"breakbeat" poems
methinks thou confuseth
thy heart's impatient beating
with the tremulous and sonorous
summation of the immeasurable
wail of clocks ticking, begging,
listen!
these wondrous matches glorious
arranged in heaven,
where weighty watches
and yellowed human calendars
long ago dismissed, irrelevant,
discarded.
marked full well,
they did
upon thy heart,
when as babe
you drew first breath.
when thou will receive
love's bounty,
nothing more and nothing
less.
heavenly their watchfulness eternal,
impatience does not grant favour
to love long lasting,
ever true,
even if struck anew
with first impatient glance,
for much thought and endeavor,
masterfully planned,
thy turn scheduled,
recorded, awaiting only
for inevitable
discovery.
for though the streams of spring
rush full fleshed,
swollen forward,
thy truest love is
best read in the
gentle constance of
a gentle lake's
modest waves lapping,
like a beloved's
best ring finger
stroking thy cheek
in one continuous
caressing.
need not thou lament,
nor groan
with impatient travail,
fare thee well,
for the sails,
the course inexorable,
the destination prescribed,
foretold and heralded
upon the flags of thy eyes,
the banner of thy words,
that rest prepared upon
thy fullest and hungry
lips.
chance is but a
secondary miscreant,
whose role is but as narrator.
let's him speak infrequent,
but when comes his time
to conduct his sale,
well behooves you to
listen to that littlest of voices
you so oft disregard,
victim of your willful
fears!
the time, the play, the locale
all matched and set,
now we await only
your demonstration and forbearance
to honest augur the
greatest courage
to speak the hardest phrase
e're spoke:
I love thee more than myself.
for whence
can only be,
when thou breakbeat
the chains accursedly nominated as
Me First.
shout the key out loud
In the hour, nay, the instance,
thy first believe,
then long life and long love
can then
and
only then
commence.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
i like to see the way you
like to lay in your books,
the class that borrows you
and lets you take it home.
life moves like a chess queen,
instantly
i pray
to hold you too tight some days.
they are -
and their presence
that shakes the air
was thick
with a bass
thump with the
breakbeat bump
into the kind of other skyness,
then suddenly
I was surrounded by razors
shaving off one breath at a time
a loom and singing wood winds over and
Something broke my grasp, running away
from these bad memories.
the young morning wind asked me for my name today
I whispered it was a secret.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:43 AM UTC
I walk a path paved in penciled graffiti,
Where outlined music notes
Amuse my anecdotes,
I walk with break beats in my blood,
With brain waves pounding bass drums,
I got liquid
808 fingertips
And lips
Malted with crossfade grins
To spin surges of synergy
Out of bottled up battles,
Even my baby rattles
Used to shake with rhythm.
Wars
Should pause for music.
The power of harmonic symphony
Just pimping me,
Creeping up through cracked sidewalks,
Wrapping shadows around legs,
Up hips to necks
As it grabs,
Just pimping me,
A dance floor ***** with
Peace in and of mind,
In circles of 32
Note by note,
That lump of emotion
In my throat
Could choke,
With neon freedom.
Maybe it’s a pipe dream,
That we could put down the guns
And rave to the drums,
That even silencers will be silent,
And the smell of gunpowder
Will squander for an hour,
That there will be a day with no death,
A day free of neurotic nail biting mothers
Holding their breath,
That their children will walk our land again,
A day that suicide bombs
Won’t detonate,
That cries of loss and sadness
Won’t resonate,
A day that we won’t decimate,
Our own race,
The human race
Maybe it’s a pipe dream,
But that’s my pipe dream.
I’ve spanned seas to see,
That music brings harmony,
I’ve danced along
An African diplomat named Ife,
Which means love,
A Polish carpenter named Sebastian,
Which means dignity,
A Vietnamese banker named Ly,
Which means Lion,
And collectively,
We,
We're individuals,
Smiling to that same pumping beat,
That,
Breakbeat,
That brain wave pounding bass drum,
That strum laced
With a graceful hum,
Making our race numb,
There was no color,
There was no history
Because my history
Won’t dictate me,
Not that it's non-existent,
Not that I’m resistant
To believe that people hate
Because of the past,
But I understand personalities,
And believe
Everyone deserves a fair shot
At being an individual
Everyone deserves that music,
Everyone deserves to have
That path paved in penciled graffiti,
Where outlined music notes,
Amuse their anecdotes,
Everyone deserves to feel
Breakbeats in their blood,
And brain waves pounding bass drums,
Those liquid
808 fingertips
And lips
Malted with crossfade grins
That spin surges of synergy,
Everyone deserves what we have to offer,
Everyone deserves,
To dance to their own breakbeat
Of peace
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
Holy **** man
intrinsic blue flame jet set smoke and green neon light smacked right into the main cable.
Thick liquid bass thump with the breakbeat bump
in sight and sound of tasted color.
Makes a meandering soul to twist
and twilight the highlight of the lowest man to find.
Pounded feet on cracked side street
****** that sell out the unrelented love.
When one starts another mixed in to beat match strike and spark
to set it off.
Down the highway flyway light streaked past in transient sound
of the spatial distorted.
Become the freak high sung from these beats
spilled down from heaven in this divine golden potion.
From oblivion to the tree tops on a flow of
Liquid
Candy
Motion.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
The door is open.
Leave it open.
This door is shut. Do not open it. Leave it shut.
Not this one, but the next one. The next right turn.
Make the next right turn.
Instructions not packaged. How to care for this new incomplete stranger.
Monarch butterfly. Teardrop firefly. Three tin passerbys.
The center for new age trauma victims.
Lifting skirts.
No I used to lift skirts.
Bring me down.
Triumph.
The softness of her antlers leaves me confused and shaking.
Bone and then praise.
Supper and ritualized masculinity.
A spot on the wall, no more spit on my face.
Soon my blood vessels will burst and my jowls will sag.
The paragraph starting here. But I am here. And back again.
To say whoever finds him here.
Anything medical related.
And it is so sad.
Am I dodging the blows?
Or moving swiftly between?
She gives praise to the glasses. And the rash grows, drugging with nothing sacred.
All of this son could have been avoided.
Oh, a horn in the distance. It is too late.
Come now ye polished hoods of chrome. Parade along the city's skirt.
Erosion, under humanity's weight stands strong.
A breakbeat. Appearance of stereo but we are just in mono.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
your breath is the,
whisper,
of a higher being,
teaching me of
happiness unknown,
the pounding of my chest,
is the breakbeat,
of joy, in tune with,
ecstasy and unlimited desire,
lying awake, no
need for sleep, energy
renewed, by running
fingers through
your hair...
(lost in the black,
I've no need for them back...)
thirst for water, is satiated
by lips, so soft, your sweat,
sticks, to my soul,
your tears, when happy,
are my oasis, when sad,
reveal, an unknown drive...
I could dive into your
smile, springboard
off your perfection,
splash, in a beauty,
that I certainly don't deserve,
I could bask in your
intelligence, eloquence
and charm, never worried,
of the consequences
of their strength...
I would confine myself,
to rigid structures/rhyme schemes,
if it meant that I could keep you,
in my dreams...
I could love you for,
eternity,
reciprocated, I will,
you're all i want to see, breathe,
drink and feel...
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC