I got eye strain and back pain
from sitting in the chair all day,
working my life away,
clicking on keyboards and mouses,
while staring at computer screens,
and ignoring other things;

I am detached from the fact that
there is more than just me,
because everyone I see,
every single human being
has turned into pixelated images
on the monitor I’ve monitored
all day.

I got cold feet from poor circulation,
so, frequently I have to rub heat
back into my frigid feet.

Sometimes, I get this tingling sensation.
Plus, there is a slight tight pain
that starts in my upper right
center chest.

It seems to be an expression
of a once latent
but now blooming anxiety,
inching ever closer to
that heart attack variety
of human suffering.

It used to be a rarity
now it seems, at least
a weekly event for me.

Ironically, when I worry
it gets worse
and of course
I worry when it hurts
so, it hurts more often
as the week progresses.

Now it has spread to the left
side of my chest.

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.

At first I thought they were beautiful
a thousand tiny blinking eyes
flickering in the back
like Christmas lights
blinking at uneven intervals.

An hour or so in
I imagine the blinking lights
are red messages
coming from the outer edges
of some other solar system.

Then as fatigue sets in
they shift
same shade of red,
still blinking,
but now appearing hungry.

Seventeen hours later
and severely exhausted
my mind teases
the tip of madness
as the red blinking lights
seem like
a thousand spider eyes
ready to devour me.

The light changes
Shifting shades
Slip across
His weary face
Shadows sweep
The sun away
Leaving the cool day
Under the tree
He rests peaceful
With one eye open
Just barely
The breeze hits
Just a bit
Leaves flutter
In unison
The sun returns
To my skin
Now he is wide awake
Again

Disembodied voices
Sit in a conference call
To convince tellers
To tell people
That credit cards
Are awesome
That it won’t cost them
Much at all
And they can get rewards
Not mentioning
That the percentage
Of interest
Outweighs any rewards
They claim are so great
And if the cardholder is not careful
Heavy debt waits
To chain them to
Financial insecurity
And a job that is cruel
Countering the countenance
Of mankind’s
Desire to be free

The night consumes
And from this room
I see no light

I’m so sleep deprived
Ready to cry
But tired eyes
Forgot how

The night retreated
Shadows shrink and receded
The light returns slowly

And with blues, and orange hues
The moist morning dew
The birds chirping to
My dark moods
Lessen, no lesson required
Just naturally inspired
Till I hit the pillow

I'm tired of having to
make allowances
for other’s attitude,
excusing their abuse
of me because
I'm nice and accepting
while not expecting
reciprocation of said treatment.

It is the melancholy
of stares lost in thought
of empty chairs
that we forgot
to dust off.

It is the place
where we become
strangers from
the homes we
come from

where shadows flicker
quicker then the stiffer
bodies that fall

and we mourn them all
each with their own degree
of wet or silent grief.

It is silence
all pale pallor and deathly
waiting patiently
to take you and me

while our loved ones
are finally left
to feel the grief
that we now
feel for thee

No lie can live forever
Cause liars always die
Leaving the next generation
To waddle slowly to the truth
Letting honest hearts free to fly high

By god’s grace
We save face
Displace
Rationality
Restore banality
Drive out
Our potential
To become stagnant
A waste of
The human collective
Which could be
Working towards
A brighter future
From this dark
History

Unafraid,
she makes
red braids
wrapping
death
around her
soft wrist.

Her pliable
flesh
screams
fresh
mercies.

Inside
the porcelain
prism
pain
is no longer
her prison.
Life
is no longer
her poison.

Once crushed
life’s fluid
is now
a stagnant wine
that drips down
her limber vine.

For all that abused
drank her dry
felt her up and used
all the tears in her life
she is now
an empty wineskin
with no more life
to hold in.

Death was hers
and she told him
where and when
they would be
meeting.
It was
the only game
she was capable
of winning.

No note,
no warning call,
no shot off the port
From a cannonball;
She just dove
headfirst into
the dark black that
will eventually
claim you to.

Tis a fury that spurs me
to heights beyond
this herd of sheep.

It is my arrogance in knowing
that gift I have been showing
should be recognized
by my peers
to whom I am barely
peripheral scenery.

The well of anger
swells in danger,
giving me dark pleasures,
pushing me to be better,
while lesser
beings sleepwalk
through their daylight scenes.

It seems
that no one really wants
a unique human being
at least not in my vicinity.
They prefer the obscenity
of a banal mind.

So, the theological,
and astrological,
tarot reading,
flat earth breeding,
pollutant seeding,
masses turn me seething.
Till, red froth
fills my good nature.

I push on,
continuing in curiosity
to see how far
poetical philosophy
will carry me.
Hopefully it will be
to my grave
and years beyond
in literary acclaim.

But, I think most likely
like the lite night breeze
both me and my work
will die alone in the dark,
cold, and unnamed.

Little boy who runs away
Know the truth of pain
Better the most

The young mom
Starving
Struggling to make ends meet
Dealing with
A bureaucracy
That hates what it made her into
So it punishes her
For their failing policies
And she sees
Her family in poverty
Discarded
By the ignorant hearted

How many times
Can you arrest a man
For existing
Because that is
The only crime
He was committing
Because he could not
Predict which way
Your whims and quota
Will send him

How many spouses
Can you detach from
The ones you claim
Are the victims
Of foreign systems
So you keep some
And split them
Take her and send him
Back to where
He they both came from

The writer sees
The reader hears
The person feels
But the republican
Forget to be human
The democrat
Sits back
And distorts facts
Claiming that they
Will help those
Who needed the most
But the money flows
From the rich to the politician
And back around again
That’s a revolving door

This country was founded
By the wealthy for the wealthy
And does not cede the power
Does not tell the truth
Pay fair wages by the hours
Only consumes those who do
Taking the fair minded
And turning them towards
Business dreams
And get rich quick
Lottery dreams

And if I had the power
To change the world
If they suspected
That I really could
They would try
To buy me out
****** or discredit me
Luckily they don’t read
As much as me
Or a single thing from me
So I am free to tell the truth

It is for the loss of me
that my heart grieves.
As memories leave,
the memory tree
loses her leaves.

Inch by inch
The pathways disappear.
Dirt roads are lost.
Playgrounds are swallowed.
Each home crumbles.

Friends faces lose their solid edges.
Hugs lose their tenderness.
Family becomes unfamiliar.

Till, like the worse sculptor ever
Time chips away.
The marble becomes unrecognizable
And even the man in the mirror
Is a stranger.

Nine to eleven years
dedicated,
frustrated,
overworked,
but loyal,
put time in
at the expense
of family and friends.

Events missed,
but work required
you push yourself.
Till, your stressed,
and oh so tired.
That is the job,
and for every year in
you might get a raise
and some time for vacation.

Forty to eighty plus hours a week;
Eyes blur as you swerve
driving home.

Thud, thud, thud, thud,

The safety treads save the day.
You make it home ok,
kiss your kids goodnight,
and your gone before
they head off to school.

Nine to eleven years
but after the buyout,
I mean after the merger
the main office is moved
and you are let go.

In the holy pursuit
of capitalistic growth
business is righteous.
The free market is god.
Now you have no job
And you find loyalty means squat.

I wonder
will my words
reveal
the truth
of how I feel
or felt.

I remember
myself
curled in a
a curving
form
when I
was very
young
and going
to sleep.

Knee
collapsing
into my
stomach,
hands
around
my knees,
as if
I was a
rolly polly
worm
or a child
who was trying
to remain
unseen.

Why did I
compact myself
in such a
manner?

All that he wants is a sign,
saying that he’s headed
in the right direction.

Instead, what he finds
is a cold ghost town
waiting for his inspection.

He is in a hurry
with no clue why
rolling heavy footed
down a highway
fifty-five.

All he really
wants to know
is that there is
something perfect
past his bookish
existence.

Hand in a holey pocket
searching for a broken locket
knowing that he lost it
and there is no way to be
forgiven for this stupidity.

Other people may learn
but he is driven to
run too many risks.

Till, the car twists
tumbles, hits solid bricks,
and he never wakes up,
cause he missed
the caution signs
saying slow down.
at wintertime.

Do not wait for me.
As troubling as it may seem
I babble on
breaking brooks
in my stone laden
dreams.

Do not stop
or slow a step behind.
Please proceed.
I hope you find
the peace of mind
that eludes me.

Do not carry me
when I fall.
For I am far to broken
and each shard
of my being
is a dangerous thing
made of
silver and sterling
nighttime daydreams.

Do not worry,
I was in no hurry.
While you rushed into
the death you thought you knew
I stayed behind
to enjoy this time of mine.

Do not look back.
Fear finds its own facts
and sadly I lack
that spark which knows eternity.
Unfortunately, there is only me
here in the moment
on my mud rock
that pirouettes space.

Do not stop.
Go on and rush to death
because heaven or hell
awaits your final breath.
I don’t mind
keeping my heaven and hell here.
Whilst you wither and disappear
I’ll enjoy the crystal clear
running water,
the clean skies,
the beautiful animals
that you cannot take with you
when you die.

Do not worry one bit.
I got this.
Just go on my dear
I’ll rest right here
because this is such
a sweet and wonderful
but one time only life.

They split
the splendor,
hurt mother nature,
grabbed and slaughtered
her bright red, and green
bedded daughter.

They cut down
the tall brown,
broke with burning blasts
the bulging bottom
of the beige mountains
that were snowcapped.

They painted in plain mortality,
stained that verdant quality
of waving grasslands
that expands
before the curious swarm
of a young humanity.

They cracked the crust
beneath us
causing the gas
to come rushing up
and poison us.

So, now we weep
salty sea tears
tainted by oil spills
and dead otter bodies.

Till, at last
when all those
tragedies have passed
when stillness reigns
in our place
we are disgraced
and displaced
by our self-inflicted
genocide.

I wasn’t there
but I can recall
all of those
wonderful tunes,
sharp melodies of pain,
songs that ranged
from fruits that would hang
beautiful and strange
to “A Change is Gonna Come.”

Now we back that *** up
and we gotta go get some,
No more “Seasons in the Sun,”
no more “Peace Train.”
For the people who get ready
we got cheap celebrities
like the Kardashians.

I can’t find the bards
Or lyrical philosophers.
Where are the strangers
holding each other’s hands
and singing we shall overcome?
No more street pounding struggling
to make people see the inhumanity
because the music paints
separate realities for everyone
who want to get theirs,
like life is a zero-sum gain
were for someone to win
someone else has to lose the game.

You are wounded
and when you heal
You will still feel
The pain
The scar will still
Be there
A crest upon your flesh
But you will still
Be beautiful

Oh no,
the center
will hold
just fine.
It is
the rest of us
on the outside
that will
spin out
of control.

If it is a race, then the pace of one set of clouds out does the ones that float above lazily. Smokey dragons cut across Odin’s one good godly eye. The night pursues its cold cool wind muse,
and I cannot lose, because I use this muse so well. I walk the building corner to brick corner unwilling to enter the unyielding nightmare hallways. I do not wish to walk in the white hollow echo chambers, alone and uninspired while the night spirals in lunar delight. I postpone it as long as I can, walking the yellow concrete corners like they are tight high wire. I swerve and struggle to maintain my perfect position, for fear of falling into the black top lava pit. The inside world waits for me like a ravenous beast. Please oh please do not force me to leave the light breeze that brushes my skin gently. Glass and metal doors see me swallowed whole. I did not want to go but now I know this white washed world will be my graveyard fantasy. The red buds on the tree beckon me, but I cannot go back out. The musical clank of metal clips that hang the flags summons me beyond the security doors with their dangerous whipping movements, but I am not allow to explore such freedom. The strangers of varying degrees, shapes, weights, skin tints, hair, and teeth beckons me to question their history. I cannot go out there to the fantastic. No that is a lie. I could if I tried, but I chose to hide in a secure hourly wage paid life. I could leave and let my wanderlust take me where it will. I could go back to Pleasantville, Champaign, Williamsville, Pontiac, Mt. Vernon, and Danville, then go see places I have never been. I could give in to the seductive siren call of landscapes unseen, sounds unheard, and strangers not yet met. Instead I sign my time sheet, walk and repeat, securing nothing. I drive home tired and come back and repeat that as well. I accept the mundane. It is a part of the price I pay for a slice of peace.

My heart does not know
nationalities.
It only sees
children suffering,
refugees
running.
They are people that could be
different versions of me.

My anger sees deceit
but softens to the struggle
of a familial ******.
He tries to climb in my window
while I sleep.
I rage
but when he struggles to be better,
my anger subsides.
Sympathy overrides
good sense.
I do not trust him
because
he has stolen from me before,
but it is cold outside,
so I let him camp out
on a cot in my house,
on my living room floor.

My sadness sees
human beings like me
being taken in by a republican
corporate shill.
At the same time
my democrats
can’t see how fat cats
hold the leash
of their party people.
So gladiators fight it out
while businessmen make out
better than the land barons
of yester year.

My hope sees
subtle shifts,
slight variations
of people with
noble intent
periscopes down,
heads up,
they march for a better world.

My cynicism sees
my own stupidity
and laziness.
It sees a world ablaze
that will not change.
So I write it out
and go to bed
letting better men
then me
struggle to set us free.

My dreams see?

Your pride
comes from
your nationalism,
your patriotism,
rage and dissatisfaction.
You pass each moment
stewing, colluding
with each new oppressor  
in the name of solidarity

Spewing slogans and
other simple statements
oaths and weak ideas
you build a fascist nation
and wonder how you ever got here.

Out in time
to see the last bits of sunshine
as I walk to work.

The moon is just this side
of stained teeth yellow
but after the night clouds clear
the white light face reappears.

A dark blue or black car
slowly drives through
like it is stalking me.
So, I move on as quickly
and quietly
as my anxiety
and feet allow me.

Thin dry brown vines
wrap around the black fence,
while the lite green
slowly dehydrating
leaves
line up on a broken tree limb
ready to fall
for the seasonal crumbling.

A ***** brown bearded stranger
lays in the doorway
perhaps he is
too tired to worry about the danger
or he is too drunk to stay awake.
His head rests on a white garbage bag
with indiscernible contents.

In an open-air café
two people talk
the night away
while a stranger sits
nondescript
on a black bench.
The patrons leave a tip
but the stranger grabs it
and swiftly walks away.

Strangers hold hands
and walk.
Stranger stare in the distance
and talk
on their cellphones.
Strangers do not make eye contact
but it is their silent plea
for some humanity
that makes me smile
and greet them politely.

Until, the night leads me
to where I work security,
an overnight shift
perfectly fitting to
my desire to be alone.

These are strange messages,
in a sweet and deep
conversation;

Thoughts I speak
from fingertips
to myself,
and maybe
someone else,
as I dance
in and out of
other peoples
perspective,

aware that I
cannot connect
a hundred percent
to them
but I can get closer
then most others
ever get.

This comes from
a lifetime
of listening
and reading.

I find wonder in the warmth
of human connections.
They lessen
the coldness
of this
dark reality.

Which is why
it helps me
to see
strangers
happy in love
no matter what
their orientation
may be.

We build a brick furnace
to harness
desire's fire,
raise up a spire
to inspire
other people's
urgent desires.
Then with the right wind
we walk in
and really start burning.

I wear a costume
of poorly executed
ink artistry
that could barely
be called calligraphy.

Claiming to be
a culture rebel
I write poetry
to challenge
this society;

But is my nonconformity
the camouflage that
I use to protect myself
sticking out at a safe distance
so no one tries to get
to closed to me.

Am I a zoo animal
of sweet entertaining intentions
on the verge of extinction
cause no one loves
my kind of disposition?

Everyone knows
we are a bunch of
blustering bluffing
posturing buffoons
who cower callously
ignoring our own
broken humanity

She put a gray billboard tac
in her black backpack
then dropped a half lit ***
in her light brown knapsack.

I think I found that
this was just
her push to finish
her painfully persistent,
pessimistic
mortal existence,
Of subtle social cues,
and false acts of tact
that do more to confuse
then to communicate facts;

Making us strange strangers
that represent two tiers
of tearful danger.

There is malintent
maliciousness
by a maleficent
monster of a man.

Long ago destruction
became the landscape.
Bullet and bomb holes
punctured the earth.

Though once a field
of fetid forms
filthy with decay
where all the bodies laid
now there is no more smoke.
Here sweet roses grow.

Instead, there are new
war wounds.
Violence blooms.
Each day new battles loom
one man wears down
one woman’s defenses.

For what it’s worth
her heart hurts worse.
Her skin was swollen
and very bruised.
Despite the truth
and her trust issues
she tried to stay
and weather his
horrible ways.

Until, one day
her face collapsed
under his furious force,
and her body went limp
as life divorced,
soul torn from flesh.

Dr. Cornell West.
is not a retreater,
but a bright spirit freer,
a spectacular speaker.
His vernacular is sweeter
than any lazy deceiver.

It is a solid ache
Harder then
The chest tightening
Cardiac devastation

Hands shake
While I wait
For the world
To catch up to
My kind of love

Tears fall
Unless I distract myself
The cemetery
Holds more like minds
Than I ever find
In these times

I am alone in a sea
Of self-satisfied idiots
Who think the idiot is me

Muscles melt
Legs bend
Minds tend
Towards fantasies

Chants and prayers
Inaction in subservience
While they let the madness go on
But I am wrong

A child starves
They pray
A war goes on
They pray
Rug burns
And sore *****
Bent over
Waiting for an answer
That never comes
But I am the *******

The rose melts
Painted crimson
In fairytales
Of wonderland

The sun departs
Vacating its hydrogen heart
Leaving me with
Only its darker parts

Cascades of liquid
The coagulating kind
Float inside
My troubled mind

Thus, I wonder
While my fingers tap
Beat for heart
Equal to the first
As it will be the last
Will I ever live to see
Such madness pass

You may drink
To obscure your pain
Play videos games
Chat on Facebook
Immerse yourself
In other social media
Watch movies, TV
And YouTube videos
Chasing novelty

Going after
That consumer high
From the merchandise
You buy

But in time
The silence will find you
And the anguish you were blind to
Will consume you to

Till, the pharmaceutical companies own you
Because you have to
Take so many anti-depressants
Just to get through
One more day

There is nobility in humility,
but discipline and persistence
has its value in this resistance
and I am always seeking
that self-improving
human empathy moving
kind of thing.

I let my dreams hurt me,
helped hope hang me out to dry.
I watch the world go crazy
and sometimes I wanted to die.
Still, in the morning
just before I remember my life
I get a glimpse of hope
and the irony of it all
makes me laugh.

Once I was
a carefree breed
uncowed you see
by my society,

but I as I gained
sweet security
measured by
materiel wealth’s
so called maturity

the fear of losing
what little I had
confounded and
controlled me.

Once, I would have
given my last dollar
to any stranger
who was hungry,

I would have stopped
to comfort with kind words
anyone who seemed
bothered,

and whether going to
or coming home from work
I would have stopped
to help a stranded stranger.

Now, even though,
I know
these people
pose no danger
I do not stop
nor part
with any pennies.

Instead, I rush to work
and to the gym
to make money
and muscles
in hopes of
fitting in
by looking
buff but still
trim,
working towards
that **** thin.

Nose to the grindstone
focused on the job
and all the stresses
like keeping well dressed
and keeping my car running,

the once
kind carefree fellow
I used to be
becomes corrupt
by my insecurity
in the pursuit of
stability.

We do not need to impose order on choas. There is poetry in uncertianty. To adapt survive and thrive through natural selection is a miraculous thing. Evolution should not be feared but celebrated and appreciated.

The time is eleven oh eight
The clock counts
The end of shift
To tick tocking far away
Nervous tongue
That splits the tip
Restrained to the point of pain
Fear that some vain *******
Who feigns righteous outrage
Will take away
That which enslaves
With meager wages
And the fool
Will not have the tools
To maintain this vain
Footrace
Slipping off
That track that
He hates
But believes
Is the only real way
To exist

My quick wit
put me on her
stupid hit list,
but her hitmen
took their best shots
and missed again.

She is dangerous
with the deepest
conceit,
smiling naughtily
in my dreams,
as she laughs
“I would ****
with me
if I were you.”

I agree.
Chasing her rainbow dress
across the cold froth
that rushes the sandy beach,
longing for the treasure
that lies somewhere underneath
her pink *******
that the wind keeps
flashing me.

Tis a strange outlet for my unrelenting desire to write and be read, but here on hello poetry I know there a few people who will read my writing and that gives me the grandest pleasure I have ever known in my life. Maybe one day millions will read my words and find inspiration but right now I am grateful for what I get.

She took my corpse soul
Bone dry and empty inside
Blood soaked scythe
That painted the night sky
With hopes for an ending
Soul spending in spinning
Atomic energy on the demon in me
She rose to see my flesh form
Finally feel and bleed
From the deeper need
I was regenerated and reinvigorated
Just in time to cross loves line
And have her turn loves laughter
Into lover’s lament

The rockets flare fast.
Multi-colored explosions
spread across the night sky
while I
sit alone and stew.

I am alone
suffering in silence
succumbing to
the sovereignty
of my loneliness.

There is a woman
who hurts my heart,
a smile and voice
that presses my sanity
from the inside out
like a tube of toothpaste.

She has a family
and I have spent
thirty-seven years alone.

One taste of domestic tranquility
has enslaved me
made me want to be
her partner for eternity,

But sadly
I am not the one
she longs to see
and it breaks me.

Like all things
this will pass
but right now
it hurts to be alone.

When society is crumbling,
and you start mumbling,
angry ogre type grumbling,
whilst you walk a little stumbling,
let me tell you just one thing
you got a friend in me.

What is holy to you
is something I view
as almost see through,
full of obvious holes
that you should be able to
navigate through
and find the other side
of what is right.

I am just this side of
the lunar light
lying naked
open to display this
broken vessel.

My sanity
should be questioned
as I am questing
for the truth in art
for the part of my heart
that is made to
blow up and bleed
all over the
white screen.

I am sinking
and self-elevating
at the same time,
a caffeine fiend
and barely seen
best friend
to humanity
who works
behind the
behind the scenes.

My mind is moved to distractions
but loathed to take action
as I sit and ponder
that which all humans squander.
Till the ticking beast
finally beats me.

Introverted, with frantic outbursts
of playful manic energy,
unlike Freddie Mercury
I am not going slightly mad.
I am already way up
that particular banana tree.

It is the soul of the night that devours me. Hours spent in silence frightens, enlightens, and bores me. Nature spins in all her soft cool glory. Little pools of water lit by lamplights. Cold fences swing in and out in time to the shifting masses of shift workers. Trucks come and go at random intervals. I am tired, so deep in the fatigue that I require crippling amounts of caffeine. I am a stimulant fiend. Barely functioning as me, more like a specter of me. I watch the world from my comfy shack, letting it spin me back. Dipping in the solace of solitude, I search the universe for truth. Eyes cast everywhere, mind running wild, I ask the night for answers. Its silence says, find it yourself.