Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jun 2015 Tark Wain
niamh
I made you.
But in all honesty,
You made me
feeling the love for the family in a big way today :)
14 April 2014*

Love is love.
*** is ***.
Don't be confused.
The lines are clearly drawn. Don't cross it, unless you know the difference. Don't be so crazy in love. —L
 Jun 2015 Tark Wain
LAG
?
 Jun 2015 Tark Wain
LAG
?
I know its been a while old friend
but dont show it just do what your told
for the things we try for hardest
are the things that die saddest
Although its been a while
since your number i dialed
i still think of you, i try to lie
and hide behind a barely open door
i lost track of whats worth fighting for
But the day i opened my eyes i was shaken to my core
I try to look back but things could never be like before.
here i stay writing to an old friend that will never hear what i say
If only you knew the things i knew
youd see why your lies cant burn
if i cant hold them to a candle anymore.
I want to drop my facade for a second and say im broken shaken
and every person i see is mistaken for your ghost.
You visit me in my dreams. i start to talk but
have nothing to say.
since the day you chose to go away.
over things i never meant to say
in response to burning pain.
were over now and i cannot cave.
just keep swimming to my next wave.
who knows where this one leads
somewhere far from here
where i can repent for my evil deeds
tear apart my old world and leave no tears.
because where im going even angels fear.
from The Women You Take From Your Brother (Aug 2014)

http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/the-women-you-take-from-your-brother/hardcover/product-21988530.html



taunts

death is never early. take the first bite of every meal in front of a mirror. chase the kid while pulling a plastic bag over your head. invent a sibling schoolmates blind. know poverty, know moon. shampoo the elderly from a distance. baby no one. they have looked like hell since before you were born.



in the rain

the woman she is holding an umbrella over the man she is yelling at.  the man he is blowing into the bowl he’s made of his hands.  a boy sits at their feet with his back to us and is bringing what we can guess is a toy to his mouth.  you joke he is laboring to light a cigarette.  in the rain.  



locals

the father tells his children how he is not surprised by how much they’ve grown.  they are healthy, after all, and he is not death. the mother wonders how it is common she lose the baby when she is not the last to have it.  my name is silent but no letter in my name is or the letters in my name are not silent but the word they make is.  perhaps her pain is political.  her pain is god’s.  



portals

while churched in the sounds of my brothers ******* on spaghetti, I had two words for ghetto and poverty.  I was able to crush only those beetles slowed by your father’s fleeting shame.  we found so many stones it became impossible to label a single one as oddly shaped.  logic was that if the horse hung itself it would leave a note.  I had my doubts.  

while churched in the sounds of my brothers ******* on poverty, I had two beetles mother looked for.  you were so ghetto my other friends rubbed at me as if I’d come out of my father.  logic was that if a horse hung itself it would leave a note.  

     not here:  the stone that heard my baby’s heart.



wartime

my friend approaches the microphone with a grocery bag on his head.  I don’t know how this will turn out.  not long ago he ran over a fourteen year old girl minutes after she vandalized a stop sign.  my friend has lived everyday since and everyday previous with the fact she survived.  I phoned his wife recently but she had already left him for what he calls a microcosm.  I am hopeful I can love what he’s done with his hair.  he sent me this flower for mine.



catholicon

into the wood
a man
whose daughter’s
hair
is a ghost
fighting a ghost
for her head.

whose daughter
has not slept.

such cures
the town
talks.

put the sick
every morning
on a different
porch.

use
the same
nail.

if one is awake
**** a crow
or *****
a stop sign.



empty imagery

i.

Adam had no memory of his first wife.  as created, he would look at Eve all day and feel nothing.

ii.

the vacation house was found to be owned by another family.  in it, my mother resisted arrest.      

iii.

my father was born with six fingers on his right hand and seven on his left.  he was not fond of either hand until later in life when the grandchildren asked him at different times during their visits if he had been tortured.

iv.

God created the world because he couldn’t do it on his own.  ah, note to self, *******.  person is place.  I might’ve killed a man had I not been poking holes in a poem by Barton Smock.  

v.

my brother says it’s part of his condition that he can only explain himself from the waist down.  he says he feels horrible in the back of his head and wants me to take a look.  he says I don’t know what darkness is.  before I can play doctor he remembers he has a story he wants me to write.  the outline of the story is off site.  in the opening scene brother recalls that a young man is blowing dust from a human skull made of plastic because it’s all the narrator can afford.

vi.

the head itself was an afterthought.  had god not allowed the soul to come up for air, beauty would have been spared our invention.

vii.

a single mother is a twofold mirage.  please argue above her quietly.  her legs collapse.  her child comes first.

viii.

your sister is the only person I’ve recorded to have been born without a gift.  I was told this in confidence by an angel masquerading as a small animal.  the size of which escapes me.

ix.

I am aware a sparrow exists.  not in a spiritual vacuum.  people are another hell.  

x.

excuse my friend his earlier joy in saying who do I have to **** to get ****** around here.  at age 19 a man exploded beside my friend and my friend went quiet.  to his grave thinking his own bomb malfunctioned.
 Jun 2015 Tark Wain
Crushing Love
I love you
I hate you

But I still cry for you
Can you guess why?

No ; ....
Well I'll tell you why
I cry for you because now I know the truth of your leaving
you didn't leave for her...

You left because it was me you were ashamed of !
And you were ashamed of something that never even happened !
So I hope you happy and satisfied , because  baby I can plan your descent .
Had to make a few adjustments for it to come out correctly but here is the translated version of my  Greek poem.
 Jun 2015 Tark Wain
Nicole Dawn
You've got to be perfect,
Don't you see?

You must be mature
Act older than your age
Set an example
You're the oldest
Act like it

No you can't cry
Tears are for the weak
Oh you want to die?
Well do it on your own time
Don't waste mine
With silly tears

You must be perfect
It's not that hard
Just do everything right
Even if you can't breathe
And don't know if you'll survive

You have to be pretty
Who wants a girl
Who is ugly?

You need to work hard
It's like you don't even try

Just be perfect
That's all I ask

I want to be perfect
I really do try
I try to do as you say
But I'm just not perfect
I'm not
I just can't

*I'm sorry
This is supposed to be a lecture by society, and a response at the end
 Jun 2015 Tark Wain
Austin Martin
The web undulates beneath him,
shimmering in the morning sun as the clouds recede.
A feat of engineering unmatched, no number of hands
can compete with eight hairy legs.
Stronger than steel, as flexible as a feather
Beautiful and meticulous despite being a deception intended for death.
The ultimate disparity.
Next page