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Jan 2017 · 932
Game of Thrones
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
Deep into consideration
I balance thought and option,
I wonder if the weight of the self
Crowned moment will get to me,
I rush, I sweat, I sit,
I wonder what Im gonna wipe with....
Jan 2017 · 711
Wild
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
Your vision is stuck in my eyes:
The time you stared at me,
Waiting for me to cross our destinies,
As I crossed, nervous and anxious,
Your smile withered all doubt.

    It's wild, you know,
The depths of those memories
    I hold near me always.

   And from the depths of my love
A taste of your lip gloss climbs
To my lips stilling my time,
I don't know what glimmers
In the kiss, but the fragrance
Stayed with me to this day.

I take you with me
Everywhere in peace or wild times,
In the memory it trickles
Unto the maddening day.

Your the same wild girl
Today as when I first brought
You to my side.
Jan 2017 · 662
Skyfall
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
Should the sky fall,
That is to say that you feel a crisis,
Just saying,
Grab a star and put it in your
Pocket, hold on to your continent
As it drifts,
Drain the ocean to the deserts
And gather unprecedented cactus flowers.

Should sky fall
Learn the world as it all falls by,
I mean it's just a thought,
Take the time to shed copper tears
And rain the wounds over
The heights that fall,
How much would be left of a splintered
Moon, planets whizzing by,
And yet here you are still
In your pity!

Gather the energy
Among the falling birds,
The comets with animals scurrying
About claiming new territory,
See! They make the best of their
Sorrow!

Lower your sorrows,
I tell you now,
The song of your sad poetry,
The rumors of the Earth's demise,
Calm your skies,
If it is night, look up out the window,
Count the hopeful stars,
And - I'm just saying-
If they are falling,
Catch them!
Then all your wishes and hopes
Are finally coming true!
Audacity of Hope.
Jan 2017 · 395
Let Me Go Back
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
I will die in the Westside
On some corner with a beer
In my hand, as if holding the lost
Scrolls of Atlantis.
I will die in the Westside-
And I won't be ashamed that
I am a drunken mess and my liver
Has swollen like my heart for
My dear neighborhood.
     It will be a Tuesday,
I will go back and find myself
Within the aloness with all the Yesterdays
Behind me.

Dedpoet is dead. The world beats him,
Although he never fought back;
It beat him hard with a stick....

There will be witnesses,
Nameless and I will not know them,
Only the solitude, the grey, the cold roads.....
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
I assume that you never
Knew the pure love we had
For you,
Your tiny body could not take
The world so we imagine
You went straight to become an angel.

You did not take a breath
Of the air I still breathe as i waited
For your cries,
That made two of us because
I could not breathe as you never
Made a sound.

I assume that you loved your
Mother so much you could
Not bear to be apart from
Her,
That you left to watch over her
In spirit qnd essence,
That she still leaves flowers
For you shows me she misses
You .

Of all the things you will never see
I hope i have seen enough
To know that i tried to live
For you,
That of all the days and every
Night we never had,
That my pain still lives,
As well as my love,
That i will be with you one day
And you can show me
All that i do not know
Of the Heavens and glories.

Your light shines somewhere
Too bright for this world,
I know that when my eyes close
For the final time your
Light will guide me home.
Amber Gonzales. Stillborn daughter. 19 years old today.
Dec 2016 · 591
Cold Days
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
On the heart, which grows cold.
On the lips that dry as the air
Penetrates the softest kiss.

On the skin of a young woman,
Its frailty is the beauty of life
Which freezes in time.

On the magnificent glimmers
Of frozen mist on leaves,
December begins the grey.

The warmth of another holding
You and you holding them,
The glory of cold.

The miraculous cold which
Brings charitableness to homelessness
And gives hope on snowy days.

Cold like today
Which makes my hand write,
That makes me think warm things.
Dec 2016 · 560
All My Dead Friends
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
Most of my childhood friends are dead.
Time will grant you new ones, life said.
I want them back please! I pleaded.
All the same as they were!

I take in the nocturnal air
From a past that at present
Feels like yesterday's alive,

The quarter moon smiles, or frowns,
I cannot tell anymore,
Alone the night I walk with ghosts

And old voices that cannot say
Goodbye or hello, and the love
Remains, or the painful residue of it.

The life comes in long days
Some bright as my once there hope
Exceeding the lost, seems to outweigh
The gains,

All my dead friends
I walk a path once promised to
All them same,  radiant memories,

I was once with them a person
I hoped to be,
I want them back to find myself
As lost as I am now without.
Memories and a different style of writing i try.
Dec 2016 · 401
Speak The Unspoken
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
I am absent from your reality,
Deep into the words
There waiting for myself to reappear.
In other things i imagine myself,
Away travelling in the universe
Of my mind,
Some places that i have never been
Are waiting for me to get there,
The depths of myself.

Im here in these words
In bits and pieces
That wanted me to turn into language
So i could express them,
The trees and the skies and
The world around that does
Bot speak but says more than
Anyone man.

I fall deeply
Away from flesh
And my spirit puts on the words
That the world cannot speak.

I speak not for myself
But that which language was invented
For,
That we might put into words
Such unspeakable beauty.
Dec 2016 · 350
And Even Angels Fall
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
When they saw the first womb
Swooping to all that God had
Breathed into the Earth;
Even the angels fell
Cutting their Heavenly umbilical cord
Drifting alone and finding mortality
In an echo of the first sorrows.
    Even the angels fell
And flew among the wild Dahlia
Devastated at the temporary beauty
Of it all losing wings
And even hope with the impatience
Of a moth to life's flames;
   A final coup de Grace
With a blessed suffering of crimson
Wounds and crystalline years;
  
    Even the angels fell
And we are but men falling
Like vermilion embers in a solar
Flare of time,
Even then the angels knew
That men were wounded stars
That glimmer with such HOPE
And fade into God's eternal memory.
Dec 2016 · 472
To Love You From All Points
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
The compass spins
And the wind blows from all seasons,
We have just been born,
Ageless we are:

In the beginning
Entangled in eternity
Our destiny written on a star
That burned before us,
That lights worlds after us,
Out love cried out to the
Tortured Aloness and closed
The abyss filing eachother.
    
Explode!

The floodgates of my touch
Over your luminous silhouette,
Water and fire collide
Raining embers of eternity,
The present is stilled
And the fountain of reality
Stops as I take your hand;
We are the the precipices
Where sky and earth meet,
Dawn and dusk,
A spherical momentum.

The real love,
A geometric journey
As we invent new places
In eachother,
Echoes in dreams wide awake,
All points from full moons
To quarter suns,
I love you from all points,
Your diaphanous presence,
You are my world.
Dec 2016 · 552
Bymyself I Can Be Me
The Dedpoet Dec 2016
See,
     Unsee,
      Me:

Alone in a crowd
I pass through without circumstance,
    All the people
I talk to in my mind,
    Their eyes
Pass through me,
Outside me,
Aloneness within me;
  I am the circumstance.

Bymyself I am an architecture
Of peoples,
My mind invents crowds,
In the silence there is
        No silence.
I recover my breath
As I held along the faces
And they echo
Like footsteps in the hall.
    My obscurity
Is a whole world to myself,
    I speak
Without being heard,
Still the audience listens.
    I remember myself
In a sea of souls
And I speak to them all
As I reflect,
     A memory's echo
And I can still see them all;

The afternoon stands still,
     A woman walks by with
Autumn's grace
    And the murmurs of her
Silhouette enchant me,
Alone she has become real.
     The man whom played with
His daughter now evokes a music
In my my mind,
   He carries her in the gentle air.

Aloness is not sorrow,
It is a world in reflection.
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
You **** a reindeer while checking your hellopeotry account and driving.

2. Every Christmas Card you send has one of your poems in it.

3. At the family gathering you make everyone listen to one of your poems.

4. You write a poem about a romantic elf.

5. You send Santa a sonnet of what you want for Christmas.

6. You go to the mall Santa and ask him for one of your poems to become a daily.

7. Instead of gifts you pass out poems to loved ones.

8. You write a haiku about yellow snow.

9. You feel great sorrow for the turkey you are stuffing and write a poetic eulogy.

10. You buy yourself a brand new pen and pad and give it to yourself.

11. Instead of cookies and milk, you leave Santa a sonnet.

12. You ponder Rudolph's red nose and how rough he must have it.

13. You wrap the gifts with your poems hoping someone will actually read your poetry.

14. You write a poem titled "Black Friday" and make a wondrous philosophical poem about how the maddening crowds beat you to that 41inche flatscreen.

15. Instead of Christmas carols you stand and perform spoken word in front of neighbors homes.

16. You hold your kid's gifts hostage until they read your poems.

17. You write a poem about the holidays on hellopeotry.
(Yeah you know ones coming)

18. In a fit of poetical rage, you write how the elf's must be set free or get paid for what they do.

19. You write a farewell poem to 2016.
(Yeah you know its coming)

20. Last but not least: you might be a poet when Santa has you on the naughty list for writing cheesy poetry.
(Im guilty)
Happy Holidays
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
Alone,
Alone with nobody,
I walk down the gilded path
Of the moon
Snuffing out every hopeful star
Like those so far away
They blink in and out of existence.

Sorrow bleeds my mind,
I lament in soliloquy
Like a forgotten friend.

The dark night of melancholia
Spilled like a confession,
A dream grieved
Under the languishes of existence.

My heart adorned with memory
And tears suspended from time,
Her scent faintly in the air.

Oh the sorrows
In the Grey hours of solitude,
They slither like snakes
In cold Autumnal gardens.

I turn out the lights,
My hands stirring the pen
As I write the aloneness and her
Virtues at the delicate lips of night:

May Poetry understand
The beauty of sorrow.......
Nov 2016 · 707
A Permissable Violence
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
These are things we do not
   Speak of,
A class of violence that breeds
    A certain endurable suffering.....

  It is in the curious nature
Of survival
Which caresses the poor
And listens only to the nocturnal
Whispers of savages,
   Crude and tameable
It is accepted outside of the unacceptable,
     Where the deep concerns
For low income pass through
The eye of a needle and they
Can shout from a safe distance
With charitable murmurs
Enthusiastically hoping one
Makes it out of the ghetto.

     Home is where the heart is,
A heart of the unacceptable
With victims below middle class,
     Chronic renewal of violence,
Another ethnic man with darkness
On skin is dead,
The eloquent news states,
The futile concerns from outside
Keeping the animals in place.
   The permissible violence
Is lamented in segments and tidbits,
    It is good only that the poor
Might stay out of the unacceptable.
Nov 2016 · 449
I Read In A Poem...
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
That words are divine,
But that poetry
Is made by living:

Become the poem.
Nov 2016 · 306
God And The First Word
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
The bodies of my body
Are words,
Instantaneous presence
In a vast meadow of echoes,
Each a syllable dancing and forming
The unspoken:

Unspoken hours
Multiplied by mirrors in the mind
Reflecting changes,
The unspoken breeds silence,
The tongue is an element
Of perceptions,
Once spoken it is realised.
I live within the whispers
Populating the spoken vibrations
Carried by air
Bathing in the light.

In all the alphabetical skies
Drinking the nouns of clouds
I spoke my mortality,
Death is the loneliest word;
But not the first,
I found peace when a landscape
Of prayers in the form of poetry
Spoke all things
And I became a word in limbo,
There in my momentary existence
I saw that God
Is the First Word,
Yet God never spoke,
But always listens......
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
What is your reality really?
Is it the clarity of familiar things,
A toast to the success of monetary
Accomplishments that weigh
Just as much as the opinions
Put into them?
   What makes a rich man so rich?
Possession or the value one or all
Put into said possession?
   Is a billion dollars more valuable to
One person than the love one has
For their child? Or is it possible that
We have been taught to value money
As survival in a chasing of the tail?
   I was was told that is just the world
We live in, that that's just the way
Things are, yet the very fundamental
Being of humanity is to change,
The struggle for it and the ability
To do so.
    Yet here we are, chasing tails
So to speak, and the very concept
Of " living a better life" has become
The mantra for the struggle.
   The struggle is within ourselves,
The fact that we are living as a species
On a doomed path, regardless of belief
Or faith, that the end is inevitable,
That we must live a life together
Yet the very success one has
Is set up to be solitary,
It has no bearing on thy neighbor
Because one gathers success towards
Themselves and their circles.
  Is this a preaching?
No, it is the truth we live in,
That we see, that we cannot change.
Why can't we change our selves,
Our greed, our hunger, our animalistic
Nature that has only become sophisticated
In brutality and not shed like history?
   Because we need struggle.
The truth is the suffering in which
We live everyday is delivered by ourselves.
   We have accepted the experience,
That " higher" learning is the route,
And we chase tails.
   What is real then?
Well, that is your perception,
That which your heart tells you is real,
Your reality as a poet takes you
Outside of yourself,
   That lets you see the sad truth of our
Species, and yes, our doomed nature.
   Live die repeat.
Is this a sad rant of a depressed insomniac
With too much time on bis hands?
Yes.
Does it make it any less true?
No....
Why state this if I'm not doing anything
About it.
If you have read this in its entirety
Then I have.
Wake up,
Your world is what you make it,
Not how you take it,
Live free of circles.
Nov 2016 · 394
A War Dog's Cry
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
Self crowned among the masses,
A shout grim and hopeful,
Yet impartial and beneficent,
A war dog's appearance is beautiful
In it's momentary truth.

    Cry war dog,
The sea mounts the coast
And the wounded patriotic
Statuesque in a pose of glory,
A broken hymn among the ruins
Gnawed by flashing lights,
All is the war dog's cry!

  He cries freedom!
He cries justice,
   He cries faith,
He cries for the sake of the unborn
Soldier unearthing the burials yet
To be......

    Cry war dog,
History remembers
Such glorious monsters.
Nov 2016 · 875
America, I Cannot
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
America, I cannot close my eyes
Nor sheathe my skin color-
Which is that of which she was
Built upon-
Which was that where my ancestors
Were left under supremacists.

Look out and see the restless
Peoples rising with tides
Flourishing under nothing's banner,
How the planet has shrunken
Destroying proud origins
And lamenting the absence
Of patriotic diversity.

America I cannot look
Out in the wilderness of words
That cross this poet daily
And not fathom a poem that
Crosses borders and enigmatic
Skin tones, that water breaks
Itself upon the stone,
Yet blood would stain its surface,
Yes the sacrifice of fools.

I cannot close my eyes
Nor change my skin,
Here in the land of dreams
And the spinster's lamenting
Polishing blue and red tears.

America, much angst is flowing
From open wounds from yesterday
And tomorrow that comes crashing
At the precipice of dawn's early light.

I hear your pain America,
I watch with a selfish pride
At the pain we share,
The differences that unite us,
The words that explode in freedom,
Your stars are not lost
Upon the impenetrable sky.

In your depths you are one,
In the bitter difference of eachother
Filled with children and uncertainties,
We shall not fall gently.....

America, I cannot close my eyes,
I see the beauty of our nation,
America I cannot change my skin,
Nor would I care to.

America, beautiful mutilated rose,
I am convicted as a patriotic
Fool,
America I cannot close my eyes....

America, I will not.
Nov 2016 · 449
The Quest of the Soul
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
It begins here,
Undecipherable death.

The dying of the light
With tearful glazed eyes.

Here the soul is at a pause
Waiting to be set free,
A hurried rush to Awaken.

- the body fights to last breaths

Drowning in the world
Drinking life's waters,
The soul swims free.

Far ahead,
A darkness in the light...

And the soul has eyes that see
All things all at once in the lives
Lived underrated and unfulfilled.

-the body wants to live

The shadow grows deep
As sky black becomes a fertile
Ground upon which the soul
Glides watching a piece of everything.

Upon the immensely empty darkness
The light surrounds it,
Suddenly the soul realizes the abyss
Is within, calling itself humanity.

- the flesh craves life

Like a forest of insomnia
Suddenly awakened by a fire,
The soul sees all its lives lived.

The life is dried up,
The river has no source
And the living waters are dried:

Vanish soul,
Awaken in the corridor of wombs,
Be born again and fill
The bottomless being,
   The pregnant life
Of a tired soul awaiting the depths
Of understanding, confusingly conflicting.

- the body wants to feel

This is the bottom
Where souls meet and find
That the darkness resides inside them,
A silence befalls all-

Become the ocean that fills itself,,
Contemplate the premature death
Of stars that we constellated to
Our hopes and dreams,
Piece together the eclipse of understanding
That had escaped you until
Now,
The spiral concludes,
Immortal soul that cannot find
The light,
Children of the Master,
Return and fill the void,
You will hear in every life
That you have filled one cup
At a time,
And when you realize that your
Ordinary was extraordinary
Then the void is filled
And we return to our celestial navigation.

-the body wants to live
Nov 2016 · 2.2k
I Like My Pain
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
Autumn comes when my sadness
Arrived like a cold blanket
Of leaves,
The fleeting sun with short days
And rainy sessions of music
Too melancholic to feel
Any ray of sunshine.....

But I like my pain,
It holds firm to memories
That tie it all together,
The glow of a quarter moon
On my drowning lips speaking
The way I used to hold you,
The way you wore me like
A robe folding every curve
Around me:
How much the depths of my soul
Want to see you in a certain
Light, passing me even as air,
Yes,
The pain with final skies
Which calls for anguish in a flowering
Darkness leaving me
Nostalgic and scattered,
Yes,
I like my pain,
That is how I know it was real.
Nov 2016 · 11.6k
For The Broken
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
All the silence does not mean
You are alone,
It is the world waiting for you
To listen;
And in the darkness you are
Found by the light
Of your hope.

And in the tears of your
Pain you are born,
There you become stronger
And it creates order.

Pick up your flesh as your spirit
Lifts,
And speak your happiness
As if the tip of your tongue
Was the mountain's peak
Speaking at the sky,
The burden is a caged bird
And only the conscious can set
It free.
And sing to yourself so that
You know you are never alone
In your body.

Know that your crazy is beautiful
Because it makes you YOU,
Wear your skin like
Your cozy blanket and cuddle
In the warmth of yourself.
     You are not broken,
But scattered like the night
With pieces like stars shining,
    Open your pain and yourself
To the wound of the world and heal
Whatever you choose.
Nov 2016 · 798
What Lovers Do
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
Lovers become quiet
When their bodies are raging,
The most perfect silence
When entwined and becoming one.
They search eachothers soul
Because each is lost without the other,
They fight and abandon
That they might reunite passionately.
Their spirits are free
And lurk the earth finding others
But not themselves,
Led by the estrangements of the heart.

They are like crazy peoples,
Lovers are,
Because they fight battles alone
Against the world
And submitting to the moments
Of lustrous passions
And in pain because life
Does not recognize such enigmas.
Lovers can only love,
Led by strings of violinists
Who take them where they have
Never been,
Going and going back again
Into the ****** of music
That plays quick beats and sad tunes.
Lovers are perpetually hopeful
Always wanting and taking the
Next step in a ladder to nowhere.

Lovers make mistakes
And do not learn from them,
Or sadly love the pain so much
They go back for more.

Alone in their own darkness,
Lovers find eachothers
Like tiny embers of burning
Souls filling the vastness of the void,
They cling to one another like
A child to a mother
And then rebel like a youthful
Suffocation.

Lovers are not stable,
They believe in God
And dance with the devil.

Lovers are alone,
Because they need seclusion
So that when they are free from
Themselves they can find something
Else to love,
They are in inexhaustible oil
To the lamp in a dark ravine,
They count drops of rain
And save their tears like memories.

They are empty and full,
Philosophical fools that love
Even those who reject them
And chase the uncapturable bird,
Flexible hearts of desirous fires.

Lover are the truth of humanity,
Crazy beautiful things
And they go loving
And hurting the beautiful life.
Nov 2016 · 867
To The Poet
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
Harvester of words gathered in the
Trenches of life between
The dawns early fire
And the dusk of our gathering,
A reminiscent corridor that takes
A reader and places them in
The belly of your understanding,
Digestive reading.

And we become all things
All at once
To find a meaning to the wonderful
Chaos,
The stubbornness
Of the human condition
Gazing at broken things and finding
Light in the void of humanity.

You poet
Armed with a language unique
To the written word of your being,
The benevolent ruins of time
Assaulting the moments
Gazing into melancholic skies
Bringing them to read our hearts.
Bringer of wisdom from our own
Stupidity,
Spinning the compass to one another,
Bringing closer the faceless
Soul breathing in words,
Syllables like embers raining
On the angels watching us suffer,
We compact the understanding
Into a small requiem of experiences,
Ripping the face off of the world
And giving it our own touch:

I, you, We,
Poetry the birth of ruins
And dissolves into forever,
Poets, bringers of languages
Never spoken like dictation of spirits,
Time before time,
After and before collide
Birthing the momentous inkling.

Take it,
Its yours,
Poets living in the dream
Suffering the expense
Of the reality,
Constellation of our suffering....

Poets, living martyrs.
Nov 2016 · 352
LANGUAGES
The Dedpoet Nov 2016
I'm just some guy who knows
Pain just like you,
Who fell in love deeply and fell
From her grace:

I am in a room filled with language,
The density of words full of memories -
Talking to them I talk to her.
      Night grows darkly
With obstinate scars on her skies,
    We have tied a destiny
In different directions,
    We end in the same destination.
You,
       Me ,
We,
     Us....
I explode like a sun on a depopulated world,
No one to witness a beautiful destruction,
     I am alone
Talking to air
       Talking to you,
Your presence is a nameless womb,
     Carrying the birth of my world,
You're missing turns in my skull,
    I cannot forget you
    The room fills with a pause;

The words take your shape,
You become the living waters,
   Daily I drink of you,
But I thirst for your fountain.
   I reach out to you,
The mist is real and you are there,
Weightless,
Tears form at my eyes.

Now you are here in these words
Navigator of language,
Piercing the syllables at every
Spoken word,
Your roots are deep in the sky,
Your love ripples in time
Like crashing waves at the life
Of my shores,
I write the fabric of the past,
Which is now an open wound,
    The echoes haunting
And dispersing sculptures of your body,
I am surrounded by language,
   Your memory a poem,
Talking to me talking to you.
Oct 2016 · 268
Soul Infinitely
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
The body is a bridge
Which navigates the living waters,
The soul is the air you don't see,
The flesh, a cage of the moment:

People,pain, hearts, lovers;
Tales of the enriching experience
Like fire buried in the mirror
Weaving embers in different skies.
The moment turns solid
And the dream disperses through
The awakening's spread hand,
The apparition is real and the memory
Is finite inside the caged soul.
Wondering if  time is real
In a foliage of misconception,
Amidst sullen realities
Charred by light in the unpredictable eye...
I believe in the soul.

The soul whispers to the heart
In pulse beats of clarity,
The rivers flow it's ashen silt
To where the river begins,
Faith enters me absolved in
Absolution of the world,
Worlds collide as the soul battles
For the appeasement of immortality:

The soul is a pilgrimage
In the dazzlement of the flesh.
Oct 2016 · 576
Once Upon The Midnight Hour
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
White earth bathed upon
By moonlit tangibles ; purring
Waves upon the glimmer sands
Where lovers meet for their first:

Liquid earth ****** between
The lips of night,
We shed the skin for the transparent
Soul crowding the hopes and dreams
Of the lone lovers,
The eternal moment is a an image
As naked as thoughts,
As wild as a shared fury
In the truth  of our suffering;
How had one lived without the other?

There is no contemplating
Between the young and in love,
Only the ressurection of presences
Where lovers before met at the hour,
And behold the incarnation of lovers
Doing, making,
Transfigured in the truth of each other.
Oct 2016 · 519
Alignment
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
In the immortal present
clouds making quarter suns,
The sky makes blue solitudes
Petrified by precipitous eyes....

     Diaphanous drops
Under phosphorus moon
Loading the eyes with munitions
Filling night skies with glass shards....

    Eyes perceive
Light distributes shadow
Glimmering with ****** views
    Understanding what one sees....

Aligned night begat day
Begat night....
Oct 2016 · 611
Life of Roaches
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
Bottom feeder.
He looms under tables
Awaiting sloppy eaters.

At midnight
Scurrying about
With buddies in tow.

Fast paced,
Head too small for his body,
Sneaky fella.

In the kitchens
Of single men,
He feasts.

Hidden from the world
He speaks secretly,
Awaiting midnight snackers.
Oct 2016 · 328
Answer for My Daughter
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
The fawn walks at birth
Finding balance quickly.
If you study the baby deer
You will see that it can sprint
Like an Olympian.

And you asked me:
Why didn't I walk quickly
Or run like an Olympian?

Oh baby, you did.
But not in a in an event,
Rather in my hope for you
Chasing clear dreams
In magic hours,
Your spirit soaring as you
Find true love,
And it is my heart
That was racing.....racing....
Oct 2016 · 333
Period
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
Such a lonely dot.
Who left you alone to be?
Unlike the curvy question mark
Or the stiffened with excitement
Exclamation point,
Why are you alone?
Are you so plain and humble
You prefer it this way?
Perhaps you have heard it all
Become weary
And ended up this way.
Oct 2016 · 280
The Cold Dawn
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
Nothing can stay,
Not me or you at the moment's
Last glance.

I wish to stay
To watch the lake's dancing waves
   Foaming at the shores
With a plethora of bubbling
Like a warm cup of cocoa
    Meeting my cool lips.

Grass as vast as belief
With a sparrows nest just above
In an oak which shivers in a cool
Wind dressing the world with sounds.

    The harvesting is a lifetime
Embedded with a faint glow
Which is a man at the end wishing
On the dying light,
Nothing can stay.
Oct 2016 · 367
The Littlest Thing
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
I hide behind the little things
So the world won't find me,
If you search hard enough
You'll know what really matters
And there I will see you.

The November air brushed
Against your scarlet dress
(I get lost in it's waves just
Reminiscing about it)
   It contorts to the shape
Of your body hidden beneath
And drowns the world in stillness-
  All the world's watching you.

  The littlest thing to me
Is the doorway to the meaning
Of everything I don't think about
And that's what makes them
So very big.
Oct 2016 · 274
Scars Like Flowers
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
We all have old scars
And sometimes the grey
Of Autumn brings them out
Just a little more when we feel
That cold air rush through
And the sun dips below the clouds
(These are seasonal scars that
Bloom like flowers in spring)
What before was a smile
Is now an agonizing memory
Almost tied in the heart and
The veins must run like
Knots bleeding out the pain
And when we experienced it
We yelled:
THIS HURTS TOO MUCH!
They say that's how you know
It was real, the pain,
And with time the scars turn
Into something else,
Like flowers in the spring.
Oct 2016 · 375
You Invent the Night
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
What sustains it?
Open soul,
The clarity of mind
Let loose in the garden of night.

    Orchestral branches,
Momentum toward the spiritual
   On a gleam in your eyes.

   Receive the moonlight
On the waves of your hair,
   The architecture of my seductresses.

The darkness spins its webs,
  Your touch invents a moment,
Reality unrealistic,
   The night,
        a fountain of desirous hearts.
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
I guess the spirit never really dies-
Words help me remember
How everything was a rainbow.

And the spectrum -
A variety of freedoms,
A clumsy learning,
A horizon ending with friends,
A stick, a ball, and a soda.

I'd write the summers,
The humidity's tender sweat
Which I guess became a cloud just
For me whose shape would stir
My imagination as the sky fell for me.
I'd write the best of friends
That never turned away adventure,
The forest in our neighborhood
With the wind rippling trees as
Autumnal tenders blew memories
To the future.

I want the words which are forever,
Immortal kids running like flames
Over ripples of time,
Hearts that never aged and innocence
That never failed,
I'd write the poem of a little boy
And candy wrappers surround.

I'm a little boy poet,
I want to write every joy,
Every new sorrow with a veil
Of child like mourning,
To write the light in my eyes
As I saw my first crush,
A fathomless rainbow to remember indeed.

This poem is pointless,
I cannot experience them through
Words,
I think I'll go play with my daughters
And drift away into spectral grace.
The Dedpoet Oct 2016
On summer days
When the sun bore no fruit
For the over heated construction crew,
My father would remind me
Sitting in his 1995 Ford 350
How inadequate we all were
Compared to the golden days of framing.

Or he would praise the highest paid
On a Friday, payday whose checks
We're always there,
To build them up for a weekend
And let them rest from their
Toilings under his sun.

From 15 years ago
I can hear his voice,
"Your never going to learn are you?"
In his solitary voice
That confined a tone just for me,
A destination unknowing
For what a father teaches can sometimes
Elude the son with sarcasm
And verbal seeds of invalidity.

Honorable carpenter,
I remember him never missing a day,
His name should be on a wall
Somewhere,
I ask that I inside of myself
Remember the very best of
The very worst of him,
Which was the side I think
Was also the guiding parent.

May he always be ,
That I rise in the mornings
And still hear his voice,
I pour coffee into a mug
And remember.

May my insufficient ways
Honor him with the haze
He draped over my confidence,
I see my father in a certain way,
The eery silence filled
With his voices.

On summer days
When the heat is too much,
My father still pushes me,
I swear the humidity is
Him breathing down my neck.
Sep 2016 · 296
And When We Fall
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
The words will be remembered
As he held the book sprouting
From his dead corpse,
"We The Peoples!"
The soldier of nothing's bloom,
Will he have been vindicated
For the sacrifice he made?
The night follows a tearful mourner,
Behold the book of words
From the forgotten wars
And ignorance that breeds the child;
"So he died for what he believed"

Poetry of the warrior's bane,
Between reading it and
Not learning from it,
That poetry in its beauty petrified
The lesson that dies in the tomb
Of the un named soldier,
Though a candle is always lit.

Well such pretty words worthy
Of the fallen,
And a book in a soldier's hand,
How glorious the book was sprouting
From his corpse,
And there endeth the lesson.
Sep 2016 · 492
The Sun
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
Between the horizons
The imprisoned night,
Fallen from the grace
Of the solitary star.

Over mountain tops
With a bridal cap,
All is transparent
In the Light.

The sun moves
The living Waters
Under glittering gushes
And a sparkle as it rests.

The naked light
In mother of pearl
Glazing the morning mist
In a feast of reflection.

Like a lovers reunion,
The eyes kiss all that
Is lit as sky falls
Under shade.

The living star
In a fugitive passion
Brightens the forms,
The sun sees no light.
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
Anger exists.

This giant mirror reflecting past.

Rarely is justice blind
When it comes to color,
And I pick up the bitter facts from
The daily reports and place them
Next to my embattled soul.
I sink deep into my chair,
Pen in hand and wonder what
The hell a brown man can write
about the black man's experience.
I conflict with my poetical asphyxia,
Life isn't all love and wonderful sorrow,
I stare at the cold reality,
I believe if i wrote about anything
Else this chair would be a grave,
He wrote about flowers they said,
He wrote about dreams they said.

But no,
Those dead men have no words,
They bare their skin and died for it,
A murderous prowl on the ebony
Children with benevolent excuses
As to why it's legal,
They laugh so hard behind closed
Doors and fist bump in secret,
Stubborn roots dictate the taught
Generational hatred,
They find fruit with their hate
And split men from color refreshing
The mirror, reflecting reflections.

And when all hell is broken loose,
A people's voice is heard
Wit windswept ears,
Like God and the first word,
We will hear it only once,
The avenging fires burn in the hearts,
Though hate with its unending roots
Creeps into the darkness
Against the atrocious scythe of ignorance,
We will remember a voice.

"Black lives exist."
Yes they do.
As does hatred
and ignorance.

For whom does this poet speak?
Speak.
Sep 2016 · 1.5k
I Am Nobody, I Am King!
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
Begin here
The forbidden hope of the poor,
The firmament under shimmery
Skies sailing dreams on the moons
Glass light.
Begin now,
What dreams may come
I become many things,
I am the man who loves,
However I am also the man
That hurts from the same source.
And I can't help being all the things
A heart desires,
Two hopes on my chest
And soon I am the world
With my solar ways and my
Lunar thoughts,
Moonlighting on the precipice
Of the promised,
The fugitive love that conquered
The momentum,
I proclaimed myself the undefeated,
And I,
Here and now
Become a bird
With a song of  flight
And all the treetops
Like a sea of greenery.....
Listen, my wings flapping,
I alone will dream and conquer,
The infinite hope inside
That yearns for my humanity,
And that makes me king,
For hope is the glory of all men.
Sep 2016 · 1.1k
Dearly Departed
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
Every death is a soul,
The soul knows no time;
And yesterday is here
With dew renewing
Under same skies
    The voices that echo
And the same stones
Thrown as a child
Still exist
Day of night
   Under a strange star-

  Your loss is an eclipse
Of a lonely sun.
Sep 2016 · 491
The Enourmous Night
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
It's midnight and the silence is speaking,
The silence is full of words, words interruped
By thoughts. The words expose themselves
To the wind out of my open window.
(I am on the third floor) I float off my bed
And to the open of the city, there beneath is
An Ashe tree under the yellow of the moon,
It seems to slow dance with the subtle
Beats of the nocturnal, a streetlight
Pulses. In the distance all is an orchestral
Silence as the city breathes, suddenly
Within the abyss inside me I feel a welling
A passion deeper than the unexpected lover,
I am paralyzed with words dropping me
I to the foliage of the unwritten, threading
A song like the electrical humm of the power
Lines, a hymn forms, a nocturnal lament,
I am alone with everything.....

2. I refuse the lamp at my desk, my body craves
The dead man's sleep. The silence grows bold,
It rises like a full moon in me, it grows louder
Suddenly the meadow is alive under some deep
Horizon, the moment is an awakening
Of words, the need like an insatiable appetite,
A sweat sets upon means a cool breeze
Kisses it's lament flowing into my very
Being. It is passion, the unchained melody
under the maestro's sky. I fathom the world
Around me, I cannot remember walking
To my desk.

3. The lamp light shatters the fragments
Of the night, they turn Into words as if
From the fleece of my flesh. All is the silence, every
Word pouring like a sea of ink crashing waves
To paper. The silver of the city reflecting,
The poem is not a poem but a confession
In the dark exploding syllables like
Secrets in a prayer. My hand is guided to
Paper and I cannot form a single word-

4.The melody is gone, only the idea of the dream
Survives reaching for a thought, it slips
My grasp, my own vanishes, the words
Disappear, the inklings gone: love,
Lust, live, life, lend, loop, locked? A prison forms around the words, my thoughts hover like vultures, the carcass
Was a poet Saint, he died of the thirst floating
In an ocean of words he cannot drink,
Salt in the mind. A sacrifice he was to the
Depths of thought, silence creeps in again ,
The Enourmous Night, inward, deeper
Into the soul, penetrating.....

5. The nocturnal presence returns, a flattering
Sorrow in the silence, the thoughts disappear,
I cut off my mind from the world,
Reality is dead and I killed it with the
Gesture of my pen,"I am here"
The silence kisses my lips, the gathering  inside
Myself thwarting any thought, the scorn
Of the verses sets my hand on fire,
My pen is the heat of the sun writing
On a slab of Jade, I am no longer me,
But the perpetual silence that birthed a poem,
The syllables are born and I am
A prisoner of words.
Dedicated to true poetry readers.
Sep 2016 · 436
Education By Street
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
The street Yes teaches the soul
To lose all hope and fight
With standard flesh in parallel
Reflection of drowning realities.
The street Yes teaches the heart
To break and gratefully piece itself
Back together like broken sidewalks
Uninterrupted in the geology
Of parallel violence.

The street does not teach tenderness
To rise with renewed passion;
A Phoenix phenomena pounding
The chest and crushing the solitude.
The street does not teach
How to cope with happiness
Or the success where none was before,
The street always educated,
Heavily, for its burden.
Westside Barrio
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
the wet summer
Crowns the head of a psalm-
    Unlacing it's proverbial season
The sun adjusts it's pilgrimage
    Making the images of the world:

    From green to yellow to orange
In a foliage of wind and water and ice
    The season begins
On the five senses;
What I see is what I feel
And the thoughts begin a momentum,
   Impending dazzlement
In the erosions of trees,
  Sculpting winds
Falling to the untouchable clarity,
    The soul and earth join,
These endless things
   At the cusp of change
With that familiar feeling.
The first wind out of the north always brings with it a fresh sense of change. This is the description of that.
Sep 2016 · 499
Morning Embers
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
My touch discovers your
Body
I rain embers of desire:

The light over the portico
Elongated morning
     Your lips kiss the horizon
Inauguration of morning
       Your hair is a foliage
Tracing destinations
       The bed is a cloud under
The exploding sun
  I am in a daze
Perfect spirals

    The day ends with your awakening
Nothing can follow
    My eyes drowning in the
Rivers of your nakedness
    Time pauses
In the eternal moment
   Between the caressing
Improbable reverberation
    Your smile tears
Away shadows and reasons
    I swing on the light in your eyes
And leap with no fear
   At the precipice of the day
Cliffhanging the morning
Waking up next to your lover.
Sep 2016 · 567
The Slave Girl Jula
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
There was a promised life
Given to a certain girl,
Down from the train,
A black girl named Jula.

    Who are you Jula?
    Jula knows her name.

Jula! Master plays his song,
(The voice of money)
- help around the house,
Help around the rooms,
Help for me Jula!

   Jula knows her name.

Jula was called to be whatever
Master needed,
To look to his desireous needs,
Jula just a girl.

Come Jula,
Take me away to better days,
Dance for me Jula!
(Voice of the Master)

    Jula bathes in a wooden
    Barrel, she got no shoes,
    Go Jula, serve like royalty,
    Go Jula, shine like my star!
    Sing for me Jula!

Jula knows her name:

  "They say that God knows all,
    So He knows Jula and made
    Her life like it is,
    This is Jula's destiny,
    God made it this way"
Now Master preaches.

  Jula knows her name,
  Who are YOU Jula?

Jula, mistress of the Master,
Put him to bed,
Naked she lay next to him,
Jula, she knows her name.

   Who are you Jula?
   You just a little girl,
   Where is your song?

The Master calls,
The Master's hands tired
From wielding the whip,
Come here Jula!
Come here Jula!
The slave girl stripped,
The slave girl *****,
Jula knows her name.

   Jula, where is my food?
   Master tired from the whippin',
    Master needs his food,
     Jula know her name.

Jula, who are you Jula?
Jula knows her name.
Remember.
Sep 2016 · 354
Memory
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
My hands open the curtains
Of yesterday,
I am lost in the scenery
Bigger than today.
Sep 2016 · 320
Animal Man
The Dedpoet Sep 2016
It was in the old civilizations
From the arches which angels
Appeared and appeased the land
With rich oxygen and fully grown
Greenery, until a swarm of God's
Favorites released from the soil
Breathed breakable winds unto
The world, released from the wild
Of God's heart:

Up the ladder of the earth
The angels climbed,
The humans braided with ******
Threads and spreading like
floods at the shores of horizons,
Filled with a luminous hole
And confusing noises running
Like a forest fire.

Through the drunken madness
To fill the void meeting from
Broken songs they built cities
Of stone like their hearts,
Fathers of spinning webs,
Mothers of the attacker.
And in the days they wiped
Away the tears in the stellar
Madness wishing on dark stars,
They circled the earth,
Like madmen they lamented
Vanished wounds,
The man animals,
Anomoly of the Most High,
Throbbing hopes within,
They wander like lonely storms.
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