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The Dedpoet Dec 2015
In my youth I remember my face.
               Today
As I have lived and breathed
        And died inside many times
And live again in this lifetime;
     I see faces in a mist,
The man in the mirror
          Has no face.
Paz.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
People at the pass,
           Past people
Through a concubine of memory
           Almost insatiably
They remember.
           The shadow from light cast
On open wounds,
           A meadow of grass whistles,
The sounds of children growing
           The invisible in front of us
           Days stretch like morning awakenings,
They are in the bedroom,
           The curtain brushes violet walls,
Coffee clenches a fist in the air,
          The morning mist choking on the sun.
A stain of kisses as she remembers
          The spill of passion
Torn out from the night into a constellation
           Un named
He is walking back,
With coffee cups in hand,
Back to the night before,
         Edges of forever
As home becomes the void
         They fill out the abyss with
Memory surrounded by life
                 Home
The stab of the sacrifice
         The door is revolving
In a collapse of time
         Daily they drink of another
Looking back
                 Moving forward
Memories clear the mist......
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
The words so deep
They reach about like a lightning storm
That reveals the nature
Of our joyous sorrows.

This is the poet that escapes
From dull crevices and fixed niches
Into a sky adorned with metaphor
And fantastical illusions.
It's a gathering of Weeping Willows
And under are flowers of death
And dark romancing light.

It is like the march of an invisible
Parade bustling down the day,
Each one thoroughly entertaining
With the prestige of words written
On their invisible skulls.
      The hunger that ends but is
Never satisfied,
A miracle backwards,
A solitary confinement with the universe.

And in the middle of sorrow and joy
Is love
Between two bodies,
The romance,
The fall,
Something that brings about melancholic grace
To a fallen angel
At the cusp of mercy of mortality.
The pen and the poet
Bid farewell daily to this world
And everyday reinvent it
With audascious hope....

Poetic reality, oh miserable happiness:
The sea of stars in the eyes of a poet.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
Do you know what awaits beyond
Your dreams and hopes?
Do you suddenly in the later years
start to think about regrets?
     Before losing oneself in the tide
Of timeless past amidst a dense thought
Of who we ought to be,
     There in the afterthoughts stirring
In the depths of your gut,
A great extension of yourself comes about,
That which blindly guides us through
The dust of days.
    And the rust of yesterday's patterns glues
Itself to your brain which racks itself
And inhabits  the heart which weighs
Itself heavy.
    
    Do you remember when she first kissed
You suddenly and intently?
    Do you remember when she walked away
In tears and you furiously said nothing?
    And she became a regret
Waiting in ambush,
And the thought of her becomes like
A deep well in a vast desert,
The water inside holds a bittersweet charm,
She still awes you,
Against all the time,
Afainst the whole of the Earth,
And still a hope erupts from somewhere
Deeper like the rope that pulls you
Out of yourself.
     Such a familiar sadness.
Who are you compared to then?
And the hope wells against the tide,
Another part of you is born,
This one can see a distant light
From a certain view.
      And the rage is a hope,
      The regret a sad song,
      we remain more
      When time is least,
      And the least becomes
      A joyous misery.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
Am I accepted here throughout
The poetry world?
Though I am a liar
(But you all know my pain)
And a sociopath,
I still love the make beieve world,
Like dreaming I was naked
In an NFL stadium
And had to run across the field
To a door that kept on disappearing
And reappearing on the other
Side of the field.

I know myself better than my
Psychiatrist does,
But the truth of the lie is
I love the words more than myself,
And the mass darkness I live in
Is filled with a universe of
Make believe.

So I write the Galactic Sea
And yes I am a crazy person,
So I defiled my name and the dream
Became reality.
I believe in my words
And I am hungry for these truthful
Poets who sieze poetry
At its throat and follow
Their scripted verses.
(I hear repetition has much to do with insanity)

Sure I am hungry for love
But Im in a relationship with sedatives,
The sadness of these poet saints
In a mammoth sized disproportionate
Reality,
Ive read my psychanalysis
And it turns out Im a poet with dreams
Who knows the difference
Between a star and a lightbulb.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
Lord,
       God of many names
       I come as a pagan
        So that the right One
       Might hear my moans....

You are not a God that is either
Republican or Democrat,
You are partisan and unheeding
To their propaganda,
You do not need the popular vote,
Nor do you speak lies in speeches.

About the monsters You left in charge....

They speak sweet nothings in Your name
While they rush to cameras when
A thousand die.
They secretly take in the money
For the poor and raise funds
For their bunkers when the
Day of Reckoning comes.
    With their atomic know how
And the fear mongering tactics,
  Tney seek to rule me imperialistic,
They seek to destroy me moralistic.
    
    Will you deliver me from their policies,
   Save me from their budget cuts,
    Confuse their sinister programs?

When the day of final Judgement comes,
Send me an Angel,
Be my refuge from the socialist control,
Keep me safe from their propaganda
Mind alterating political promises,
Save me from their campaign commercials,
      Keep those who seek You
Under your safety and
Bullet proof vests.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
You swear by life and its beauty
In ten thousand poems
And breathe the inescapeable moment
Purifying your existence
On this foreign plane.

You consume the fleeting mortality
In the dim half light that is time,
You make love with arrogance in youth
And butterflies in tow,
You recline in your chair
And remember the dry dust of days,
The procession of years on this
Great yin and yang flight.

And death is a sleepwalking dream
With intimate knowledge of your
Deepest desires and wants,
So that one version of you
Might tell the other version
Yet to be
to live life to its fullest
In the emptiness that surrounds all.

And the current on which death rides
Will take us to the door of wombs,
You will see the  Depths and the Heights
And pass the One
Into a flurry of ashes that pass
Like glittery dust,
And to die
Is but a rebirth,
Into the madness once more.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
I was on a ship in the dead of night,
The sky black with tiny sparkles
And un-named constellations,
For a long time I stood staring
At the night sky and sometimes
At the blackened dark sea.
I gathered my imagination
And made shapes of all sizes and kinds.
I had visions of lovers reaching
But never quite touching;
I saw the mercy of a man and his
Dog in the woods finding
A lost child.
And suddenly in the darkness
All alone I heard the ocean make
A hiccup, a small fish I glimpsed
Under the moonlight.
Suddenly I realised the fish was making
Constellations too,
In his own world
In the sea making shapes as well.
And when I searched the sea
Once again, I swear
I could almost see the fish swimming
Through the stars
And through the moon,
And the reflection of the sea
Was a galaxy all its own.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
And where is your life
After you have faked death?
(I can hear the whispers)
I send myself notes to find
And surprise myself with.

Even though I lost my friends,
Even though I am just a shadow
Of my former self,
Suddenly here in the mist
I see them all nameless.
And in the mist where madmen
Believe in dreams and scare
Away hapless prayers,
Suddenly I cant tell if my
Arrogance was elegant
Or simply a fools sacrament.

Perhaps-maybe
I will pulled the switch
At my own execution and stand here
Alone searching for love
Among the thorns,
Alive but Ded,
And maybe someone will give
A **** enough to stop me
From further looking like
The insane narcissistic man
I believe myself to be.

Still I feel compelled to teach
A parrot a badword or two,
Never again will anyone mourn
Over me,
Sad because the tears brought me
Such a sorrowful joy.
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
Before the fog aligns itself
To clog the vision behind your mask,
Before the death of life clouded
Your trust in the Heavens,
Before the desolate wave of sadness
Clouded the very star that guided you,
Before the savage tears you shed
When the lie killed your truth,
Before the door closed in the night
And you drowned in the silence,

You left behind a fleeting light
That was created nust for you,
But as darkness falls the words
That were like children,
The days that were like
A thousand lakes under the sun,
The words that scattered like
Light through the crystal memory,
Came forth a boundless vacancy.

And the night is torn apart,
Deep into the hours where
Memory and names do not matter,
When it seems the hope has sailed forever,
The words will echo deep
Into the mind and eternal
Poetry will be born unto thee
The death of the present will
Be owed to the loss of who you once were....
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