"borderlands" poems
you shook my status as mere mortal,as you opened up Satan's portal, achieve true greatness
true power, the omnipotent godliness, begging the end when the end should begin
different yet accepted by the black sheep, and the wolf, pit against the weak
archetypal situation bleak,beware of what you dream for,entrails spread across the floor
you'll pray for death, when they all find out, the wicked darkness from the dragons mouth
now I live in the borderlands,blood and **** within the sand,Blood of every man
PERSONAL DEMONS BECOME COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS. irreverent irrelevance.on the fence
we've lost the keys to the kingdom. we must stop running in place, be the change you want
day dreams, must be a reality. sanity chosen inside the minds of the insane
being lost a perennial classic. you want them to see the little movie in your head
Christ posse, blue birds, and the doors is painted red
how do your dreams match up against this created reality you exist in now
the city of the dead, the cities have all burned down
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
Return trip from the borderlands
and Maria, she's driving though
she's had a little too much based
on the tremors and the listless
drift of the party bus from left lane
to right.
I'm in my Chuck Taylor's,
the Warhols, the $795 collector's,
thumbing through my girlfriend's
Facebook timeline. She just bought
a Picasso, a self-portrait. I want
to stab her with the long end
of my ****** shoes. They're
on the carpeted floor. Jenny's
on the carpeted floor too. I roll
her on her side so she doesn't
choke on her own ***** Hero.
The path lights overhead start
blinking and somebody, Kate
or Kristen, I get them mixed up,
starts screaming, "Strobe." We're
in the left lane going ninety, ninety-five.
The right lane looks weak.
Jenny mumbles something as I step over her.
"What's that?" I ask.
"Read the quiet book. Love the quiet book.
the whole human experience captured
in twenty-six scattered symbols."
Someone's in the ****** laughing.
We go into a tunnel and everything
goes quiet and thoughtful and black.
Breathe in through the nose and out
the same way. Click the heels together
and wait.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Borderline, borderlands
Of shifting, whipping, changing sands
Around the ankles, grain by grain
You're buried once, then twice again.
The grains are hot, the earth is cold
Your failing stance will never hold
The North wind blows, then South returns
The nights are freezing, Sunshine burns.
A mile forth, and rain will fall
A suffocating summer squall
Another mile, and the snow
Will freeze you solid, keep you cold.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
The village is reaching the end of eternity.
The story has been told, written, read.
Out in the borderlands,
David still
fights Goliath.
The crowd have been around them for thousands of years,
chanting names,
fists in the air,
***** angry faces.
As the chanting of his name increases,
David grows in size,
unfolding like a redwood,
gleaming tanned bark.
The crowd becomes uneasy;
a giant among them? whose children will he eat?
which maidens will he devour?
and so they begin chanting Goliath's name;
David's strenght ebbs, they're feeding Goliath with their tongues now,
as he hulks and looms more and more over the shrinking David
alas, the crowd learn their mistake,
bite their tongues,
twisting them
until they are saying "David" once more.
This fight has been going on for thousands of years.
The crowd continue blindly shouting, 'David' and 'Goliath' being the only words they have uttered for aeons
unrealising they hold the power to release themselves
from this eternal fight.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
To net a butterfly takes time,
catch the states of mind with kindness.
From thoughts, emotions, opinions, belief,
ethereal dreams may seem out of reach.
The small pineal gland still stands tall,
even if we're concealing what is real.
Cold hard stone in hand,
a granite man can fracture.
Match the eye of sun gods,
appreciate your wider space in chorus.
Combined from our creative borderlands,
where we learn to understand and teach.
Factual fractals repetitively resonate,
so try to make the most of your ability.
As intuitions have a silent plan,
contemplate your future face.
This life can be deemed a dream,
where we're all here for a finite time.
You're born, you work and times pass by.
Then onto the next opportunity.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 9:24 AM UTC
busking to the outer hands
grasping for a taste of life
reaching for a soft thigh
breathing in the scent
upon a sigh
I sing the song of the outcast
the borderlands stand foreign
against all thought
and the ruling emotion
is
pure
emotion
a guttural cry is last
next to our swaying motion
darker than the twilight
throatier than a growl
to come apart in the moonlight
without running a foul
of crossing from the sunlight
to the darker plains of pain
the borderlands are not for the weak
or those starved of the rain
the dryness is oppressive
the darkness is aggressive
dusking in the borderland
leaves one crooning
to the old world muse
with a fragility
that is impressive
so they sit upon the crossroads
listening to the songs of desire
and watch the sun set
but left an empty shell
because they refused
to be consumed
by the fire
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
To be at the highest pinnacle,
mount on the pyramids of desolation,
seek for sunlight until it burns you,
reach for clouds, until the storm comes.
To be the royalty of your universe,
embrace death like a ghostly friend,
provide a funeral for your own end,
put six feet under, the afterlife of your qualms.
To break away from dishonor,
cage the angels within your borderlands,
free the demon inside your core,
let them out, let them die.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Sonoran Desert at 120 mph
Chasing the spirit of Sal Paradise
Mescaline is the water of life
In these ancient bloodied borderlands
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
Legions of the ******
black horse racing 'cross the borderlands
flaming hooves
burnin hot
well, are you comin or not
with the Legions of the ******
see the lovely maidens
with children in hand
the junk crazed schoolyards
(by whose plan?)
the spirit warriors
takin a stand
eyes from the mountains
and then
a voice cryin out
"where are the men?"
Legions of the ******
black horse racing 'cross the borderlands
flaming hooves
burnin hot
well, are you comin or not
with the Legions of the ******
..............and then
voices cryin out
"where are the men
where are the men
where are the men"
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 4:57 PM UTC
For Kara--
I was an idle mind miles out at the wheel, just combustion
On a road. The borderlands
Lose their sense of place and aim
Just skirting the middle space with no face or claim to
Dauphin, Lebanon, or Lancaster.
I’ve given my love to any of the three
One is in memories and
One is in late, and
One is where I graciously keep moored
The threads of my rebirth.
These signs are riddled in bullet holes, their figures
Come to semblance of entangles, brilliant in brunette
And a gaze, reluctant ever to be caught,
I wouldn’t wish to go back
If she could be remade from bones, copse, and sunlight
Through auric clouds of mayflies.
But, the illusion scatters, and in its lack,
I do find her, much more real than ever
She is what keeps me settled in the several fawning hours
And though weak from sleep she’s the very victory of a single breathe
I start my day believing in, that she’s a spirit,
There’s this life of hers inside the countryside
Like winds who speak in sweetened tones, mild
In mockery and bewilderment, the very grip of control
Has her fingers playing palmistry, pretending magic
Distorting the sad matter of earth, her very being is a song
That to lose or to grieve my lonely way
I, to Mt. Hope, find clear direction back.
Fall in love with Lancaster girls and they can break your heart
They'll have you already like rolling hills and city lights,
And she is the entire scene commingling
Where it ought, that summer aura of hers
Is a blessing just so hard to bear,
For stories are not so wearing on me, they are easier to believe.
I no longer need to pretend
That airplanes are shooting stars
When there’s no need for wishing to a home
Where the heart is anymore; there is the
Hand that leads me everywhere,
Back to the miles of shimmering land
Where one hears always sighs of content
And rests easy in disbelief.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
(Jenny's Granny's house. Ayr.)
Where seasonal root veg soup
Warmly journeyed our throats
Granny Jean, skin translucent as glass,
Sheer, showing tendril veins beneath
Crinkled cliff-edge lips at Jenny's budding womanhood
She knew hers lay as barren
As insignificant as the pale Mojave borderlands.
Brazen-cheeked dolls and pastel bears
Audienced my transition from slip to sundress
Back in the lucid haze of the pensioner's kitchen
Where dust particles hived like antique film grain
Sat Jenny; painted lips like crisp apple skin
Freckled cheeks hollowing atop
Her milkshake's flimsy plastic straw
Raspy, bubbly ***** filled
The kitchen; appliances groped
By the pious smite of the sun
The kind of light they say never to walk towards
Then, a weathered cough and the stiff moan of a rocking chair
Just to jest fate
Was none of our business yet; I was taken by the hand
We pass many exhibits
On the austere lilac fridge:
"Mr. & Mrs Richard D. Barclay, wed on 11th of Oct 1961"
And crayoned from her own hand, aged 10; "Me and Granny B"
A waxy glyph on lemon sugar-paper not always in memoriam
But among the moth-wing wallpaper lilies
For now
Dust dunes like mattress ghosts
Collect in mushroom clouds above Jenny's sudden weight
While I feed myself to the mirror
My frock, flesh, hair all seep
Into the totalitarian whiteness of our room
And I am happy if this is my course through life
I know I'm no one
I try on, as I shake goodbye,
Jean's hands; fire-crafted leather baseball gloves
They do not fit just yet but
When my hands no longer sheen in the virtuous sun
When I feel citrus hand soap grate into each wrinkled chasm
I promise you, gran, I will remember
Even the Mojave desert will see rainfall.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
Why do ye fight, ye little men,
that strut like ***** afore their hens?
Religion, pride or avarice -
are all wars fought because of this?
So near are ye unto the ground
ye see so little, hear no sound
save childish voices, raised in hate,
as ye proclaim some new estate.
Whilst far beyond this lonely world,
in splendour ‘midst the clouds unfurled,
an angel sadly shakes his head
as new born babes replace the dead.
For men learn little, so it seems,
however long their span of dreams;
On heaven’s maps drawn high above
there are no borders, only love.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
honey hair and milky skin,
I go well with green tea
on sunday afternoons,
when your lover goes to the city
and you need someone to talk to.
like a **** in your herb garden
I will be hard to get rid of
and leave an ugly little space
where there was once life.
you will cast me out
but I will still sit on the borderlands
of Babylon.
for I have not sinned,
I have not sinned,
brother.
deep in the dark sands of night
I feel safe and secure
even the haunting taunts
of the dead sea swallows
do not instill fear within me,
for my light can cast out darkness
but darkness cannot cast out light.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
This wandering pen
Has hacked through thickets
And traipsed the borderlands,
Praying in it's cold temples
And crossing its sweet-pined mountains
To find the same riverbank
Where its journey began --
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC
Our story began in the middle; between the spaces in our lives and minds and heart s
Where we spin out possibility. A quiet spot in a busy place;
there I stumbled upon you while lost inside my own dreaming
There I was, drifting through my days in a flurry of verbs; winding through calendars laden with intent
And then this quiet spot in a busy place
Full of intention and designation.
I may have simply smiled absently, politely turning aside to give you privacy to sift
Through your own potentialities but for the expression of kindness in your features
And as my eyes flashed to yours in acknowledgement of a space briefly shared.
I was made curious b
y the simple audacity that would challenge convention
With such a smile.
Our story began in the middle; in spaces between points of interest in our separate lives.
Began in the interstices, the borderlands, outside time and in the margin;. Left of center.
In between destinations and intentions and within the flux of other, more prominent plots.
In a quiet spot, in a busy place, I recognized you when you smiled.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
Though reading horror stories (macabre),
an only every now and again
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
(subsequently fueling
desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
critical opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself (by all counts once
a bad little kid) deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence, an instantaneous
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
viz flight or fight blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife shined!
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
The absence of you,
Is so noticeable in the house,
You could say it's the elephant in the room.
The joy you brought with your laughter echoes soundlessly in our ears as only the ghost of it is left to hear.
The awkwardness that was so tangible in you still leaves me feeling awkward at times.
I still imagine you out there in Oklahoma as you were two years ago.
Should you have stayed there?
Would you still be here if you hadn't come back?
So many questions no one will ever have the answers for.
I miss you're breathtaking hugs that could probably crack someone's ribs if they weren't prepared for it.
I miss the scent of your cologne as you prepared for dates with women that never deserved you unwavering attention.
They can all go to hell.
I miss watching cartoons with you and YouTube videos and just laughing together.
I miss playing Borderlands with you.
I can't play it anymore because I have no idea what's going on and I never did; I always followed your lead.
You were my hero in many ways.
You were there for me when mom and dad yelled at me for not eating my food.
You'd come to my rescue and bring me zebra cakes.
You were there after the many heartbreaks I suffered.
Why aren't you here for the biggest of them all?
I miss you so much.
You were the best brother I could have asked for.
Now it's just me and Stacey.
You're little sisters still needed you.
Why did you have to go?
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
.
An Inside Job ?!?!?!
**** !!!
(
)
(
)
(
\/
/\
/ \
%%#%%
****** !!
%%
( as the buildings turned
To Swiss Cheese
& fell down ... down ....... Down ! )
^
when I was a kid
I loved
GOD AND COUNTRY
now that I am an adult
I still love
GOD AND COUNTRY
But it ain't the false god of war and greed
And
EXCEPTIONALISM
as worshipped now
And it sure as hell ain't
This Immoral Catastrophe now called
AMERIKKKA !!!
)?(
are YE - all smelling
What I be stepping in ?
My fellow poets
And other
Fornicating entities
Floating around here
On the borderlands
Of
INSANITY
&
MASS DELUSION !?
//
Yeah
Let's face it
9//11
WAS
an Inside Job
!!
( &'none of them Rich Celebs
Really loves ya
BUT I DO ! )
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Ever heard of Pandora?
No?
Then let me tell you about it
…
Care to survive?
Grab a gun
But which to choose
Since there are so many to choose
Maliwan
Burn them till they turn to ashes
Melt their bodies with nothing than Acid
Break their heart with a little Zap
…
But which class to play?
Axton as Commando
With a sentry for bae
And bullets to spray
Salvador as Gunzerker
Where one isn’t enough
But two to play
Maya as Siren
That kills with the power of the mind
By placing her foe in a sphere of despair
Zero as a Number
Slicing his foes with a katana
Whilst cloaking and preparing to strike
…
Now the foes aren’t that rare
Since there are plenty roaming around everywhere
From the cold-hearted bullymongs from the Frozen Shelf
To the bandits of the Dust
From the stalkers of the highlands
To the Loaders in Opportunity
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
|**** |
| **** |
Legions of the ******
Black horses racing cross the borderlands
Burnin hooves -- striking hot
Wondering if you are comin or not
With the legions
of the ******
••
We all live on lynched ***** street
••
She cuts her wrist because she's a .......
What?
I can't hear you
••
Last of the long haired hippies
Drinking whiskey
at the bar
••
They let another killer cop off in Florida
••
The time will never come again
Wondering
WHERE ARE THE MEN?
••
So
Are you comin or not
With the Legions
Of
The ******
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
(wait a minute)
borderlands edition
2018
once fear
takes hold
it spreads like fire
all consuming
seemingly alive
and unstoppable.
i am not immune.
and neither are you.
i can almost hear
the horseman rattle
as the stampede decends
“the mexicans are coming!”
The MEXICANS are COMING
“Now!”
“Build a wall!”
“Man the **** deck!”
“Take the children!”
i’m no *****
if the POTUS is screaming
to take cover from
ms-13,
i listen.
here’s the key, people.
listen.
research.
react.
don’t do it in any other order.
my elementary teachers
taught me about primary
and secondary sources.
i’ve been practicing
my entire life.
and i can tell you,
that immigration from the
southern border has been in
a steady decline for
a decade.
the POTUS’S own people
identified less than
200 ms-13 gang members caught
illegally going over the border.
immigrants are less likely
to commit crimes than
the rest of the population.
listen. - research -
and only then,
r e a c t
(thank christ for teachers)
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 6:13 PM UTC
When we were very far
and there were never any roads, no star lights strung, to follow
only a winding path, a branch to grasp
a place to fill the hollow
blue the summer, with drowsy daisies came
petals, petals, we drew circles round the sun
gold spun, our halo heads of pollen
gold, the bees of sleepy flowers, fallen
they, seeking clover grass, heaven
days we lived deep in hills
we were endless green, in countries never mapped
stretching past the farms afield, in other worlds
borderlands, too far to see, beyond the gray of days
and we were ever free, in the shining silver
of our hallowed hills of sun
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC