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MikeTheVike Mar 2018
Gut the mattress and hide all our money, so we can measure our worth by the kink in our spine.
(c) Mike Mortensen
MikeTheVike Feb 2018
“I took a Rorschach test”* she lamented
*“Though I admit, it was accidental
A bouquet of Cherry smears splotched on toilet-paper
Through liquid lines and violent streaks
Miraging shards of an eight month Terra-cotta
I saw a dishwater boy
Sifting dirt in a garden
He hid among the tomato vines, smiling behind strawberry stains
Oddly reminiscent of that picture I stole
from your mother’s house
I turned the paper square in my hands
Another child
A young-eyed girl
drowning in a pair of peacock heels
And a floral patterned muumuu
Involuntarily closing her left eye when a laugh turns to tears
You've always said you love that about me
Raw images framed in a sharpie-circled day
It’s permanence displayed on the kitchen calendar
A mind’s-eye mosaic that shattered when
I felt it around my insides
A searing grip, and gravity wins
The porcelain bowl is filling now
Like a bloodroot squeezed from toe to crown
None of my tears could wash away any of the red
And all the sirens came
But the tiny shoes stayed wrapped in tissue paper
And some mornings, not many but some
Before the bluish tint of pre-morning dawn
When the slivers of my thought wake me
I feel that invisible hand
Squeezing a butterfly inside my stomach"
© Mike Mortensen
MikeTheVike Feb 2018
He shined;
That old pacific man
That old man living in the moon
despite his early indigo mornings
and his lonely nights spent waning
despite his inferior yellowed radiance
and all the craters in his face from the pubescent years
acne scarred and insecure
his fullness an explanation
for the werewolves that bite and maim
Despite all of this
he could not conceal his youthful glow
and every night I watch him wax
through the window in my room
I cannot conceal
my teeth in a smile
Just some thoughts

(C) Mike Mortensen
Jan 2018 · 415
the raisin
MikeTheVike Jan 2018
rusty petals on
a withered vine
the summer birds
left an egg behind

healing rose with
wicked thorn
but the wind blew
down the devil's door

I'm begging you
to drop the gun
a single grape
beneath the sun
A few thoughts on hurt and abuse. thank you for reading

© Mike Mortensen
Dec 2017 · 844
brown-eye blues
MikeTheVike Dec 2017
___________________

w­ith curious eyes unyielding
you lovingly look into mine.
all the courageous blue you see
is nothing more than, wave upon
wave of a tears built up into
numerous oceans of lies
my eyes are actually brown
look deeper and you will see
as much as I am full of pain
I am completely full of ****....
                                                     .
                                                      .
       ­                                                .
                                                     .
                                                        .
     ­                                                   .
            ­                                             .
                  ­                                      .
                         ­                                .
                               ­                        .
                                       ­                                  i am so full
                                                                ­                    i could not fit you
                                                             ­                           into my life if i tried

__________________­_
© Mike Mortensen
Dec 2017 · 1.2k
I saw the flames in her eyes
MikeTheVike Dec 2017
I saw the flames in her eyes
two small embers that raged
I felt unsure as to the
materials used for her kindling
the line is thin between
passion and loathing
and I did not know
whether I should embrace the heat
or run for water
I have absolutely loved being apart of Hellopoetry for the last few months. I love the instant feedback and the great sense of community. However, I am taking a long break from technology. Thanks for the support. Hope to see you all in a while. Hope you enjoyed the few last thoughts I have posted.

(c) Mike Mortensen
Dec 2017 · 918
The same damn cycle
MikeTheVike Dec 2017
...

Do you even still love me?
I can't help but think that
maybe we are falling apart,
like the spine of a book.
One that we've read over
a thousand times and gotten bored of
because we know how each other ends
You know that I will smother you
And I know that you will run
And even though I know this
I track down your inky footprints
with my pillow in tow
in hopes that by suffocating you
I will take your breath away
like they do in the movies.
But we are not actors and we read no script
This bleak romantic comedy
seems nothing but a tragedy
for I have nothing romantic or funny to say
all I have is the truth in that
I feel like maybe we made a mistake
So while you place your shoes by the door,
I will sleep with my pillow  on the floor,
waiting for us to lather, rinse, and repeat
the same **** cycle
that never washes clean
Never knowing if you will run away
for good next time
Never knowing if we were fated for others
Is that why you run? To find someone else?
Is that why I push? To put you through hell?
I can't answer these questions
all I know is I'll always have
my pillow

...
maybe I should just smother myself


...
© Mike Mortensen
Dec 2017 · 797
rainstorm - spring 2016
MikeTheVike Dec 2017
The rain fell like
a widow's veil that day
with storming and darkness
but delicately enough
for the exquisite beauty
of grief to be realized
by those pulled off
to the side of the interstate
photographing Mother Nature's
personal heartbreak

I was one of those
who watched as the sky
poured out it's bleeding black
heart onto the world.
No sun. No joy.
Only misty eyed misery
Concealed by the notion
That we pray for this
For the pain of another
To revitalize ouselves

Pain is life when life is sane
and a rainstorm is no different
The blackest of clouds
brings the most vibrant yellow flower
And the steely gray blanket
that surrounds the earth
is shrugged off by some
as nothing but bad weather
I smile and seem to think I know better
as I continue to *pray for this
Thoughts on the most beautifully heartbreaking rainstorm I have ever seen. Seeing this helped cement my belief that the earth is a living being with the emotional capacity to experience loss.

© Mike Mortensen
Nov 2017 · 393
Heads & Tails
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
I feel all alone
                                                          ­                                      I’m so lonely
Empty and scared
                                                         ­                         Angry and ashamed
I hate everything about you
                                                            ­                                   I hate myself
Everything
                                                   ­                            Absolutely everything
How can I be close to you?
                                                           ­          I just need to be close to you
Knowing you’ll never change
                                                         ­                      I promise I’m different
We are not friends
                                                        ­                         You’re my best friend
We are nothing
                                                        ­                       You are my everything
And you, are a dark shadow
                                                         ­                 You are my purest dream
I want to leave you
                                                            ­                                 Come with me
I want to find something good
                                                           ­          We can find something good
Away from you
                                                            ­                                           Together
Life with you is so hard
                                                           ­              Life with you makes sense
I pray that
                                                           ­                                          I pray that
Hard things can be good*
                                                           ­                          I don’t destroy you
There are two sides to everything. Sometimes the two sides appear to be more similar than we initially think.

© Mike Mortensen
Nov 2017 · 564
grandpa van gogh
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
~

grandpa

b e a u t i f u l l y

paints pictures of grandma

while she reads the new testament

he who has ears to hear, let him hear it

but grandpa can't hear anything

when it comes to his ears

but she still reads

out loud


~
My attempt at a Rictameter.
Inspired by Santita's latest Rictameter.
The format is 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2


© Mike Mortensen
Nov 2017 · 1.6k
MELANOMA
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
...

Set   Fire   to   the   beach!

T h e  c r u e l  s u n  c r i e d.

While the edge of the earth

licked it's rays with the tide

his skin like a paper; it peels and curls and cracks
the heat like a vapor; it seals and swirls and traps
                     i t s e l f    i n s i d e    h i s    c e l l s                          
                                     ­    

   a virus encircles above                    
                
                                               ­       just a seaside paloma        

                 i m p r e g n a t i n g  skin                                              
          ­                                  
                              ­                      with malignant melanoma        
                                  

his doctor like a butcher; with hands he chops and stains
his pain like a structure; it stands and burns and caves
i n      o n      i t s e l f

Set   fire   to   his   cells!

The   cruel   chemo   cried

while the wicked bag of morphine

dripped drops at his side


...
© Mike Mortensen
Nov 2017 · 692
The Astronomer
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
When
I  look  into
Y o u r  e y e s
I  see  two  mirrors.
T h e y      s h o w     m e
Younger   versions   of   myself
We  are  all  just  unorganized  matter
Reflected back through endless generations
And when you look into the night you are amazed
A t      t h e      i n f i n i t e     l i n e a g e      y o u     s e e
Those    freckles   in   your    eyes   are   glowing    speckles
O f          y e a r s          a n d          y e a r s          o f          l i g h t  
But I don’t have the heart to tell you. The lights you see have died
You raise your finger and trace the constellations as if trying to
Remind    yourself    of    somebody    you    once    knew
An­d  for  you  in  this  moment  nothing  else  exists
I    look   ­ at    you,    in    all    your    innocence
And   p r a y   that   I   may   live  my  l i f e
In  a  way  that  will  forge  my  love
In   the   fires   of   a   star;   to  
b      e      c      o      m      e
A  light  in  your  eye­
L o n g   a f t e r
I    a m
Gone
To my beautiful daughter.


© Mike Mortensen
Nov 2017 · 321
ebb and flow
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
ebb and flow
     ebb and flow

             i wonder where
                  this river goes?

                           the ephemeral stream
                                    of a thousand lies

                                        told by tongues
                                                and alibis

                                    ebb and flow
                                ebb and flow

               the motion makes
             this notion go

                  lackluster attempts
                         to keep the boat on
                                            course

            ­                                              as i drown in
                                                              ­   the depths of a liar's
                                                          ­                          remorse
© Mike Mortensen

Getting caught in a lie *****. But lying in the first place is worse.
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
Pen to paper...
or ink to tree?
A poetic
inconsistency.
slow it
            d
            o
            w
            n
take your time
avoid excessive
prose and          ...similar sounding couplets

Be real
Speak truth
deep from your gut
but know when to lie
to still make a buck

Know your audience
But write for yourself
and get used to the currency
Praise = Wealth

Always trust the process
But never
under any circumstance
process the trust
you'll never stop worrying
if each line is enough

AND REMEMBER!
There are thousands of words
so read 'em and know 'em

Now stop reading this
and go write a poem!
Just a fun poem

© Mike Mortensen
Nov 2017 · 352
black ink
MikeTheVike Nov 2017
the light from the deck
showed the stars on her back
the jealous nebula
hung up in the black

~and~

where the water met the sky
was completely undefined
just a smear of black ink
in a horizontal line
© Mike Mortensen
Oct 2017 · 351
Recycled
MikeTheVike Oct 2017
I am the cracked leather couch
That was left in the yard.
My arms have been torn
By the temperamental cat
You rescued from the shelter
I bleed white puffs on the side of the house
Where no one can see

I am the old charcoal grill
With the rusty red lid
You bought for
The fourth of July and used once
Caked in black grease and white ash
I sit in the gutter
With a sign that says “free”

I am the ‘78 Ford Bronco
That was stripped down for parts
On blocks in the junkyard
Where a doberman uses
The passenger seat to daydream
About her brothers and sisters
She doesn’t remember

I am everything you’ve always wanted
At one point in time
But I’m afraid my time is up
I am now the *****, the “yesterday”, the proverbial scoff
With a neon-pink sticker
“50% off!”
Oct 2017 · 696
Parowan
MikeTheVike Oct 2017
I remember the day we left Southern California,
Dad hurried as fast as he could
While he loaded the moving truck.
Seven hours later
We arrived in a town I couldn't pronounce
To this day I'm not sure if either of us can say it right...

I remember our new house
It arrived several hours after we did on the back of a flatbed truck
I remember the front door swinging open and slamming shut
As the truck rolled over the curb and across the yard
The house was long like a shotgun
And left us bruised

I can remember the time I ran away.
Do you remember what Dad said to me?
"If you don't want to be a part of this family,
You can sleep in the garage!"
That night I wet the bed [sleeping bag]
I remember waking up feeling cold and
Hiding myself so he couldn't see

Can you remember the days when Uncle Al rolled his tobacco
And Aunt Beulah snipped roses in diagonals?
You loved being in their flower boutique
More than I did; You hated the smoke though
But now you can't quit

Do you remember when Chris came home
Covered in blood and tried not to cry?
I do; you were to young
He said they did it because he was 'different'
I remember feeling scared.
If he could bleed like that
Anyone could, especially you

I remember that time we rode our bikes
To go fishing in the pond but never found it
We swam in the river instead and hid in the reeds
I can still smell the lilac flowers that peppered the bank.
I remember thinking how water always runs downhill
But never understood how close we were

I remember when the house burnt down.
I can smell the smoke and feel the heat
You warned me, but I didn't believe you
I just wanted to finish watching TV
I believed you when we stood on the street and watched as
Our long white house burned at one end
Like one of Al's cigarettes

I remember when Dad rebuilt the house
We never saw him
It looked the same on the outside
But the inside was different
Then he got sick
He looked the same on the outside
But his insides were deficient

I remember the back porch
Do you remember when we walked all the way
From the back porch to the highway?
It seemed so far away
We watched the cars as they passed us
I remember wishing so badly that I could go with them
Even if that meant
Leaving you behind
*Memories of moving to a small town with my little brother and regrets about our relationship

© Mike Mortensen
Oct 2017 · 659
[palindrome]
MikeTheVike Oct 2017
my life is but a palindrome

it was something i chose, though never wanted
such a delicate line between hallowed and haunted

i woke in the night with an ache in my bones
my marrow was bubbling and burning it seemed
as i tossed and i turned all alone in my sheets

a cage for the ghost that resides in my flesh
down deeper and hidden where no one can find
as i buried the burden i attempted to rest
but a devil sat laughing in the lofts of my mind

an echo of nothing, a possession so wild
with the fevers of hell i was sure to be dammed
but an echo of something, like the voice of a child
whispered the phrase, "you can always go back..."

in the tangible black i lay in my room
while a galaxy glittered, hung high in the dark
i wondered why i trade sunlight for star

so I wrestled with sheets, & with god, & with stone
and the quick fleeting feeling i am never alone

i pray my life, to be a palindrome



© Mike Mortensen
Oct 2017 · 6.8k
i've been thinking...
MikeTheVike Oct 2017
i’ve been thinking a lot
about your hand in mine
the way that our fingers
and palms intertwine

but i think about death
about loss, about worth
i admit that i fear
to return to the earth

where our bodies dissolve
into roots of a tree
and will grow into trunk
then limb, then leaf

but i've heard from a bird
that death will reverse
and your heart will beat hard
like it did at your birth

so hold on for dear life
with your hand in mine
if death makes us let go
it is only for time



© Mike Mortensen
Oct 2017 · 539
Dear Amelia
MikeTheVike Oct 2017
Dear Amelia,
It's different; everything
I’m so sorry
I can't see you anymore
I’m afraid
I can only see the squalor
My face has changed
with lines of age
And carved with lines of ink
While the cross I wear
Proves me a sinner
A single tear
Convicts me a murderer
But I am safe now behind the razor wire
A lifetime of safety… without parole
Sounds like something I’d trade
For a small red balloon
A syringe and a spoon
Are you eating?
Are you sleeping?
Are you walking yet?
Are you dreaming?
If you close your eyes
You can see me the way I used to be
But if you open them
I become a lachrymose monster
So dearest Amelia
Close your eyes
© Mike Mortensen

— The End —