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Spencer Dennison Sep 2014
I have grown, all around me,
gardens and hedges of barbed wire.
My heart is a grease fire,
constantly pumping fumes
that exit through each eye
every time I try to stare someone down.
I suppose that in this circus act of anger,
even I will start to look like a clown.

I have always known, in spite of myself,
that anger is not a civilized emotion.
But the motion put behind it
moves nations.
Allowing us to take vacations
away from sense and logic.
Just letting vengeance be an object to be obtained,
not letting our better judgement be stained
with petty things like love and trust.

I suppose even an executioner's blade,
will at some point begin to rust.
Because anger is a grease fire
that burns for a long time,
but not forever.
I don't think myself to be too clever
to fall victim to these pitfalls
and make my words into spitballs.
We all do at some point in life,
it's part of the human condition.

I've never been good at math,
but I know enough about addition
to know that if you take away
more than what you give,
you'll in the end be left with less.
Sometimes, all we are is a bubbling hot mess
and we feel we have nothing.
But if you have nothing to give,
give nothing as if it were something.
You might be surprised by what happens.
Spencer Dennison Sep 2014
Remember?
The beginning,
there was only darkness, right?

How could he?
He disturbed
a still void, vacuum of light.

Perverted
instigator.
Life was a weakness absent.

The bible.
Kama Sutra
for how to twist our soft minds.
It's that time of night again.
  Sep 2014 Spencer Dennison
David Hall
do you think
there is a chance
I could turn this all around

if I choose
to stand up now
can I lift up off the ground

in my life
have often made
a string of stupid choices

choices made
despite the cries
of many helpful voices

I believe
maybe a day
will come when least expected

where I might
forgive myself
not feel so **** rejected
So there are tons of poems that go up tagged 10w 15w 20w.  I decided to try something slightly more difficult.  Each stanza has 3 syllables, 4 syllables and then 7 syllables.  I issue a poetical challenge.
Spencer Dennison Sep 2014
I feel like going back to those days,
when I could feel and not fear it.
When I didn't know the world's ways
and I didn't yet need my fighting spirit.
When I could simply have a romance,
nothing complicated or categorized,
that would come up by happenstance
with no limits needing to be devised.

I miss those days, I could awaken
find another body next to mine,
and not even be mistaken
in thinking this won't be the only time.

I miss those days with a passion,
too often I feel like I'm crashin'
straight through the mud and the dirt
all the pain and the hurt.
I render my poems inert,
when I stare in the mirror,
see myself crying and dying,
insanity getting nearer.
I one day hope to rise from it all,
stand from the ash, proud and tall,
but I know that after I do
I'll eventually once again fall.

I miss those days
in more than a million ways.
Watching my eyes glaze over
thinking about days over
again.
I flow my heart into this pen
put my soul into what I write
now and then.
I know I'll be that happy once more,
I've got that joy kept in store,
for a future when I suture
this wounded pride and mind.
I've got a stride in mind,
for when I return.
See the surprise in their faces,
I bet they thought I would burn
up in the anger like butane.
I'm just too hard to contain
and I walk through cold rain,
thinking about once upon a time,
through sweat and grime,
You were mine, I was yours,
now it's vice versa.
This started as something different than it was. It's not really complete, but I don't think I'll finish it, so...
  Aug 2014 Spencer Dennison
krissie
the smell on your breath told me Exodus
the existence of us on the precipice
right where the left side chest is
the edge of your lust told me Exodus

a band of the 80s, a mere decade older
a book of the Bible, 2 inches from your shoulder
you came up and said "i'd like to get to know ya"
i made a little space for a supernova

the usage of ink on a body of sin
a skin that wasn't so paper-thin
i took my ink to paper for a spin
you took yours straight to the skin

the color of the smoke told me Exodus
a far exit away from the darkness
a fine walk ahead of our Genesis
the edge of your lust told me Exodus
No brain,
  Brainstorm.
Storm door,
  Door opens,
Opens mind,
  Mindset.

Set tone
  Set mood,
Set themes
  Setting,
Set words
  Set stanzas.
Set backs?
  Set match.

Match Mix
  Patch fix
Large risks
  Lines brisk
Heart ticks
  Beats quick.
Darwinist
  Poetry is.
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