Death cures all sickness.
Freud said the goal of all living things is death. Can I get a witness? So then it is slow torture for us to do things, Like keep houseplants and goldfish alive. Death cures all sickness. It makes the will to live seem pretentious When we make it point to continue on, survive. Can I get a witness? But I don’t believe in cheating. Not all living things understand suicide. Death cures all sickness. Drunk at night I bear my heart repeating, That I not go gently into the night. Death cures all illness. No, I am bone and breath And will not strive for death. Death cures all sickness. Can I get a witness?
This is a drunken attempt at a villanelle style poem. It was inspired by Paul Gurrieri after commenting on another poem I wrote, "When you Live with Someone who has Alzheimer's Your House Feels Haunted".
leg on the table
you red face recruit! put on the offensive and break down the bolted door you are the soul saver the peddle maker the calibrator with colored handbills and front line rhetoric join the masquerade in ivy league style! politicking with cunning guile invisalign smile blackened vile bleeding the funnel with gold plate omegas and crocodile shoes get on stage and dance you fool! you are the headline maker the pantomime juggler the compromised closer pull out that 5 page review (bullet points only please) and polish those weathered lines did you give it your all? the door tags and pleasantries the tidings and clippings the irrevocable claims and postured blames all the impressionable basics put to the test? you know the call (straight from those cold academics) the pie chart gurus and contract killers (complete with bone in finger) whipping their frenzied crew in an all night charade old yellar and the gatekeeper sure seem amused (sharpening their inquest behind closed doors) firing up the **** storm with hostile ****** and a slew of insatiable cures there’s laughter from the back room the dripping nose and wavering hand the cut white lines and checkpoint tales the pipeline romance and lacking form (of a basic essential character!) soundboard and narratives for logging time slouching on the steel case over moot points ready to play the 3 weight butter card (if need be) might I remind you it’s only an inquiry (with a slight hint of concern) surely no malfeasance or deception intended so step back from the melt down and cut to the chase! headlines to breadlines penthouse to outhouse those immoral pursuits have taken their toll (haven’t they?) madman or rogue (you take your pick) for the scores and tabulations are final shame on you for the foul play the bold hypocrisy and order desk games the back stabbing blames and spurious names just sign on the dotted line... this banter is killing me
She is raw like cacao
Carries a smell of cinnamon and honey Natural brown eumelanin skin Everyone judges not knowing what's within Sweet like honey, She cures any emptiness carried in a man Mix her with sunshine And she glows within Beautiful big brown eyes No one ever takes the time to notice her People only falsely label her and lack realization That she's the most beautiful and radiant brown skinned girl Sweet like honey Beautiful brown girl Never lose your fire Even when the sun may not shine, you'll still always blind them - Henessy J. Beltre
a poem to remind all the eumelanin skinned girls, including myself, that true beauty is within. we should not have to change our appearances to fit in to society's meaning of beauty. (© Henessy J. Beltre - 10.11.2018)