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i look to the night sky
for answers
i am so far removed
from where i stand
detached from this time and place
i don't belong
i send a thought
a message
to anyone that may be passing by this galaxy
on their way home
take me with you
seen lots of moving things in the skies lately
Remember the name
they'll be considered the same.
Two centuries apart but
both just as smart
at playing the poetry game
I am ANu poet
the poem is me.
I may not be Poe
but I'll be et alli.
Playing with words like a little kid.  I even tried to read it backwards.  But I will be et alli in the literary world....I know it.  why?  Read MAN in the Stratosphere
Jack P May 2018
/ picked an iris from the garden / took a hacksaw to the petals / when i could have just picked them apart /

\ which garden? \ only one of its kind \ a blemish in the desert, a stubborn breakout of petulant colour \ under schrodinger's sun \ model's smiles so **** betwixt the natural verdure \ i tell them this \ to save myself from perceived slights \ and she does, indeed, look slight \

/ the word "help" drawn in the sand / the rusting handle of the shovel burning hands / as i hack at stems swaying nonchalant / in the stinging wind /

\ from left \ to right / then left \ then right / before bleeding out on the flat palm of the tool -

\ a wren \ tar-black \ perches on a nearby tree \ shakes the dust off a wing \ and casts a shadow across our little oasis \ before opening its beak to song \ dragging more people into the dark will not help you find the light switch \ and other assorted platitudes \

/ so the model walks out into the desert / i follow / dragging her garden along / it's wrapped around my ankles / oh the irony in losing blood to the vines tightening / dragging across hot sand / and eventually it's all too heavy / so i collapse / breathing in the arid ground / skin turns as red as a bull's nightmare landscape / yet she continues to walk / as if nothing happened / is it the heat that leaves me melting away? / or the guilt? / in any case / i got caught in the trap i set for her / eyes close / and she is leaving...

                                                                ­                   leaving...

                                                    ­                                  leaving...
                                                                ­                                   left.
begrudging other people of their happiness will not make you any happier i think. bu t i am no philosopher
In the silent cold of the desert night
cacti share a lonely trance
they stretch their stubby, prickly arms
the glow incites this awkward dance

they rest their ship on a vacant dune
shield their eyes from brilliant glare
the light that burns from distant moon
is more than they can bear

they have come to plant their rabid seed
that will race across the desert plane
to hunt the sleepers on which they feed
the seed now sewn, they await the rain
I believe that fire was still a mystery
when the hunt was interrupted by the visitors
knowing that the creatures were startled by their presence
these visitors could passively drop the gold dust
into the creek from which they drank
and as expected, the dumbfounded four
with mouths agape
watched in disbelief without twitching a muscle
though it is not ascertained
that disbelief was a function of the thought
process that they were at this time

it was not lost on these creatures
our forefathers
that these odd newcomers were far superior
than the mastodon they were tracking with rocks

the 3 visitors gave a glance to their soon-to-be hybrid offspring
and were off
the ability to convey their experience when they returned to their caves
fell futile
there were as yet no grunts to properly describe what they had witnessed

the DNA structure leading to the ceiling
of the evolutionary scale was no longer a towering, folding beast
but rather a mere stepladder
fire was discovered
tools, arrows, weaponry
and monuments that we have yet to explain how
were constructed
while the last true human
but a young child when the visitors came
who had observed from afar
drank only from a pond that they had not touched

he passed like a story from the ancients
forgotten in time
Oldie - revised
Thirty-six hours passed with no rest
but I am now deep within a dream
of strange substance and color
my emotions strained and stretched
my body turned inside-out by
floating lights
this is the price paid when one denies sleep

I blink from a nightmare of glistening
silver probes
to see in my awakened state
the blank stare of almond sized black eyes
a gray
silhoetted against the vanilla ice cream colored
shades of my living room window
the contrast visible
even in this monicum of light
he leans a bit to my right as I jump into consciousness
and I know he is surprised
before sending me back

When the morning Sun brings me around
my body
head to toe
feels worn
with fever
my daily aches
routine with age
are maximized and accentuated
the gray is fresh in my mind
the first clear thought
the clarity of his presence

A quick check
testicles intact
coffee to chase the headache
a shower to
wash away the abuse
Oldie - slightly revised
Jack P Oct 2017
Oh, my Medusa
That piercing, seductive stare
Gets me so rock hard.

"braullw nevae falls"
That's 'braille never fails',
Spelled by a blind man.

Matsuo Basho
Turns in his grave: first, five times
then seven, then five.

The dankest of ****
Floats slowly into my lungs
Oh wait...Asbestos.

hahaha ye boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
yeyeyeyeye ye boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
hehe wyd
for dbiz
Jack P Aug 2017
my excuse is that i was raised by wolves, my dear
and i had my teeth filed into pinpoints
and i had my back hunched over until my spine was a golden arc.

but did you ever run with a pack, my dear?
your food came to you, cooked, prepared, served by a gloved hand.
and everything could be solved with a 'please' and a 'thank you'.

but our differences don't stop there, my dear
there is a distinction between school grounds and hunting grounds
between daisy chains and food chains.

or, if you please, packed lunch and slain lunch
better still: between praying and preying
between what one hears and what one herds.

yet here we are, my deer
and for all notions of civilized behaviour
you are the one baring animal teeth.
listen to aurora's all my demons for all your inspiration needs. cough up a hairball in the form of a poem.
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