she shut the pasts door
she shut the future door
she shut the present door
she shut out the voices
she stepped over, on the floor
she shut the bedroom door
she shut the downstairs door
she shut the car door
she shut the garage door
all doors closed
a midnight open road
with a tank full of gas
*it's her time to roam

When repeating from an unknown source, it is still respectful to say
"These aren't my words"
of course, just borrowed thoughts

This Drink is for You!

Here's to the groovers, the movers and the shakers
Here's to the players, the haters and the takers
Here's to the quiet, the shy, the romancers
Here's to the boisterous, the
energetic, the dancers
Here's to the last, the second,
the first
Here's to the notion you can quench a thirst
Here's to the different, the unique
the one of a kind
Here's to the offensive, the defensive and
the one of same mind
Here's to you all!
Don't colour your world
blue!
This drink raised...
It's for you!

You don't give it?
Why should you ever?
When has a rats backside
warranted your time?
Like...
           *Never

He stood in the open doorway, watching her. She stood before the window, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, her shoulders slumped with an agony that just would not let go. Her face, a mask of misery, glowed back at her. She slowly raised her hand, to trace a single raindrop rolling down the glass.
He realised, as the sun shone brilliant outside, she could only trace her reflected pain.

I don't believe in God
I'm sorry
I'm not actually apologising
for the fact it's just what I've been conditioned
to say by society

Sorry?

Don't get me wrong
I was shackled as a child
to Sunday school after Chuch
and my informative
young woman years were left dead
by Girls Brigade
didn't make me less wild

Mother was Presbyterian
Father was Methodist
(You don't think I was messed up by this?)
Christened as Chuch of England
Raised as a Baptist
I think, all of the above
fall under 'Christianity'
but I'm not sure of this

So many secular emotions
under one umbrella
I'd bet, someone's gonna get wet

Then there is Islam and Hinduism
Sikhism and Judeaism
and spiritual beliefs like
Bhuddism and Druidism

How do all those different Gods compete
for our favour? To get us to lay down
as followers, to be the mat for their precious feet?
It would have to be a pretty mean feat!
I imagine them as Gladiators
fighting for the right for the masses to cheer
Winner takes all but, Losers get the non believers

What do you think the Ancient Gods
think of their petty squabbling?
The Eygyptians, the Greeks?
who simply stated humans
were to worship them religiously
and it was done, because they can
They seemed more fierce to me
sitting on Mt Olympus and coming down
occasionally, at least they had a face
What's been touted today to the human race?

I don't know enough about Religion
to make choice or want to learn
I married a Roman Catholic
that opened a whole new can  of worms
An Irish Roman Catholic
Yeah, I see you nodding your heads
Suicidal, I think is the term

So I decided my children would not
be burdened by my religious ineptitude
They can choose their own beliefs
for I surely won't intrude
on their individual right to make
a decision based on their own feelings
I know I'm probably wrong, I just want
them to believe in something
Anything that makes their day better,
that helps them sleep at night
I won't choose their religion for them
I don't think that's right

I once sewed into your pocket
all the hopes and dreams
I wanted one day, for you
inside of those seams
were wishes
for your happiness
hopes for a better future
and a line of text
that can only be read
as you put hand in pocket
and pull it inside out
and it said
remember this empty pocket
it was once full of hope
pulled from the warmth
of a jacket, it represents
the slippery *****
of coldness
that you once shivered beneath

inside the empty pocket
of the warmth of this coat
is all the love I hope you'll keep

First line says it all
Second line says more
Third line is a little different
Forth line makes you sure

Fifth line takes you places
Sixth line has never seen
Seventh line is hasty
Eight line is a little obscene

Ninth line grasps the tone of Eight
Tenth line will make you blush
Eleventh line will stop and pause
Twelfth line will fall into the hush

There may be a thirteenth
or fourteenth or fifteenth line
a sixteenth or seventeenth
that might have left you blind

An eighteenth line that made you yawn
A nineteenth that made you smile
A twentieth that made you stop
reading for a while

A twenty first or twenty second
that commanded you go back
to the start

Or a twenty third and
twenty forth line
was what grabbed your heart

The twenty fifth line
undid all your beliefs
The twenty six line
walked down old streets

The twenty seventh and twenty eighth
crossed paths that were parallel
The twenty ninth and thirtieth line
knows stories it will never tell

Yet only the first line is read
the last line is the lie
that forces all the other lines
to just sit idly by

On this day I held your hand
as you took your last breath
as the darkness claimed your life
I sunk within its depth
I followed you into the darkness
for I could not let you go
You let me come for a time
then you told me as it is so
That I must remain behind
I could not follow you
as I howled inside the pain
you whispered words so true
All that I have taught you
are all the things I hold dear
All the things I imparted to you
are all the reasons you can’t stay near
In a few short weeks you will be 72
but numbers have no meaning
There is no reason to the years gone by
Time can be so fleeting
So I raise my glass to you, My Daddy
as time will never tell
If you found your own piece of Heaven
while I struggle through my own Hell

it's not a question that needs to be asked everyday, it's more an observation, something that can be noted in general conversation
if when at work, where you spend a third of your life, the person that sits next to you hasn't spoken a word of their life, in three days, maybe just reach out with an
R U Okay?
because that person that sits next to you and shares a third of your life may be mute with terror of the strife that manifests in their life.
those that need to talk aren't just sitting atop a bridge or standing on a ledge or scouting crossbeams for their ropes or holding a gun to their head.
they're the ones that hide inside themselves, not sharing their day with others they are around, in most significant ways, shut down against those that share a common path everyday, but never once asked
R U Okay?
it's okay to be bogged down by your own outside influences and it's okay to be all upside in your own head but it won't be okay if you sit in the back of a funeral where you ask yourself if you should have asked if they were Okay instead.

do you know what it's like to be the only sane person to live inside insanity? To know that your world is not tricked out by delusions or illusions of normality? do you know what it's like to awake to cries in the night, waking with a heart pounding, dry throat, wretched hope knowing that your throat is unaffected but you lie next to the displaced, affected in their nightmare and all you have is two arms to hold them tight and one heartbeat to place beneath their ear giving them a semblance of life? do you know what it's like to know reality and wanting to wish someone normal only to realise that your normal could be more damaging to a mind that broke at the apex of their life? those of us who think we are sane as we hold the hand of those that have been proven into insanity are more broken, as we look into the mirror suspended above the vanity that leaks with a faulty faucet, we picture ourselves as saviours, but let's face it, we're as faulty as the hand we hold, as the tears we dry, as the tormented screams we hear as they cry except, we are the Sane, the undiagnosed saviours of the souls that we love, we just find it easier to hide our pain

I feel the itch,
I try not scratch
scratches can heal themselves
cuts are not the answer
especially cuts made
by someone else

picking at the scabs
only creates a scar
now I only wonder
briefly
where you are

pick, pick, pick
scratch, scratch, scratch

you're just a memory
of an unwelcome rash

I run my hands
upon my skin
and try to exorcise
foreign anomalies

That would be
the traces of
your fingertips
which I continue
to feel upon me

pick, pick, pick
scratch, scratch, scratch

you're just a scar, upon my skin

I wish you were just a memory

ain't nothing worth this ****!

we all know it's all
toughness and darkness
We'll get through this
she'll be right mate
but it ain't pretty, or sweet
We are just dirt beneath feet
that walk upon us, not noticing
the exhaled breath from us
pushed out by trampling masses
trying to find the Finish line
You may want to own it
but I'll never claim it as mine!
I'll stand holding the ribbon
that drops at your feet
but, Sorry you didn't come First
that is reserved for the ones
who were trampled beneath
your over eager heartbeat
***** this life, if it's just a race
don't ever make eye contact
with a sad face, their tears
may make you cry
their empathy will never run dry
but you will never understand
why moisture leaks from your eyes
here is some recycled paper
just dry your stupid sigh
I care not for your fake tears
***** this life if you sympathise
with your false fears
Turn about your unconnected, dysfunctional
HEART, your repetitious apologies
are smart, but unlikely to change my mind

**** it all and
***** This Lifetime
if we are just going to dance
to the pretend music of,
Yours or Mine
issues that are
neither of ours, to begin!
I refuse to hold onto the ribbon
any longer...

*You Win

It’s bad enough I’m just known as
that squiggly piece of the alphabet
but what’s worse are the jokes of
Why the long face Kevin?
Those are the times when I wish
I could give as good as I get
it's not as bad as facing the guys
with bloated stomach and ***
and have the amoebas ribbing me
incessantly
****** single celled creatures
They have an idea, but they can’t guess
Poseidon take you Janet!
for leaving me in such a mess!
You take all of me without leaving
just a single ounce of pleasure
and I’m left birthing
your demon spawn
You were just a mistress Seahorse
in disguise weren’t you?
I’m no longer an oddity
now I’m something less
*Seahorse blues
a male in distress

you’ll never feel the bite of pain
that tears the skin from bone
nor the aching loneliness that
scares the heart from home
the absoluteness that leaves a hole
where nothing is able to hide
while driven by the loathing
birthing a life to the love inside
no matter what the circumstance
you can’t negate the absolute horror
of wanting what is begged for
there is no returning the honor
I’ll whip my self unmercifully
until the end of a perfect day
even while you subjugate me
my scars upon myself just say
how much you intended to deny me
all twisted parts upon me are a whole
crisscrossed upon my body are the marks
that give you access to my soul

I cry into buttercups
where bees sip
their latest sup
I rage in rivers
that are just sand beds
sitting cross legged
watching my skipping stone
just sitting, it hasn't skipped
as I sit and beg
for it to move
I watch the Moon
cross a starless sky
and I cry, I cry
for it to touch it's angel
For should the Moon
ever meet the Sun
the Earth would rejoice
and a love would be caught
but, alas
the Moon never seems
to catch the Suns eye
even sitting in the sky
in daylight, waiting, waiting
for the time to be right
I cast a penny into the fountain
my wish drowned, just like the last
I scaled opposition like a mountain
breathing ghosts from within my past
I kissed a girl and made her cry
I kissed a woman, she liked it
I kissed a man I thought I could love
I kissed a child, a product, despite it
Sitting at the crossroads
simply playing my own tune
I'm sitting here, solo
hoping that someone tunes in soon
Love!
It's just a memory, skipping stones
and moonlit walks
Love thyself in all thy forms
Self love
walks the talk

At the end of seven minutes
What will remain?
Hopefully not
an empty page
I'll test these glorious minutes
as if the end if my soul
is nigh
and try
To live to the fullest
I leave with a dry eye
an burbling well
of unused thoughts
a special little piece
of me
That I never thought
I could wrap with any sort
of decorum
Leaving it under the seat
of a well trafficked forum
Just a little surprise
to light someone's eyes
Just a tiny thought
plucked from so many
*Desire the world
claim your own little part
insider your heart
and never let any
deny your pleasure
For what we all treasure
is something that lives
inside us that is our very own
Our own little piece of the world
Where we can be some one

she sat
with her back
against
the closed door
but mostly
she laid
upon the floor,
tracing patterns
upon the wood,
whispering wishes
to the choking
dust
knowing she could
just weave a
dreamcatcher
from ****** hair
ripped from
the scalp
or draw an SOS
in the dancing
dust motes
in a silent scream
for help
then she stood,
lightly rapping
upon the door
asking if there
was anything
more
she could do
might do
or say?
When the
demons
screamed
once again
She could do
no other
but
walk away

So many times, she had fallen down
as each blow sent her to the ground
She swallowed the blood from her lips
while mentally tallying her chips

As each verbal knife serrated her heart
she managed to save just a small part
and tucked it away beneath her soul
knowing it was needed to make her whole

She kissed lips that poisoned her mind
digging fingernails into hips not so kind
Alternating between Heaven and Hell
the music changed, and she could tell

By the slow cadance of a sultry beat
and the true meaning of passions heat
she took steps that were just a chance
She finally learnt she knew how to dance

She sits upon a single stool
in the middle of the kitchen
Gazing upon congealed food
and hopes she is forgiven
for gazing upon the knife block
wishing every living thing dead
She doesn't have a problem
cleaning up the blood of others
but, what goes on in her head
Is her hatred for violence
Her absolute despise of distrust
Her almost implacable resolve
to make it dead, if she must
She abhors the deadly whispers
that critiques her daily choices
She sits alone upon a stool
trying hard to ignore the voices

Once it was a place of sorrow
where bathing came from hot tears
warmth barely came from Tomorrow
little thought was give to more years

Where eating was swallowing a truth
that was just sawdust coated in lies
Mirrors simply reflected angry youth
all seen through drug clouded eyes

Upon a bed of razor sharp intentions
She painted a heart upon her chest
from the blood that flowed in rivulets
in the indentations of her weakness
She sighed that she did her best

She found herself upon silvery shores
under an incandescent Sun
hoping that she had evaded the laws
condemning her for what she had done

Head thrown back in a field of dreams
Serenity in her tumultuous gaze
Lips curved gently against the screams
so much clarity in a languid daze

She gently caressed coloured flowers
with hands that had never sought to protect
from the constantly brutal storm showers
that raged when she failed to connect

Where once there was only rain
all she could now feel was dry
Where once she was warped by pain
utter tranquility she could not deny

She rebuilt herself in a different place
in a skin that was as hardened as stone
Where her demons could find no trace
far away from all she had known

the note would fall out of a book
published for her one true love
rarely ever opened,
hardly ever looked at
by the one she writes of....

the note was quite verbose
and spoken in the first verse

I never loved anyone last
You were forever my first.
So here shall sit this broken letter
trying to explain a tapestry past,
crazy stitched upon cheap fabric
bleeding upon the broken glass
that litters our yesteryear
which I continually crawl upon,
every word whispered on my body
beats a rhythm of our song.
Soul deep and penetrating
bleeding notes that lull like crack
and when the sweet torture
splits your veins apart,
there is nothing you'd take back.
So grant me this peace in misery,
read the words of the book
where you find the note
because I wonder how long
it would take you to find it,
I feel it should have been
the first place you looked

He never found the note
because he left the book closed.
Yet he continues to cut her
a single rose, from the bush
she planted years ago,
because he thinks
it will bring her back
If he'd only opened the book
he'd know that,
*She really said Good-bye

golden beaches and apple martinis
waving palms glanced across the sun
turquoise waves stroked white sand
while she giggled at dolphins having
fun, dancing in the ocean, anticipating
the motion of the lithe body that moved
towards her from the east, silhouetted
against black silk. He moved toward her
with ease....
She walks out into the winters day and
forgets her gloves and hat and how to play
snow surrounds her non sequential to her
daydream but if stops to put on the extra layers
acknowledgement will bring forth her scream

*She's happy in the Sun

I only closed my eyes for a second

The death forest surrounds me.
Ghostly white trees mocking me in their silence
Woven bleached bones of all the fallen
bound together, glowing under a pale full moon
Empty eye sockets peering at me
as I weave in and out of their grasp
Inside the mist, stumbling without guidance

There’s an old man, sitting in one of the trees
laughing at the insanity but oddly distressed,
smiling at me. Cackling with glee but weeping
as he reaches out to touch my hair and sweep it
behind one ear. It’s comforting in it’s creepiness

He’s whispering to me in a smoke scratched voice
Comfort is as comfort does
Redemption is not at the foot of a hill
Catch a tiger by the tail
and it’s your blood that will spill
All I can hear is booming laughter
that shake the leaves of the bone dead trees
and as I watch them fall to the ground and turn to ash
I realize the old man never even opened his mouth

Then it’s all gone*

I’m back to sitting in front of a stone cold hearth
ripping pages from the book of my mind
and watching my Memories feed the fire
as I poke it with a red hot piece of steel
It was all the fodder for the fire I could find
Sipping from the crystal goblet filled to the brim
with Lies mixed with Deceit with a slice of lemon
and a dash of Arsenic just for a kick
The fire casts prisms of light bouncing from the crystal
onto bare walls to show a slow waltz of torture
that bleeds down the bricks in sinking desperation
A rainbow of colors from a ***** oil slick

Every day, the cracks in the sidewalk
draw my gaze, because, not because
I'm afraid of stepping on them
but because I'm afraid of tripping
The cracks themselves, in terms
of wishes don't bother me
I won't ever break my Mummas back
It's how they seem to raise above
the norm of a flat surface to navigate
Trying to make this idiotic body
fall, just sprawl lifelessly, is the crack
But I am born of more studiousness
I don't want to look up from pavement
into laughing faces, amidst concern
gasping with feigned indifference
I want to fill each crack with perfection
from my heel, from my fingertips, clawing
away the empty earth that filters between
and settles, hidden beneath crust and dirt
I want to open the crack to study it's girth
to reveal what it hides, unseen
If there are worlds yet undiscovered
they are hiding in the cracks of the
Sidewalk of Life
Stumbled upon by one who wants to dig
and get their hands *****, on their knees
because they fell, laughing on the way down

Where are all the carnival rides
The Ferris wheel with bright lights
The fairy floss and cherry cokes
and the warm sultry nights
The call of the racketeer
encouraging all to take a chance
Where's the monkey you carried
just so we could hold hands

Where are all the park benches
that used to ring the pond
Where are the acres of green grass
where we sat as you sang me our song

and where have all the ducks gone?

Where has gone the soda shop,
the big band dance halls
and the local Ihop?

There stands the apartment block
where our little house once stood
Where have all the children gone
that we once watched from the stoop

Where are the endless games
of hide and seek and peek a boo
Where's the night gone, the fires out
Where is the heartbeat of our intimacy we shared in our bedroom?

Its all there in the asbestos ceiling
and in the plaster that is cracked
it crinkles beneath fingers
of cold cotton bed sheets
sterile of comfort and it lacks
the vibrancy of emotions
from another lifetime
Laying still, awaiting the ground
It drifts like fog in an ageing mind

in an empty river
your rocks
barely cause
a ripple

She speaks in whispers
nobody knows why
but she lies

She thinks in actions
others don't understand
but she can

Captured demons bleed
minus their razored wings
but she sings

There she lies, battered
cracked and broken
No. Words. Spoken

Her demons stand sentinel
over her ****** sacrifice
but
      she
            holds

**the knife

Opposed
September 03, 2014 Daily Poem

Locking Lips

"I swear when our lips touch,
I can taste the next
sixty years of my life"

Above is an excerpt from Rudy Francisco's Love Poem Medley

http://lit.genius.com/Rudy-francisco-love-poem-medley-annotated

I highly doubt Opposed is Rudy Francisco... The poem of the day today did not acknowledge the original writer or poem only stated in the notes
"Thank you for selecting this as the daily poem! :)"**

It's ok to seek the elusive 15 minutes of fame as long as it's YOUR fame to celebrate...

She was like...
that rundown house you thought was empty. With each rock thrown, broken windows let in the cold, until one day, it was finally abandoned.

Sometimes, I remember the good times
but I struggle to remember when times
were good
Sometimes, I remember the bad times
but I can always seem to remember
where I stood
Sometimes, I remember the memories
planted firmly inside my dreams
Sometimes I'm a tightly woven nightmare
Sometimes I'm ripped wide open
at the seams
Sometimes I'm a closed book
Sometimes I'm an open prayer
Sometimes I'm promissory
Sometimes I'm not even there
Sometimes I think that parts of me
should be sold as a sealed section
unwrapped in a place of loneliness
feeding just another's addiction
Sometimes when I lay down at night
I pray to be someone I could be
Sometimes when I lay down at night
I wish there was someone next to me

Someone to hold me
Someone to care
Someone who knows
*Sometimes, I'm there

I'm not always so bitter
or angry
or high...
on life (and other things)
I can be sad
sometimes
There is most assuredly
occasions
that the darkness brings...
I'm sad that MacDonalds
don't serve breakfast past 10
I can get down
when I run out of
alcohol (and cigarettes)
at 2am
A tear or two
have slid down my face
when the mouse
that had it's back legs broken
has escaped from it's trap
and I have to give chase
I've been known
to weep
when the hangover
kicks in
Man, it's prevalence
these days, is rife
That pretty much sums up
nearly everything
that makes me sad
All the rest
is just a byproduct
of Life

Every drip from bleeding pen
will forever drop
into an ocean
of broken hearts and distant shores
drowning hopes and flailing flaws
Every line, a path to cross
detailing every love lost
Every hate turns into crime
presenting as a moment in time
failing are the words
sitting as wingless birds
as Winter settles
upon us under snow clouds
we allow to own us
Our words will ever fail
leaving a faint trail
that allows me to find you
but only if you speak true
Speak to me
so I feel rhythm
give my heart beat a rhyme
break me out of this prison
where words have failed me
I'm done being a prisoner
for committing no crime

And the old habits once that led to good times
are just now old addictions
it wasn't supposed to last
to see another day
now it's fifteen years.
With the scars we bare
the shackles sting
we forged a prison
only to never see past the bars
Empty scenes and the faces
I no longer recall
I'm beyond the edge
welcome to the abyss.
**** the greetings lets just start this
as strangers who have grown all to familiar to the flame.
The story is there I just don't care to recall.

Perhaps because you sit there
at the edge of a fiery pit
casting memories into a flame
that were never legit
mocking the chains that hold me
casting aspersions to the skies
when did you get so close
to Purgatory, held hostage
by others lies?
Unchain me from this misery
how so easy it is to forget
the path taken to Ecstasy
is scarred with arrowed hearts
something more scary than
Lost Love and littered with
bones of Regret
You know the story well
you feed the fire with it's ripped pages

As in wasted lies and tattered pages nothing feeds a fire like a good dose of delusion.
No more do I view the possibilitites, simply count the days and escape further into myself.
Sometimes we find within the depths there are no clear answers .
Sometimes locked within we find just more emptiness and nothing more.

Old tracks and new scars together keep company with stories
I care no longer to tell.
The page as it was before you is as broken as before we met.
Does it all ever truly change or just become as twisted and bitter as I?

Do we wish to re read old stories, those that shattered into glass?
Do we want to tell the same old tales? Should we even try to rehash?
Sitting in the darkness, tracing old scars, feeding the fire from pages
that are not who we really are.
Wishing  we were progeny of those that had it good.
Thinking we are better than most but they misunderstood
that we stand in front of the fire, feeding it pages from our book,
never understanding all the mistakes that we took.
Never understanding that we listen to our conscious as we lay,
never understanding there was a price we had to pay.

We tell old stories out of the same old lies
In seconds and empty barrooms taking comfort in space
and drowning in distance .
We wore this disguise, we no longer can recognize our own reflections .

Sometimes truth is the only thing that keeps us from the destruction
all of it built upon lies .
The tides change, taken to a distant shore only returned like a message in a bottle,
discovered long past our time .

Why weather the storm when we always preferred it’s chaos my dear?
Old wrongs would be far easier if not feeling ever so right .
Sometimes you have to follow a dead-end for the pure hell of knowing.

And in that dead end we find the final passage of the book
Written in blood, scratched upon the walls,
tucked away in some hidden nook, in a corner
where we like to hide our eyes.
The final lines of a storm damaged mind, a wrecked soul cast upon a lonely
tide, the final words scratched into scars that wind around a body like a
cloak
The last three words scribbled in a ****** mess..
What a joke!
In empty crowds and fallen stars we often see only what gives us a much easier day.
Wine with regrets, hearts and barbwire confessions, none where ever as true as you .
Bleed those thoughts once more and we will pretend together .

This waltz is as clear as a sinking ships bliss
tell them all I've long since gone insane
Give my regards to your memories for I will burn in their illusions
till our Hell is left barren,  no remorse suits the ash as does this bitter pill
and a never existent flame.

To hide what is so easily viewed  now the scars we bare with such glee in a perfectly twisted display.
Give me no tomorrows promise for I only yearn for today.