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CP Walker Apr 2014
Here I lie,
Upon my bed,
Wondering why
The day has fled.

Around this time,
It always seems,
I find myself,
Alone to dream.

This same routine,
Night after night,
Alone I fall,
Alone in spite.

I wish I had you,
By my side.
I feel your body,
I see your eyes.

I taste your lips,
Soft and sweet,
You always nibbled,
It made me weak:

You always knew,
The subtle tricks,
That drove me mad,
That made me tick.

I close my eyes,
And reach for you,
But by my side,
Cold space in lieu.

It all comes back,
The day you left,
The things you said,
Your fading breath.

I wish I tried,
To speak, say more,
But silence spilt,
Across the floor.

You waited, and,
You waited still,
I missed my chance,
And now I'd ****.

So through the glass,
I look and lie,
Wishing that
I'd said goodbye.

Or anything,
When I could,
But now you're gone
And gone for good.

And somber silence,
fills my hat,
Keeps me warm,
Helps me forget.

Across the river,
The city glows,
The lights shine out,
In waves and rows.

I look up at,
that same old sky,
And wonder if,
You also lie.

Upon a bed,
And look out too,
And wonder if,
I think of you.

I'm sure you don't,
You were too strong,
No doubt at all,
That you've moved on.

But just in case,
Please know I'm here,
And think of you,
Still my dear.
The one that got away.
I never liked the game.
CP Walker Apr 2014
An apology to Limes...and all plants where respectively applicable for that matter:

Dear Limes,
Please allow me to speak on behave of of all my human counterparts when I offer up this most sincere apple-oh-gee [apology]. You see, we humans are quite simple creatures which and so forth more often than not we assume (and quite falsely I assume that we most ironically assume) that you limes have little or no feelings. We humans seem to glorify those tough callous individuals who exemplify what it is to be invulnerable, so naturally with our simple (and quite innocent, on the whole) mind sets and your ever-existing condition being what it is--that is, your rough exterior shell (or thick dermis, if you will) combined with your unceasingly surprising, sour, pulpy organs--we tend to assume that you creatures do not mind when we humans use you, use you for such tasks as bearing the brunt when we...say, take shots of tequila. And poor you, with no protest but your silent, ****, bitter replies. But tonight, I heard your cries; I saw your faces. I felt your pain, and I am sorry...and we are sorry.
Drinking tequila and composing letters to fruit. The moon is always full in the inebriated floral state 8^)
CP Walker Sep 2015
A mile to work and a mile to home;
I roam this bay town more often alone

Than with anyone else who's willing to stay;
I fray and I wither like Bill back in the day

Of those times so funky where music was fresh;
Outta breath I would get singing along in my vette:

I pretend, quite often, that instead I do own;
But no, it's well know of my junker I roam

That I travel point A to point B by such mode;
Yes, I go via foot or death trap on the road

That is ever before me and ready to fight;
Whether night or day light, my knees give their might

And walk and stomp and push best they can;
Whether sit or stand or cross bridges off land

I do hope to pickup a better way,
Less stranger;
But danger aside, I drive on: me and my ford ranger.
Money pit not worth the spit but business necessitates these trips
CP Walker Oct 2014
Brushed my teeth--the final task--so now it's safe to rest;
Wipe my feet--forgot this last--go climb into my nest.

I hate the corny daily slew that pops up on my screen;
Alternatively *****, just feign some truth, that tops the trending scene.

Write it down, type it out, spit it for the dogs and ponies;
Might turn out ripe or spout: a pit that bogs down phonies.

Either way, I really hate this routine...especially the parts where we meet in it.
Popcorny culture push, hadanuffadat
CP Walker Dec 2015
Lately, I've tried to relate greatly to the daily slew of poppy brew and wisdom grew by the tv news crew spittin their wisdom from the pedestal push of the routine pedal stool mush that slid across the floor of lava rocks and hot spots that rupture soon enough when the keys rattle in doorknob and the whiny creak opens with meek silhouettes on shadowy walls of latex seepage...the colors' fingers stretch from the threads, penetrate the outlet, crawl through the cord, and tap my brain through the spine post run. Whiskey was the inception, but the jar was the culprit for sure: the vessel that drilled my brains and scratched the black background noise of my dreams. Logic plays in the background but the car fume imagery bores me lately. Need someone else to care to pretend for a minute, need two cafecitos to go, need three job securities to take a vacation from three life voids, y necesito una chica seria for the rest of this conversation...unless the inconvenience of engagement confuses she like the language attempts on me. Gone fishing, for the missing, for the family don't listen, for the docks do rock, and the waves make the the light prowl the wake off the take of the bow of the ballast aft tower. Opportuney viola sin duda, ninazungumza kiswahili...clock me in, blanket spanker, tuck away your worries. I love you and care about you too
I have no idea what any o this mean
CP Walker Jun 2014
I feel them crawl all over my skin:
Up and down,
Trying to get in.

Molesting the fibers of my hair:
Behind my ears,
They scratch and tear.

Down my neck and across my back:
Searching for voids,
Attempting to attack.

All they want is my discontent:
Uncomfortable me,
And happy them.

I know that they aren't really there:
Imagining pain,
Seasonally impaired.

Anger tries to make itself norm:
I must keep swimming,
Get through this storm.
Today was a bad day...and now it is storming outside too.
CP Walker May 2014
Our feet are in the water, we exhale the semester away, and kiss the moon goodnight.

A sporadic membrane of white motion paves the way for daybreak...a moonset for the books that feigns the horizon's onlookers for a thirsty tangerine.

We tread back...slow and steady. Music sets the mood, too loud perhaps, but we are outside after all, so who cares.

I settle heavy upon the sweet and salty cushion. I fell the tremble as the earth inhales and exhales.

I look up, that endless span of spilt milk prompting reflection--my gaze upon a picture that my brother, a thousand years gone by, too admired.

We think that we are so much smarter now. How often we laugh at our naive predecessors and how quick we are to praise our clever selves. Isn't it so much easier now? To cook? To sleep? To dance?

But we are no better off now than ever before. We fail to recognize the relative ailments that ******* our generation same as plague and epidemics past.

We must humble ourselves...must realize how truly insignificant our little speck of an existence is in the grand scheme of happenings and play things.

To compare the human condition on earth with that of the blink of an eye, on universal terms, is only to begin to understand how little our time here matters. So get over your affliction, you poor you-you. Stop your anger. End your sadness. Feel greatful that your person was important enough to matter to you for a moment. Feel even more greatful if yours was the genuine concern of another.

Mind your gaze, please and thank you, find the sun, and say your prayers.
Wrote this in my head a few nights ago, while on the beach, celebrating the end of the semester...nature of the night made me forget most of my thoughts, but I think this captures the ugly jist. Happy Friday
CP Walker Oct 2014
Coffee break,
Achy back.

Take a seat,
Feet up, relaxed.

14 minutes left to sip,
Hit the button, clock in.

Too lethargic to remember,
Whatever the point of this work day has been.  

Almost time to take the floor,
More duties wait for me.

Out the window clouds float by,
I look on through the eves.
Was bored; thought I'd try writing a quick piece on my break at work.
CP Walker Apr 2015
Why did you think your opinion should shed?
Some kinda brash lettin words outcha head.
No body said your words should be spoken.
Re-fuddle them fumblin foul things now broken.
You always give up so soon, too soon.
You always relax beneath the full moon.
And you try and you try to socialize more;
But your eyelids resist and you can't cross the door.
And the wispy wisp-wisps float up over brow;
Such peripheral tests in a lofty soft style.
Night time becomes such a strange, sad routine:
Ever in thought sliding ever in dreams.
I sit in my lounge watching night time close in;
My head is laid back, thoughts are stacked, let's begin.
I'm losing my rhythm, my floating on back;
I'm slowly now melting, for buoyancy lacks.
Good night now to consciousness ever in sight;
Good luck to all out there with what's wrong and what's right.
The people over me are having loud obnoxious ***...rude. Nobody want to hear you yelling, grow up. Haha
CP Walker Jul 2014
step out for a spell,
To clear my head.
Take in the salt air,
Night breeze dries my sweat.

It's done now, it's out there,
Don't say you regret it.
No taking those words back,
You already said it.

The truth at last,
So that's how you feel?!
If only I'd known,
I'd've swam past your reel.

Boy, was I foolish,
To take that first bite.
To see where that line led,
To give up that fight.

That first stark encounter,
I nibbled, you pulled.
Hook, line, and sinker,
You land a fool.

I flipped and flopped,
My eyes glazed in defeat.
You called over your friends,
And I gasped at your feet.

You hung me up high,
Your trophy on the wall.
To use as you needed,
Which was never at all.

Why did you do it,
Why tempt me like that?
Why keep me latched on,
Like your piercings and tatts?

Our time was a waste,
Or so you did claim.
I'm sorry, but no way,
I'm not taking the blame!

Every time you needed me,
I came running fast.
To talk to at night,
To help trouble pass.

And now you are strong,
And stable and fine.
So you're tossing me aside,
Like vinagered wine.

Well let me pour out,
These last sour thoughts.
This isn't a rant,
No really, it's not.

So sorry I left,
A bad taste in your mouth!
So sorry I silenced,
All your worries and doubts!

So sorry I picked up,
The phone every night!
For you to cry out your eyes,
And console you til light.

So sorry I was there,
When you needed a friend!
So sorry I was there,
When you needed a freakin friend!

But whatever, that's fine,
You're done with me? Great!
You've already set up,
With new line and new bait.

Enjoy the hunt, babe,
Patience is key.
It'll be a while before,
You land another like me:

A fool so naive,
So willing to assume...
That love is the means,
To make friendship bloom.

The truth I now know,
Is quite simple, it's this:
A sucker is born every minute,
For bliss.

Our passion was real,
At least, was to me.
Maybe you faked it,
Just maybe, we'll see.

But I'll tell you this one thing:
There's no turning 'round.
Next time your ship starts sink,
I'm afraid you're going down.

I won't be there at night,
For talk, ***, or tea.
Goodbye, babe, goodnight,
And good luck without me.

You laugh at my feelings,
You pity my sorrow.
But we'll see who is laughing,
Come this time tomorrow.

You see, what I know,
And realize is this.
I've learned from my pain,
And have forgotten your kiss.

And forgotten your shape,
In the bed late at night.
And forgotten that feeling,
Your hand held so tight.

And forgotten the things,
That would make your eyes glow.
And the ticklish spots,
From your head to your toes.

And the way that your smile,
Would make my whole week.
And how excited I got,
With your tongue in my cheek.

Forgotten your smell,
That shampoo you use.
Forgotten it all,
It's stale old news.

I wish you the best,
Good luck out there, hon.
Cause just like you said,
Baby, we're done.

Fun while it lasted,
But all good things end.
Like we did tonight,
When you typed and pressed send.
This is dedicated to a good friend of mine. Ex broke up with my friend over text message...they live in the same town...the coward.
CP Walker Sep 2015
Paying rent and walking to school;
Buying text books that just make me drool:

Why must I do these scary, dumb things?
What end should I seeks from ambiguous schemes?

I suppose that little piece of paper pays off:
A degree in BS--or 'life skills' I've been taught;

Well who's life, I ask, for surely not mine;
I don't need money or a house, I'm just fine!

Why must we all pursue this professional life...this American dream?
There are so many other, simple ways match esteem.

I'm tired of approval and guilt come from lack!
I'm tired of the weight of expectations on my back!

I'm tired of pursuing this life I don't want!
I'm tired of college, of debt, and of taunt!

I do need a better job: that's agreed!
But I don't need a job that can't see me for me...just some a dog of a higher pedigree...a little fish in an over-saturated, inflated sea of qualification, mastery, and certain uncertainty.

What happened to spontaneity? To chasing a dream? To not letting anyone run your life? I guess it died in your childhood with you same as me? So follow me down this stream of conformity to the white collar life in a box routine, oh joy.
New school year for a future I'm faking and don't want
CP Walker Jun 2014
Another reason the patient Soul enjoys folding clothes:

It reminds her/him of making sandcastles with Mom as a child...

The part where you load up a bucket of sand, get it a little wet...just enoughta  have the solution damp throughout;

Let it dry in the hot sand a little;
Then, flip that puppy over, slam it down, and the sand mold is revealed.

Well guess what, my local poetry-bitten hopeless souls:

That same sensation from that experience done with Mom as a child on the beach is felt (on a near-unnoticeable level of feeling) alone by oneself when folding laundry at late hours of the night right before a day trip to the beach with that Mother...

The part where you load up the clothes in a basket;

      Run em through the water;
            (Washing Machine)
               Get the clothes

     Run em through the heat;
          (Dryer Cycle, twice!)
               Get the clothes

Not fully, just enough to work, my friends, for the task at hand;

Get those clothes back in that basket on the couch:

Flip that puppy over, slam it down, and the clothing castle is revealed.

You see it, take a picture of it, and laugh the picture over to yourself.

But shortly after:
You pause,

And, feel greatful for the childhood that you got, all Southern slurs and northern depression aside;

Feel happy to have grown up so close to your Mother, who has always been there for you as a best friend;

Feel grateful for the opportunities that have been given to you and regret all the sacrifices your parents (Mom and Dad both) had to make to give them to you;

Feel so appreciative for the wonderful family you've been blessed with:

Your amazingly strong little siblings who can survive any stress and strife of the day with Nick cartoons and Disney tunes;

Your amazingly strong older siblings who held your hand through it all--those dark times of trouble and those few rays of sunshine that broke through to your head--and stay close with you still;

Always remember who brought this soul into this world and who can take it right back out (she would always jokingly threaten as a child so I would do my chores or finish my homework haha):

Mom mom mom mom mama mama mama mama mommy mommy mommy mommy mum mum mum mum lois lois lois lois ma ma mum


..............Hi! Haha

Thinking of you,

I love you too.

And that's why folding clothes reminds the patient folder of times at the Beach with her/his Mother:

Folding Castles, as it were.
This poem turned into a reflection about my Mother. Sorry if you didn't stick around for the ride 8^)
CP Walker Jul 2014
I lie in bed,
And stretch my toes,
And ***** a sniffle,
Before it goes:

my friends,
Achoo once more,
I'm spread upon...
my house's boards.

I hold,
my back,
I float,
the ground,
of sense.

I leave you all,
for now tonight.
Though all I really crave is light!

May companionship...
find all.
May you're somber...
sorrows fall.
May your every worry fade,
like surfing the wind upon a wave!


And good vibes,

Amen perhaps?
I really don't know!
Can I borrow a map?
To find Mt. Flow:

And climb,
And climb,
And search and look,
And stumble upon,
the sacred book.

I quickly take,
a little peak,
before the...

But it in that time,
short though it was,
I still managed,
to catch a buzz.

I took the apple,
from the tree,
and found a worm,
and A, B, C ' S

And Newton,
may have found,
with his,

But he never explain it to children.
so forget the inconsiderate man...
who does not value the opinion...
of young minds,
that will them.

Mind the thunder,
between your knees,
the graceful rumble,
of ominous trees;

That lean and lean,
and wait to fall,
and challenge the roof...
with squeaks and squalls.

I hope no birds' nest downly fall,
and families get ruined.
Such tragedy, oh this'd be,
hard eggs shells turned to fluid.

Can a worser scenario,
be brought up by life's passing?
Can I witness such tragedy...
and forever forget laughing?

All life is equal,
in His holy eyes;
all questions silenced,
by his grace, Divine.

Night buds!
Too late is how late...
CP Walker Sep 2014
"I am so tired," I said to Myself.
"Why don't you sleep, then?" Myself did reply.

"...Because I'm too sad," I told Myself.
"Then why so blue?" Myself did inquire.

"...Because I had a bad day," I confessed to Myself.
"Well, what spoiled your day?" Myself did persist.

"Oh, nothing really" I let Myself know.
"Then, why did you name your day bad" Myself queried.

"Well, the truth of the matter..." I started to Myself.
"The truth: yes, go on?" Myself prompted more.

"Well, the truth is just this..." I faltered again to Myself.
"What? What, I? 'Just' what? Myself grew less patient.

"The only person I had any meaningful conversation with today was you" I finally sighed to Myself.
"Oh" Myself suddenly changed.

"And what's wrong with that exactly?" Myself asked in a sting.
"Why nothing at all" I tried to recover.

But I could tell. The damage was already done. I was not happy, but poor Myself was now upset too...just for trying to be there for I, like a good friend when Others were gone.

And now I and Myself are not speaking.
CP Walker Jan 2015
Check it,
I wreck it,
On the mic I get hectic;
I'm like a broken mirror, look, I'm bad luck reflectin.

When I'm drunk I see in two's,
I smoke the skunk to find my muse,
Lysdexic con-, I'm real -fused,
And though you have to pick and choose,
I'm both the tortoise and the hare: I never lose;
I'm real smoothe,
But I can cruise.

New thoughts,
I lay em down,
From the top,
I'm breaking ground.
Faucet runnin,
Hot new flow,
Thoughts is stunnin,
Here we go:

Preferred fuel is butane,
Lyrical spark ignites flame,
And yes my rhymes is insane,
Never premeditate game.

And here's another,
No really, you can have it for free:
We all started out white,
As a ***** turned to seed;

And my my,
How I've grown,
And turnt thoughts into gold,
Just call me new school alchemist,
My methods be fresh and untold.

Not a bad little verse,
From the old t-o-p,
Now Imma finish shapooin,
Cause I'm so fresh and so clean.
This sounded better spur of the moment in the shower when it was raw and organic. Trying to remember what I said when I was in the moment kinda kills the fun in hindsight though haha. Think of this what you will, judges never bothered me.
CP Walker Jul 2014
Here I lie in wake, alone to my thoughts--centered attention on nothingness for so long that it emerges with a startling gasp that stirs the calm waters, that breaks the crippling silence, that disarms my presumptions, that startles the birds from their peace in wing and gives movement to flight in the cold dark out beyond my shortsightedness of the here and now.

A ripple--that's all it was--that prompted my upward condition and seized my focus.

Subtle enough, yet I could not mistake it as London could not pass through a single sweet cool night without a shaky blast off in the distance that likewise stirred the children from their innocent dreams as I have strayed from my ever present seams and still now...

My meaningless nothing may faulter at the so vastly more important  everythingness around me; yet only my perception of these little ripple kisses that stir my soul and give rise to new movement and dance upon this elliptical routine that puzzles me in brick by bricked and stone by ****** can surely pave the path to tomorrow's promise of the again and the trials of what if in such again.

Perhaps no other than I could decipher the value of these thoughts; the merit they hold on my person; and the uselessness they possess on yours.

But that's fine with me...for expression left unexpressed, thoughts left unthought, refractive pulses left unreflected...these play things forgotten in a misspent youth dwindling in the pool of memory and the pull of forgotten woe, surely are worse than the best nightmare on the darkest, most desolate night of lonely sailing in those powerful little ripples that crash on my seawalls and smooth out my wayward projections.

I may push back. I may fight the waves, as futilely as an effort I know it to be. Or I may just accept this future as sure of a past it will ever already be...let that undertow carry me out to sea and swim with the birds and fly with the fish as the Sun whispered he intended for me.

But I may just come right back up again, as breathless and weak as I did before and surely shall again (remaining). For with every breath I surface to obtain, the effort for relief stirs new pains of concentration that only a breathless living may disarm to my liking.

I may not think clearly then and than so more, but my effort to keep my thoughts straight spills attempts out across the floor, and with each further step I further my chances of a clear tower of perceptive accomplishment to stand atop and gaze. Mind my incongruitous follies and shame my liking the name. Am I, I am, the confused and forebane.

Perhaps now, I've infected you? Confused, aren't we? And confused we shall remain. For nothing is so utterly disarming as the mixing of thoughts with no filter to gain. As this ground falls out from under you, just remember the rule for walking: one foot in front of the other for too long and you find yourself right back where you began.

Pick a new direction to gone...I'll meet you there some day, maybe.
Sometimes, nonsense is the only clear anvil to forge my shapely manifestation upon.
CP Walker Dec 2014
I told my family about you. It's hard for me to talk to anyone these days, but I did it...I tried my very best, and for reasons as they go, you were all I could manage to hold in conversation. My sister wants to meet you. She can tell I've changed--my mind or my manor...just something--and she wants to see who's done it. She's always been quite sensitive to these subtle things, more so than the others, and she knew right away I had changed, and you were the one who did it to me.

I miss you so much. I'm home--I guess that's what I should call family all lives here, but I never have, and it's never truly felt like home to me--but I'd rather be with you. I'm so torn! I feel guilt and sadness and joy like I've never felt before all at the same time. I want to spend time with my family because I see them so rarely now while at school, and I hate missing the kids grow up because they are indeed growing so fast--too fast--but at the same time, I cannot pass through a single moment without thinking about you and that time when I will see your face again and embrace your person like I wish to now and every second. It makes me sad that we are not together, that you are not here to cuddle on this bed like you are back at school, that I'd rather be somewhere else with you than here with my family now. I'm a terrible son and a horrible brother, but I know deep down where it really matters that I'd rather be where you are...where we were. In the South, where I felt alive, where sickness never bothered me, where I felt warmth when the Sun shined and not shame, where I felt home at last, there with you. But no, instead I'm here in the dreadful north...where sickness breaks my back and kicks me while I'm down, where guilt and shame count my days and exhaustion kills me quicker. I love my family, I've missed them so much, but I know they are stronger than me and need not my smile to fight back the weather. I must return back South. I must find you. I'll meet you there, at school, at home, my home, our home. My home.
CP Walker Jun 2014
You tell me I've grown quite cynical these last and past few spans.

I shrug off your stare, pretend not to care, and ask you your weekend plans.

What I get I fully expect: a smirk and a walking away.

I'm never surprised when you roll your eyes and ignore what I have to say.

My peace with you has ended, I feel, and strangers we've quickly become.

I realized that this was the deal when my mornings began to grow so glum.

You always get up hours before my conscious even first stirs.

I cover my head, sleep in too late, and pretend that being awake doesn't hurt.

Finally, late in the afternoon when even shades pulled cannot keep,

I get out of bed, try to level my head, and face you again after sleep.

I do not know how much longer I can laugh away your frustration.

I've made it all worse by tuning you out like an over-commercialized station.

We haven't had a screaming match in so long, I point out.

But perhaps that's bad least I knew that you still cared when you'd shout.

Night has come again already, and all I want is out.

Out of this cycle--this horrid routine--that's left me with only one route.

I watch you sleep, your glowing halo, your chest that rises and falls.

I hope you forgive the way that I end, and the mess that I leave on your walls.

That lonely rocking chair in the corner--that one you have always hated...

That's where I left this earthly plane: where love and eternity faded.

A single piece raised to my temple, cold but warm enough soon.

A squeeze, a click, a spark, it's dark; a thump in a breathless room.

Please, oh please, oh please my dear, please don't be angry with me.

I'm out oh your hair, you're free and you're rare, and there's plenty of fish in the sea.

Just know it was not a service to me--this last action done was for you.

My final thought was a prayer to the Lord that now you could be happy too.

And if what the elders say is true and if we should meet again in death.

I hope by then you have realized that yours was the taste on my dying breath.  

I once loved you, believe it or not, but one day I just forgot how:

To love or to feel emotion at all and what this whole life thing's about.

Move on my darling, forget me, and forgive me if you can.

I know you'll find somebody to love, somebody to play on the sand.

I do not love you, and I hate myself for it...for forgetting the reason to exist.

This last spark I felt, this last jolt in life came as a powder shell kiss.

At last I leave, stop heart, hurt, dreams; goodbye babe tonight and forever.

As love and eternity fades my soul, I pass through the stormy weather.
I am not now nor have I ever been suicidal...I am simply fascinated with death and wrote a story where death is involved 8^)
CP Walker Jun 2014
Day late...
I let the roach burn the snips of my finger-tip tree.

Slept all day,
Woke up to eat,
Put some clothes on, made my self some noodles and cheese.

You don't care,
I do not either,
I write this thought down, put it out there to appease the piteous.

I send out praises,
Hope you receive them:
Float on in the flux of life...that ocean which we brave every surf session.
Happy Summer Friends! Be safe this season.
CP Walker Apr 2014
At the beach or at the park,
So serious...
Lips tremble,
Back in an arch;
You try your best,
So concentrated
To stifle your moans
As whispers break through;
Breathing hard,
Shaky gasps
And thoughtless words:
You say my name,
And I say yours.
Knuckles white
Leave yours and search...
Caress the earth, search,
Something to grab,
To connect with;
They trace,
Up, your sides,
And up,
Around your halo,
Fingers crawl,
And up yet,
Something to grab,
They dig...
They need the weight,
So down, into the earth:
Whether sand
Or grass
Or locks of something else...
They find and hold
And squeeze and tremble yet.
From feet, to thighs,
To ****, to back,
To shoulder, to neck,
To eyes,
You're a taut cord.
We climb higher,
Faster, and higher...
You peak
(We peak);
You scream...
Let tingle, shaky tingle
Turn to numb ecstasy.
And love fades in
And logic sieves out.
Emotions spasm
As spine relaxes...
And now,
I'm just a friend again...used again.
My payment:
Your moans,
Your ecstasy,
Your moment(s) of triumph,
Your high...your happiness.
Used again...
But who's counting, not me.
My sadness [your happiness] is
My happiness.
Little did you know,
Though not perceived,
We were one,
Connected, joined,
Through the earth [earth's ground],
And you and I were us.
Young Fathers by Typhoon...good song.
CP Walker Jun 2015
Just let my fingers type, as they may, and feel your curves of energy. I feel your frequencies through simple words enough to sense emotion.
Subtle language, you may use, to convey thought's connection:
I understand them sure the same as looking at your complexion; don't take much introspection, did I mention bout to have a mean intervention with myself, stick around if you're down off the shelf, amount another, no wonder. Any way, here we go:

So I was off for a stroll earlier today, thinking about problems 'stead of appreciating the good things in life, when I came upon this sudden realization, I need separation from my loved ones to appreciate their true caring for me at the level it is. I...what is wrong with me-the mindless, brainless, shameless, blameless, tameless, circumstantial-rainless one, who cannot seem to come to agreement with his Mother about where to live fun-thought sieving through the sand ground.

Cannot keep going, getting sloppy. Close the tomb. Words are confused like a brainless bafoon.
No more swoonin for ya,
Swim quick like pain at the door for ya. Then let the energy store more, adorn the shores of need-to-do-this lists and other various chores, and what's more, I've gone on autopilot and let the trail behind my word with the last of my day's energies, blessed down the sun upon me.
Up there, sir, that high branch
CP Walker Feb 2015
Space is gone,
Feet off the ground,
Gotta few thoughts,
So I'm throwin em down.

Lesson 1 learned:
Gotta freshly express,
Just a walk in the rain,
And I'm feeling refreshed.

Seeing colors and vibes,
The energies flow,
Got a graceful impression,
Of this frequency low;

Had a terrible stumble,
In a wonder so deep,
Felt the waves of the ocean,
20 miles from sea;

Quite in tune with nature,
Kissed the clouds from above,
Got a taste of the winter,
From the bottom of the tub;

Such a cold sensation,
I haven't felt in so long,
Such a powerful thought,
I've forgotten, forlorn.

Still yet to have my tea,
For the nightcap per close,
Wipe the tired out my eyes,
With the brew nightmare shows;

Thoughts got dark for a spell,
And the fence sure did squeak,
Had to run from bad thoughts,
And return to the creek;

The place way back,
In my memories deep,
Where I swam with the snakes,
And the dreams kept me meek.

Time to call it quits,
Can't connect thoughts no more,
Bout to pass out for now,
Leave this day-drift from shore.
I'm sleepy
CP Walker Jun 2014
I happen upon this realization tonight, this one among many others:

I keep many lovely "Night Buds..."
in a collective nocturnal realm.

That is to say, good sirs and madams who care to lend their individual respective gentle ears for the sparing;

There are many women with whom I only seem to engage with in conversation or for companionship as night time falls over my conscious self.

I happened upon this truth earlier tonight in deep reflection, my friends and fellows.

And I wonder to myself, to what significance do these few coincidental female fates have on my person?

Am I more friendly at night, when the sun is gone and the moon is up? Is this the fate I have fallen to? Is this the life I've made?

Am I more alive than dead when my motionless body just crawls into bed and I lye there for hours or days at a time and feel happier alone in that bed than when I'm out around the house with my family; this because I've forgotten how to love, and their beautiful friendship makes me terribly saddened by the wish to reciprocate such friendship, but all for I cannot love anymore.

I'm saddened by love, I've only the Night Buds to turn to and share my woes with collectively.

I wish I could be strong like some, and have no need to turn to Night Buds for consoling, for deflating my troubles, and for wishing good fortune.

I perhaps someday shall not have such need, but for now, I'll work on improving and keep my Night Buds all the same.

You see I really am quite found of my Night Buds: they make me feel like life is not all that bad, and that choosing to feel happy is the only way to really in fact be happy, regardless of living situation (though I still struggle to swallow that pill of logic).

Until my heart dance slows and I express this sentiment of self-realization aloud, I shan't sleep a peep.

Post- heart normalization and expression, I will perhaps have slipped off into a final slumber...thereafter having only this to say:

Night Bud!
I have no idea how this will be received or related to, but I promise it was an effort to stay awake long enough to write it ;^)
CP Walker Oct 2014
I don't really know
Why I find myself here.
I'm not in any particular mood-
In fact, it seems quite misconstrued-
To try to conjure up some prose
When sleep is needed clear
And I've nowhere to go
And no way to steer
And certainly an interlude
Draws ever near.

A randomness slowly but surely creeps
Into the thoughts I've compiled thus
As no filter can be founded.
And truly I'll be astounded
If by the end of these heaps
Of words you derive even a touch
Of sentiment which I wish to seep
As confusion is a must
For this nonsense to be grounded
And two cents made of this stuff.

My thoughts are all smashed
By mortar and pestle
Until all meaning is lost,
And heavy though the cost
Of this pulverizing bash
From my slumbering nestle
I think you'll get past,
My oddly shaped vessel
If dream thoughts are freely tossed
And you take on such a hassle.
Weird structure 8p
CP Walker Jul 2014
Grab a hold, Take a seat,
Put ya feet up, please stay.

Freshly told, Of the heat,
Raise ya cheek up, and pray.

Captured you, In a trance,
And I'll one, two, and three.

Thoughts are new, So they prance,
As I float in seas grief.

Checked myself, Checked my rhymes,
Checked my spellings and flows.

Now I delve, Swim swirl times,
Heck, I can't smell, my nose!

Allergies up north, Make me suffer,
But my summer's been nice.

Freely float up forth, Rake a cluster,
Rut with bummers, their vice.

I cannot distinguish, The difference between,
Reality and this dream.

Longly I languish, the hindrance of dreams,
They quickly burst at their seems.  

And I have surely missed out, broken my rhyme, there it goes.

My structure is dead, the synapses connections snapped,
Focus lost over the falls of my eyelids;
Down my nose,
Into the soft fall reservoir;
Where it stirs and gets bubbled through the seeps of my lips;
Never to come out as thought for food,
But lost forever in the unfinished idea limbo.

It's a sad night of expression here tonight, I fear.

Night buds.
I don't know, this is where my tongue took it tonight...I was on autopilot. I was just hoping for rhyme and chronology in the end 8p
CP Walker Feb 2015
Babe, I love kissing you like sipping hot tea;
I go sip after sip, and you're always so sweet.

Burn my mouth if I must to have that nice taste;
See myself in reflections so close to my face.

Cheek-bones touch the holy fountain;
Youth again I have obtained;
Seen my eyes bounce back within;
Whet again, my tongue's edged flame.

Cannot communicate through this facade;
I guess we're done, the haze has won:
I've lost God.

Thanks for such a nice attempt, see you in some other life my friend.

I've lost the ability to say what I mean and to mean what I say;
And I'm scared of conversation, so I shamefully publicly pray.

That makes me a poet, too many would say;
A cynical stance I'd have to portray:

Spreading Gods word is duty, no doubt;
But forcing it on others ain't what Gods about;
Listen to me preach if you have any doubts;
I'll silence your ulterior motives right out.
Jazz got me stumblin haha
CP Walker Apr 2014
The clouds rolled in,
My sickness fled.
I brushed my grin,
And climbed in bed.

Off I go,
I wonder where,
My eyelids know.
I say my prayers.

The silence,
Over-comes my sense,
On the light is spent.

Breath is steady,
Heart rate slow,
Body ready,
Mind and soul.

Slow I drift, deep,
And dream,
Surprises creep,
Within the seems,

Of my lashes,
Stitched so tight,
REM shield hatches,
Dream each night.

I never could,
Quite recall,
When sleep overtook,
My wakeful fall.


Deep in thought,
Ever still,
Escape will not,
Be found until,

I die, I'm dead,
But still I try,
To rest in bed,
To shut my eyes.

To rest in peace,
But peace won't come,
Least not for me,
The restless son.

My parents always,
Would remark,
My youthful follies,
In the dark.

Too afraid,
Or hyper to sleep,
I never made,
An effort to keep;

Keep track of time,
What time is it?
The moon has climbed,
The sun has slipped.

It must be that,
That time to sleep,
Pull down my hat,
And count some sheep.

I heard that's best,
To quickly sink,
The time-held test,
No need to think.

Just count away,
One sheep, two.
Goodbye long day,
Hello dreams new.
Terrible poetry, I know, but it was really fun trying to come up with consistent rhythm and words...well fun relative to the state I'm in, as one in my state can manage at 3 in the morning. Work is gonna **** tomorrow haha.
CP Walker Sep 2014
I fear we need a break my dear, these things are tell-tale signs:
Attention paid, Worries laid,
Lease put out of mind.

Goodbye then...until later,
And have a great day, ma'am.
The brightness hurts, from shining screen, the one-eyed god, peering down.
CP Walker Jun 2015
Closed in so tight by this ten-cornered room;
It rains through the window with thunder and gloom.
The branches reach out and scratch with anxiety;
But my window stays closed, as I pose in shear piety.
I blast my heart-attack music as loud as she dares;
Rest on the bed deep in thought with no cares.
Need some water, cotton mouthes swam in the same canal as me as a child, and memory manifests.
Tuck myself in comfortably about my new nest;
And what's best, or even better, or maybe just a tad less:
Is that I just cannot come to accept the fact that life is worth breathing without you:
Especially, lately--eyes shaking, dry heaving in doubt of truth.
Pretty sure you know what I mean, unless I'm asleep once again, and this is just a memory of a dream on replay. Who knows these days. Certainly stay lazy and lose thought when down under
CP Walker Sep 2014
Sunday evening, 3:00,
Took a stroll through the park;
Rainy clouds loom above,
Worries melt, rainy love.

Sun was out enough for me,
Felt the radiating heat;
Absorb my vitamins in rays,
Enjoy my slow humdrum Sundays.

In the park I see kids play,
Mothers talk, and voices say:
"...I know, I know, it's been too long..."
Feign concern of happened wrongs.

And by I walk, fading through,
Conversations poor and brew;
Children run, and parents mind,
Two perspectives blend and bind.

But does either really see,
How the other lives so free;
Attention paid seldom to,
The subtle rifts torn, than glued.

Grow apart, we always lose,
Individuate, diffuse;
Have our time and drink our wine,
Separate ourselves in line.

Though you may find space enough,
You'll never stop this line stuff;
On we must step, left foot, right,
Heavens gates won't promise quiet.

Stay close to your family,
Remember your family;
Escalator ever moves,
Almost to the top in tombs.
I need more Sunlight
CP Walker Jul 2014
The sweaty mason jar cools my right palm and stirs my head;
The smoky cigar heats my left grip and soothes my conscious.

Just now accepting the day that has happened on me and the events gone by;
Just now praying for her and the decision she had to make to do right by her family.

A pause:
Sip my glass, sip the stog, the spices and tingles mix and diminish;
My palate charged, I taste, breathe, and repeat.

The porch:
Comfy couch, windless night, stars come out, music is bright;
Achy pains slip away, and pleasant thoughts amass my brain.

My friends:
Scattered far and scattered wide, some fare better than others;
Different points we've reached in life, contact fades and flutters.

My wish:
I hope you all are happier than the happiest you thought you could be;
I hope you sleep better tonight than the soundest you've ever acheived;
I hope comfort finds every crevace of your soul;
I hope you keep your positive way through all life's turns and tolls.
Grateful for family and the ocean tonight.
CP Walker Oct 2014
I felt like they were gone...not suddenly but subtlety lifted off my shoulders. Yet my burden seemed all the heavier. I waited til that night to check. I couldn't possibly have been prepared any time sooner to confront it. I avoided my phone all day. I hid all day from those good smells and those long walks that stir my liking. And I avoided the mirror at all could I bear to look. But night soon fell, and I knew there was no getting out of it. I had to see for myself.

I prepared.

I turned the ****. Spouts shot out in pulsating inconsistency: chilly at first but warm enough soon and hot and steamy not much later. I striped naked. I closed: the door behind me, my eyes, the curtains. Alone at last with least I hoped. I prayed. I couldn't bear to check still. I was too scared. I didn't know how I'd react if the worst became, so I started with other tasks to soften the moment. I cupped my hand one and filled shampoo with the other. Ran my fingers through my hair and the burning rain. My head finished, I started scrubbing with soap but quickly stopped as my arms reached my chest. My heart was pounding...I could feel it. It was real. I could not bring myself to reach my hands up any higher. Yet I knew it had to be done. I had to check. I had to.

I took a deep breath. I wasn't ready...I knew I wasn't, but I made myself do it anyways. I reached up. I felt...felt. And my body stiffened, and my heart pumped icy shock through my veins. I knew it would be true. I was waiting for it all day. I have no idea what possessed me to wait til that moment to confirm. Yet there I stood: hot and cold, ready and shocked, prepared and disarmed.

In that moment, I felt: I grabbed at my shoulders frantically, searching ever inch of them for them, asking aloud (in my head) where they could be hiding. But I knew it already. They were gone. They were not hiding behind my neck (of course they would never put there differences aside and come together that close just to hide from me). They were truly gone.

And my stomach sank. The water, whether hot or cold in reality, became an instant sickening freeze: an anti-invocation of pure emptiness.

For the angel and the devil who had accompanied me 20 years hence, ever omnipresent on shoulders right and left, were gone. My shoulders held nothing. The angel flew out; the devil sank in. And there I remained: alone...truly alone for the first time in my life.

My logic and reason were gone. My judgment rendered untrustworthy, entirely to myself. My focus hopelessly lost. My decision too frightening to attempt without them. For it was: the angle and the devil were truly gone, and I was on my own.
CP Walker Apr 2014
She’s with her now…I know it.
She even tells me so.
She drives me freakin crazy,
But I can’t let on as though.

Why is this one different;
To prompt a push of trust?
Risk is pain with people.
These things—they always bust.

Malicious to their core,
At least so long that’s how it’s seemed.
Will this one be so different—
This girl, she came to me!

It started slow with smiles…
And winks and subtle things:
A back and forth of messages
And hints at sound with rings.

Excited ambiguity:
“I wonder how she feels.”
We played the game:
“Do you…?”,
“How long…?!”,
And answers seemed surreal.

She’s into me! She wants me!
She cares, she really does!
Naïve is my perception,
And tomorrow still it was.

I know the truth; it tortures me:
This one—this other girl,
Am I so low as jealousy
to plague my head a twirl?

A teenage love—
truly names the day.
A superficiality
Time always fades away.

But still, I can’t help but think:
Are such pains not for trying?
Experience that must be had
Just once before dying.

…And those who claim
Have missed such fate
Surely must be lying.

A high school cap with summer love—
Now that’s nothing too new.

I see ahead
How this will end,
And yes,
It’s grim and blue.

But still, I must—
A bout with lust;
She’s got me,
So I’ll try.

I know
I’ll end up getting hurt;
It’s only a matter of time.

(But since when have I cared about time…!)

I want this girl—
She’ll hurt me…
Yeah, I know she will.

And, I’ll have this poem
To look back:
My gut-mop for the spill.

So when that fateful day come,
And part at last we must;
All will have been worth it,
For a young man’s
Try at trust.
Kinda ashamed of this poem, but it was when I first started writing. Any thoughts?
CP Walker Nov 2014
It's been a while,
A pause indeed, since last we spoke my friend;

How goes the trial,
Laws disagreed, hence fastly broken then.

I know such things,
Quickly stirred, and mixed up sediment;

The people roared, and pushed back in lament.

Though the big whigs,
Fat--content--made their choices known;

Fewer sticks,
Racks or stones, could reveal such bruises shown.

The people cried out,
Fraught with rage: no more racial sin;

And fire bout,
And rattled cage: the riots did begin.

He said she said,
Fingers stretched, and looked for victims sweet;

Burn the bed,
The whole house catched, and cooked the poor babe's feet.

Justice sought, the people turned to crime;

Fuss for not, no lesson learned with time.

How dare you
Shout out in his name, and call your actions just;

How dare you
Tout your shameful ways, for media to lust.

You think your actions
Bring him peace? His family any comfort?

Seek equality with violence
In the streets?! What fairness brings this sport?

How 'bout next time,
Before you decide, to selfishly loot and plunder... take the time,
Explore these "lies," and seek lessons lying under?

Such quick default,
To mob mentality, your ignorance raced to match;

Your morals halt,
In ethical frailty, and sense replaced by the cookie-cutter batch.

And cynical,
Though I, myself, have quickly grown to be;

At least I try,
Peacefully to delve, and learn from Missouri.

Backwards still,
Our country may be, with racial issues new;

It fits the bill,
Quite obviously, as our citizens recently proved:

Really?! Oh really?!
We haven't moved forward, since race riots of the past?

How childish, how silly,
You've clearly ignored,
The equality acheived at last.

And no, of course not,
We're certainly not perfect, for bigots still surely exist;

But do you not realize,
How little you've helped, to spread love and remedy this.

Embrace peace now,
Brother, resign your anger and hatred and cynical ways;

Let's bring this country
Together again, let equality ring out the day.
Think we're acting pretty childish as a country right now.
CP Walker Oct 2014
Head so deep,
Can't even speak;
The water drains,
Around my feet.

Got here how,
It's hard to say;
Can't reach that
Surface anyway.

I hear them coming,
For my soul;
Dragging chains,
Made of gold.

And, out they scream:
"Está lista, hombre;"
You had your chance,
Now sing ALL psalm praise.

Head so wrapped,
My heart goes wild;
When I think,
About the tile:

Spans the room,
And arches my mind;
Twitch and forget,
The concept of time.

Is this still real life?
What's happened to me?
I've seen how it ends,
And I hardly can breathe!

And yes indeed;
My Brothers and Sisters,
Are starting to scatter,
And spread;
They've nothing to do,
But bounce on through,
The opportunities seem,
to have fled.

I wish them luck,
All I've to spare;
I've left their plane,
Of saddened care.

And, on another,
I've beached my troubles;
Pulls the puddles...

...far up stream,
They shuffle.

You step in one,
At first, don't mind;
Then you feel,
The grunt and grim.

Wish you'd taken,
Smaller spite;
Just want your,
Attention tonight.

Was I out of line,
Asking tonight:
For you to always,
Be happy despite:

The very,

A child is wonderful news,
To me dear;
Why would you ever,
Have such a fear.

I said that, "I love you,"
And, I'm sticking to it;
My opinion remains,
I'm ready, let's do this.

A life spent together,
Is something quite sweet,
You piggyback and cuddle:
Your fears and defeats...

...And leave your sweet,
A legacy to roam,
The spatial genuflection.

The noises go bump......
In the....

Too far out for one session,
Too deep treading into heaven;
Too late now to turn back,
Too much line, too much slack.

Run, run,
My little demons;
While the coffee,
Brings the reason;

And the reason,
Brings the trick;
We float on,
Our coffee fix.

Chow y'all.
Strong brew.

— The End —