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The Dedpoet Feb 2016
I escape from the hole,
      All is far away,
The night is undead,
   The living are not alive.
I walk interminably departing myself,
     Today is easy,
Right now is not a word.
    The restlessness circles my being,
The poem seems to follow,
      I whisper a secret to the verses
And the stars become dotted inklings,
     The night is enormously quiet,
But my mind is resounding words,
      They beg to come out,
My walk will take forever,
    But I am already home
Scribbling the lines to this poem,
       A walk becomes a metaphor,
This poem becomes reality
Shutting doors,
    The poem becomes me,
I have no name to call myself,
     I am ravaged by the words,
I write to see myself.....
This is writing for me. This is my need, my passion, a way of life for me.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
A star and its flurry of appearing
Brethren as they push their way
To the eyes that wish to see,
Its shine which was not there before
And in seconds reaches what took
Millennia to reach the globe of
One's eyes, and the glory that falls
Upon us, what does one do with this?

It slowly comes together
In the depths of the heart,
The hope of forgotten dreams well up and spill their way into existence,
We constellated the sky not in any
One star to lay a wish on,
But instead have used a multitude
To feed the light that haunts
The black night.

And before the pieces come together,
Remember that the heart ,desirous
As it is, will gives the clue to hope and dream
And the key to putting it together,
One only need look up into
The starry abyss, fill it out
With what we can see and make
The dream a reality,
As fragmented as the sky may
Be,
It reflects the fragments of
The broken dream.

So I pierce into said sky,
Make my own constellation,
And when the stars are realigned
Into the order of remembered hope,
There I can see it,
I remember hope can change the stars.....
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
Don Caliente,
From the distant places where
Men are men,
And rumored ,the women are also
Women.
And so he has come riding his
Motor scooter with his khaki pants
And thong sandals,
The checkered shirt that drives
Deer wild, and just enough unbuttoned
To see the neanderthal hair below.
      He is smooth with the chikas,
The scent of raspberry floats
In the air, his favorite snow cone,
And it drives women wild,
Well the children anyway,
They begin searching for the raspa man.
   He is considered a ladies man,
Some call him stalker,
He just likes to be consistent.
    Yes Don Caliente,
With his golden smile,
Others argue its yellow tarter,
But still he smiles away!
   His metal nerves as he approaches
The married women,
His rubber jaw as he gets knocked
Out by the husbands,
   Ay! Don Caliente,
No is never an option!
Smile, its Friday!
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
Like ashes swarming
Sunken in the debris of the form,
Or even the crossroads
Where a stop is received open,
Holding the pace bearing down
On one's reach, far out in the distance;

Where am I going in a rushing brush with life?

The question questions the self,
An answer spades the mirror,
So quick like a plume of smoke
Out of a hurried motor,
The comet that comes and goes
Slicing generations in waiting,
To and from encircling eternal likenesses,
Uncertain about Faith's certainties,
the ceaseless wheel keeps spinning,
A dizzying compass.

The why is immobile, the what is is the experience.

I half shed a tear when another
Bites the immortal dust,
What is a damp ravine drawn
At the cliff of a road lined with stones?
All is erosional,
The enormous draws out endlessly
With poignant time,
So I pace myself
Down to the exploding minute,
Because time only burns
But never passes.....
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
Take a ride with me,
Give me your ear, your eyes;
Like stellar days of old,
I will tell no lies.

     You see my days weren't complicated,
When the rivers ran red,
    It was a bullet or the money,
Family gotta stay fed.

Your silent gestures cannot fathom
What was my everyday,
Like the hardened hollows of my soul,
I took my gun to the park to play.

    This was my life
From my chest into these words,
    Every link in the chain,
I am tied down by haunted verbs.

  Kindle old fires
And set your daily a blaze,
I survived with deep wounds,
   To the past I am a slave.

Give me my homiez,
All dead and gone,
Give a sip of that Henny,
I'll drip some on the lawn.

  This is me,
Just an old ****,
I'll remember the tombstones,
On bent knee I the marble a hug.

Today I am whipped
Among all the sorrows,
But being a survivor
Give me hope for all the tomorrows.

The westside,
Like a weary night *****,
No coming back, no coming back,
I can't take no more.....

Pick out a casket
And don't remember my name,
Anonymous me,
A Dedpoet who carried the blame.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
" There is a name of God on every
Child's lips, and the word is
Mother"

    I looked upon her body
That began to leave itself
Suddenly into some stairway
I could not see in my grief.
    
    Mother of the Light,
You took the dawn with you.

The gilded heights that took
You, not the blameless bullet,
But the fleece of flesh you wore,
Now shed to spread your wings,
       Watch over you children's
Children mother of biological blood.
   Cover every atom, every electron,
With your mist that went away in
A flash, your delicate nature be blessed
Hovering over the earth.

    Ceremony of children,
Loving a mother never stops.
Dedicated to my Mother, Yolanda Hernandez Gonzales
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
The anthill erupts,
A deluge floods the Amazon
Of grass and crittery things.
There in the open wound of earth
Lies a fallen gift from the fire
Above that rains embers of fire.
A chunk of life that gives life,
Fallen from the giant walkers,
Its tube shape can feed thousands.
And the water hardens the earth,
The flood done for the day,
They begin their march upon
The gift.
The embers meaning a cookout, the tube shaped object that feeds thousands is a ****** that fell, the flood being the Waterhouse.  ;)
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
In the stone city of life
Where images circle blasphemous
Putrefied ideolized deities,
   Carved out of morals from
Their former sins, washed in the Rage
Of time, the stairway of years
Has fallen victim to forgetful dogs
In love with a doctrine read blindly
To justify eating one's own *****.
      Within their water we drink
With the stained images in the waters,
     Combating in a paradise of caged
Jubilation, we become a circus act
Of empty faiths,
    Idols exploding with pastors
Armed with ideas,
Sharpened tongues from a library
     Written by the Sun,
Twisted by the thugs with Holy Spirits
That daunt the saint,
Plotting Edens in their own image,
    We beat each other for the same God,
We ask a name,
Bible,
       Quran,
               I see the body of Moses in both,
Where is the other God?
   The same clouds we look at contain
  The same sins we follow from our
Misreading Shepard's,
       This is high voltage rhetoric,
The industry of Heaven,
     The money of hell,
Cain is well,
Abel unable,
The followers of blind leading seeds
To the dirt,
Grow smeared in to the faith,
Roots of dust,
The fallen have come,
On the knees of blood,
We crown the snakes.
Faith is a personal choice. God cannot be forced on anyone man, if this were the case, we would all be angels. Think about it.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
The Beginning

Beginning
At the duck pond,
A little boy alone.

And a small paper boat
That sailed a way the monsters,
And a soft voice comes to him,
A little girl asking about his boat.

He says the monsters are gone now,
So she takes him by the hand
And walks away to the playground,
He never looks back at the paper boat.

And the eternal present sank the boat,
He played with a new friend,
An understanding of monsters
And they became each others peace.

The Middle
Times that shine in youth
And there she was at prom
With her peace she still held
His hand like the pond before them.

They danced as the years danced,
The youth soaking in all firsts,
He kisses her under the stars
And promises forever in his eyes.

She lay at the blanket before him
Ready as a flower blooms,
They make love as a sacrifice
Of virginal clarity of truth.

The End
Was still the youth, but college
And adventure called them both
To different places and different
Times were to become a reality.

She kissed her kiss of forever,
He held her in their final summer,
Never let me go she whispered,
And he held her ever tighter.

The summer ends,
And the Fall as life is a fall,
They say goodbye and promise
To stay together forever.

              
              The Middle


The beginnings
Of a twenty something man who just
Lost his highschool girlfriend,
And the girl became a woman,
All is a guarantee too change.

The promise was so much to take,
He held on as long as he could
But her dreams took her away
And he became a normal guy.

She meets another man,
He holds on too long,
She marries and has some kids,
He let's her go in his mind.

The Middle of life
Is rarely how one recalls it,
But the time of his life was with her
And he never marries.

She divorces a man that never loved
Her for who she though she was,
Her thoughts drift to her lover,
Her first love, she begins a search.

And time is a force,
A force of her heart when she sees
His face, the pounding that it took,
She realised she never stopped loving him.

The end can be happy sometimes,
And he gets a letter in the mail,
I'm in town, the note said,
Come see me.

He rushes and sees her stilled in time,
As beautiful as ever, they make love
As the first time, two weeks together
That made a lifetime apart worth it.

But she had kids in another place,
He could uproot the life he had,
They say goodbye once again
And something about it felt final.

    
                  The End


The years pile like snow in winter,
And winters breath came and went
Like the seasons, now in his forties
He realised all he wanted was to see her again.

He sends her a letter to meet him at the pond,
She says he has to come to her,
She wasn't feeling so well,
And he flew like a dove in its miracle.

Her children come to greet him,
And he felt like they should have been
His from another life,
The reflections of life's mirror.

The middle years came,
She had battled cancer for years,
He stayed with her through the battle,
And married her with no regrets.

He was with her only two years
But it was the most fun he ever had,
At the hospital the doctors new
That visiting hours didn't apply to him.

As the cancer ate her last days
She made him promise one last thing,
He said he would find her
Where ever souls might go when they leave.

And the end can be a beginning,
He stands at her grave,
He holds her flowers
With tears for everyday.

He went home to where he began
His life, where they first met as kids,
He holds her picture in his pocket
And a sheet of paper he begins to fold.

He puts her picture in a paoerboat,
He sails it away into the pond,
He remembers like it was yesterday,
At the duckpond, a little boy alone......
OK so I'm crying right now, aren't you?
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
The light has a pulse.
There is no in between of darkness.
This perception is the only reality,
What we touch and see
Under the limited spectrum
Our eyes are allowed.
         My eyes see nothing,
My hands feel worlds,
         My thoughts create the shadows,
In the shadows I cry for the light,
        The light scatters my world,
On the other side
        Light cannot see me in the dark.
The ever growing battle of good and evil within the self, the battle inside we face everyday, our thoughts are scattered.
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