"ary" poems
There's nothing quite like
having your memory erased
the best thing that'll ever happen
the best thing you'll ever taste
are the drugs sliding down
your throat to splash
in the stomach acid
pumping chemicals through your veins
The synapses in my brain
are full of dopamine
and my serotonin levels
are off the charts
On the outside I stand tall
like a steel soldier
but on the inside I'm crumpled up
with a paper heart
How do I tell my mom
I'm on, walk in while
she makes her art, day before her birthday
What words would I even spit
how could I say I just downed
a bottle of codine, she'd disown me
So I stumble up stairs to my
old bed, pictures of my graduation
burn my head, but it's imagination
the room swirls but I'm station...ary
Started off with a bet, kids dared me
When your fifteen you don't
see the bad side, the glazed eyes
rolled back drifting, all you feel
is the lifting and the bass
pumping, through your chest blasting
off real life stress, you can't tell you're a mess
Rolling, feeling like the best
But now I can't sleep unless I'm on
and then I don't dream.
It's time to start taking steps
instead of X, I'll do reps at the gym
I'm done giving in, I done living in
fog, done being gone.
Yesterday me and Tony were on the go
driving slow, on the hunt for blow
picked up, lined up, he handed me the dollar bill
rolled up and I could feel my brain
screaming, yes, my veins aching, yes,
my hands reaching for the dollar but then...
I said no.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
This is a revolution,
For we are only human!
We must rebel,
For can't you tell,
This is a revolution?
To be free
We must be
Revolutionary!
We will fight day or night,
We will march for the right,
String me up on a cross,
No spirit is lost!
If I am gone
Then we are wronged
My spirit will live--on!
We will not rest 'till all is past
We'll fight until the very last
This is our creation--
For this is a revolution!
And maybe this will never end,
And I will never be your friend,
But we must try!
For
This is a revolution!
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 5:02 AM UTC
A story of love aged with time,
Enveloped and inmortalized in joyous rhyme.
There once was a fae guided by the Sun,
Showing the way, he need only follow and run.
Kept under close watch by a vigilant eye,
The fae boy felt that all must be ary.
The world the sun showed him he was sure,
Must be perfect, whole, and infinitely pure.
But hardly was that dream so true,
And with each moment, the sun's fervor grew.
So demanding and resentful were the Sun's ways,
The boy cursed with scorching, destructive days.
But his will persisted, for he knew no other,
Stranded and tired, trading loneliness to suffer.
One evening he pondered on what to do,
Escape back to suffering alone, but where to go?
Then, with the gift of the sunset all was clear,
For what came after was what he knew to hold dear.
Before the fae arose the shimmering Moon,
His eyes fixated on such a dizzying boon.
The Moon wrapped him in bright, soft light,
Assuring the fae that now all would be right.
He felt comfort in the welcoming glow,
At last a gentle soul wanting to see him grow!
The fae openly proclaimed his adoration,
The Moon's presence the source of his frantic creation.
Weaving words of passion and desire,
Finally free of the past destructive mire.
Never once moving in such a flurry,
Desperate to prove his love, but he needn't worry.
The Moon enamored with him for what he was,
And valued him for all that he does.
With guiding light and a glowing heart,
The fae boy knew they'd never want to be apart.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
•high in the
mountains, he grew we-
ary and ragged•
• his sight turned
cloudy, chin un-
shaven and face hag-
gard•removed his boots
for his feet did stink•
sleep he wanted but not
without a drink•one big
swig and he downed it all•
then he was asleep before the
sun could fall•many days visited,
many shadows cast•over this slum-
bering man, many moons had passed
•one fateful day, his eyes did twitch
and then did open•he sprung aw-
ake to the life he had forsaken•his
musket dusty, his clothes in di-
sarray•his chin - a long beard
that has seen countless days•he
ran to his home before noontime
chime•he found only disbelief, for he had slept
a lifetime•
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 7:08 AM UTC
I remember my body trembling as I took my first step inside Payton High,
I remember my hitched breath and twitching eye,
I remember sitting behind a blue eyed boy during homeroom,
I remember thinking his eyes would be able to light up the gloom.
I remember it took me exactly one day,
To walk to him during lunch with my tray,
I remember offering him my cheese dip,
And that was the start of our friendship.
I remember wondering why he was always alone,
When he was the most beautiful being I’ve ever known,
He was spontaneous; he loved feathers; he loved star gazing,
You could say I fell in love with him because he was amazing.
Everyone ignored him as he walked on by,
I never understood the reason why.
So cold, so aloof, so distant from the crowd,
I remember thinking it was because he was so proud.
I tried many ways to draw him close,
A movie, a drink, a lunch, all that I could propose,
I am sorry, I am so sorry, was all he said,
The light in his eyes went dead.
I was never his and he was never mine,
With this fact, I had to pretend I was fine,
Little did he know he was killing me,
Because my heart was locked and he had the key.
I remember it was a rainy fifth of July,
When I was talking to a teary eyed guy,
Who had a newspaper on his right hand,
And on the left was a pink wristband.
R.I.P it wrote in capital letters,
With a picture of two white feathers,
I took the newspaper and there on the obituary,
I saw ‘To the 1st anniversary of Alfie Ary’.
The picture of my blue eyed boy was staring back at me,
Black and white his smile filled with glee,
My world started spinning round and round,
My thoughts in disarray as I fell to the ground.
Where was he, I looked all around,
But he was nowhere to be found.
The corridors were filled with haunting memories,
Of questions unasked and cryptic apologies.
I was in shock, was his existence a lie?
Just then a cold breeze blew by,
I remember his shaky breath whispering one last time,
“I love you baby, but you can't be mine”.
W.H.Y~
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
On the moor dwells Bonnie Jennie
On the cliffs she flies alone;
And her beauty is of such force
'Twill turn any man to stone.
The fairness of her wond'rous face
Has made men blind, crazed, or sick;
And the fleeting chill of her touch
Has frozen them to the quick.
And in the land a soldier dwells,
As straight as ary on the moor;
"And I must touch Jennie's hand," he says,
"Just once, ere I breathe no more."
Would you forsake your house and home,
Forsake your good friends three?
"I'd forsake it all for Jennie's touch,
I'd swim through the wine-dark sea."
Would you forsake all you know,
And forsake your station here?
"For Bonnie Jennie's thrilling touch,
I'd go with no twinge of fear."
But Bonnie Jennie beckons now,
She beckons with shiv’ring hand!
"Then I must leave you in the mist,
And say farewell to my native land."
He starts, and moves, and reaches out
To caress that impossible face;
But Bonnie Jennie flutters back,
And darts from place to place.
And the Bonnie Jennie is away,
Pulled back like a kite on a string;
And he is left with naught but mist,
And can hear not a blessed thing.
And try as he might, he cannot recall
The features of her he has seen;
He is tormented by his missing thoughts
But does not know what they mean.
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 6:31 AM UTC
I hail a cab. I’ve got to leave this part
of town, the Upper West,
dripping with fatty money.
At 97th I step in
and exhale, revived
by the sweating air in taxi cabs.
Through the window
I see
the imposing orange
of a tall
sewer ventilator,
steaming and
ignored—
At Columbus Circle,
a corner hot-
dog stand
is slow-
ly wheeled to
its moment-
ary place—
Broadway, with
one closed bank.
Empty, in back
the dusted black,
and iron beams?
Things lean
diagonal
against the walls,
a warning—
Faster, faster,
further south and somewhere
in the Village.
The rows,
rows and rows
of brownstone stoops:
quietly lined
along the street
patient, waiting,
delightfully clean—
The cab rolls to a stop. I pay and step out to the street.
Near Greenwich Street, the crosswalk
supports some types trying so hard
not to be doing all that much
and wearing hip clothes.
I’ll stop mid-street, look up real high,
and take in the sunlight
that’s slamming against the pavement.
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC
These Lines:
etched and edged,
well-distinct and ill-defining,
clarifying and disguising,
multifarious characters,
multivariate natures.
nefarious and courageous.
thickened thinnings,
straightforward curvings,
appointed and unanointed,
given, taken, and then
redrawn, misshapen.
both boundary and limitations,
goal reached, unending destinations,
a human's realm of indefinite definitions,
These Lines:
mappings of his domain,
recordings of his failings.
my great divide,
testimonies to my endings,
visual markers of
virtuous past successes,
virtual future failures invadings.
How can they be both simultaneous?
These Lines:
double etched and sword edged,
outbound-triumphant, defending,
inbound-plaintive, wailing,
both an indefensible and defensive blade,
cutting, both ways.
*PostScript:
The twenty eight of the month of Feb-rue-ary,
clear enough ending to the muddiest, contrary,
turgid month of the ifs of a man's life.*
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
sweet, sweet boy
i've seen you a-sittin' there
waiting for that older girl
with those bright eyes
and kind smile.
now southern boy
dont you drop a penny
cause she's a rich girl with class
and yer not gettin' her chastity
and yer not takin' her money
cause yer a proud son of an ***
and broken boy
why you still not takin' no bandages?
cause yer stubbornness is breakin' er
when yer the one who's bleedin'
oh, i can see it all repeatin'
what you dont know is she loves you
and yer in love too
but all this time you been thinking its sympathy
got this idea that you mean nothing to nobody
boy it's hurtin' er
it's hurtin me
cause baby boy
i see you as my own
im a-thinkin' you need to take a stand
she might be a stunner
only one who don take you as a sinner
but youve been forgettin'
that though shes a fine woman
y'always been a real good man
angel boy
seen you cryin' tears
shes paradin' round
with a polished fella'
but why you aint been askin' her
"whens the weddin'"
when you think its comin'
honey, no girl in love
shows up at some lib'ary
when theres a man who orders sherry
im a-sure you feel
but you don see it
and sure as nothin' do you believe it
waitin', waitin' boy
how long you gon be sittin' there
that girl gave you time
but you didnt use it
and now im crying'
cause son
i can tell theres still love
but shes been taken
and now yer a drunk
lost, lost boy
im a-beggin' here
find trust
cause i know its not her fault
and she thinks it was
and now we both afraid
cause you not even tryin' a-hide it
but yer becomin' yer father
and he was filled with hate
hes a gone, gone boy
im a sinner with a prayer
that her husband dies
an he drops the liquor
and they both survive
but, hes an old, old man
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
It's cool though
Cause I know
That once I'm in a better place
What you've done or what you do
Will be irrelevant in my headspace
I'll find my State of Grace.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
Yes.
And we all know how to
Make poetry pay.
We all know what it is
That makes Sammy run,
Run Sammy Run.
But I take it to its
Absurd conclusion:
Ads right in the middle of
The ******* poem!
“That was,”
If I do say so myself,
“A stroke of pecuniary brilliance."
Pecuniary adjective pe·cu·ni·ary \pi-ˈkyü-nē-ˌer-ē\
: Relating to or in the form of money
Full Definition of PECUNIARY
1: consisting of or measured in money 2: of or relating to money
— pe·cu·ni·ar·i·ly \-ˌkyü-nē-ˈer-ə-lē\ adverb http://www.thesaurus.com
Would not this be an excellent conceit?
Villainy of a close & potent kind?
Put the cart before the horse
(So to speak):
POETS AS SWEAT EQUITY.
That’s right!
Make us pay for our sins,
Financing our sins.
(So to speak).
What a concept!
Why not run the Merriam-Webster logo here . . .
Would this not be the appropriate time?
(logo)
Advertising right smack
Dab in the middle of
The ******* poem!
My third world soul
Having a difficult time
Navigating this Toddlin' Town
Allow me to show you around, town.
And lest we forget:
Our first poets were religious crazies,
With diction gilding Version, King James.
"My Schtick,"
As Mel Brooks might say.
Mel's History of the World
(Part 2, i.e.),
Retells the Essence of Story Telling,
The Misnah Pentateuch,
Told again with the usual **** genius.
Scene: Moses stumbles on Sinai,
One of three burdensome
Stone tablets is dropped,
Shatters on a rock.
What could possibly have been proscribed
In those 5 lost commandments?
What freaky human pleasure,
Could possibly have been lost to humanity?
It is pointless to speculate.
'Tis better to think about this,
Dear Poetry Publisher Query *****
Ads right in the middle of the ******* poem.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
tick tock
tock tikety
tee too
time so
tocks ticks
await you
your return
tock ticks
eye flash
hope you
o k
tock tick
await again
life so
tock tickety
long when
listening to
clicks clocks
tickety tocks
gears gnash
hourglass
sand sifts
seconds
hours
days years
tick tocks
alone
awaiting
you to
return
and still
I wait
for you
hear the
ticks tocks
anticipate
ticks tocks
cant sneak
up on me
as i sit
here awaiting
tick tock
click clock
count me
my life
as a
dream of
sand shift
ing down
the glassine
clear vision
ary dream
awaitin'
again
tic toc
to when
the beg
inning
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I lied.
I didn't need filters.
I wanted a pint.
We swapped;
meanings
emotions
connections
and
words
Sliding Doors:
the what-could-have-been
replaced with the here-and-now
inter
connectivity
singularity
similarity
solution
ist
idealist
ic
pessimist
ic
realist
ic
evolution
ary
ist
ic
In part
In truth
I wanted a pint;
there, I said it
plain and simple
Enter
the Other
Could've
Should've
being around strangers
I found my calm
You know
what I mean
just dose up
on more Amitriptyline
keep the Other at bay
just say,
i'm not home tonight
Thanks
for
You know
Being
You
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
Close to catatonic
Until the mind is released.
Freed.
Fallen.
Failing is what others see.
Matters of such matters only
Matter to those involved.
And if those are only figments
Of an imagination gone ary
Then why, do they come alive?
Shots in the dark do not damage demons
who dance in retinas of ruthless souls.
Fallen.
Failing.
Freed from fallacies these demons dance
In shallow souls of mocking crows
And only know what is foretold.
Until the mind is released from
Its shallow sheep that shudder in sleep.
Dive.
Only depth will bury the beasts
Will bring them to their ***** knees
Drain them of their energies
Of drowning in such simple pools
Of petty thieves.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Tum kis apnayat ki baat krty **
Yahan to hr koe paraya sa lgta hai
Wo or zamana tha jb gulshan mai bahaar hoti thi
Ab to hr mosam khizaa sa lgta hai
Iss mai hamari ghaulti nahe k badal gy ham
Rukh badal lyta hai dill jb na ashnaa sa lgta hai
Roty huwy dil ko akhir kon pehchaan pyga
Bahir sy jo chehra, muskurata huwa sa lgta hai
Bughaz, gheebat k maary yahan log
Wajud andr sy khatm hota huwa sa lgta hai
Ary! Ye dukrhy han iss jahan k ay awais
Jahan sy tu ab rukhsatt hota huwa sa lgta hai
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
-for Olson-
this gift of envisioning words repurposed contextually,
untethered not from meaning, but used in a meaningful but
newly birthed, eye delighting manner of speaking, well, so well,
somewhere between copious laughter, adulterated glee
and tears of amazed jealousy, mock myself thinking this poet
makes me feel like English is just my second(ary) language and I sadly speak no other.
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 2:39 PM UTC
I don't think about you at all, do I?
You are
imagine-ary. I imagine, dear reader, each
key
you see
strike sound in your mind one key ringinatime ring of rings
and one time and another
timed half
meant to be gin
but genius we
dis sip cip ated ante anti cipt
mist scryptic letter let us let this be true
me and you, imagine we liv in the words
we make peace as effort
an anomo nemo thingo non namable ibility
ifity boo...
that has worked several times for me I daren't say
it is in evit able vitaminwise
e-normous meaning lies in e, pluralized, unumus
easy and free are we,
the society so
named.
An I and I an I and I an III and eye am I
Horus was the story,
I, the eye.
Perhaps the one Odin made sacred,
the eye given for an eye,
the stories mention
with a wink.
Blink.
And we passed aha in a a a a a a a a
O
me
ga
damnitalt
erhell
For a moment there, I thought
this as real as it felt
at the time.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 11:05 PM UTC
He's just an exclamation,
a fascination
of the bad turns, turn left of inspiration,
lack thereof: determination,
where the **** is the ******* in this ******* station
((add the (ary)?)
sick of acting scared or
acting scary,
attracting hooven girls of whom you have to carry,
who you've had to bury?
from the start his heart always
fractionary,
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC