tigers and lions and bears will be children's stories
we consumer society so much plastic on our faces
relying on fossil fuels for money and survival
setting the ecosystem off its center like the tower
of Pisa we keep using using and taking taking
the land is our mother will we abandon her? everyday
we stomp huge carbon footprints over her garden
take a step back see black smog rain clouds so
paint the sky brushstrokes of gold, blue and white
if our land is off balance and disrespected
our lives will be affected
humans will be stories the mother Earth whispers
I was afraid
Until I shook
I was beat
Until I froze
I should have run to you
But instead I turned to sin
I thought it'd make me better
Thought it would calm my storms
But I should have known better
For it is always you
Who saves me in my nights
My healer my God
No other but You
You took away my fear
Gave me peace I didn't deserve
I never should have run from you
And I am so thankful...
You chased me even still
Poetry has never hurt like this before. I beg of you, drown this
hurt, and kill it with your last touch. Touch my skin with your lips, let them rest against my bare neck. And let me drown in
you as well the disillusionment of a love separated by the stars. Spare me one last look, tame in me this fire that yearns for you,
this fire that can't be put out. Save me. From myself, one last night, before we say goodbye.
Don’t Find the Time to Hide
To Hide From Life
From Your Responsibilities,
Don’t Find Time To Stop
To Stop and to Doubt
And To Lie
Don’t Find Time To Suppress
To Suppress Your Creativity
And Your Skills
Don’t Find Time.
To Let Others Hold You Back
To Let Others Restrict You
To Let Yourself Doubt You
To Let Yourself Change You
And Stay Yourself.
This is my credo
this is my dogma
this is my statement of belief
you can call this whatever you like
because the title is unimportant
this is my uncompromising doctrine
of which I believe in
to the utmost degree.
Everyone is important
Despite what they may think of themselves
Every single person has a life that matters
No matter how they see their life
I will be the person who is left
When everyone else has left
And you believe yourself to be alone
I will be the one who believes in you
When even you do not believe in yourself
I will be the one to remind you of your beauty
When you forget the beauty you possess
I will be the one who will listen for eternity
When you feel like you are worthless
I will see value and worth within you
Even when you believe yourself to be worth nothing
I will be the one to worry over you
While you worry over everyone else
Come hell or high water
Regardless of the burden it shall place upon my shoulders
I will undertake the task
Of lessening the pain and suffering of others
For I can bear much suffering
And my heart is warmed by the sight
Of suffering and pain being lifted from someone’s shoulders
I will do all that is within my power
Put forth all the effort I can
With mind, body and soul
I step forth into this world
To deny suffering a place here
And to lessen the pain
Felt by any and all
So bring me all the worst
Of your broken
Of your bruised
Of your supposedly insane
Dreams feelings and memories
Bare your soul to me
And I shall reply in kind
Welcoming you in to the depth of my being
And encompassing you within the warmth that I possess
I know that I may not save all
But that will NOT STOP me from trying
To save everyone
Because if I can save even one person
Then any sacrifice is worth the chance
I stay humble, I work hard, I don't complain.
I do my absolute best. I take the worse and give people the best. Even when I haven't slept I'm happy to do anything for anyone. Then it happens. I'm forgotten, alone to be used by any and all. I want to be a common thought, something that happens right away, at what cost do I have to give to receive it? I've followed my own path but have picked up so many strays that do not replenish what they use. I am forgotten forever to be abused.
To all of the nameless...
faces in the crowd at an event
your unity is endearing
it's currency and time you have spent
To all of the nameless...
wanderers sleeping outside in the cold
your fight to survive is empowering
spirit the only thing that remains unsold
To all of the nameless...
users who've surpassed last call
your denial is where the battle begins
a war cry against substance and ethanol
To all of the nameless...
children who lack a daily feast
your hunger no fault of your own
basic human rights have been breached
And to all of the nameless...
believers giving life to cause
your actions are restorative
but we must hold off on applause
When people are united &
hunger and struggle still exist
efforts must be given
until the problems are fixed
Heaps of her across the deserted plains, oily fingers reaching up and over the horizon until all of the numbers fill her pockets, her father worried, and her muses covered with goat-head's thorn. Where does she start to fuse her needs with the weapons in their suburban corolla of lilacs and wanton redolence? It's the opacity in her finger nibs and the dozens of names she felt closing over her legs sideways, until she awakens in the night to take the blood dripping cotton tissues off of her face, off of her bed-side dresser table. She can't even paw forward or undress her wetness in haiku. Everyone she knows doesn't know her. Everything she's seen, doesn't seem to be there for her anymore. That's the trade they told her to barter for, the golden seals and vitamin needs she's gobbling up by the palmful every morning by seven.
Seven for the circus or the mimes, seven for the cloves hanging from the door and seven for the queries that strike back her abcesses and cost her seven by the quart and seven for the plastics. Seven dancing backwards towards a rook or a spade, seven inside her chest playing guitar with David Bowie, seven at the doggerel, and seven for the stitch and the obtuse- only a creature of seven might go for her, in a spot of doves, crank, and soda it is poison, seven is her panty line, her sexuality, her sinfulness, and her latitude over and over again. Seven makes her want for tomorrow, seven takes tomorrow and throws itself up against the wall, pledging a game in the summer, seven to a trip of caramel and dukes, seven for the prince and the painting of the two of them, seven for the winter, and for the shadows that stretch curiosity past the breath of a summons', seven for the day and seven for the evening, seven scratches her ears and pulls out her hair, seven is the ring and the blue phantom buried somewhere far, far away, green is what's left, but seven knows which way the rain comes and who is going to follow it through.
There is a numbness that radiates on the fringe, a tickly discomfort not even a narrator could let out or down to a name on the mountains near the nude plateau that conquers her nuance, and shakes the both of them to core of the fight. This is not a flag that costs us in coins or in dollars. This is the worry chiseling our shapes and our buttery hips, a stacked set of crazy in a photograph off the leash of only a few. And it calls them to the night when it's only three of us left, until every cord is untied, until every verb is set in its caste, or ringing out to the tremolos of rapture, and the musicianship of pepper-jacked sneezes in the ambers and umbers that although startling, we've all learned to convert our averages in order to swing under the storm, and baby each of us with an elixir of myriad captures, images, and violent abuse.
While the words can yield, and the festivities can hoard each of the simple new experiences against travels of women, and pictures from Mussorgsky riling up soft drinks and evocations towards the center where all of us sometimes will let ourselves, let loose. Something horrendous and cold plugging into the sugars, something quiet, nearly a friend of reminders, crustaceans and ocean making this top-down beach of faces for all to shake and roll with or set forward a cacophony of abuse. Until in a breath she calls for the infinite intuition sheltering her and our window from the pain of misuse.
That is the photograph where we have been looking to live, here is the memory we spent our minds trying desperately to relive in the shade and in the snafu, against the bark and the piano keys treating our rise. Within our skin and our pupils, our silver bookends and/or the mammals we don't use names for but for whom we've been introduced to.