sight of light in the deepest dark,
so, if you hold to me now, we just need a spark.
reboot of my last poem, nearly there with just a little more editing, I think.

would love any advice, comments or help with it. what are communities for?
John H Dillinger Mar 2020
But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.

Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark.


The day will come, I'll be called crazy, man,
feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.

We'll be nabbed from the streets, it's the master's plan,
'til all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, never to understand:

Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight they won't see the light,
But in the Endless Night, you & me just might

because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.
idiosyncratic political rap - read it out loud and feel the fire.
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