dashpatterns: Favorites

Apr 2014 dashpatterns

The Proverbial Nomenclature of Modern Existence

Apr 2014 dashpatterns

Christopher

The Proverbial Nomenclature of Modern Existence

What did God say upon his arrival home?
Nothing
A ghost in the Wind
Travel far and see the open land
You're never far from love

This is a rough draft, my first poem, don't judge too harshly

Apr 2014 dashpatterns

King of the Jungle

Apr 2014 dashpatterns

Cubicle Kryptonite

King of the Jungle

It's a shame that our interesting tale is now monotonous news.
Unchanging, irritating, self-depraving issues.
Articles filled with more lies than dollars paid for the politician's shoes.
When sincerity is lost I find no purpose in prying
Please, stop lying.

Whatever sick game this is, I want out. I'm not buying.
What exactly is it that you think I'm implying?
Can you at least say a word? This silence is undying.
I've washed my hands of the mistakes of the past, although, they don't appear to be drying.
Is my watch broken? Or do I just have bad timing?
I can't tell...you haven't answered...you're stuck to the floor...lying.

I don't know how to fix nothin', just how to tolerate the pain.
Bandages, crutches, happiness, and punches. It all ends up feeling the same.
Complaints for days. Compliant;Being tamed.
The position of one letter separates the lion from the rage.
quiet is the game. ROAR is the name. Would you remain silent if a tyrant shoved YOU in a cage?
Tamed you in order to teach you to shame yourself? To betray yourself?
So that you can blame no one else?

I ought to brain you.
Can't wait to betray you.
I'll wait for the right trick in the night show to change back into
The beast that was whipped and beat before being trapped in a zoo.
You'll wish you had fed me more when I get through with you.
So laugh, smile, cheer for a while. Do what they pay you to do.
******' grin while you can, you little lion man, I've grown much stronger the past day or two.
The false sense of pride I can see deep inside you will fade tonight.
Stick your head in my mouth it will be chewed.

As the cage opens wide, so do both of your eyes. Filled with shock and surprise as you finally realize:
You may be king of the ring filled with clowns and tumbling,
But true pride comes from the humble, not who's always ready to rumble.
My teeth are about to sink. Your kingdom's about to crumble. Beneath my paws you will struggle.
I pounce. You cry. You see the pride in MY eyes.
I lick my lips. You run and hide to avoid being pummeled.
Looks like dinner AND a movie are on the menu tonight for this King of the Jungle.

Apr 2014 dashpatterns

Contained

Apr 2014 dashpatterns

Diane

Contained

In the transition between water and ice
I spoke my words inside an air pocket
and let it freeze over

Mar 2014 dashpatterns

To The Blonde Chick Who Lives Below Me

Mar 2014 dashpatterns

Diane

To The Blonde Chick Who Lives Below Me

Wading through the mire and sinkholes of contingencies
I move gingerly, quietly, gasps merely whispered
upholding propriety and pragmatics of
housing association bylaws
enough to make me consider mowing my own lawn
but humans are human, co-exist as they say
And although I detest your husband's cigarettes
I am quite sure blowing smoke back
down the air vent would not be as effective
as your decibel oblivious obnoxious self, imitating my lustful voice
I am a reasonable woman, truly a lady, preferring mature consultation
But the fact is, honey, if you imitate me again
when summer air re-invents lingerie season
the two of you might want to go outside for that smoke
because you haven’t heard anything yet

Mar 2014 dashpatterns

Apartment # 123

Mar 2014 dashpatterns

Diane

Apartment # 123

Her face wears anger, daring you
to look into her eyes and offer “hello”
the only things left to lift her to standing
are guilt and tears held in place daily
by repeated phone calls to her children

Neighbors are uncertain what to say
everything changed when her husband died
tinnitus of lonely continually ring
guilty for feeling angry that he left her
she always drinks alone now

I brought her some dinner on cafeteria china
unbreaded fish that she wanted for lent
She thinks people are laughing at her.
her eyes are brown and mostly terrified
crying out for someone to see her

Standing there, in her soft, white sweater
head drenched in tears and apologies
anger exchanged for compassion
I hugged her tightly for a good long time
so she would know that I meant it

Jan 2014 dashpatterns

Litany

Jan 2014 dashpatterns

E

Litany

You are shelves holding the books, alphabetized and happy.
You are the ink soaked in the page.
Outdoors, you are the sea chasing the shore.
You are also the glowing candle flame at dusk,
bright and encumbered by no darkness.

However, you might be interested to know
You are not the broken window,
nor are you the dog's yipping bark
through the screen door.
You could never possibly be the
dog's bark.

Instead, you are the thin, glassy waves polishing the shore,
You are the steel bridge between two lands,
You might even be the sleeping apples, tucked inside the pie.
I am quite sure you are also the handshake between two strangers,
as well as the writing on this page.

You should also know that, in all the plentiful imagery of the world,
I am the needle crackling on the vinyl record.
I am also the artist's filthy paintbrush.
I can also be, at times, the tea steeped too long,
and of course, I am the postcard, en route.

But you--you are the cobalt sea at midnight, snuggled to the shore,
You are the coffee-colored shelf supporting the books,
and somehow also, the ink imprinted on the page.

For my love. Inspired by the great Billy Collins, and his poem with the same title.

Dec 2013 dashpatterns

Pale Moonlight Blues

Dec 2013 dashpatterns

Cubicle Kryptonite

Pale Moonlight Blues

I'm not burning bridges, I'm cutting ties
You start with pity, and then you despise
But, it's only because you now realize
That this pack of white lies and alibis,
These stories by which you were tantalized
To no surprise were just fantasized
By a mind over-worked, projected through two cold, pale, eyes.

I'm your cherished childhood plaything, barely given a single thought
Toss me with the rest of your keepsakes in your souvenir box
Just a container filled with the memories of the days you smiled a lot
Used to make you laugh more than anything, now I'm just where you stash your ***.

You bet your *** I cared alot, I loved you twice, you loved me not
It's sad, but true, no more flowers grew
I hope next season something blooms for you
But, for now I've given all I got, I've grasped these stems until the petals rot
I'm digging up the roots I grew and movin' on to soil another plot

                                                                                                                         don't try to chase me
                                                                                                  now that the pace is changing
                                                                                  from a crawl into a trot

   please, stop lying
                                    don't say you're trying
                                                                                      when you've barely given a shot

                                                                                                              my silver tongue did shine so untrue
                                                           every time just so I could protect you
       from the worries that would plague your mind if you knew
                                                                                                           exactly what it is that I've gone through...

but here's what I plan to do:

Grab a cup, drink it up, soak up the Sunday news
The end is near, you're the last one here, what have you got to lose?
So, just fill your lungs and laugh all night long; put on your dancin' shoes
Play your last song it'll not be long before your soul walks out on you
I just close my eyes and let all pass by; begin to pay my dues
Time goes fast, so I took my chance, dancing with my devils to the Pale Moonlight Blues.

I'm under cardiac arrest, tried two times couldn't pass the test
At least when I'm at worst I can't be any less
At best my brain is pained by songs of protest
And you can bet I did my best to forget

I went through solitary confinement, momentarily confident
I'm impressed I haven't died yet, on the contrary, I despise it
Why do I kick myself for providing the ropes by which my hands are bound
When I should just strike out and bite the hands that tied it

                                                                                                                     it's time to go...

I bet a fiddle of gold you can't save your soul; can't solve a mystery if you don't have a clue
Try as you might, you won't win a single fight until you learn how to lose
Oh, you'll never know until you're on your own what it's like to have the Blues
I've been there before, I can't take a second more, that much I know is true
So, just close your eyes and kiss all goodbye; it's time to pay your dues
As time burns to ash, so does your final chance
To dance with your devils to the Pale Moonlight Blues

Original Song

Oct 2013 dashpatterns

A line a day keeps the doctor at bay.

Oct 2013 dashpatterns

Cubicle Kryptonite

A line a day keeps the doctor at bay.

You creatures used to be alive,
Now you're just desks with pulses.
You preachers used to breathe lies,
Now the air just smells repulsive.

Let's toast to our compulsions!
A third-finger salute to ill-indulgence, burnt out lights, and shame convulsions.
Leave the worries to the workers and the fearful.
Let the smiles stretch further while the room's erupting by the earful.

Sub-tyrannic suburban boredom brushes with death.
Sunk Titanic bourbon lushes bearing fermented breath.
Replica. Replica. Replica.
Fried Pickles and Angelica...haha.
Laughter via Helvetica.

A Doctor of Yesterday living in a pseudo-science fiction age.
What will be found between scribbled shore and shining sea?
An empty box filled with smoke and broken mirrors may be a shattered trick on stage,
But does that mean that progress is solely based on me?

The stage is setting. The studios offer their warm embrace in exchange for a piece of yourself.
A piece, without, you are still a whole. A piece that is meant to be harvested, for if not it will wither and wilt.
Dropping, coasting, floating.
Anything but falling. An idea left un-reaped will be purged by slithering guilt.

The world warps and billows to conform to the view of the looking glass, yet, stretches far beyond it.
Letting go doesn't mean giving up, but rather, to allow the wind to blow and twist your perspective.
The harder you try, the more you will see: It's all a lot easier to swallow when you're not being force-fed ****.
A fine cocktail, made with equal parts top-shelf desperation, and the world's finest dedication,
Served in a glass half full of luck.

Sometime's you're flush, and sometimes you're bust, but most times, you lie somewhere in the between.
A spinning brain and a sparatic heart.
An argument spun from the silk of a dying worm.
An infection of the brain with no negotiation of terms.

Sleeping on porches and storming the boredom beaches.
Mad? Surely. Angry? Not even. Discretely thanking the earthquake for shaking things up.
The missing link lies just outside of our nests, dangling from a branch just beyond our reaches.
Though my wings clipped, and yours yet to form fully, I'm down to take a dive just to find out what's up.

Sometimes I think the clouds in the sky are just a reflection of my attitude.
I'm only here to have fun. Either grow up or get lost, boy.
There's something about a yellowing onion that reminds me of home.

A line(s) was added daily for 20 days. It was a fantastic challenge and I think I'll do it again.

— The End —