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Matt Nov 2021
Steam ghost

  The ghosts of leftover heat cling to the nets on her silk lined legs
  She tries humility, but everything she’s wearing comes from Rags
  And all the men in their cardboarded suits
  Empty hands to her they impute
  But she, on her Yellow Brick way
  Won’t peek a blind she just looks away
  Oh, how tall she stands amongst them all
  Down her red carpet, how they wait for her to fall
  Oh, Baby
  ‘Round her finger she has me
  And she doesn’t even know it
  Why won’t she submit

  Down the howling streets where the light don’t sleep, restless, I try not to fight it
  And a thousand faces they pass me by in the quick blink of an eye
  You can see the night women dangle rabbits feet asking you to pay for their lies
  But no, I’d rather pass them by
  Not loveless love I‘d idle my time
  And it all just makes me realize, so dear
  That my baby’s not here
  Her card, the Queen of hearts
  Howls throughout the night in spades
  Her poker face, carved so deep
  Oh, she slowly abates

  Perched on my stoop, she gets so close, sings beautifully
  But when reaching my hand out, she flys away mysteriously
  And when bringing his name up
  She leaves without an apology
  She’s afraid to begin
  And she’s still thinking of him
  Hiding in a place we’ve all been
  Oh, how can I win?
  Still I hypothesize
  About moving it on
  Just like Louis, oh the Sun King
  But there’s a hole in my wings
  Inside of Hell’s Kitchen, she gins for me a glass of ***
  I offered her some, she looked at me and told me “no,” I said “how come?”
  “I don’t drink, and nor should you,” she preaches to me as if she really knows
  Oh, the “wisdom” of a young crow
  She leaves for me a silver heart shaped lock
  With no picture, it’s her reminder, there’s no fee for the finder
  Like the cars that pass the alley
  She’s always there, and always gone
  But these visions of that girl
  They make them all seem so wrong

  Miss Understood has died, they found her all alone by the riverside
  A note crumpled in her hand had read, it said no one could hope to understand
  The sound of the silent night, it just left me feeling kind of crucified and I’m not too sure why
  And, oh, how the way the pavement rolls
  Leaves a dozen cracks in my fragile bones
  And I prayed to God to please have them sewn
  Without her I’m not sure where I’ll go
  Just a brown dirt cowboy on a stone cold road
  Watching them dig graves in the town of Sodam and Gemorra
  And these visions of my baby who’s now long gone
  And these visions of my girl
  It’s always been for her
Inspired by Visions of Johanna
Okay I take too kindly to demons sometimes
And I have too much pity for thieves on the corner
Who wait for me expectantly, armed with wise words
Of advice, which I heed, like "Hey buddy, get the hell out
Don't ya know that these people here are too rough"
And sure sometimes the clumsiness
O'ertakes my body, and all my nerves get frayed
And all I can do is stare into the light and become aware
As my self-perception whisks into a wisp
And disappears w' the evening sun
And yes, I do concur
That hazily, somewhat dreamily, and with careful planning
I do indeed drift off from set tasks and chores until
Every square inch of my home on the farmlands is
Collapsing because I chose instead
To occupy my time
With the pursuit of being well-read and well-acquainted with
Writer's block
But nevertheless, a noble pursuit though it may be
It does little to distract from the rubble around
As my world decays and fractures
With calculated improvisation
And sure, whatever, spinning existential cartwheels
Is a habitue of being trapped in these cycles of thought
That come from solitude, self-imposed, ah-yes I know
A fortress of ice in this brown field
All the snow is ***** and sandy, my igloo is muddy and warm
And I cross township streets to libraries, not to read
But to perfect my accent, soften the rough edges
And paint my eyes a pristine pink
And have I yet mentioned the perfect poetry
That says absolutely nothing at all
Ah yes, a poet, the truest mark
Of having time to waste and potential to ****
So I'm aware of all these facts
Presented before me on a platter more silver than the
One I grew up with in surburban exile
So please, refrain from comment
For I'm just a sad-eyed boy
Wasting away in these lowlands
Improvising every word I octopus.
Nina McNally Jun 2020
Bring in the new year with love;
Our chance to change and
Better our future.

Don't worry and be happy. It starts with
You--one person to smile and
Like a yawn, the happiness can spread.
Another day, another chance to change.
Now who wants to be happy?!
Wrote this back on New Year's Eve, 2019...
Too bad my hope for 2020 got ****** by Corona and the world going crazy....
Title from Fall Out Boy
b e mccomb May 2019
rears it’s ugly head
with no desire to do

except lay
in bed
wake up and
watch tv

in silence
listening to
the fan spin
and wondering
why i bother

why i’m still
here when
nothing i do
even matters

that everyone
would be
without me
around to
bother them

it’s the kind of
time of life
where the only
real peace of mind
to be found is
in bob dylan

the old bob dylan
that you find in
broken cd cases
floating in forgotten
thrift store
music stacks

the songs of a young
person who didn’t know
where he was going in
a crazy and unjust world
he couldn’t control as it
fell apart around his ears

bob dylan never has
any answers for me
just rambles on
another interlude of
mournful harmonica
until i remember
he told me where
the answers are
and the answers
aren’t easy to find

up there in the sky
whistling around
bare tree branches
holding up birds’ wings
letting a lost balloon travel
thousands of miles from
the tightly clenched hand
of the child who lost it

how many years
has it been?
and i’m still here
blowing in the wind

the winds are busy
too busy to stop
for one second and
just give me the answer

am i

i don’t want
to be here
maybe this earth
just isn’t for me

or maybe i should
give up on whatever
is left here for me
hop on a bus and
become some kind of
modern rambling man

because i don’t know
and almost don’t care
what i’m doing here
doing right now

all i want
is sleep
even half conscious
muddled sleep
anything to distract
from the grotesquely
realistic nightmare
that is real life

or maybe i’ll get
utterly wasted
on cheap ***
and miserable thoughts
drown them out until
something stronger
than the alcohol
pulls me down
something strong
like sleep

because now
when it’s time to sleep
i find myself
completely unable to

i’m trying to
look at the positives
trying to see this as
an opportunity
but all i can see
is an eternity
stretching before me
of what if’s and
maybe this and why
and why not and
who do i want to be
what do i want to do

a lifetime
of indecisions
rolls its carpet out
in front of my feet

i wasn’t ready
i’m not ready now
i’ll probably never
be ready for anything

what am i
even doing

no answers to be found
here in this poem
just rambling as the
cd spins on until it
scratches to a halt
rub my eyes
press play
hope maybe on this
go round i can find
an answer

but the thing i never
seem to remember is
there isn’t any
answer to be found

not when it’s flown
away and is up
in the clouds watching
the sunset and the
stars begin to pop
out of the deep blue

just blowing
away in the wind
copyright 5/19/19 by b. e. mccomb
1You gotta lotta nerve to play it clean
You know you gotta play it real
It’s a long life and I’ve already seen
I don’t expect you to know how I feel
You’re insulting my smarts and now he’s gonna lose his spleen

You used to love being with me
Took me a lot of niches to fill you see
I turned away all other *******
To take care of all the hitches

2We’d been in love since we were seventeen
We’d shared class since we could dream
Sharing lunch in the canteen
Putting insects on your shoulders laughing when you’d scream
What went wrong and I had to start wondering where you’d been
You gotta lotta of nerve asking why
I wonder when was it a tie
I haven’t met the guy
Nor should I

3But you force me like I need to be a jealous guy
Like I still need to be your idea of a man
Forcing me till he needs to die
And then situating me hanging from ceiling fan
The last thought imagining you two sharing a whiskey in rye

I thought you’re used to loving me
But sometime I should have made it three
But it’s a marriage decree
That there should be no polygamy

4You gotta lotta nerve asking me
Why we won’t just go for a ménage-a-trois
Why couldn’t you just break up with me
Instead of waiting for me to get home and go woah
But you wanted an idea of me instead of just plain old me

Does he have abs and still love you *****
Or have a flat tummy and has to bend his knee
I don’t care if he loves you
Because he’s in trouble because it’s not a love that’s true

5You needed me
Found me funny and wanted a nuclear family
After all for just a kid we didn’t need to call his granny and granddaddy
But the dream is gone and probably leaving me
I needed us to be three

You’ve gotta lotta nerve stagnating me
Now not anymore I’ve found listless liberty
And so have you only you have got it free
And the divorce the idea of a married me

4We will never share the crimson sky
Understand the meaning of old age together
Spending dusk drinking tea
Understanding the weather
Instead of making it our small talk because it comes free

Don’t miss the idea of feeling young
When feeling old
Only when you’re with a person who has sacrificed to feel the pride of being unsung
That’s the beauty of not being bold

3You used love me when you were seventeen
Now I know the ways you found to talk to me
I was a **** and too bad now to me you were just a teen

2I want to beat that infidel
Who’ll end up just like me but instead he’ll ******

1So you gotta lotta nerve to reminisce times because I wished you would marry me so now I'll wait till I'm forty three
A guy walks in on his wife with another guy. And feels forced to **** her lover but doesn't want go to jail. So he'll wait till he's forty three because this relationship was fail.
Tyler Matthew Aug 2017
All your false securities
will not protect you in any degree
when the Man descends from the sky to see
if he or she or them or we
will surrender to him finally
and gather all most nobly
beneath the sun, the Eden tree
and bid that man must bend the knee.
Will we cast aside our crowns, our pride
and recognize that what we idolize -
the dollar bill, the satyrized
faked-out phoney false franchise
that man has made as a disguise
to keep distracted the hungry eyes -
will not serve to get us by
but to keep us down and cold and empty?
A verse inspired by Bob Dylan's "It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)."
JR Rhine Jul 2017
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades—
smoke furls and curls among the glass—
before a man belies his fame?

The corner of the room pervades—
imbued with smoke if so to pass—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

Visage so cool but starts to jade;
will eyes see through and to surpass,
before a man belies his fame?

Caught in the great aesthetical wake,
the fans will bend and surge en masse—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

His words, his voice, depict a sage—
I wonder if the lore will last
before a man belies his fame.

But once the petals cease to sway
and blades blow back a pompous ***—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s shades,
before a man belies his fame?
Tyler Matthew Jul 2017
If you were a color
you would be blue
and I'd be tangled
up in you.
After Bob Dylan's "Tangled Up in Blue."
Jodie LindaMae May 2017
The fig tree metaphor
Seems to gain much more meaning
The older I get.
I put a cigarette behind my ear today
And when I removed it to smoke
I realized that it was wet with the oil
From my scalp; I smoked it anyway.

Does smoking my ****** fluids
Make me seem a little more
Bukowski than normal?
Bob Dylan, the unwashed phenomenon
Of his day
Held no candle  (in my opinion)
To Phil Ochs
But here we are,
Marching on
Because the Times Are Changing.

Remember me
When the draft comes
And they forget your sunken eyes and sallow skin.
Remember me and how I said
That purple and yellow
Were my favorite colors.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
You were telling him about Buddha,
you were telling him about Mohammed in the same breath
You never mentioned one time the Man who came
and died a criminal’s death.     [Bob Dylan: Precious Angel]

If Christ and His Gospel are offered you
you squirm—then dredge up the gods of the East.
Your act of avoidance is nothing new—
salvation proposed: evasion increased.
Waxing socialistic – as if on cue
your blustering is consistent, at least.
you brandish your anti-Christ point of  view.
Descending like Darwin: angel to beast.
In Babylon’s gardens you disembark
to deconstruct Noah, the flood, the ark.
On Gilgamesh, Enkidu, in madness
you ramble—and it fills me with sadness.
There is one truth, undiscerned, unadored.
Be still. In silence, acknowledge your Lord.
Proof #1: Man has no natural desire or ability to obey or please God for salvation.

Proof #2: God expressly denies man's will or works in obtaining salvation.

Proof #3: Faith and works are results of salvation, not conditions or means for it.

Proof #4: Jesus Christ saves sinners by Himself without any human cooperation.

Proof #5: The gospel and its ordinances were never intended to give eternal life.

Proof #6: The Bible gives examples of sinners saved without any conditions.

Proof #7: Unconditional salvation is the only doctrine giving God all the glory.
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