I left the diner at 12pm.
I brushed my slightly overgrown teenage hair back,
and put on my straw hat. My pink bike rested on a
coffee-coloured wall. I pulled a carton of cigarettes
out of my pink sweatshirt pocket, watermelon flavour,
to be exact. I strolled the street, with my
bike in hand and rose-red cigarette in mouth,
the tip lighting up like a black volcano, now and then.
Leaves, curled up like dolphins dance on these
I got on my pink bike
and Tokyo-drifted down the streets of solitude.
I felt like a penguin parading down deserts of ice,
delivering a holy message of nothingness,
my words are nothing,
my sentences are nothing,
my paragraphs are nothing,
my questions are nothing,
my answers are nothing,
and my poetry is nothing.
I zoomed down the silent and suffering streets
as an unimportant pink blur, a speck of existence.
Garbage bins zoom by, where my poetry sleeps,
full with wasps worshipping rotten amber apples.
The tropical tang of the watermelon cigarette faded,
I flung it from my marble mouth and
like an executioner, the bike wheels finished the flame.
The tiny black volcano lay extinct on the gravestone street.
Graffiti posed like a Playboy model on broken concrete walls,
painted by philosophical and political punks, the real heroes
who are censored by the desperate void of customs and rules.
All they want and all I want
is to be set free
by breaking the barriers
and the barriers of language and expression
and to be hidden by the eternal judgement and
distorted doubts of a non-existent closet of fear.
The dolphin leaves dance joyfully and swiftly,
like an American boy’s passionate kiss
filled with an erotic marijuana bliss.
I am with him now,
I am with him forever,
and I am with him in the grave.
I am with his lips,
I am with his hands,
I am with his stomach,
I am with his cock and balls.
I am with his legs,
I am with his heart,
and I am with his soul.
I am with Nate.
Desolate, hurt and confused in the Irish suburbanite darkness,
I dream of a warm, sunny day in North Carolina,
right outside my not-yet house and
on bright, emerald, neon green grass,
I lean in for a kiss
Do you know
What it’s like
The same thing
Every single day
It shouldn’t be like this
You need change
An open range
You have a dead-beat job
You live by yourself
In a pungent apartment building
You ponder about the world
What you could be doing
Who you would meet
How you would get there
You think your life is so lonesome
No family near by
Friends who are never home
Because they are out
Doing what they want
Being able to speak their minds
Whereas you’re somebody’s thrall
You don’t want to be trapped
In this moocher town
For the rest of your life
You want to explore
Exit this closed up bubbled
That has engulfed your existence
For so song
Your life has no purpose
You need to get out
You stand tall
Looking around the room
Walking out the door
Roaming the streets
Your great adventure
Your one and only
The life you want to live
Nobody is stopping you
You cull your options
You will be just like your friends
It will only take
One day at a time
The most adventurous
Time of your life
There will be bumps
But you’ll be alright
As long as you feel free
Your journey starts now
My mind thinks worse by every night
When it will finally breach the calm garden of thoughts
Overthrowing it with insanity
Will you think of me?
Will the mental's ability to draw forth desires succeed in corrupting yours with thoughts of me?
Do you even still think of me?
Is this conscious carnival now my only company,
Constantly surrounded by intrusion
Howling, no longer at the moon,
But for my doom?
My heart beat slows every morning without you
When it will finally slow to halt
Will you feel me?
Will I cause a woeful effect of leaving a hollow gap in you?
Will you attempt to reincarnate me?
Is this sacred solitude now my only love to keep,
Sheltered in the warmth of bleak
& Catabolic memories
That metabolise me?
My soul detaches little by little everyday
When the last sip surpasses to seep out of this fallen cup I call myself
What will you do?
Who will you see?
I'm fully aware that this battle is purely between me & myself
Yet I'm still stuck here, contemplating without conclusion
A hero saves all & will risk all to save his/her lover
But if that lover no longer wants to,
who saves the hero?
I know I should focus on myself
If I don't, it's not good for health
But see the truth is
I'm fighting with myself
& well darling, I'm losing...
So how are You?
It's a filthy word that taints your tongue.
I'm not a normal addict.
I'm not addicted to beer, or to regular drugs.
The only drug that fulfils my desires.
You are my drug.
You fill my head with morphine.
You take away my pain.
But when I wake up in the morning I feel sick.
I take you every night.
You've helped me in ways you don't even know about.
Even though I can't swallow you whole.
I can break you and take you piece by piece.
No matter how I devour you.
You always help me.
I taste the bitterness on my tongue.
But a cool sensation spreads to my head.
Being in love is a powerful thing.
You're a chemical.
You make up my bright side.
You make up my best days.
You make me feel numb when I bleed.
I was never one for drugs.
But when it comes to love.
I dove in head first.
my dear marine soldier....
today you gave me some news
but it wasn't the kind i wanted to hear
you said..... i got my orders, its not to California
my heart broke in two
tears poured down my face
so i asked you
"what is going to happen to us?"
you said " i don't know"
so here is my reply;
you know where i stand, i told you from the beginning that i'm not leaving. yes it's going to be hard but i don't care cause in the end i will have you
and my love i mean every single word
please know that
please do not give up on us
i want you
i want us
my dear marine soldier
I want to write for you
But the words they flee me
And as I keep writing, keep forcing it,
it only gets worse and worse
If only you knew
how many of these 'poems' of mine,
mere bits of language mashed forcefully together,
are resting in my draft box,
resting there for ever,
barely never to be revisited again
And yet I don't stop
sitting here when I should long since
be fast asleep
Because I fear that I'm leaving you here
with all of these unexpressed, never said sound-things
I fear I dread I worry I am afraid
When I should be embracing you
my marine soldier , today you told me some news
you said "i will know my orders soon"
i don't know if i should be excited or afraid
excited of the thought that i will finally meet you and feel your embrace
or afraid that you will be father away from me
the thought of losing you is unbearable
i pray and pray for you to come to me
whenever the day may be
i will wait for you
so please my marine soldier
let us finally start our new beginning
marine soldier you are so handsome
you are also brave
although you are thousands of miles of away
i can never make myself astray
my body needs your touch
my lips crave your taste
there is no other one i need but you
i count the days until you arrive
but will our love survive ??
i really hope you stay with me
no matter what the circumstances may be
without you i would fall apart
you are the only one who holds my heart
i do not know what the future holds
but what i do know is
that you are the one i want
my marine soldier
flowers and trees
waiting for reception
the sun bellows from above
clicking and tapping
timing not scheduled for flight
below they cry
look from there
above your head
I am an angel in the rise
I am angelic in the fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such a tall
Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
In pitch black etched across his chest
“Shall my hands afford ash?”
Read to a roar of laughter
“Who are you?”
Cut short by a roar of laughter
“They call me Cain, brother, and I can only show you ‘what’.”
And what, indeed, amidst fiery chariots and divine palaces suddenly surging from ocean chasms had my thoughts sought to comprehend?
Here I am amidst a dream
A neon second scene
But where is the Word when
Awake, and to multitudes.
The morning sun rises to bring light on a blackened church. There, at a vandalized oaken pulpit I give my sermon. My Bibles were lost in the arsons committed on my home, my church, and the corner shop refuge that once provided living space for local destitute. I am unprepared this Sunday, but the Word flows freely. He ‘Is’ is speaking through me. I look down to my notes and revel in their order. Clean lines, a steady hand stroke on every letter composing a glorious sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life. The times have changed, and so I write these words hoping that they may bring Light to times darker than these.
I am a fool in the rise
I am foolish to fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such a bright
Light – refracting subaquatic from
Towers – streaming ribbons with the current
Whilst star-light chariots permeate disorder
“She made ham from ash”
A thought recited to a piercing silence
“Where am I?”
A thought recited to a low hum
One – stepping forward from light
Form – immaculate sans
A wild, pulsing eye
“I am here to show you ‘what’.”
“Are you able?”
And so, with caution, I proceeded down Atlantean waterways buzzing with preternatural light and rhythm. Amidst this shimmering ocean scene there was beauty and awe which words to comprehend could only paint pictures of madness. And so, I came upon my home.
Here I am a king at sea
With neon throne and queen
But where is my Hand when
Awake, and to multitudes
The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church, home away from home. The attacks grow fiercer by the week, and I have not managed to procure a Bible for today’s sermon. The turnout is better than ever, and the Word flows freely from my tongue. He ‘Is” is speaking through me. The people are queued from pew to door, from street to corner. They seek, en masse, refuge from daily struggles; refuge not found within these Holy walls. Yet, they come. Their order is glorious! Such a wondrous sight amidst the seemingly ceaseless chaos of this life has never before been seen. I write these words in hopes that they may bring Light to times darker than these.
I am sacred in the rise
I am sacramental in the fall
I am I Am at rest
And awake to such insurmountable
Sounds – reverberating
Grounds – quivering
Towers – streaming
Chariots – quickening
“Oh, what a beauteous scene I have come unto! Thank the Highest, thank the Highest! These neon lights, though manifest in form I dread, do not belie the Supreme! Nay, unto him I deem fit all creation! Do not these streams paint your name?! Have not these seams sewn your claim!? I am free among these dreams, and from You have all I need!”
Sang to all who would listen
“Could these hands afford ash, the embers of eternal flame would brand the holy flock! Could I make ham from ash, the maw of sheep would ne’er seek to be sated!”
Sang to all who could hear
“And ye had better listen who doubt the name!”
“But who are you who are such a tall”
Man – shaggy hair rising in plaits
Form – immaculate sans
Opaque lettering across his waist
Read to a crescendo of laughter
“Why am I here?”
Cut short by a crescendo of laughter
And why, indeed, had such beauty been shown to one who could not comprehend? Why, indeed, had I been brought to the depths, to revel in that which I have been cast from?
“To pyre, to pyre!”
And so, all the oceans were torn asunder. The final baptism before
There I was
The second scene
Of all I have conceived, but a dream
But a dream
For here I Am
Amidst the seams
Of all the paths I weave
The morning sun rises to bring light upon a blackened church. It is not Sunday, yet the patrons are queued to the street corner again. These people have come to hear the Word flow, yet the Word for me today is woe. The final sermon: Whole and hearted.
“You are here for me, as I am here for you!
There is but one truth, one way, one mind!
It lies not within one, but within two!
The Singular Multitude!”