"bartlett" poems
Our last connection with the mythic.
My mother remembers the day as a girl
she jumped across a little spruce
that now overtops the sandstone house
where still she lives; her face delights
at the thought of her years translated
into wood so tall, into so mighty
a peer of the birds and the wind.
Too, the old farmer still stout of step
treads through the orchard he has outlasted
but for some hollow-trunked much-lopped
apples and Bartlett pears. The dogwood
planted to mark my birth flowers each April,
a soundless explosion. We tell its story
time after time: the drizzling day,
the fragile sapling that had to be staked.
At the back of our acre here, my wife and I,
freshly moved in, freshly together,
transplanted two hemlocks that guarded our door
gloomily, green gnomes a meter high.
One died, gray as sagebrush next spring.
The other lives on and some day will dominate
this view no longer mine, its great
lazy feathery hemlock limbs down-drooping,
its tent-shaped caverns resinous and deep.
Then may I return, an old man, a trespasser,
and remember and marvel to see
our small deed, that hurried day,
so amplified, like a story through layers of air
told over and over, spreading.
9.5k
Those names you called me,
That shame I felt.
It's a cycle of fear,
And humiliation.
You put me down,
Then try to bring me up.
You're jealous, overzealous, and sinful,
You're just a beast in human form.
I try to run but just fall down,
For the path is rocky at best.
You chase me down,
And pull me back in.
Say you love me,
Think it will fix everything.
Make it all okay,
Just forget all the problems.
My life isn't my own,
I'm on your leash.
My decisions are yours,
My actions monitored.
You say I can't be friends with him,
That's not okay.
I can't go to the movies,
You're not there.
Lies, deceit, and broken promises,
Chaining you down in a pit of helplessness.
I can't leave you,
I'm scared to.
You threaten, hurt, and cry,
It's not your fault, right?
Right?
I'm not sure anymore.
You say you'll **** yourself,
If I leave you'll end it all.
You put that weight on me,
It's dragging me down.
I'm tethered to a pole, you're beating me down.
Sending me spinning around,
Just to send me the other way.
This needs to end,
The pain needs to stop.
I'm leaving,
I'm done.
Goodbye,
So long.
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
Can you taste them?
Those slow melting morsels of sugar,
just lingering on the corners of your mouth...
You let them drip from your spoon,
let them roll off your tongue
and dress your intentions.
As they try and undress me...
Everything's inviting,
the presentation, the flavor, the texture...
Like Bartlett pears:
"Granules of sugary sand, made to melt and fill every taste bud."
The warmth of your phrasing,
reassuring with their momentary high
and their lingering desire for more...
Heavy with mood,
rich with aphrodisiacs'
and smooth like that cocky-ass grin...
These words are like ants,
attracted to the smell of decadence...
Sweet rotting decadence...
Watch them decay,
as the truth beneath...
Reveals the lack of sustenance.
Live on these words?
On these hollow, sugar-coated statements,
and be satisfied?
**** you.*
I need more than that.
You left me nauseous,
and filled with this stain...
Keep rolling those lines,
make them smooth and inviting,
make them enticing,
make them all yours....
*Never again,
will I indulge you.*
I need a tall drink of water,
the wind wiping through my hair,
and this pavement,
To guide my sullied feet,
as I "beat on against the current..."
of my self-indulgent past.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
I'll be your Oathkeeper, your Sweet Memories, your Star Seeker. I'll unlock the Sleeping Lion within you with Oblivion and show you the Way To The Dawn, then pull you back with this Bond Of Flame. Don't become Heartless, or a Nobody. If you fight for me I'll fight for you. Ill Master this Valor using the Wisdom of the Final hour. Come unlock the World That Never Was with me. Come be my Kingdom Key
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 11:36 AM UTC
You say its anger turned inwards
I’d agree
But the words are caught in my throat
Like the sobbing yells for help
My jaw is locked down like a cage
For introspective hell
Anger turned inwards
Yeah that sounds about right
Hatred or loathing might
Be more true
So I’ve got anger turned inwards
But I still have so much left
For you
I guess it’s in your job description
Measure my mentality
Pump me up with prescriptions
I’m like Charlie ******* Bartlett
I’m your favorite emotional harlot
Give me five minutes
I’ll make you feel connected
I’ll show you my false trust
And I’ll make you regret it
It feels mechanic
Programmed medicating
When I’m still half asleep
Not conscious enough
To pay attention
To my not so subconscious questions
Asking
Who are you
To tell me
That I need to be fixed
I hold so much resentment
For the time that you spend
Surrounding me
With all the facets of help
That I don’t need
Anger turned inwards
Staining every breath
Heavy panting
Straining with this weight on my chest
Anger turned out
Guilt and blame
Overwhelming shame
Because you taught me to never give up
But there’s nothing I want more
Then to slip up
Trip up
Get so high I’ll never come down
Get so high
To get six feet underground
But then again
I got “better”
I disappeared for three months
And I can’t even remember
Why it was so hard
To stand back up
On my own
Compromise
I’ll comfort your mind
But first
I’ve got to confront my lies
See,
I wanted this
Don’t you ever think otherwise
Of course its for attention
But does that make me not ill?
All I wanted was affection
But here I am
Popping pills
Conflicted
With the concept of sickness
I’ve been so desperate for
Identity
Just to feel ******* special
So insecure and lonely
that to get it I felt
I had to purge out my mortality
Make my self unwell
I lived a lie
Until it was true
I wanted this sickness
Until it was all I knew
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
A faint noise in a current of forgotten happenings
Some unknown feeling I fight for to keep myself together
Time out to determine the source of this pulsing sensation
Alone to a day met in an alley
Vocalizing a pain I've known for a while but refused to show
Falling apart to the rhythm of solitude
My world just isn't the same
A spark forgotten long ago that held us together
I'm bleeding from the outside in and wiping the dirt into the wound
Good times left undone as we spend lives apart
Hosting feelings of gratitude and self-worth
I'm not gracious but hostile and volatile
A bomb waiting to blow apart
My timer set to minutes
I speak my mind but its gone in seconds
I've torn my sleeves off send my heart with them
I left my pleadings at home lest they come out as despair
My words come as murmurs in the wind
Taken away as they reach you
Faint sounds of a time left unspoken
Etchings of moments that have yet to pass
Crystal ***** show what is to be but mine is an opaque abyss
Just sit back and wait for whatever happens next
I can't change the past but maybe the future
Just sit back and wait
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:51 PM UTC
Such a gentle thing,
Wrapped up in a sheltered fortress.
I want to bust my way through your walls,
But I'd rather you'd let the gate fall down.
So I could walk on through,
And love you like we used to.
These walls covered in tapestries of memories,
Thoughts and opaque opportunities.
I want to create you a window, a stained glass world.
It would never fade,
Or fall apart.
This castle is yours,
You built it from the ground up.
Stone walls and a vision of what you wanted,
You built something strong.
With passages leading in, but a moat to keep others out.
You put piranhas in your pit, to devour all those you didn't care for.
I managed to get past once,
Twice,
Now I'm asking for one more chance.
Let down your drawbridge,
Let's make a new addition.
We'll make a dungeon for the sins,
And a treasure room for the memories.
We'll have a prince,
And a princess.
There'll be a dragon in the keep, and a phoenix in the study.
We'll have a modern medieval life,
With all the jesters, peddlers and jousting.
You can be a queen,
And I'll be your king.
I'll build us thrones in the foyer,
And a grand hall in your heart.
No room shall be locked,
No secrets kept hidden.
Now I'm waiting outside,
Singing you a lullaby.
I'm throwing stones,
And wearing a mask to the ball.
I'll be your modern time Romeo, just for you, my Juliet.
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
Maggie won't stop watching Charlie Bartlett,
she claims she was Kat Dennings in another life.
I try to dissect her lack of compassion
with a cheap bottle of red merlot wine.
She says:
'I ride a ******* fixed gear.
I'd rather drive a car.
And although you'd never know
I self-inflicted this here scar.
Why do you like Stephen King?
Do you know what I'm thinking?
...
Anxiety really mellows a woman out.'
Her mind is like a whirlwind.
I don't know where to begin.
Should I ask about her fears
about her tears
or why she's so thin?
She's watching Netflix again
and I can't pretend
to understand the kind of man
that she wished I am.
She breaks the silence:
'I lie to strangers too much.
I'm afraid to be touched
or mistaken for someone
who's too much of a lush.
I feel I'm far too shy
and I don't know why.
...
Introspection really seems to calm me down.'
So we sit on the couch
just watching tv.
I think a calm and understanding
is all that she needs.
And when someone talks,
no matter how it seems,
sometimes a listener
is the best thing that you can be.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
I've lived my whole life in a book
Just wanting to get away from this world
Wanting what I read
What I imagined
What I dreamt life could be
I've lived my whole life in a book
Picking every word apart
Dissecting every sentence
Looking for a key
Something to let me in
Into a place better than what I was supposed to call home
I've lived my whole life in a book
Reading every line
Memorizing every paragraph
Every page
So when I left what I was comfortable with, I still had some of it with me
I've lived my whole life in a book
One of my creation
One to keep reality away
To keep the shadows of life from closing in
Looks like I only have a few chapters left
I tried to live my life in a book
It worked pretty well
At least until it ended
With the story drawing to a close
The plot coming to an end
The final page must be turned
In order to start another epic
My book is finished
But not to worry
For I have so many more
However this time
I think I shall create my own
For this is my story
And I'm not about to let you
Write one for me
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Strong woman,
Head held high;
Chin up,
Beautiful smile.
Strong woman,
The epitome of beauty;
You carry the pain,
as if it were your very own child.
All I can see is love etched across your face
Though I see your beauty,
I know you hurt.
Strong woman, beautiful smile
You pretend as if you don’t hurt
But I know you better than anyone
& that is because me and you are one.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
For all the things that aren't
And all the things that are
This is
That wasn't
And those
Might not even be
As if one could be two and three could be none
Existence is nothing save appearance
My reality is broken
I came into being
Knowing things for certain
Until I was proven otherwise
After that
My reality was a pile of thought nots and never were's
My reality never really was
A being of endless possibility
In a world of fall flat imagination
I dream to live
I dream of being
I dream the days into years
And those years will never stack up
We'll be in groundhog day forever
Your reality
I'm living it
In my world
Paper cuts bleed worse than a stabbed back
Broken bones ache worse than a shattered conscience
My reality
Is now
I'm in a world mirrored twice to the opposite of what you used to know
I'm in a world so twisted and ******* up that the only way to stop it is with a cork
This reality
Is real
So for all the things that are
And all the things that aren't
This is
That wasn't
And those
Might not even be
This is
My reality
Mitchell S. Bartlett
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
While Mr. Bartlett was heard to declare,
"I will be famous. I've found a new pear!"
He was nothing compared to Mr. Newton,
Who found the first fig tree with some fruit on!
When next in a biscuit, he rolled it*,
Enhancing its flavour. Gourmets extolled it!
Next came a gardener who saw the rain
Run off apples he grew. Leaving no stain!
Seeing their clean red skin, remarked "Oh Gosh!"
The right name for this brand is "MacIntosh!"
Next came a woman who reached her zenith
When they named a green apple, "Granny Smith!".
With even complexion, and no rumpling,
‘Twas an apple perfect for making a dumpling!
Then a little girl not to be outdone,
Said to her Father in a bit of fun,
I’d like to name that sweet English plum.
I’ll call it Victoria, after my dear old Mum!
Next a sweet, red cherry, they named Bing,
After a soft crooner who loved to sing,
Who cares if it's true? At least it’s romantic.
Besides, let’s not be too pedantic!
Was this how most fruit names were given?
First, folks found they were resolutely driven
To put their name to a specific fruit.
Then came others who quickly followed suit!
Whether we like the results, most agree,
It's how some things are named. Will always be!
But should you develop a fruit like a pear,
Your name must be worthy for it to bear.
Can you imagine the grief begotten
If your name should be Ava Rotten?!
Rhymer . February 2nd, 2018.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC