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The Dedpoet Mar 2016
Oh month of bloom,
I wander through the greenery
To gather myself,
I see honey and fragrance
From half opened budlings,
I could not be any more sick!
          My beloved grey Winter mistress
          Gone to the birds
          And their songs that wake
          Me from my depressed slumber!
A bird flies from tree to tree,
And no windshield is safe!
      I salute the thorns of every rose,
      I wrestle with the inevitable
     Approach of Spring poems,
     An avalanche of sweet seasoned
     Words falling from villainous
     Repetition, seasonal song of the
     Lofty new flowers,
     Oh my nemesis Spring!
The Dedpoet May 2017
Im a sunny day,
Everyone loves them,
But thee storm inside
Me rages on:
You make for a break in the rain
And you stand by me.
Will you always remain?
Like the scattered winds
On the eternal dance
Of waves,
There is no particular order
And where there was no order,
Now brings balance,
Stamd by me.
Being alone is just the deepest
Existence
  When the heart is a caged bird,
And all or nothing in a crazy
Madness that surrounds me,
Its all ok when
You stand by me.by me.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
I was on a ship in the dead of night,
The sky black with tiny sparkles
And un-named constellations,
For a long time I stood staring
At the night sky and sometimes
At the blackened dark sea.
I gathered my imagination
And made shapes of all sizes and kinds.
I had visions of lovers reaching
But never quite touching;
I saw the mercy of a man and his
Dog in the woods finding
A lost child.
And suddenly in the darkness
All alone I heard the ocean make
A hiccup, a small fish I glimpsed
Under the moonlight.
Suddenly I realised the fish was making
Constellations too,
In his own world
In the sea making shapes as well.
And when I searched the sea
Once again, I swear
I could almost see the fish swimming
Through the stars
And through the moon,
And the reflection of the sea
Was a galaxy all its own.
The Dedpoet Mar 2016
The solar song is born
And a dream is wished

With hope to sky
       I birthed a star

I invented a thousand moons
In maternal orbit

I wished to see you again
Stilled forever in my universe

          The Blue Sun dawns
          Evoking the crystalline moon

I made a new world
        Where mine was before

With my mind I made new oceans
And lovers on a lone island

         I made new flowers
         From all the spectral lights

And I taught the a new language
Of song

I watch this place from the departing
Home

I'm the Stargazer
            With a broken heart
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
Out of the debris of dead stars
That rain its benevolent particles
Onto living waters into miracles,
The sea of atomic births
Collide like comets of their elders
Into evolving molecular mountains;

The sun that couldnt stay
Has birthed an apparition
Of its former self in a glorious
Cycle of substance called life,

In the constellation being named
With more dust on the way
As we look around the planet
Of evolved carnivore,

From star to water to land
To tree to the dirt again,
The silent waste of star-
This body, this mass humanity,
Us people, never and always,
Birthing constellations.
The Dedpoet Dec 2017
Keeper of the better places,
Take my soul,
Into the skies unfamiliar
Gazing at earthen seekers,

Why is not where I am,
Where is why I look,
What is where you are,
When is but a sun's tear.

All I am in hopes and expectations,
Unsalted under heat,
From whenst I came
Is home to my spirit.

Star,
A new home for the weary
I plant myself in many skies,
The dream I became,
Seeking a new sun....

Hope.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
There are thousands of us here
In this small part of the internet.
We are thousands,
Voices of all natures.
I wonder how many in all
The corners of the world?
Here alone are thousands
Which plant seeds of philisophical change
And the evolution of our society.

How many words will it take
To declare the state of humanity
As the world goes deaf and blind?

Every once in a while I see a poem
With a national headline,
Some black kid shot by a white cop.
Then the poem disappears,
The poet and his or her fellow
Writers retreat inward
Jumping into nothingness
Of feelings and self loathe.
We carry a banner with a million
Words and nothing to say in unision.
Oh God, is this the path of the poets?

But suddenly I realise
And I see I am just as shallow
As the next,
The pulse of the world will not
Beat with poets,
Though poets can be the racing pulse
Of change.

Let the poets unite on common ground!
Cry out against something in unision.
We are thousands of voices
That cannot yell.
How many of us here on the internet?

How hard is it to rise against
The machine and bring
About change truly to the soul,
To see ourselves rise up
With our words?
What we speak we will write,
What change we write
Will give birth to humanity.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
Where the walls close in,
That rock between hard
Hearts,
Shaping and molding,
Between the forgers fire
And the metals heavy memory,
Short of the total éclipse
In a ring of your presence,
There i am,
There I remain,
Dont need to feel a thing
Because in the good and the bad,
The morning kiss
And the lonely couch at night,
The poetry u spoke
And the things we never said,
The life is not life after the story
Of us,
I stay,
Loving you and regretting nothing,
Regretting everything.
The Dedpoet May 2017
Steady into the night:

Grippin but no set trippin,
Grippin but i aint whippin,
Limpin cuz its straight survival,
Graduated good but awaiting
My survival,
Arrival;
Poet of the nocturnal,
3rd degree burnin eternal,
Inferno fire of this life,
Made out the suffering
Now fighting for my life,
Strife on the daily,
Killin expectations thats why
They straight hate me,
Fate me, destiny on the bubble
Finding out life bringing
More struggle,
Trouble in deeper to the heart
Bringing out the gangster
And in the end Im back here at
The start.
Hood calks to me. Cant u hear it?
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
Come to the well of your
Existence and draw the nothingness
Of reality; anguish there.
A chaotic order in the répétitions,
Lost in the cries, deafening-
Open the enslaved mind
And convince yourself
Of the righteous ignorance;
You are bitten by the shallow
Thought and driven by an
Empty success, grow bitter there.

And once you are unfulfilled
Rage against the spaces
Of each regret,
Set them ablaze with the desire
That makes dreams fickle
And rich men hold dear to paper,
Free yourself from everyday
And know you are the eternal
Wonder of your perception.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
In that moment your soul sailed
Off into the profound unknowns,
With heavy eyes watching you go
And God's rain falling on those
You left behind;

There in the flint of the final star,
Becoming yourself once again
Into the ocean of stellar waves,
Your shoulders that burned before
Have found their wings once again.

You shall birth a Nova's light across
A stream of unknown universe,
Filling the empty space that was
And is now no more an oblivion;
You become a solar being.

You have vaulted the quiet reaches,
The timid space between stars you
Have birth a system that will grow
From your presence, and when the seed
Has grown to have it's own shores,

The first delicate breeze of your airs,
The birth a your new amorous Earth,
You will become a song without words,
An orchestrated living constellation.

And the long embrace we feel from
Your absence, the abyss left from
Your departing, it will be filled
And as we look to sky for Hope's
Sake, we will see a new place
In the night sky.

Your star will say, " I am here",
You're light will press against the
Eyes of those you left behind
And the arms of your light shall
Embrace everything we miss.

You will find yourself in new waters,
Know yourself in the sun,
As your soul catches the solar winds,
Make sure the star you birth
Winks for the eyes of those
Whom shed your tears.
For the loved ones we have all lost.
The Dedpoet Jul 2017
Image power
By that gentle confidence,
And a little boy knows his dad.

Stolen thievery,
Pride in the lost is vein
That whixh buries the heart
In echoes.

Fallen hereditary
Keeping the memory
And all is a silence of natures;
Wind and water amd stone.

A waters dive
Oceans ago when waters
Fled the open heart
And father was the only son:

Take my hand old man,
Though your at the edge,
Your blood will flow to the
Future and your soul is
Always reborn.

Teach, learned man,
Pour out your swim in life
In the waters of the moment,
Stroke, strokes, and still
And always, father.
Mini stroke. Dad i love you.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
I am in the wandering hour
Closed up to myself
Within myself:

I struggle with death
While alive as I write from
The light of a shadow,
    In words I sculpture
A destroyed consciousness
Full of memory
Inventing the moment.

Saint of my struggles
Full full
The pain remains
From the days last breath,
   A form of light
Cowering beneath a burnt moon
    I embrace the fear
And fall beneath the emotional
Cracks,
   Nocturnally inclined
I am the light over lonely
Streets at home in the shadows,
    
Everything falls apart
When i speak to you its
like colliding
In a spiral,
Extinguished speech
I fumble back
In retreat to my world,
Inside my surrounded throne
I write the struggle
And I know I am.....
The Dedpoet Aug 2016
It's hot and hell is here,
The labyrinth of the city sets
The stage for stray kids getting lost,
Impoverished and too young to ***.
The street lights shed a new dark
When the boy needs shoes
To compete in friendship status,
A gun to another kid
With shiny news who just learned
The advantage of fear,
How can he afford a gun?
No phone for the hungry
Unless hungered for enough
To steal a call and surround
The angst of acceptance for social
Well-being,
When lost crows run to shadows,
A flightlessness casts itself
On the summertime kid
Awaiting his own arrival.
Acceptance and social standing based on looks and even cellphones for kids creates a separation from those who have and those who don't. Beggars become choosers and theses kids are left to find their own way.
The Dedpoet Apr 2018
And filled it with your fatal presences,
The best a Texas Hill Country
Morning when the bluebonnets wept
While our bodies entwined
A sparrows song,
Your eyes enveloped the light
Of first day and I swear I could
See through Heaven's eyes,
When we shattered the noctirnal
And stroked the suns burn
Merely with unified cravings,
The deer crossed an unspeakable
Verse under the parting night,
I collapse in fatal gratitude
Taking willingly
The thorn of your memory;
Stuck intimately with the rising sun
And born of the wound
Was filled a cup
Encompassing the four things
Love:
Pain which your lips
Promised never to cause me :
Passion which endured as much as time
Swallows the years and closes the
Mouth of the things we remember:
Memory which sustains my soul and erodes my body:
Loyalty to the deceit that in some
Place when we were as perfect frames
In Time's womb
Eternal and everlasting
Where I pray as a Pagan
To return where no one can,
Still my cup empties with gratitude
And overflows tears I cannot
Contain within the spherical
Shell of your precision,
Cut deeply;
And with a despairing gratefulness
my cup runneth over.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
Swat the butterflies whose wings
Decieve the poem and inscribes
Its colored brilliance on gilded flights;
There is no grace to his clunky
Flying and brings repetitive hooplah
To the natural poem and steals
Its personable voice.

Every language has a flow of poetry
Whose inner soul derives of the
Course of one's harmony and rhythm,
And using a star of butterflies in every
Poem brings about the very sameness
We all suffer from daily.

See the beauty in a vulture
Whose glide is magnificent
Spreading his wings in silent
Flight above rolling hills.

His beauty is not that of the
Butterfly, but it's flight is undeniably
Graceful and finding its natural
Poetic flow is deeper still.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
Tell me why the poison,
Your nomadic essence
In a magnetar's romance?
**** the void with your
Missing kiss,
Surrendered to your
Chosen appearing and time
Is your whim to the commands
I obey.

Why the poison
When a million ways to die
Is the same living under
Your spell,
Seductress of the falling sun,
Nuisance to my nocturnal
Soul,
I am but yours
And held by the thirst
For more,
Take me into your
Embrace,
I drink freely your
Kiss of death.

Why the poison
For a suicidal lover?
The Dedpoet Sep 2017
There is no time
As you time passes through
Eye's perpetual needle
And a basic understanding,
      There are no seasons
That resonate forms and certain
Needs,
   There is not enough time
For anger and happinesses,
Only that it remains equal
In the chaos of a a hurried
Mind,
   A flutter into tornadic
Expressions,
A desire into a yearning fire,
Indirectly the season gives
A feel,
The cold winter she walked
Into the wind and her hair did
Not move, time does not beat
There, but arches into
A future,
    That summer the sweat
Off your brow bought the car
Of a dream in a dream,
   Carefully time snuck by
And perfected a moment's
Theory,
    A man needs both time and
Stillness to recognise that
All is fleeting,
And the only thing real
Is the mist,
In the mist
A temporal moan.
Ten
The Dedpoet Jun 2018
Ten
I can only see 5 as i wave
And forever stain a memory
10 times i saw 5 and it fell,
And there was only you walking away-
5 times i ran my hip once
And the wave fell limp,
10 times down
Pointing below where my heart had sunk.
I would grasp your mathematics
If ten were not apart of me as you are
Apart of my very soul.
There of you is only one....
And the flesh will fall
But my soul is yours,
Hands down.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
1.You shall not confine beauty, that which is in the eye of the poet charged to show it to the world.

2.There is no poetry better than the other, although your words are different you all bear witness to the soul's confession.

3. You will write freely not to incite popularity but to give truth to this art.

4. You shall never use poetry as self vanity but for exploring the spirituality within each other.

5. You will not be confined to the repetition that you have used in poetry, poetry is an exploration of the self, therefore the words are too an evolution of discovery.

6. The words will be therapeutic and truthful to the self so that you can see the truth in the world to bring about the compassion within.

7. You will bleed your self onto paper and very word will be yours for everyone else, there is no poetry without others to read it.

8. The words shall be as a confession that does not inspire sorrowful outlooks, but it shall inspire into action those who knew no better than before your suffering.

9. Being true to yourself first and foremost is an absolute; if you lie to yourself then how can one be a true person, much less a true poet?

10. Each poem will be a gift to the world, but it will never be greater than your dream and will always be inferior to the most marvelous of dreams which is the art of poetry itself.
The Dedpoet Mar 2018
I longed of your spectre,
Though your flesh is no ghost
I find it a strange absence
In your presence,

Take a walk lost Lilly,
Walk with yesteryear and I was
But a thought in your
Graceful wounds,

Here now I am a stranger
And you know but a memory
In the shredded poetry
Of your father,

Who am I in your current eye  
A reach around the years
And father is still a mystery,
Daughter of the unforeseen,

There is a father here in me
And I don not KNOW who
I am in your mysterious light,
Shine on unfamiliar star,
Take me into your blossom

Only to die secondhand
And the most of my love is the veil
Of your unknowing heart...
Still I love you daughter of fire.
The Dedpoet Jul 2016
I'm eating bean and cheese,
Suicide bomber attacks airline;
I spill some salsa
And the body count isn't in yet.
There is no suspense here,
Just tacos and the horrible news;

I change the channel
And look for my huevos rancheros,
Terror does not exist anymore
But the salsa stain remains.
How and what can we do when we see these things?
Joining the army? Or keep on living and not let the fear take us over. Live your life and give and help when the opportunity arises, simply living on and moving forward is fighting in its own right. There is no fear but fear itself.
The Dedpoet May 2017
I stood here
Amongst the grey underneath a vivid
Rain,
Mist gathered like a flock of
Wet embers on open flames,
Existences.
That a cloud broke
From its tears
And left the suns
Long stride holding dear
The moment;
That I stood beneath
A crimson shade;
A bittersweet grace
Among the days that end
In the afterglow of life.
For whatever reason
A gratefulness yearns.
The Dedpoet Jan 2018
That silence is a drop
And the echo ripples.....

     Fall upon the deaf solitude,
I speak to myself
In a room full of eyes
shut away from everything
    And you are all online.

The doors do not open
In a pathway linked by
By hands that reach but
Only the eyes can touch,
    Where are you now,
    A notifications heartbeat.

And the silence is
And isn't because you were
there I never got to hold u.
   Speak to me,
Send priority,
   Click, wait, the silence
In no one's pesence.  

Alone with everybody,
Truly offline in world wide web.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
The air I breathe,
Which gasps and sighs;
My journey of choice guided
All its winds and there were
The words my soul had yet
To Melody.

Along the sky, next to
The petals stolen and the birds
Feathery flight there was an Angel
Sobbing in blue and whose tears
When hit on ground did stroke alive
Many a lily white bloom.

And the air I breathed
Caught the Daughters of God
In mid flight and split the tongue
Into words for  Poet Saint to verse
The world in birth of inklings.

Near a sonnet yet born
A coronet of masks lay drawn
Upon the faces of nymphs I saw
The fiery lust behind open waters
Chanting to sailors revealing their
Naked spirits and seducing in words
That seemed a song from some
Romantic whale.

In the orchestra of stars,
Breathing in constellations up
Upon a pedestaled Word,
The sumptuous flows of winged words
Played like sweet violins and the chorus
Was mine to orchestrate,
Both slow and methodical,
Paced and volatile.

And I breathe,
The breath of lovers like a steed
And a mare upon whose back
Sits Eros shooting arrows into
My very soul romantically evoking
The man in me who believes
In the songs of love,
A woman whom sings them aloud
And along the moist of her lips
Sits the poem I have yet
To write.

Oh deep is the breath,
The Lovers combine in perverse
Yet controlled light,
The naked souls are entwined
In a living light of crystalline
Bodies mankind deep passionate
Starry eyed poetry.

Ah the winds that be life!
Times of sorrow that fill the void
Like restless cries of a motherless
Child, and a walk among the tombstones
Brings about the rage of death,
Both tranquil and terrifying,
These words are they that bleed.

I breathe the words in open air,
The Shepard winds upon
My ink, the poem dances light
And lovely adorned with sighs
And sorrows, would bes and regrets,
The tender ferocity of the winds.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
What say you of me?
Am I just a liar without
Metaphoric excuses?

He wears a lie upon the chest,
Key in the light opening the
Dark truth,
Stipulations of knowing.

And I am what I am,
Not what I was.
Though we should never forget
From whenst we came,
We were there once but never
Again the same.
The curse of time is
Not time but the fulfillment
Of it.

Flesh of words,
Truth of waters,
Around the rocks;
Eroding.

So it comes to this,
Im alive too.
Yes, but Im Ded,
I apologise Hellopoetry
For my misleading ways,
Lies, and attention seeking
Behaviour.

He is revealed,
Words flowed hopeful,
Hopeless ;
Shaping,
Misshaping,
An architectural verbiage:
Yes, A Poet,
And I am Ded inside.


Poet's reality,
Worse than the lie,
The words became a world.
The Dedpoet Mar 2016
Echoes in a mist of words
                                   Echoes
Through the verse laid like light
                                   The luminous
Behaviour shredding the shadows
                                    The poet
Becomes liquid in the foliage of life
                                     They cannot see
The reflectors of the inner words
                                       A poems life
Is a scattered spectacle of past apparitions
                                        The body
Of words fills in the eye's void
                                        This phrase
Is the final perception of this piece

Surround yourself with words.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
He died on a Tuesday.
And I know he must descend
Like vertigo on on a sunshine day.
And must ascend to a new place
Where the infinite beyond he visits
In waves of willow trees
On rolling hills past ancient
Words spoken only in holy places.

And the soul is on a journey
To no particular flesh, laying
Waste to karma and decidedly
Has become new dust to swirl
As old as the soul, so very young
To God infinite.

Outside of time,
A place between spaces
Through cracks like windowpanes
He celebrates his life.
Along the way he will pass
Those who have passed before him,
Whose words have become like
Eternal moments,
Whose lives have known the temporary
And the beauty of unknowing.

Perhaps - maybe...
His soul journeys on into forever
And back again,
Open door of wombs to what
New dreams may come.

He died on a Tuesday
And returned to forever.
The Dedpoet Mar 2016
Silence is listening
                   For the music;
Knowing when to be still
                   To hear one's self.

When the body stands silent,
                    Everything moves;
Silences are the noises,
                   The echo of everything.

Without being heard
               The silence becomes visible,
The footsteps of the light
               Can be heard in the meditation.

The silence walks with you
              As the world makes you silent,
The idea is to hear the music
              That is in the quietude of your peace.
The Dedpoet Mar 2016
I can't get lost in romanticism
When I'm losing with nice guy
Scenarios,
But you wish for me to fill
Your daytime novels,
Fantastical kisses on the nape
Of your curving neck,
Your body quivering at the
Touch of your thighs that blind
Me into a thorough seduction,
And yet remain the bad boy
You so diligently deny you want,
Yet here you are and it's
7am wondering just where
The hell I went.
For the illusion. A wonderful illusion it is.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
The Beginning

Beginning
At the duck pond,
A little boy alone.

And a small paper boat
That sailed a way the monsters,
And a soft voice comes to him,
A little girl asking about his boat.

He says the monsters are gone now,
So she takes him by the hand
And walks away to the playground,
He never looks back at the paper boat.

And the eternal present sank the boat,
He played with a new friend,
An understanding of monsters
And they became each others peace.

The Middle
Times that shine in youth
And there she was at prom
With her peace she still held
His hand like the pond before them.

They danced as the years danced,
The youth soaking in all firsts,
He kisses her under the stars
And promises forever in his eyes.

She lay at the blanket before him
Ready as a flower blooms,
They make love as a sacrifice
Of virginal clarity of truth.

The End
Was still the youth, but college
And adventure called them both
To different places and different
Times were to become a reality.

She kissed her kiss of forever,
He held her in their final summer,
Never let me go she whispered,
And he held her ever tighter.

The summer ends,
And the Fall as life is a fall,
They say goodbye and promise
To stay together forever.

              
              The Middle


The beginnings
Of a twenty something man who just
Lost his highschool girlfriend,
And the girl became a woman,
All is a guarantee too change.

The promise was so much to take,
He held on as long as he could
But her dreams took her away
And he became a normal guy.

She meets another man,
He holds on too long,
She marries and has some kids,
He let's her go in his mind.

The Middle of life
Is rarely how one recalls it,
But the time of his life was with her
And he never marries.

She divorces a man that never loved
Her for who she though she was,
Her thoughts drift to her lover,
Her first love, she begins a search.

And time is a force,
A force of her heart when she sees
His face, the pounding that it took,
She realised she never stopped loving him.

The end can be happy sometimes,
And he gets a letter in the mail,
I'm in town, the note said,
Come see me.

He rushes and sees her stilled in time,
As beautiful as ever, they make love
As the first time, two weeks together
That made a lifetime apart worth it.

But she had kids in another place,
He could uproot the life he had,
They say goodbye once again
And something about it felt final.

    
                  The End


The years pile like snow in winter,
And winters breath came and went
Like the seasons, now in his forties
He realised all he wanted was to see her again.

He sends her a letter to meet him at the pond,
She says he has to come to her,
She wasn't feeling so well,
And he flew like a dove in its miracle.

Her children come to greet him,
And he felt like they should have been
His from another life,
The reflections of life's mirror.

The middle years came,
She had battled cancer for years,
He stayed with her through the battle,
And married her with no regrets.

He was with her only two years
But it was the most fun he ever had,
At the hospital the doctors new
That visiting hours didn't apply to him.

As the cancer ate her last days
She made him promise one last thing,
He said he would find her
Where ever souls might go when they leave.

And the end can be a beginning,
He stands at her grave,
He holds her flowers
With tears for everyday.

He went home to where he began
His life, where they first met as kids,
He holds her picture in his pocket
And a sheet of paper he begins to fold.

He puts her picture in a paoerboat,
He sails it away into the pond,
He remembers like it was yesterday,
At the duckpond, a little boy alone......
OK so I'm crying right now, aren't you?
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
I see the waters of old
And remember when they were new,
To know I am forever part
Part of their shimmer.

To know that dreams are an eventuality,
While life is asleep and our souls
Would meet sometime in this flesh,
Which comes as chance and destiny.

I have not known much hope,
I have not seen the brighter side,
Life has been a sad gold,
A roughed up diamond.

At times when the evenings spread
Like the sunset stretches the shadows,
I think of the tiny miracle of the moment
When I first met you.

They say to take your time,
So I will take what is given,
The great eternal moment
That I marvel at your presence.

In these waters that have no end,
The immortal flow that brought us together,
What is now and forever
Has saved the best for us.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
The sorrowful birds seemed less enchanted,
Like a forgotten holocaust beating
In agony, the silent grey of dawn
Set forth over the mystery.
Under perplexed veils I call
Forth the lost days of depressing
Symbols, like a raven in the distance,
A storm smothering its deathly gaze.
     And when alone the sparrow
Refused to chirp, instead wallowed
In the quiet solitudes of the lucid
dreaminess of the bitter infinite grey.
      Earth offers its deathly gaze
As a meager conteplation in the
Grey of the early Winter displaying
Her snowy apron like some dark matron.
Gradually the day drags obeying
Time, slow to the mind of a sad one,
Preoccupation of illusions,
Like a poets inane blank page,
A wind minded sadness flying
Through darkened pupils:

A grey irony forms,
A crow cloaked as a hope
Cries to the infinite grey;
"I will always love you,
Though you abuse me."

I dreamed a glacial moment,
Where time ends or begins,
I was hopeful the grey would
Never end and I could wear
Its sad dark velvet with its
Perjured love and scorned existence,
I follow the shadow of storms
Searching for the torment with in,
The bleakness is a grey day with
The sun hiding its hopeful radiance.
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.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
And when I spoke her freely
My words,
The cage became a bird.
And my heart a frenzy because
It longed for death and
Now howls at her life.
      She smiles at the reflection
Of my words,
What shall I speak to her now?
And the light dances in her smile,
Her seasons burn lilies into
My ideas,
******* my hands
That were gone without hope,
She brings a poet from death.

She punishes the darkness
And all the monsters that ****
Away the blood of life.

In the hour of her fullness
Condensing on my lower lip,
I breathe life into words,
Though it was her name that
Condemned my sorrows to the gallows.

And I am young again,
My eyes speak,
My mouth listens,
And all my life has come to now.
The end is a rebirth
And I fled the dark side of night,
The worn out lonely poet
Has come one more into the light
And for her,
Because it was inevitably her,
It is not too late.

I remember my sorrows
When I destroyed flowers,
The flowers withered in my hand
Because the joy still lingered
In them.

But she has devoured my chaos,
Caged my fears
And loosened the words.

And though I was lost in the abyss,
Surrounded by a prison of regret,
She loosed me from that place,
And the cage became a bird.
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.
The Dedpoet Apr 2016
Though you are deep into
Your night and the Fade is closing
In,
And the walls seem to collapse
The air around you,

The dawn will come:

Birth of light
Antidote to the dark,
Burst into depressions
That softly take me away.
Hope is tomorrow,
A light of the moment,
The sun can rise on you now,

The dawn will come.

Throughout the soul
Petrified on a slab,
Awakening on the promise
Of phosphorus morning.

In the immortal moment,
Know of the dawn,
From Heaven even
Angels fall.
The Dedpoet Mar 2016
I awoke covered in sweat,
The steam rising from my body,
The light skims in through the curtains;
A small murmur of breath escapes
Into the enormous solitude
As I think about all that is wrong
With me:
I panic because I'm depressed again,
The light is too far from me
And my body craves the dead mans sleep.
The silence is full of noise
And what I hear is myself thinking,
I cannot run away from thought,
The silence is deafening.
      What can I do in my darkness?
      Sadness of the abyss,
      The hole inside me filled with
       Sorrow's song.
And I break from myself,
I try to capture the positive attitude,
That foray into psychological betterment,
The ragged form of relief...
   OK, I pick up my bones,
   Flipping the switch I see my pen,
   2a.m.,great wings of black full
   Of my epileptic thoughts seize
   The page, littered with pieces
   Of me I fill the paper with shadows,
   A simple verse will not suffice,
   But the immenseness of emptiness
   Has become full of something's
   Verses, write away,
   Write away the darkness....

It comes, it stays, it goes and flees
Hand in hand with your hope,
I reach out my hand and I cannot
Fathom the waters murky essense,
I want to be happy!
What does that mean?
The lights are there, but they seem
Faint and faroff, it swells my eyes,
The tears of an unending journey,
At times I smile at all the pain,
These words, these words of myself,
They sail inward, as if to the source,
The source of what?
    I **** the lights after all the words
    Have filled three pages,
    They bled me dry,
    Tears and ink mixed with pieces
    Of my inner reflections,
    Who will know or even care to read?
The thought scorns me,
I lay down, the silence grew silent,
A release of pain and sorrow,
That is my little death,
My little resurrection,
Everyday.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
A rolling hill
With suffocating oaks
Under the dire grey of sky
Pass along the dire straits
Of the Ded.

And the Ded do speak
Like silent auras wandering
In poetical forms,
From the Ded they embrace
The pain and sad skies.

Slowly they walk the desolations
And bring forth the balance
Of the darkness's and a
Black rose blooms.

Once alive the Ded searched
For hope;
But the self absorption
In the heavy skies
In the mind's prison
Hold a still terror,
The Ded walk among marble slabs
Of light.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
So i take into my senses
The passion of your forbidden,
And the journey of
Nocturnes under pale
Lumen began:

Insertion,
Power between two
And one is all that remains.
Kiss the sky,
Feel thé embers burn under
The palms désire,
There in that secret place-
A release; fluidity,
Half moon lit
The arc of her back,
Luminosity,
A constellated passion;
A taste for life,
The delectable night....
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
From within the screams
Of silence
Every wall shadowed.
      I am the eternity
Of my moment,
    Alone with nobody,
Come,
   Maybe the words will set
Me free,
And the void is a deep cloud.
   A walk in the mist,
There you will find me
Lost, finding all the questions.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
It was when I chased a dream
Eyes wide open,
And the dream never dies,
Seeing the best when
Its gone,
Feeling the drops against my
Face coarsing my cheek
Like her beloved fingers,
Feeling with my heart and mind
After the loss,
When the morning smells
Of coffee in some store on some
Broken road when
home hits hardest,
That all the moments,
Every tiny bit and pièce
I took for granted never
Left me,
But live on in some dark corner
Of the universe where stars
Are born,
And I am alive between
The spaces.
The Dedpoet May 2016
Where has time gone,
It is zero hour,
At the precipice of ages,
Aging and it won't stop.

I see myself younger
In the ocean's reflection
Just below, I would
Jump to him for wisdoms sake.

I am at the edge,
Where ever this might be,
Sidesteps, tip toeing,
Between yesterday and nowhere.
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.
The Dedpoet May 2017
I function sometimes
I function in fear,
Feeling,
Kneeling,
Whisper of a broken
Savior,
My tired soul labors
Along at the speed of
Life
The species known as me
Death eternal,
Internal declining,
Lightning flashes,
Passes to ashes,
In a life flashes
Love deeply
Totally utterly
Self aware in a solitary confinement
My life is out of alignment,
That the seeds were driven
From a scattered field of
Sun flower,
I want to watch my son flower,
What is a life
but a a lighter shade of black,
I want to go back
But its a point that half time,
I only have half the average,
Light embers in a fading dusk
Poetical emotion
Up without horizons,
Stay surviving asleep
While im awake,
Life turning to faded dreams

Illusion is that there is no illusion
Im kinda faded on drank
The Dedpoet May 2018
Hello,
To your smile that killed
My suicidal daily,
When your zest filled my
Inner clarity
And gave form to destiny,
Not anyone road,
But your soul that touches many,
The guft that is you,
I bit of the nectar that your
Light feeds,
I am grateful
Even for the pain of missing
You now,
Friend of my deepest wound,
Cut me and I bleed your crimson
Catastrophe,
Because even your worst
Was the very best I
Felt,
The narcissistic venture,
I stayed because you allowed it.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
I am from everywhere,
My homelands nowhere.

In the final night
Take me to the Constellations.

Now while the words still flow,
While the world is a despairing beauty.

While I am full of life and laughter
And I do not fear the end.

Now while the day is at its peak
And my calloused hands grow stronger.

Today, not on the morrow,
For I do not know any better, or want to.

In the final hour let me die,
Not of death, but of life!
The Dedpoet Jun 2018
Just bemeath chosen words
And rewrites,
There clamours a poem raw
And true,
Free of likes and critique,
Above bandwagon scociety,
There a poet can believe in
The art of the experience:

I am alive between each word,
The hand on fire
As sudden urges froze me
In the actiin of my words
To jot them down,
What captures my life like
The inspired word,
And the need to capture a moment
On paper,
Where I was is now instilled
Like the metaphor of life,
And I am one with the unspoken,
As i have stopped and
Undone.
Words pause me,
Propel me,
And I freeze in the flow
Where life happend
And i stop all things
To write it down stuck
Between the stanzas.
The poet can write life,
Rarely does the experience
Saturate the time of a writer.
The Dedpoet Mar 2016
Oh, the big whole life
That fills all mystery
And makes everything so small....

She stares out a window
At the center of her world,
A sorrow
Like a dark magnolia
Which changes when touched.

She had a wall around her
Until the day she let's it go,
A turbulent dream that keeps her
Awake, to guard herself from
Everybody else.

Oh, her she is a dove,
A tranquility she knows nothing
About,
He told her she was beautiful
Holding  his breath when he said it.
And the fragile destiny
Can be seen in her absence,
Her voice is darkened
And was gentle like air,
But the night is now born
Under her eyes,
The light escapes her as she
Walks with eyes to the earth,
She can't feel a thing
Because the pain numbs her,
Familiar to her like family now,
The razor is a new friend.
She cuts the life I to her,
Along with the jelly beans she grew
Up loving,
The blood runs down her thigh
And the flavor
Melts into her mouth.

Why is this normal for her?
She asks herself with a half smile,
The landscape of her life
Is a dream trying to feel
Anything.

I know her innocence
Has more than this razor,
And all her heart is stuck
In a painful fragility,
Touching what she sees as real
The days pass,
The scars number every day.

What destiny will free her
From the closed heart?
What steps will she take to free
Herself,
That the cage might become a bird?

Who will rescue her from the wolves,
While she bleeds herself
Into oblivion,
Some day,
Oblivion may take her home.
I know you are hurting, I know your pain. I know what it feels like to feel nothing. Write the pain away.....
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
I grew up in a tough neighborhood,
Seen and experienced every kind of
Street hell you can think of.
Its no secret I was a drug addict,
I beat that.
Its no secret my mother was shot dead
In front of me.
I beat that.
All who know me,
Well, you all may not like me after
I told you I was dead.
I beat that.
So for those who are fighting,
Those who are bullying,
I send an open invitation to bully me.
To hate me, to write bad stuff
About The Dedpoet.
Leave all those other guys alone.
I can be your punching bag.
Because I can take it,
Because after all,
If we met in the streets I would
Hug you with a haiku,
I'd lay kisses on your cheek
With a thousand sonnets from
Neruda.
I'd read you Octavio Paz
Until you realized you are not a poet.
Poets do not bully,
They understand, they are philosophical
Word artists whom write the human
Condition and deal with the chaos
Of this world with peers.
So bully, so whomever you are,
Attack me, someone who knows
What you really are.
I can take it,
Just leave the real poets be,
This is an open invitation.
Let the fun begin, if you have the
Metaphorical ***** for it.
Leave my poets alone.
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