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 Aug 2017 Michael Angelo
Gidgette
They found an old man dead,
down the road
the other day,
He cut grass for a living
died **** eater in hand
Up by the church
Where did he go?
Are we all just
still lifes?
Stolen thoughts
and
Glimpses caught by the
eye of God?
Pieces of some clock
never put together
Seconds, of memories not accurate....
My friend Scott found him. I'd seen him a thousand times mowing the church yard and cemetery. He was old. I didn't know he had a wife and sons. All grown of course. And as awful as it sounds, I don't know why it bothers me so. They say he had a heart attack. He was nearing 80. Lying on the side of the road for all the Yankees and passer-bys to see. But one poor Trailor boy, stopped in his old jeep. Every time, I think I've seen or heard it all, I'm taught once again how ignorant and primitive we are. Scott cried for him. And he didn't even know him.

Be well my friends. I love you.
I've died a thousand times;
crushed by rain and everything in between.
Check the drops they nestle my name.
And like a million guillotines
they've set me free.
Crown me King.
Take my dreams.
Make me think.
 Jul 2017 Michael Angelo
Slur pee
Disgust wrapped in disgust wrapped in disgust
Fill me up to the brim, I'm a weak paper cup.
I crumple over my predisposed disorders,
Folding against deeply etched wrinkles.
Let my sickness drip through pinprick holes,
And I am wholly incomplete, excreting my soul.

-SLuR
I'd **** poetry just to keep the defilers from their perpetual teething.
 Jul 2017 Michael Angelo
Corvus
You're willing to die for a country
That will exclude you from being able to serve.
You're willing to **** for a country
That still thinks a Bible is a valid argument.
You're willing to contribute to a conflict
That isn't as big a threat to your life
As the people you've vowed to protect the liberty of.
And you do it again and again
With a fraction of the respect patriots demand veterans are entitled to.
Because you've decided to put the needs of the complacent
Above your own human rights.
And you'll get no thanks from them,
Because they can't sleep easily at night
Unless they can rip off your clothing and see what's in your pants.
And if it doesn't add up to their image?
You can sacrifice your life for theirs and they'll still call you a freak.
I don't know why people are still so willing to die for a country that hates them so much, but the idea that the land of the 'free' wants to ban people from doing so and use such moronic excuses to do it has made me angry.
 Jul 2017 Michael Angelo
Gidgette
I watched the rose petals fall from the vine
I'm fine
They've dried up
and blown away
turned to dust
and mark the days
Gone by
She laughs
with the breeze
And the
remaining silence,
puts me at ease
For Stella.
I love you.
For my friends,
here
I hope you understand
 Jul 2017 Michael Angelo
Hannah
I've never been to the city,
but I've spent a million nights
lost beneath the starlight.
I used to dream of subway stations,
lively streets and crowded bars,
but after wandering through forgotten towns,
and sleeping under starlanced
trees,
I could never live in the city.
I've never felt peace
like I have at the shores
of a perfectly still creek.
I wouldn't find that there,
not between the mugger's,
and people yelling in the streets.
I thought I wanted it,
but after traveling across the country,
I know what makes my soul happy.
I want sunrises after 12 hours of driving,
with no direction,
but towards the setting sun.
I want nothing,
but the security of me and you
moving along with the current
of our nomadic souls.
❤︎
A Man In Search of His Style

It so happens to be June.
It so happens that the picture window,
Frames a contented, bay lit, full moon.

Searched for an answer lifelong,
A devolving, lilting song refrain:
Man what is your tune,
What's your style, finally?


Examined so many rooms,
Tried out different beds,
Jumbled now, assorted, some sordid,
Some long winded, florid,
Some cursive, cursory and accursed,
Some so bitter-filled I shared them not
Lest I infect you, a sin in F major...

Love poems galore, and yet to come,
Many more.

Some seriously desperate suicidal,
Some ditty, even a mite witty,
Some eurythmic, most freely versed,
Rhyming is where you start,
Free verse when you're all grownup,
But all this delay, begs the question,
What's your style, conclusively?

Con-cluded, cannot be all things,
Took the ships conn to dissolve the occluded,
Find the truest course of my abilities,
At Port Serenity,
I arrived.

I write what I see.

A head lifted from pillow,
A one-second-long act of inspiration~duration
Becomes in moments,
A fully formed poetic inclination~curation.

Literally my eyes see words awaiting, coordinating,
Poems flying by, needing plucking,
How a child eats his morning cereal,
His rituals, informing of the man yet to be,
How our bodies lay, hair unbrushed,
Naturally tying us into a conjoined knot.

T'is the mundane, the profane of every action,
Makes my lips move, personalized prayers framing.

Perhaps this is a condemnation of sorts,
Ordinary things might bake
ordinary poem cakes,
Residue of an ordinary man,
An ordinary poet makes.

So be it, tomorrow is a farther day, when
My vocabulary may be a word greater, lesser,
But knowing now that the
Spring's source so topical,
Fills a well so deep, so close nearby,
I rejoice, mineral mental springs,
waters of inspiration, plentiful.

No matter that plain words are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say, about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?


For this, if be,
my gift meager,
I, on blended knee,
freely embrace eager,
Promising you that the
best of our lives ordinar,
Together, we shall celebrate,
Fully, and most fair


June 15th, 2013
 Jul 2017 Michael Angelo
Slur pee
Everybody is so
Sickening and ugly.
Perfect asymmetry,
Assembled imperfectly.
Grotesque figures,
Reaching fingers;
Scratch and shiver.
Impurity lingers.

Contort to fit inside the womb.
Disfigure yourself,
Dislocate bones,
We live in our tombs;
This world, our home.
Where we're scorned-
And scorched, by scourge
Of fear instilled into our hearts,
Where it hurts
Because we break ourselves apart-
So harsh, just to feel like we belong.
We're the same
I'll sing along, I'll sing along
Just don't leave me all alone
In this crowded graveyard,
Can't you feel that it's cold
And our souls are wayward?
Sadness is favored,
Happiness is always tapered.
In this planet created by destruction,
We feed off chaos and all that is disgusting.
I'll **** the pus out of your blisters,
If you make my mind feel like a twister.

Scatter my thoughts
All over-
All around.
And everyone is beautiful
Again,
Somehow.

-SLuR
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