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Graff1980 Feb 2017
I like this poem. I get the humorous part. However, I do not think we need to be mad to be great poets. I think the world is incurious and impregnated with the madness of indifference, and the really good writer observe, absorb, collecting disparate perspectives, run subconscious scenarios in their heads, and project the closest approximation of other peoples lives and feelings.
533 · Jan 2015
Untitled
Graff1980 Jan 2015
Why should she want a love
That says it owns her
And the only thing that matters
Is losing herself in it
Why can’t she have a love
That grows with her
And in its’ wonder finds herself
Growing to
533 · Jun 2015
Where I Come From
Graff1980 Jun 2015
Meet me down by the old creek bed
The scary rotting ligneous bridge
Rusted metal and wood warping
Dropping a man into the muddy bottom

A clothespin and a playing card
A cereal box robot reflector
Dusty road that’s gravel sharp
Bled my knees and bent my bicycle wheel

I swung on the old vine tree
Playing out my Neverland fantasies
One lost boy no fairies in sight
No mermaid kisses or decent Pirate fights

White wooden saw horse
Played Battlecat to my He-man
A cracked wooden board on
A frayed twisting rope

Peppered grey house with old trimming
This is where I found my beginnings
Old man dead now the woman’s gone to
Pretty soon I’ll forget all I knew

Two miles down there’s a dead man’s farm
Row after row of white tombstone
Faded glittering grey monuments
That is where I will meet my end
533 · Sep 2016
I Can't Sleep
Graff1980 Sep 2016
It is so hot, that I can’t sleep.
I just sit silently sweating.
Till my gross oily skin
Forces me to take
My third or fourth
Shower of the day.

I can’t sleep
But laying in the darkness
Through my partially open door
Someone is passed out
With someone they love
Sleeping on my living room floor

I can’t sleep
So I write what I do not want to keep
Locked up in this hot head
Not impatient or violent
Almost feverish
With summer’s sweltering abuse

I can’t sleep
Because I do not trust
These people I know
Sleeping just beyond
This wooden door
If I opened it more
I am sure it would not be bad
The air is on
But the troubled part
Of my reptile mind
Does not want to risk
Any vulnerability

I can’t sleep
And this is bothering me
My own burden
My own proclivity
To endanger my sanity
Because
Because
Because
**** I don’t know why
I just can’t sleep
531 · Jan 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Jan 2016
They shot me in the south
Hung my brother up to die
Wet and ret swinging to death
Till he **** himself

One summer shower to clean the mess
But not enough rain
To wash away
The blood stains on the tree

In all honesty
I am grateful
That those hateful
Mother ******* shot me
For their brutality was the story
Written on the skin of my kin
Whips and chains
Spirit maimed
In the years that
That injustice remained
Trail of tears
Stolen children
Beaten
But I got off just getting shot

They burnt my brother
And his husband
Turned them
Charcoal and barbecue
Poured gasoline
To see them flailing and wailing
Didn’t even see it on the news
And all I can say
Is I am grateful
I didn’t go out that way
Ain’t that ****** up
530 · Nov 2020
Untitled 583
Graff1980 Nov 2020
Instead of being activated
by what you hated
you got isolated,
so you wouldn't be triggered.

There were photos of
human agony on foreign streets,
bombed out buildings,
bleeding children,
and parents weeping.

Instead of getting outraged
by what you saw,
you went to your safe space,
so you wouldn't have to face
any troubling thoughts at all.

People softened the discourse,
slightly dulling the edge of the sword
they use to cut the safety cord
we call human rights.

The bad things kept happening
while you were napping comfortably.

You should have been
an exposed wire
sparking an arc of heart fires.
Instead of highlighting
that which was frightening
you went into hiding.

While those who were fighting
didn't get the option
to ignore the horror.

Busted up and ******,
tear gassed buddies bruised
while you used that excuse
of not wanting to deal with bad news
cause you might get triggered.

The world is on fire so,
melt that snowflake heart sister
and brother
we've got no time to waste
in helping each other;

Look and see these tragedies
and get motivated;
Rise up in outrage,
get ******* triggered,
and get to work son.

Cause anger gets **** done!!
528 · Mar 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Mar 2016
He hasn’t got a shot
On this brown town block
Except the one shot
By the stopped cop
Who pulled up hot
Cause the little brown boy
Was playing cops
On this cold stone block
528 · Feb 2017
Untitled
Graff1980 Feb 2017
Life seldom grants us absolutes
Before the truth of reason
Comparison was treason
Ignoring the fact
That some have and some lack
Was common practice

Justice was lackluster
Politicians and business men

But now with all the information we have
Reason and comparison should be elevated
Inequalities should be seriously debated
Not with flowery words which inform so little
But conceal so much, but with science
Because facts find hidden truths revealed
And there is seldom to much truth
527 · Apr 2015
You Poor Child
Graff1980 Apr 2015
You poor child
Slobbering
Simpering
Whimpering
Drooling mess
Of humanity
Stumbling
Humbling
Mumbling
To yourself
Stuck up
In a stupor
That snuck up
And bit you
War torn
Cloths torn
Impoverished
You poor child
Sick child
Where is your government
527 · Oct 2021
Untitled 821
Graff1980 Oct 2021
It doesn't take
a kitchen knife
to butcher life
or a motorbike
to ride until I die.

Instead, I take this journey
on a broken gurney,
not a suffering soldier
but a poet older
than any bolder
active warrior.

My tourniquet tightens,
as blood loss lightens
my mental load.

This damaged road
is full of broken bones
and scattered scraps
of marble stones
that no longer fit
the foundation of
a safe home
full of love.

That's why I still roam,
searching alone,
staring at my phone
looking for answers
to a call I'll never make.

Every breath I ever take
should hold some purpose,
but the truth is
my search is fruitless.
This existence is useless;
Just another wound
that will not heal
but festers and rots
as everything I thought
held value gets lost.

In my mad mathematic trend
I subtract family and friends
from my equation,
becoming the inevitable immigrant
as I finally cross life's bitter border
to nowhere…
526 · Mar 2017
Making Morality
Graff1980 Mar 2017
The rush of blood the face we placed
On every corner on every space
We raced to come to terms with life
With morality a facade for strife
Pointing to the pain as a promise for more
Pointing to old books that might restore
Dignity and respect for the living
While other possibilities are destroyed
And the destroyers are forgiven
Sweaty palms stomach ulcerated
And for the sake of the soon to be liberated
Let me explain how real morals are made
Not through musty scriptures
Not through verses that are immature
But through learning and coming to terms with
How everyone feels and experiences life different
526 · Jul 2015
Alone
Graff1980 Jul 2015
Alone with the shadows
No heat to beat the cold flow
Of winters harshness

Alone with the lights out
No shine in his eyes
To safely carry him away
From the night

Alone with neighborhood noises
A dog barks, a truck revs up
The wind slaps the tree branches
Against the small house

Alone with nobody
No hands or hugs of comfort
Just books by candle light
A withering heart
Sustained by chapters
Of other peoples imaginary lives
525 · Sep 2015
How
Graff1980 Sep 2015
How
How can I live with the kind
who pillage and ****
take their mistakes
and make up our minds
concealing their crimes
behind rhetoric of hate?

How can I live with the blind
who follow such swine
drink the poisonous wine
that puts us behind the times
when we should have been,
so far ahead of them?

How can I live in such a state
waiting for this evil to abate
knowing that what I do
does not sway the populace to the truth?

If I thought that with my life
I could buy back the light
defeat the dark knights
that rush to decide
out of greed and pride
how we should ruin our lives;

I would gladly swallow a bullet
bite a pill
swipe the razor,
till there is nothing left to feel.
I’d empty my vessel
if I thought
I could save this lot.
524 · Jul 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Jul 2016
The dream of love is a sweet ache
Imagining her lovely round face
Safely held in my embrace
Cupped like water in a desert
Such a treasure

To hold her hand
To say I love you
Without expecting her to
Echo my affectionate truth
But feeling my heart elevated
When she smiles back
And says me to

To collapse in
Pleasurable exhaustion
Satisfied with the day’s end
Hugging her
Under the covers
Letting my warmth
Ease from me
To her cold body

To sleep and wake
Seeing her soft face
Knowing we
Will do it all again
524 · Apr 2015
Let It Go
Graff1980 Apr 2015
Farmer’s Daughter
Her withered face
Not aged with grace
But balding scalp
Liver spots
Missing teeth
Like missing thoughts
White wrinkled flesh
Disappearing
Tiny goblin form
Hidden beneath the sheets

No more hunger
Only suffering
It’s no slumber
For in slumber
We find dreams
Rich with the complexities
Of our many identities
Mirrored masks of agony
Pure flights of unconnected fantasy
Inconsistent

But it’s persistent
Life interrupted
And never continued
The only ease
Is its release
From consciousness
Pain, Joy, pleasure
Apathy, anguish
Epiphanies

Dead siblings
Dead husband
Fading memories
With all their grief
Let them go
Let it go
Let it all slip away
524 · Aug 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Aug 2016
These nightmares
Are black and white
Rectangle pieces of paper
Because colored
Cuts would hurt
Too much

Instead we track
Railway cars packed
People stacked
And dropped behind
Barbed wire restraints
Bare burnt brick buildings
Were soldier’s stole
Pretty clothes
Trinkets, and anything gold

Never forget
The nearly naked numbered men
That barely survived
The acid burning
Of women and children
Starving saints
More bone than flesh
Ovens made to cook
The stolen Skin of their kin

We hold such horrors
Far away
Keeping shallow thoughts close
While Forgetting those
Who suffered such indignities
But this is our shared history
Lessons we need to see repeatedly
So we do not let others succeed in
Seeding the same dark tyranny
In our modern democracy
524 · Apr 2017
Untitled
Graff1980 Apr 2017
Please,
do not let
the words fail me
or vice a versa.

I need a verse to
give the evening
to you
because you deserve
the universe.

I may be tired
but everything inspires
higher creativity
and what I seek
is to gift thee
graciously
with a reality
where you can be
happy.

So as my eyes flutter
falling over
the constant clutter
of humankind.
I hope I find
the precise rhyme
to unlock your mind
so that in time
you can return the favor
bring the flavor later
to be my verbal savior
and inspire my desire
to continue to live and
be a great creator.
523 · Apr 2019
Untitled 171
Graff1980 Apr 2019
There she sits in
a cement structure
that is
scarred by the torture
of poverty
and mother nature.

Her deep brown eyes
stare from a
broken glass window,
pondering
the growling
disposition
of her stomach.

Till, it becomes
just some noise
she forgets to hear,
and the feeling
becomes
some numb
buzzzzzzzz
in the back ground
of her exhausting
existence.

She is a still specter,
a powerful presence
in a place I have never seen,
memorialized for my
consumer eyes
by a photographer.

Hopeful humanist,
Howard G. Buffet
presents this
stark truth to me
in a photo reality.

So, all this fluff poetry
is an artistic assumption.
What gumption
I have to put words
to a world that
I have never been to,
seeing the starving children
while I am stuffing
my comfortable face.

She is symbolic of
human beauty and grace
in times of struggle
while I am a product
of comfort, excess, and human waste.

How do these
two extremes
exist
in the same
time?
522 · Nov 2018
Untitled 43
Graff1980 Nov 2018
It was marble mess,
shattered stone
and ****** distress.

It was so confusing.
If you are asking them
they’ll say that
it was a tragic accident
that left those men
trembling.

Button pushing
tragedy
unreality,
because in this piece
I turn fiction
into poetry.

I take the normal responses
I spent a lifetime observing,
use strange alchemy,
and make short
snapshot stories;

Shift and distort
magic metaphors
to make them contort
to what I believe
is a truth
others need to see.

Thus, this was a calamity,
crowd forming
a fake flock of family
making a community
from a small sub-section
of humanity.

To see some
unnamed thing
is not what I am pointing to.

To understand how we
can share a reaction
then after that
still walk away
from the unity
of human suffering
stumbling back to
our shacks to do
what led to
the same sorrow
we just viewed.

Tomorrow
is today
and they
will not think
about the pain
so, I will not bother
to name it.

Like life
there is seldom
a satisfactory end
or a reasonably
easy origin
to understand
all that keeps
happening.
520 · Mar 2017
Time, Space, and Stuff
Graff1980 Mar 2017
Time may be linear
Space may be infinite
Even though we think the limits curve
Universes growing within themselves
Swirling around each other
Space is not an ocean of stars
The oceans are space reflected
In darkness looking down we can see up
But looking up we only see up
Tiny jewels in the infinite
Sending light
In light’s own years
DNA makes mistakes
Splits and combines
Creates new forms
Slight variations
Copying errors
That got us here
Evolution is not directed
Not inspected by the locals
Patterns may be
May form and disappear
But not everything has to have a reason
520 · Mar 2018
Untitled
Graff1980 Mar 2018
Life shifts
from daylight shades
of cloudy grey
and turquoise
to dark blue.

I train my eyes
heaven ward
to watch
for a sparkle
of you.

Looking for the twinkle
of my grandfather’s
ancient eyes,
looking for
the perfect star cluster
to help me realize
that his memory
still lies
behind my eyes.

I look for a trigger
that I figure
will spark
the memory
of his bearded voice,

but this night
is not good enough
to remind me of
the lost one I love.

So, I slip and surrender to
the sadness of
missing the missing pieces.
Cause my memory
of deceased family
has been fragmented
and distorted by time.
520 · Jun 2015
A Temporary Gig
Graff1980 Jun 2015
Life is a gig
One twig
With no fig
No fruits
Just bitter bark
Baiting the waiting dear
The acrid swill
The **** you feel
When you swallow
Placebo pills
Maybe right now
I am bitter to
Maybe tomorrow
Will bring a better
Less bitter brew
A sweet scented
Flower kissed
With early morning dew
Maybe it will bring me you
And I will gift you
With poetry and smiles
But now
Is a poem of loss and pain
I wrote once
And I will write again
The cycle
Today is death’s dirges
****** purges
Of penciled sorrow
The stencils I borrowed
Are brown with
Burial dirt
The truth hurts
And all my metaphors
Are just beautiful butterflies
Fanciful fashioned distractions
Life is just a temporary gig
518 · May 2019
Untitled 197
Graff1980 May 2019
What drives you to hate
drives them to pain.

When compassion is
just a story
a mother
tells her
children
because life
presents
all evidence
to the contrary.

Man, it is scary.

What drives you to pain
drives some
to remain
vigilant and kind
guarding against
the influence
of malevolent minds.

Ice agents
cut up plastic water bottles
and destroy food
that was left for migrants.

Government officials
put young kids
in cages
while sending their parents
far away,
leaving them longing for a day
that may never come;

Meanwhile, there are people marching
in the name of love
while writers soar above
creating art
to open hearts,
emboldening
other humans
to be better.
518 · Jan 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Jan 2016
I gathered the ladders
One after another I strung them together
Planted their base
Like a bed of wooden flowers
And set them up towards the heavens
Till the top pierced
The white billowy clouds
And when I got to the top
The clouds didn’t stop
They went on like
A white winter wasteland
But I never found the place
Where the human race
Settles after they die
516 · Dec 2014
Poetry Is Therapy
Graff1980 Dec 2014
On tv it looks so copper clean
Ringing in naked dreams
Living out those picket fence schemes
To get the American bling

Morality is black and white
There are no heroic black knights
The good guys are just
And they just wear white hats

But life is painful
Like a cancer vampire
******* your life force
Pale skin quivering

Dark bags under your eyes
No hair there because of the chemo
Despair and denial on ivy drips
And reality tv made us ill equipped
To handle it

Sometime I wish the tears would stop
That the empathy would vanish from me
That I couldn’t see what I see
See what this reality has made of me

History is white sheets
Red arm bands, fat *******
Uninformed Loud mouths
A canvass that drips wet with my outrage

I sip the last drops of my stimulants
Drop the anti-depressants in the toilet
Forget my docility
Embrace more than half of my hostility

I don’t think much will change
Despite how hard I clamor
Despite the sparkles and the glamour
How I use the language to entertain and inform

This is just therapy
In the form of Poetry
516 · Jun 2015
Burn It
Graff1980 Jun 2015
Burn it to the ground
Not the block
Not the town
Not the police station
Or the nation
But the system
We have been raising
Needs razing
Needs blunt blazing
I’m raging
It was my mistake
In thinking we could be better
So start at the local level
And work your way to the top
Start with the clergy and the city council
Go ahead and hit Fox
And don’t stop
Till the bottom rises
Till the rich find their surprises is
Christmas gifts
Of coal and ****
Because they have been ruining it
Just burn it all to the ground
516 · Dec 2018
Untitled 83
Graff1980 Dec 2018
Not my biological daughter but
there is a well of
overflowing
pride and love.

Little teenage poet,
tiny bookworm
like me;

I remember when
you were barely
four or three
and I would read
stories to you
before you
went to sleep.

“Another one,
another one,
another one,
please.”

Then just as I
was about to leave
smiling and saying
go to sleep
you would offer
to read to me.

Little smiling devil
how could I resist,
“just one more story
then to bed after it.”
Graff1980 Aug 2015
With eyes of deep and beautiful intent she asked for language not just words. So I replied” What language would you have to elevate your soul and inspire that deep resonating force you call your creative mind. Are you looking for words imbued with force or more flowery and descriptive verse.”

There came no reply so I continued. “Say the word and I will dismember my already mutilated mind to find the right words. Find the perfect purple blossom, fold my soul into its tiny wrinkles and give it to you as a gift.”
Still silence reigned, taring at my deeply sorrow filled heart. For though I was full of affection she was not. Thus I ended” I would see the brown leaf, dried and crumbling, hear the strange music it makes, till fall winds carried the crumbled bits away, or they settled down to add another layer to this life. As a writer you remind me to look deeper into to everything, for that I thank you.”

Her reply was the quiet night. I let the truth settle. She saw no need to reply to me, I was but a broken petal. She was a blooming beauty full formed flower, an artist above my station. So I settled for my own company. A shadow sinking in the corner, with only lovely words to keep me company.
515 · Aug 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Aug 2016
I do not enjoy
your anesthetized
clean pictures
of the Victorian past
with your fantasies
about nobility
and high society.

The truth is *****.
The people were poor,
and the poetry spoke truth.

It did not cover up such pains,
but placed them on display
in word play
to say,
“We are human and we are here.”
513 · Mar 2015
Revisiting My Complicity
Graff1980 Mar 2015
I am not innocent
But naïve
Deficient in sufficient
Reasoning
To blind to see
That what I see
Is limiting me
Spiritually void
Not for lack of gods
But for lack of faith
In anything
Except the unknown
My eyes see what they can
But being merely human
There is so much I miss
Being merely man
I will soon be mortally dismissed
Sorely ******
With all of my failures
My ineptitude
Stemming from my attitude
That latitude I give
Giving leeway to myself
The stupor of inaction
Clouded by a false sense
Of satisfaction
I gained by creativity
When these words don’t belong to me
And do little to alleviate humanity’s
Suffering
I sit back and wonder
Why
Chase the tides
And try and fix the ocean
I have no notion
Of success
When I am just a pebble
Barely disturbing the surface
With tiny ripples
Inevitably settling on the bottom
While the levels stay the same
513 · Sep 2018
Untitled 2
Graff1980 Sep 2018
Everyone knows
I’m a nice guy,
but underneath
the underside
there is a darker sky,
storms set to thunder
shocking lighting
firing from my eyes.

Heartbeat bursts
facing those
who are worse,
corpse kings,
killing the innocent
line of little children,
tiny kids
riding in hearses
while a state dupe
steps up and rehearses
how to serve the greed
of the already wealthy.

I am
the classic
good guy,
but you will see
the shivers
of angst
and anger
rise in me
even when
I am stifling
said rage.

I bite my
gums so hard
that my teeth
chip and crumble,
I watch fools stumble
as I rave and rumble
ready to fight,
but just before
my otherside
comes to
take your life
I let the hate
subside,
and give you
the gift
of insight
and one more night.
512 · Mar 2015
Thank You
Graff1980 Mar 2015
The tear drops don’t stop
Keep leaving wet spots
And I say thank you

For years my fears
Lay hidden in the shadow
Pill bottles I swallowed
I so I wouldn’t have to feel
Something deep and real
Bleeding until I was numb
So now that I can feel again
I am grateful

Even if my eyes blurred
From something I heard
Something that made me disturbed
As the poet preaches to me
Not about divinity
But about our humanity
It reaches deep in me
Stirring remnants of dead flesh
Turning my cold body into a living thing
This living being
Sings
With love
Not ******
Or Demeaning
But with meaning
Returning word for word
Like a blast of healing rain
Washing away the last stain
Till apathy no longer reigns
And I am human again
So I say with joy and with tears
Thank you for giving me
A few more years
Of my own humanity
512 · Feb 2017
Sylvia Plath
Graff1980 Feb 2017
If Sylvia Plath
Had come to me
For a ****** reprieve
Or a living loving embrace
I would have raced
To face that lovely face
I would have chased those
Dark and tempestuous eyes
To find passion release
To share one moment of peace
To hear her heart speak
With beat after beat
Even if she broke mine
If she attacked my limbs
Assailed my spirit with her fury
Even if we had to make love in a hurry
None to ever be the wiser
And maybe in the morning spend
Words and verses
Like counterfeit forms of affection
Well, that would be better
Then the release of any *******
Graff1980 May 2015
I like to love her from a distance
My dear daylight poet
The sunspot
So **** hot
Tan skin
And spectacles
Smirky smile
Deep intelligence
With a certain spiritual resonance
Pulls me from the pit of despair
With her deep thoughts and kind airs
Twisting language to wondrous purposes

I like to love her from a distance
Letting her dark words wash over me
Inspire the higher functions of my creative brain
Unshackling me from the dullness of society
Inducing, immersing, and freeing me to see the beauty
In the horror of our descriptive language
Pale skin dark hair piercing eyes of creative Fury
A cold fire that inspires desire and respect

Two angels of a sort
Ying and yang light and dark
Sitting on my shoulder
Even when I say
That they are tucked away
From a safe distance
So I can love them
From within
From their words first
Watch their beauty burst
Like bloated rainbows
Breaking beams
Shooting mercilessly
Piercing me
To set me free
Not lustily
But as fellow poetic human beings
Whom I will never meet in person
511 · Dec 2014
Untitled Nature Poem
Graff1980 Dec 2014
The morning haze of a light blue sky
Barely filling my tired eyes
Cool dawn misty dew
Moist feet slipping through
Not missing much as others do
Maybe missing lost family,
Friends, and old lovers true
But it’s quiet and I need the silence
I need the peace because of the past violence
I know I’ve dwelled in the dark to long
I cry when the early morning beauty becomes too much
A doe biting bark
A bunch of ducks waddling in the park
I dip the tip of my toe in the pond
And for now the only thing I regret
Is I didn’t get that camera yet
511 · Mar 2015
The Rat King
Graff1980 Mar 2015
The rat king
Sleeping in sewage
Wasting clean water
Cause profit is better

King of the rodents
Though I would prefer
The rodents are better
Than the man of manure

Garbage maker
Weather changer
Spin doctor

Death dealer
Conscious free
Will live to be
The death of me
And all I love
In our society
511 · Nov 2014
The Broken
Graff1980 Nov 2014
The broken are so beautifully
Strange and distorted
Mirroring the mistakes
Our societies makes
The risks we take
And failing
Little monster make
Swollen bellies bloated with pride
They walk upon the ashes of the broken

Sweat and dirt
Earth pushing deeply into our fingers
Till it hurts
Till the nails drop blood
Like they were seeding the mud
And those ticks
**** it up
Snuck up
To **** up
Our lives

But the broken
Bare their pain
Take their shame
Like pharmaceutical products
In the morning and before bed
Before the doctors bled
Their children

Oh god
The golden gone
Father forsworn
To wear the thorn
Which you broke your children with

The slave owners whip
The stings
As mothers screamed
While children
Ran deep into the dark forests

We broken are the children
Of the Natives Americans
The African
The Chinese and Japanese
Our skin was not Jaundiced
We were not black
But earthly brown
Not red but slightly tanned
Beautiful
Our cultural heritage
Stolen
Disfigured
As the starving
Lay dying

While the morally bankrupt
Keep thriving

We are broken
Spine curved
Tired and wretched
Scared of the cops
And the injustice system
That we live in
But still beautiful

We are pink brown
And every other color
That paints this town

They are the sociopaths
The monsters
Masquerading
As moral crusaders
510 · Dec 2018
Untitled 82
Graff1980 Dec 2018
I do not have
my father’s laugh,
or even half
of his drunk
and high
life style.

I can’t tie one
on after work
to ease the stress
and the haunting
history of hurt.

Shoulders heavy with
the family life
he was working
to get,
but I am not
the settling down,
working myself
into the cemetery ground
kind of guy.
509 · Feb 2015
The Broken Doll
Graff1980 Feb 2015
The battered woman
With beautiful skin
Used to be akin
To porcelain
China doll
Russian woman
Inside of another
Woman
Cracked
Chipping
Lips dripping with
Blood
Eyes averted
Shades of Blush
To hide the rush
Of blushing flesh
Bruising chest
Losing breath
Shattered spirit
From a craven coward
Who calls himself a man
509 · Sep 2018
Untitled-23.
Graff1980 Sep 2018
There used to be
soft wet sand
beneath my feet
and in-between
my wriggling toes.

There used to be
teenagers
and a little me
going swimming.

Adolescents
played in
swim suits
as their bare skin
took the nibblings
of tiny fishes
that never bit me.

There used to be
a brown shack
of a building
with plastic seats
where wet buts
would wiggle
and squeak
as I got
something to eat.

We would all play
while grandparents
sat, talk,
and sometimes watched
the Lawrence Welk show.

Now that bed of water
is no longer wet.
Now it is a dusty bowl
of forgetful sorrow.
509 · May 2015
Untitled
Graff1980 May 2015
Every time the sun comes up
I go down
And every time the moon shines
I am up
Ready to work on my stuff
Ready to play with my baggage
Packing and unpacking
To find what I am lacking
And putting it all back in again
Then I cycle back
508 · Nov 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Nov 2016
Yesterday was a winter road
with frosty figures lining up
to dam a young soul to limbo,
not quite hell but purgatory.

Now they all change
their gory stories
so they can feel better
and in their tales
they make themselves
sainted knights.

But we outsiders
know the harsh facts.
We do not make ourselves
the heroes of our tales
but journeyman
of varied skills
seeking the truths
and speaking it to
despite how painful
it might feel.
507 · Jan 2016
Night To Morn
Graff1980 Jan 2016
The silver sliver of a crescent moon
Cringes for its solitary state
Staring longingly into the city

The sky is black cardboard
With white shining holes
Like an old school light brite

Large white moths circle the lamps
Like little suicide bombers
While skeeters stalk and bite me

The night stills to the speed of silence
Even the shadows stand motionless
In fear of disrupting this peaceful repose

The long thin branches
Wave up and down
Saying good by
To that last good night
Light blue sky
Leave the leaves in the tree
Fluttering like spirit fingers

The night passes  
Like the old year
Bringing in
Singing friends
And baby rays of
Sunlight
Going from cool blues
And black skies
To lighter and warmer
Morning colors
507 · Aug 2016
The Worker
Graff1980 Aug 2016
He smokes. Lips pull thin white clouds of relief into his lungs but when he is done he will head back in to the dark den of machine men. There used to be better days. Now strange alchemy has turned his soft body hard, smooth skin wrinkled, white teeth cracked and yellow, and soul into a mutilated mess. The fence vibrates with his passing frustration as one foot cracks the corner. Would have been a ****** mess if not for the tight steel toed shoes, that add about half a pound a piece. His fatigue weighs so much more. A heaviness stops him at the door. It is like he is walking in a world of gravity set at twice the normal rate. Safety goggles, lunch lady hair net, and ear plugs have become his nighttime uniforms.
“Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.” He recites like Dustin Hoffman’s rain man.
The mechanical madness beckons him in with a thud da dud, thud da dud, thud da dud.
“At least it is a midnight shift and not a hot summer day shift.” He thinks as he shrugs off the last remnants of his reservations.
507 · Oct 2018
Untitled 9
Graff1980 Oct 2018
I long to pull back
the pale skin *****,
to release that
deep world
woven in
my imagination,

but the voices I heard
of the heartbroken
and disturbed
pierce the veil
and permeate
the place where
my dreams dwell.
Till, all hopes
and playful notions
become adult nightmares.

I long to
achoo
and spew
silliness,

but seriousness
is silence to
that heartbeat
that taps out
daydreams,
erasing the
treasure maps
that lead us back
to free form fun.

I long to
inspire you
to play as I use to,
but in truth
I forgot how
to do what I
ask of you.
506 · Jul 2018
Untitled
Graff1980 Jul 2018
Summertime
drive to work,
car running,
hot engine gunning,
I keep moving
making sweat
roll down my neck.

All this heat
seems to sharpen
my senses,
intensifying
once dormant
emotions,
that make me cry.

Cinnamon and raison
memories resurface,
tasty pastry affections
from my grandmother
who made such delightful
treats,
and tucked them away
in her Tupperware tray.

A blue and white
small plastic pool
we used to stay cool
punctured by twigs
draining into
cracks of
the sidewalk
that worked its way
from our back door
to small the side streets
in the public housing.

Baby brother
on the back of my bike
as we ride
to the library,
baby brother and me
going to the movies.
Time keeps moving
at an uncomfortable
accelerated pace.
Moments are replaced
then changed
or erased by times
cruel intent.

The loss of pets,
the loss of grandpa,
the loss of grandma,
the loss of my presumed
innocence
is scorching.

Until, the season’s
rambunctiousness
slowly softens
to more bearable temperatures.
506 · May 2015
Untitled
Graff1980 May 2015
The dying flower ripped
From the earth
Drips chloroplast
The living liquids
Barely last
As the fragile stem
Begin life again
Imprisoned in
A vase or dark bell jar
Left to die
A slow beautiful death
On display
505 · Nov 2016
Untitled
Graff1980 Nov 2016
I am disconnected.
Though I long
to be a part
of the collective heart
that binds all,
I do not feel
its tangible will.
I do not see
the helping hand.
Apathy stands.
Dullness fills
this ill fed
fawning,
yawning body.
The heat saps,
makes me
want naps
more then
human
connections.
Today dies
the dullest death of all.
nothing ventured,
nothing gained,
and only a
small poem
to mark this
mundane Monday.
505 · May 2015
Wingless
Graff1980 May 2015
You cut her wings
And there she fell
Condemned to hell
The pain inflamed
She cursed your name
Cause your love was to blame

She cooked and cleaned
She sexed like a slave
She disciplined the children
Till they were well behaved

And all the while
The feathers fell
Withered roots
That once held her aloft
Were sheared completely off

She did your laundry
Took your abuse
She left her dreams behind
While you chased yours

You bled her of her spirit
Cracked the open wounds
And left the poison in it
Till she came to believe
That she never ever even had wings

Then she passed her winglessness on
To her daughters
And her granddaughters

Now generations of wingless women
Have barely even began
To find their feathers
Look up and try to fly again
Thanks to the wicked ways
Of you so called modern men
505 · Jun 2015
Shameless
Graff1980 Jun 2015
You cannot shame my desire
For it was there in your beginnings
Forming your flesh
Your parents touched
Yearned to be touched
And from their seeded success
You flew forth
Like a foaming seashell
Aphrodite sprang from their well

You cannot shame his desire
For though no seed may form new life
New love will still inspire
Male fingers fondling
Male lips caressing and expressing
The most natural of tendencies
While some shout indecency
I sigh with the beauty of love and lust
The local pride of human evolution
One ****** upon the next

You cannot shame her desire
Though soft or hard
Feminine or masculine
Butch or diva
There is no need to classify
Her desire is not a matter of wrong or right
But of desire

And for all those outside
Or somewhere in-between
These three things
Those who sit still circling
Jittery with uncertainty
Desiring or not desiring
You cannot shame them

For it is all so beautifully complicated
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