"ailments" poems
Fabricated.
Fictitious.
A fake floating feeling
Falls short
Of my fleeting fantasy.
This insidious infirmity
Isn't what I intended.
I've been inflicted
With internal indisposition.
In need of an ideal identity.
Who am I without
This ****** to make me whole?
How do I heave my heart
Away from this hole?
Have you seen how hard this is?
But it's been short of a year,
Of believing I can simply be.
And before I break
Bleed me of my bane.
And for me, bear no malice.
Tightly take me
Away from my terible tempest.
Time tells me it's time to stop.
Too long I've tortured my tenemet.
Tame the tantrum tearing through me.
Sober seems strong,
But it's systematic survival.
Stopping the surrender
To something stimulating.
Learning to stand sedated.
No I'm no longer numb.
No longer neglecting my need
For new novcane.
Knowing I'll never need
This vaccine again.
You are all my ambition.
Dispelling my ailments
And afflictions.
I am hard to adore, I know.
You are my new addiction.
You have me dreaming,
Praying we are real.
Made me feel.
Don't decieve my brittle belief.
Keep me, don't leave.
I'm not the kind to fly.
For you i'd try to dive.
Unafraid I might die.
I don't hide from the night.
This is what I've been trying to find.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
Speak African child, speak. for you poses a mouth that heals nations. It is in thine voice in the vibrations of thy mouth that remedies are provided to our ailments.
speak African child, speak. speak against the calamities that befall your land. speak against that hand that he dare raises against your bare skin. speak against the blood of your brothers spilled to please others.
Speak for Africa that is one and united, Africa that does not know of any racial divides. Africa that knows no skin colour. speak African child speak. for you are the voice of liberation. speak for your voice are the echoes of our ancestors.
child labour, human trafficking, child *********** school violence, femicides, suicides. and you say you see this not. African child where is your voice in all of this. doesn't that skin, that accent and ***** hair mark you as of African descent.
Speak African child speak for you bare the answers to our questions, you bare the sole of our history.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
I pick up my pen again
I want these words to be everything
love letters
apologizes
confessions, daydreams
plans? Or roadmaps, new
contracts, to-do lists, like
"stop falling down," or
"try harder this time". I turn
you over but you don't give me what I'm looking for, I'm looking
for a place to dissolve this poison
I'm searching in the dark for halos that don't exist
I'm counting up nights of lost sleep,
calculating the probability of
our intertwined fingers as
remedies melt
off your tongue and run over
cracks in the pavement, oozing
sticky shower thoughts into our heads, like how
did we end up here?,& how
does the world end every night but go
on spinning the next morning?
I want this to be everything, the cure
our futures, soft plans,
collections of stitched together questions like how long
does forever taste on your breath
in the aftermath of all the anxiety you tend
to consume?
I want to pull the drapes on this thing and leave it to breathe in the
dark, leave it under
covers so these ailments don't seep
around my doorframe and pull
what is half-born into the light, let it be
let it live
let it cave in on itself and slowly
rebuild.
Chances come in
handfuls,
let the sun forget to practice her
old game of never
letting anyone rest; my fingers are warm & numb now and they remind me a little of
how you look when you're half asleep
they remind me
why this is fragile, why this is broken
why this can never
last and I'm sitting
in the passenger seat wondering
how the soft things stretch out their wings in
my lungs without
killing me, but they're
leaving their marks now, clawing
up my throat;
I close my eyes and give
them to the open air.
You don't know all of this; your eyelids
are heavy and you're keeping track
of who I am in little
notepads & reminders,
keeping track
of the way we move and how likely
we are to remember this moment in 5 years,
because right now you want
to capture it and tame it like a living thing.
We are becoming dust
molecules, we are
burning, we are becoming
quiet we don't leave footprints
we don't leave traces
we are heading toward the end of the world with our hands
tucked into our pockets, we are headed
toward the end of the world dissolving each others names on our tongues like sugar, we are headed
toward the end of the world and when we get there,
it starts again.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 5:34 PM UTC
Around the table,
Literacy discussion turned elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.
I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard...
Was transported to a prairie farm;
Thought of my Father, then in his eighties
Who felt no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.
Every morning, he read his Bible;
Some nights he read the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.
"I don't have time to read!"
He'd shout when I suggested a novel.
What literature he had was in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.
Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way
("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!");
Cows and calves and bulls,
(Which one was sick or well, dry or bred);
Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments
("Start with the easiest options first");
Metals, to know which welding rod applied
("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks");
Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands,
(a test of ripeness);
Cement, to blend the perfect mix,
("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!);
Conservation,
("Always keep some grain on hand" &
"Keep your fuel above half-tank").
So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
I'm like a pill,
Because if you swallow my well-being,
You will be relieved of your worries, sicknesses, and ailments,
But too much of anything isn't beneficial for any of us,
And too much of me
Could leave your tongue escaping from your mouth,
And the irises of your eyes attempting to meet your brain,
Which is why you should take me
Within considerate reason,
And not take me for granted.
Swallow me whole,
Wash away your pride,
Feelings of me running deep inside you.
I swallow you,
I swallow you whole,
I swallow you down.
You are the perfect pill for my ills.
I can see the comely contents of your character
Labeled on a container,
And as soon as it becomes empty,
You will see me rushing
To get a refill of your grace.
Ever since you were prescribed to me on May 13th,
I've never listened to my doctors
Who assume to know
What is best for me.
I consume that dear, special, deep word
Like a space cadet of an overdose.
I need you within my reach,
I need your relief,
I need your reassurance,
I need you to care..
But what I need the most of from you,
Is your affection.
Originally written 7/2/11
Revised 10/15/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
All these pills piling up on my desk,
stacked like the pyramids higher than my chest.
all these kids running around,
I hear them Grrrr.. so I lock my pills up sound.
The pharmacy is open to my needs,
she just rolls her eyes to my relapses.
Says she's going to leave me,
if I don't bring the cost down below twenty G's.
oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
**Gosh **** gosh **** gosh, gosh ****
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
Woke up this morning aches in my neck,
gout in my foot, what the heck.
opened the cabinet, pills all gone,
crack addict snuck in, took the lot.
Jumped on my bike, tire's flat not a good start.
no license for a car, ailments mean ill have to walk.
standing behind some old dude chugs out a ****
pills got laxative effect, I think I better not laugh.
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
**Gosh **** gosh **** gosh, gosh ****
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got!
"groans in loud noises, Aaaaaaaaaa"
And my stomach, my stomach
I said my stomach!
Pills make me want to eat food.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
*Mama got pills, daddy got pills,
yo sister got pills,
yo auntie got pills.*
I got pills.
Yo uncle got pills, Everybody got pills, everybody got pills.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
You took my hand and asked me to dance,
But I was far too tired to do so,
The simple act of walking being far beyond
My limited capabilities at that point.
I had been reduced to hugs and kisses,
And tales of how glorious my past lives had been,
And holding hands.
I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different,
From any I'd ever held before, that hand.
For years I'd held others with the sole
Intention of drawing pain away-
I am not capable of creating happiness,
And I've never claimed otherwise.
Your hand had no pain to draw away though,
Or at least none that I could find,
Which startled me (All the others held so much!)
I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands-
Their needs, and all the varieties they come in.
How they all needed comforting in different ways
For similar ailments- grief, loneliness,
Heartbreak, being among the most common.
I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few.
I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes
Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking,
Into a stone, or an abandoned old house.
But your hand simply said "I am here to be held."
It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was
Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead
As I clunked behind, unsure of myself,
Holding on to you, trying to figure you out
In the short window of opportunity I had left.
I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed.
Somewhere in the webbing between your ring
And index fingers on your left hand
Was what I had been searching for all along.
I won't go into detail about what I saw
(Our pain is no-one's business but our own),
But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged
Than I thought was ever possible,
Noticing you had stolen some of mine
When I wasn't looking, and wondering
How much damage I had done.
I don't know whether I danced with you or not,
The release answered so much while
Explaining not quite enough.
I watched you, enraptured by the way
The pain never once showed
Through those beautiful, happy eyes,
Which never seemed to break.
Now I wonder if I had held your palm
Not too little, but far too much.
The pain I saw was labelled thus-
"Life experiences- Please don't touch
All is well. Please remain calm."
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
The hearts and minds of our future selves weld,
And Melt into the ***
It seems hopeless to try,
But I can't seem to stop.
Until Father time says; "My clock will tic but not tock,"
Sorry Doc you can' cure my ailments,
I'm killing myself for you,
But I still feel selfish.
Only if I can hide within myself like a shellfish,
Maybe I wouldn't be so hellbent on understanding this Paradox.
I saw our future before I knew your name.
It pains me to say its presently driving me insane
I try to fight the feeling
Though I can't seem to tame it
Steady holding the gun to your heart
But I can't seem to aim it
Praying for something different
Though I can't seem to change it
I can't seem to change us
Like Love is the game,
And Someone is playing us
Framing us,
For murdering "What could be"
I don't know
If its what should be
Though I have no problem seeing
If what would be perfect.
Could really be perfect.
I may be delusional
Tho, I don't care because I know your worth it
Hallucinations of spending my time
With only you on this Earth.
I can't say if its a blessing or a curse.
At times its the best but,
Most of the time its the worst.
Trying my best to appease you
Until I leave this Earth.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
I went for an X-Ray the other day. My name was called
and after the expected delay, I heard a nurse say
Right knee? I said Yep! She said “Come this way…
Can you get your trouser leg up to your thigh"?
I said “No… these skinny jeans don’t go that high”.
“In that case” she said looking me up & down... with a frown
Pop in that cubicle… and put on this gown!
For a start…it took me ages to get these trousers off…
and force the rest of my stuff into the carrier bag supplied
and then, when I saw the gown, I very nearly died!
It would have fitted me just fine if I’d been 18 again
but the gaps and bulges in the thing were a farce...
and allowed everyone in the corridor to see my fat 71 year old ****
I said out loud when I sat down again in the queue
“You know…I had an inferiority complex before I met any of you.
But this has definitely taken me down a notch. And I apologise about the view”.
However, inside the X-Ray room with all the techie kit and Radiographer Rob,
I felt better… The pain in my knee had almost gone apart from a distant throb.
Then he said “You’re completely safe, just lie back calm, quite still…serene”.
Whilst he clicked the shutter from the other side of his lead lined screen. (So he was alright then!)
Well, I’m home again now, hobbling about… It’s bearable (not like childbirth ladies) but not great.
I’m sitting here with my leg up waiting for the letter that will let me know my fate.
Ah yes… men and pain! There is a well know fact about the differences between the sexes.
It’s proven that, with men, colds become flu…and ailments:- epidemics… (No really!)
So, here’s the letter… Now...will it be Ointment? Physio, to transform a permanent slouch?
Or a keyhole flush with a catheter? Or - Oh no!…
For me - it’s a titanium replacement knee!… Ouch!
Somebody pass me that gown!!!
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
Around the table, literacy discussion
Turns elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.
I stop to check my sense of what I have just heard...
Am transported back to a prairie farm
And think of my Father, now in his eighties
Who still feels no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare or Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.
Every morning, he reads his Bible;
Some nights he reads the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.
"I don't have time to read!"
He shouts, when I suggest a novel.
What literature he has is in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.
Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way;
Cows and calves and bulls -
Which one was sick or well, dry or bred;
Equipment to diagnose mechanical ailments;
Metals to know which welding rod applied;
Grain, rolled crisp between his hands, a test of ripeness...
Cement to find the perfect mix,
So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Which face will I wear today
The face I wear at work
Cheerful member of the staff
Underpaid - unappreciated
Tiny office with no window
Paperwork nobody looks at
Rules just for the sake of rules
Which face will I wear today
The face I wear at home
Always tired, depressed, besieged
by a thousand minor ailments
All the things I'd like to do
crowded out by other things
I have to do that are no fun.
Which face will I wear today
The face that sports a poet's cap
Gel filled quill pen clutched in hand
Trying every format I can learn
Gleaning from the published experts
Writing happy after years of sad
Finding sunshine in the shadows that I live in
Which face will I wear today
The face above the helping hands
that reach for places to be used
That garner joy from mucking in
to smooth the path for others
Seldom thanked - often refused
Bucket goal - to save a life.
Which face will I wear today
The face that looks back from the mirror
Mapping all the tracks of age
Searching for the sparkle in the eyes
that joined hands with my youthful looks
and did a conga-line away
Which face will I wear today
Picasso portrait of them all
Ill and hale - strong and weak - sad and glad
When seen together in the mirror
it's a face I do not know
and someone I don't care to meet
So check the clock and choose a face
Paste it on and smooth it out
Comb hair over all the edges
**** the light and close the door
And take this face out for a walk
See if anybody says hello
ljm
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
Dangerous times nearing midnight. Every day opens with fresh blood or ink drying down our throats, "...and I Must Scream.", Harlan Ellison [1967]
Honeycombs of humanity sink into themselves and form a thick syrup they claim will cure our ailments, but still tastes like Third ***** nationalism. They burn our shelters and chant, "Home."
Resistance looks strange. People aren't choking on gag orders, they're going around the wall, but hundreds are behind bars for protest, or still getting killed on the streets, or getting hosed down in the cold for advocating clean water. They're putting bounties on antifascists.
We beat that ***** Richard Spencer, but we're yet to strike the one in the White House.
Rattlesnakes under our heels, we've grown into something fiercer.
Something deadlier.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
It has been raining incessantly
I need a tablet for my hyper tension
It is only 9 o clock at night
I have travelled by bike
for three kilometres
All the medical shops are closed
but all the liquor shops are wide open
liquor seems to be the best medicine
for all ailments
for all persons
at all places
a global phenomenon
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:50 AM UTC
When i read your poems
I am happy to see
that love is still among many
even though it may be hard to see…
striving to make sense of our feelings
our deep and inner dispositions
when we are presented with this thing,
this thing, someone named "love"
because people
with there beaten and broken hearts
the medication, alcohol and ailments
do not heal or stop this predicament…
it is so hard to see the light
my friends, look beyond the situation
everything is as meant to be.
though hard to see
your life is held in the palm of a hand
whose gentle care will never end
so raise your head
and stand up tall
you are one among all
whose hearts have been broken
but you, this individual
my friend, you are
for I am a witness to say,
you are a blessing to me every day
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Were there no stalkers or high school shooters in the 50s?
Or are social web sites just more influential than our parents think?
Did texts and tweets raise the *** drives and black out drinking?
Or is the thinning atmosphere contributing to mass judgement impairment?
It's strange
that we have a cure for small pox, can remove cancerous cells
but can't convince some to drive home sober.
It's fitting, in a way,
that Mother Nature has figured out a system to keep the human population relatively in check:
we have the technology to survive diabetes and malaria
but access to delicious saturated fats is slowing down and stopping hearts from properly earning a living.
Progress has ended many terrible ailments and has expanded understanding and brains
but has also given more creative ways to be lazy and irresponsible.
A double edged sword, with most likely more benefits than setbacks,
we have all become hypocrites under advancement.
We learn of the monstrocities in far away places we will never see,
yet still do the very things that contribute to its existence.
Sweatshops?
I'll buy an anti-slavery t-shirt!
(made my children. in sweatshops.)
Pesticides?! I'll go organic!
(and perpetuate pollution with the fuel used to import the goods. and continue terrible working conditions)
It's impossible to resist the inevitables, like death and setbacks and corruption
so sometimes it's best not to fight
but to just do what you want, even if it's stupid or lethal or involves making an *** of yourself.
We're all stupid at sometime and susceptible to faulty thinking,
and sometimes advanced thinking leads to inventions that create crutches for living or coping,
but the fields level out
and global common sense always balances individuals who lack the ability to be actively responsible.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.
Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.
You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.
I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.
I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.
I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.
Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.
Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.
Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.
Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
Ride the Serpent, baby
Into the Great Sea
Ride the Devil, Angel
Into the Deep Sleep
I came from outside
With a universal mind
And you and I can fly, my darling
We need only to die
Ride the Serpent, baby
Into the Great Sea
Ride the Devil, Angel
Into the Deep Sleep
My friends on the inside
Pour us fountains of red wine
"Alive!" She cried, and I was mystified
By the crimson in her eyes
Persian Night, babe - fly with me
See the light, babe? Cry with me
I wanna taste your fearful tears
Show me your eyes and open wide
When the ancient witch appears
We can howl like beasts of the wild
Come back, LA Woman
I'm sick of doin' time
Is this the end?
Can someone find me reason for a rhyme?
"We are but clowns in a cosmic circus, degrading ourselves for a silent, uncaring audience. Their Collective gaze dances across our fragile flesh like so many knives on fire. We bleed. We burn. Our healing begets new ailments. We continue to suffer. We continue to survive. We never stop smiling. The circus is all we have. To lose the horror is to lose the Majesty as well. We must not quit. The lights have not gone down, and we hope they never will. We cannot afford to lose our audience. The Show Must Go On."
Persian Night, little angel!
Fly with me!
See the light, little angel?
Die with me!
I want you here, obscene
For all eternity
For I long to hear the scream of the butterfly!
So turn off the light!
Turn off the light!
Turn off the light and see!
Turn off the lights!
Turn off the lights!
Turn off the lights for me!
...Ride the Serpent, baby
Into the Great Sea
Ride the Devil, Angel
Into the Deep Sleep
Turn off the light and climb inside my universal mind
And finally we can be free
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
It rained on and on.
The fire in the hearth
Had long died out.
Hunger grew,
Frustration raged.
Vultures swooped down
to feed on flesh.
Half willing, half resenting,
Surrendered, rather subdued,
Desires spilled over,
Bristles pricking
From ***** to *****
Thrusting and tearing
Devouring in greedy gulp
Waves surging past the log
Passion spent,
Hunger appeased,
Purse strings loosened,
Silver coins tinkled.
Amply paid,
Her wages of shame……
The toil not wasted!
The reel of Time unwound itself,
And the scenes, constantly replayed.
‘Exploring hands encounter(ed) no defense’.
Each day closed in ****** h(r) ut,
When the h(r) ut turned a ****
She started to rot.
Feeble she grew,
Languid she became,
Body thinned,
Energy waned,
Ailments plagued,
And
Immunity lost!
Now,
She lives an outcast.
A wild flower
wilted by the wind!
A luscious fruit
blighted by the worms!
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
When behind closed doors, in slumbers’ shackle bound
Weary eyes dream in bliss, the world makes no sound
He’s out on round to reach each door in hunt of his man
His face unseen but he sees them all, the hooded horseman!
One night he stopped at a door on hearing a painful moan
The agony in it was so intense, melted his heart of stone
He went in to find a man, in pain’s utter anguish
Mumbling ‘o god have pity on me take me away please’!
The hooded man greatly moved asked him what’s the cause
The streaming sobs of his painful cry was in what remorse
All the while as he said these words, never took of his hood
For he couldn’t, knowing it well, it would do the man no good!
The man replied ‘in my ripe old age I’m left alone
With ailments, without a care, as all my own are gone,
So I asked god to take me off, I can’t bear it anymore
Staying alive with crumbling bones and festering bedsores!
The hooded man said ‘wait a while, let me see to it,
If it’s there, your name, features in tonight’s list,
He scanned it hard then shook his head ‘nothing I can do,
There’re names galore for outbound trip, not one of them is you’!
Saying thus he mounted his horse, here he was needed no more
The hooded horseman on his ceaseless errand, galloped to another door!
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
I just can't think.
Thinking never was a good point of mine,
Thinking takes time, and time is precious,
Thinking can drain the soul of life.
Scholars think, and hope to be quoted,
Foolish men who think they're wise,
And what about our heroes,
Lucky for us, and them,
That they did not have time to think.
Thinking causes all kinds of ailments,
Like rules, regulations, and penalties of such,
I tried to sit and think one day,
And a man said "get of my grass."
Presidents think, and so do their generals,
Perhaps they think "I'm bored, lets have a war,"
Perhaps they think too much,
And think they know what I'm thinking.
I'm not saying that thinking is bad,
1 just can't think,
Perhaps I like to sit and not think better than 1 like to
sit and think,
What do you think?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
The snapshot of our reality
was instant
was pure
it existed before our time
before we were ever sure
Magnetic was the bonding
snapping together like opposites
negative and positive meeting
where forces find the neutral
you and I were there
where brotherhood is beautiful
But my negative was a poison
an acid in the well
slowly unwinding
the potency of the spell
I watched the picture fading
like a manuscript lost to time
that which was made by God
corrupted by insanity's rhyme
there was a cyclical note
in the air of the night
when truths became daggers
and lies flickered alight
I was patient
I was penitent
my prayers were true and real
but our friendship was cut down
like prey under blades of steel
I saw my past catch up
like wolves in the dark
devouring what we'd created
disemboweled by matters of the heart
Who can cure these ailments
that live beyond the soul
while it watches the tumult below
hearts fighting in lieu of the goal
I was there on the battlefield
I watched the future fade to black
all I wanted was the love
that could bring my will to fight back
Brother can be lost in the world
they can spill the blood they share
they can get lost in the moment
and spite the fates that brought them there
it's hard to create family
but so easy to break it
because that which truly matters
is fragile, vulnerable, naked
We protect our love by how we lead our lives
with integrity, compassion, and virtue
so that in the moments life gets hard
we fall back not on the things that hurt us
but on the bonds that gave us life
that gave us the will to carry on
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 8:39 PM UTC
Distance
Aching heart
Pleading lips
Untouched hips
Begging to just be held
In those sweet arms
I envy those who get
To see those eyes
And my favorite scar
The butterflies
Came back to me one night
And have since been fluttering
Trying to be freed
They too wish for you back
To calm their impatience
I whisper each night
To assure that I never lose faith
Because it's all I have without you
Faith to see you
That our love will once again
CLASH
With ecstacy and joy
To simply be reunited
In your arms
With those lips
Would surely cure all and any
Of my ailments.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.
It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.
But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.
(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)
It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-opium rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.
Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
*It seems so far from here and now,
Both in distance and in kind.
That place I found, through winding ways;
The time when I cared not for time.
When shadows stretched meant day was new
And as they shortened haste was made.
Butterflies played and danced and flew,
Distracting minds in need of shade.
Pain in toes and knees and hips
Dissolved all ailments of the head.
Stories poured from sun kissed lips.
Easing aches in time for bed.
I wandered back to times gone by
To grief, to love; so bittersweet.
I played them out, I laughed, I cried-
To the echoed fall of dusty feet.
In all the things I've so far learned,
Of all the 'me' I've yet to know
I've found that peace and calm is earned
Through open minds, on unknown roads.
And if the names, the talks, the places;
If they try to fade with time
I'll think of all the smiling faces;
Kindest hearts, now kept in mine.*
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Bah!
Getting older *****
with all the aches and pains
and worries about growths
and tumours,
cancers and heart failure
my prostrate is fine,
thank you very much,
but can you check this mole?
this pain, this ache?
this over impending sense
of mortality knocking at the door?
the late night harrowing
discoveries guaranteeing
no sleep
until a call to the doctor,
the cutting back on everything
while increasing vitamin intake
exercise, stress free times
for self reflection
and discovery of ailments
and illnesses, inducing stress
increasing heart rate,
needing a drink to calm down
but not too much, as the liver
has already suffered enough
the days advance into night
and the night advances to day
and before you know it
it the sun sets one last time
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC