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C F Tinney Aug 29
there’s a tale in my head
I don’t know how it came to reside there
a tale in my head
that looks to stay a while there

it’s far too ugly to say
I dare not write it down here
this tale in my head
I can never seem to get clear

if I tell you this tale
you might not hang around me
you’d probably run off
thinking I am crazy

and you’d be right
I’m sure of that much
for what sane man could have
a tale as such
and not share it?
C F Tinney Aug 28
Don’t tell me the world is beautiful
when death and despair
hold court

Don’t tell me how lucky we are
in our comfy homes
when death and despair
strangle the outraged among us

Tell me the truth
that we are immensely fortunate
that death and despair
are a surprise
a shock
to some
but daily drivers for others

the world dies
but we cry
when the cell service is weak

how weak
how pathetic
how could we be as blind as we are
so humanely ignorant
and still be alive?

beautiful breathing madness
one breath shy of nothing
this is who we really are
C F Tinney Aug 28
I was going to lead the people
to higher things
to their victory
but I was busy
and I grew older
let the younger man lead

I had a desire
to author the greatest poems
and move hearts
but time went too fast
and I let the young man write them

I intended to live
the fullest life
and make a difference
but was working the hours
day after day
and it all passed me by

you are the young man
do it for me - for us
it is too late for me
all has passed me by
I am still too busy
time still passes me by
I am still working the hours

not you, though
let my intentions motivate you
where my actions fell short
you are the young man

do it
Please do it
do it today; young man
for tomorrows soon you will be me too
C F Tinney Aug 5
There is a place where nobody asks questions
and nobody judges
where you can be yourself, without fear of the barking majority
or even the angry minority
no matter which you belong to out here

where you can say what you are thinking
instead of what you should
and there are no jurors or judges
just you and the really you

where the façade is lifted
the drapes are wide open
and the raw being of you is on display
but nobody cares – nobody is there to like it, or dislike it – or even notice it

what good would that be?
a place where you are you – and I am me – and there are no witnesses?
no one saying that’s wrong… or that’s right?
no indignation, no empathy, no willful disregard?

Yes, there is a place where nobody asks questions
and nobody judges
how horrible that place must be
C F Tinney Aug 5
When the sun rests
and the moon takes flight
and the dawn of day fades
to dark of night
you will find me

though I strain against the hold
and tell myself that I am not alone
and convince myself that I will be fine
I will hear your haunting tone
you always find me

even before I lay to rest
and fool only myself in blunder
and pretend my bravado will hold you at bay
you lurk, waiting to tear my pride asunder
you find me, waiting not to wait

once I shut an eye
and the day rewinds like an ugly play
and the mind’s critics line up to give review
with me, already knowing what they’ll say
you are there

with the greatest voice of all my mind
and the loudest, so fur sure
and you drown out any hope I'd have
that you’d enter here no more
because you never really leave
C F Tinney Jul 14
They don't care
nobody cares about your sorrow
they say I'm sorry to hear it, or
that's too bad
but as soon as the words stop sounding they celebrate
that it is not them

they care only so much

Some might care
the first time they hear of it
empathy is as real as stone
but doesn't last nearly as long
and turns to mist that blows away quickly

they care only so long

You know it
because you do the same
after hearing it a few times you wonder
why don't they just accept their lot?
the stone becomes mist
and blows away

you only care so much, for so long
when it is your sorrow
your pain
your injustice

It hurts.  It aches.  It isn't fair.  It shouldn't have happened
they don't care

You might as well tell a wall
or sing it to a passing sparrow
or tell your dog, who will surely care longer
than any of your fellow man

You know it
because you do the same
and the mist blows away and you move on
leaving sorrow and pain it's victim to have
C F Tinney Jul 9
Bukowski had it
the writing shoots from my soul
I don't care about babies or puppies
or rhyming anymore

Give me a fat cigar
and a deep whiskey
and I can write you a sonnet
of ******* and
write you a love poem
I do not mean

I smoke
I drink
I type what comes out
and I'm tired of hearing about tulips and butterflies

If you think you've got it all figured out
but you're working a job you hate
then the only thing you've figured out
is that you don't know what to do

You don't know that life is about living
that money is necessary, but awful
and that truly living is actually about living

Do you thing the trees give half a ****?
do you think that the flowing rivers care about internet speed?
do you think that your facebook friends would show up at your funeral

If only the world would shut down
if the digital, virtual world would stop
I'd grab a number 2 pencil and write
and jab a hole in the brain of modern society

and it would bleed money
it would bleed greed
it would bleed capitalism and success

and it would die
instead of my worn out soul

trying to swim in a sea of useless information
and overload
a sea of virtual *****

and then I would truly live
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