"chasers" poems
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”
a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being
a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers
imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels
part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on
demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death
in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth
look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,
I do not know
*how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,*
the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
We are a puzzle with missing parts
That is why we make art
It is a healing start
We are all dream chasers
Until pencil meets eraser
Until boat meets glacier
Reality we must face her
When we sacrifice imagination
For societal integration
We search for placation
In lonely play stations
And through vacation
We experience migration
When the results are doubtful
And the response a drought mold
Because people are skeptical
Until there's a shiny scepter sold
Then you're put on a pedestal
And have your pecker pulled
By various industry tools
Loading you like a mule
With expensive jewels
Art must be the only motive
Not climbing any totem
Because once you're dead
Your art can still be read
Audiences may still be fed
But there's a frivolous influence
So you must be vigilant and prudent
To cut that from your life
So art may be your wife
That works to end strife
Yet that kind of help
You can't put on a shelf
I strive to make my art timeless
Though my pockets are dimeless
We live in a world of depression
That carries the risk of regression
My art could help push past it
Now that would be classic
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
12 in the dark, I sit awake by the window,
Across from Hyde Park, and the feel of the wind oh,
Sparking a bark, Nana's remarking from below,
Canine matriarch against the boy with no shadow,
Time's flickering by and I begin to rust,
Consumed, I'm high with lust just for pixie dust,
But to fly you must be robust and adjust,
And I can't, though I try, I just look with disgust,
Sitting on the sill, I think of him mournfully,
Hard as I try, I can't think of him scornfully,
Despite the fact that he talks so informally,
He says my name and I know I was born to be,
Part of the family, I think of them nightly,
Tootles, the twins, Curly, Nibs and Slightly,
Second star to the right, it shines so brightly,
Hope he might come back if I ask politely,
He doesn't apologize, he's immature and he's cold,
Lives in a land without rules so he can't be controlled,
But as soon as I saw him I knew I'd struck green-gold,
Peter Pan is a joke that just never gets old,
Don't smile at crocodiles down in Neverland,
And if you hear a ticking clock, hope the ships are manned,
Because there's a high demand for the taste of pirate band,
And if you're not hooked by now then Hook'll tell you first hand,
I flew here like a bird in a night-dress, frilly,
Scared, trying to fight stress, skin like Chantilly,
Found Peter and I confess that the boy's my Achilles,
Now I'm a lost girl treading on Tiger Lillies,
Acorns and thimbles are my idea of 'bases',
And sword fights with pirates are my ***** chasers,
Watching the boys as they fly and admiring Peter Pan,
But he's the boy who can't love here in Neverland,
I wanted devotion, to marry men who were charming,
So I repressed, left my emotion, I left Peter Pan snarling,
My own species no longer, just a common starling,
Caged by age at my window, I'm Wendy Darling.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Beautiful dreamers,
Heart broken believers,
Don't let your cracks show.
Glistening stars,
Chasers of cars,
Where did our luck go?
The monsters,
Are hunting us,
The demons are getting faster.
Look out,
Look out,
The horrors are real.
Watch out,
Watch out,
Some how to their tastes we appeal.
Keep your eyes open,
They feast on fears.
Keep your eyes open,
They are your peers.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
*stacking the arrows in piles
a triangle of fuego
furnaces blaze fire
infinite reminders
of the morning after
shafts of light
drift from window panes
remake our names in
god’s slumbering veins
from here to there a whisper
or was it a word
fellow companions
have you heard
the threadbare sisters
took their turns
climbing mountains in order
that we could learn
the ways
of green hearted sun-scrapers
sweet little dangers
fellow death chasers
full of music
givers of blooming veils
bouquets of snow and hail
almond shaped eyes
resplendent thighs
and a mind as pure as a lake
during an alaskan winter
in the frozen splinter
trees are taken from their roots
the women are bleeding
weaving you the meat and the story
outsiders are cast from clay into statues
with feminine bodies
curving like cotton candy
i choose to impress you
repeat the compliments
that land on empty stomachs
string together words
like a rosary of sweet nothings
simple deeds give thrilling feats
a chance to restore their honor
purity is unwashed in ***** soil
as i am cut from the cloth of the earth
our shirts are pressed at birth
white light forming fellowship
dimples in the cheeks of the mother
the earth’s bones torn out from under
the way we made ourselves invisible
the minute we realized our accents were noticeable
our actions were abominable
how could we ever repay
the generosity we were treated to
our ultimate needs are met by poetry
upon a ridge a silent figure wept
and held his head upon a bed of cement*
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
I am a good man Charlie
You may not have noticed because of how humble I am
I mean surely you've heard me say contrary things when complimented
But that's only because I want people to love me for me first
I'm sick of all these nice guy chasers out there
Who only love me for my decency
I'm looking for something real here you know
I just want it to be like the movies
I mope around til the perfect girl loves me
Then after we're together for a year
Bam!
I surprise her with a lifetime of love from a kindhearted compassionate soul
Is it really too much to ask that she love the worst of me before she ever sees the best of me
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
None but the cobbled Hackney will accept
Their Postcards sign this Doveling Bond, betwixt
So both decide a Limo; And dated Theft
Of many Soul-Chasers which do not Exist
From there both Virgins took a Scandal-Plate,
Wrapped in Hookahs only the Wise could see
Goodbye, First Perfume! Not from what will sate
The Photographed Script of what they should be
From this a Problem looms. In such Stone-Bowl
We become the very Thing we disgust
Hearts still cry out for the Thunder they stole
And baste their Image on the Throne they must.
Realise, just now, the Name of this Theme
From Enlightenment whose Founder they blaspheme.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
She’ll make you use the good Lords name in vain.
One looking in her; no star gaze is ever the same.
Body turning, legs spin and frail,
Socks red as a fox stripped, swirling like a candy cane.
Exotic stares, confident; she can’t be tamed.
She so fine, Whine, might be your name.
With her smoking body; rough on the edges
Burning with passion, pushing me over the ledges.
Let’s call her Mary Jane, like the tattoo says.
Her lyrics stuck in my head, the way she turns and bends.
Leaves much to be said.
She whispered in my ear;
When on stage, close her eyes; so she can disappear.
Her stile there; so it appears.
In her own mind; the picture is clear.
Dancing in bedroom mirror; no one else there.
The gin and tonic, make it clear.
The chasers, chase her fears.
The different pills, keep her sane.
It’s the need for money, keeps her here.
But the fast money, is quick to disappear.
Along with looks; it is part of this atmosphere.
While tattoos fade and wear;
Yet, dark enough to hide her fears.
The Exotic dancers; that nobody hears.
Some will listens, many pretend, nobody cares.
The music playing; more than music to her ears,
The lyrics screaming, making her point clear.
The dark nails, scratching the surface,
She crawl’s near. Matter of fact,
Between me, her, and the beat
There is no one else here.
All eyes on her; squawk and stare.
Longing for attention,
didn’t want it all there.
But talk is cheap; the truth, dare.
Searching for hope, won’t find it here.
All this attention, lacking care.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 11:00 PM UTC
chasing dollars
I honestly would rather sleep
dreams of dollars chasing me
armed with chisels they chip away at me
I'll succeed
someday, you'll see
You can't expect things to be ethical
in a System like this
dollars make me a power-man
I can do what I can
because I can buy what I want
hording doll hairs
I've amassed such a pile
other 'chasers' are starving for a taste
those little pac-men
nibbling away at my Zen
I hope they starve so my battles could end
They can't expect things to be ethical
in a Circuit like this
chasing dollars
because now I need more
A false kind of security
now my stomach is sore
beggin' for a nibble
what an awful *****
she doesn't even care that I'm all out of doll hair
what an unethical mess
someone now
this must be
addressed
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
She is a tornado ripping apart everyone
and everything in her path
Because she doesn't know how,
to keep her life from spinning.
Storm chasers seek her beauty,
though in the end it always end up lethal.
She destroyed me,
leaving my mind a disaster area,
And I don't know if my heart,
can ever forgive nor forget,
As I struggle,
to pick up the pieces of what I once was.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
I went into my old bedroom today
Old pictures of us still hang from the pink walls
The one of us all dressed up as hippies with our flowy dresses and flowers in our hair
The one of us in the photo booth at the arcade where we would waste our Friday nights
The one of us where you have that black eye from a baseball to the face
The one of us at summer camp making friendship bracelets which I've kept all these years
The one us skiing together with our snow pants and rosy cheeks
The one of us at softball practice in our grass stained uniforms
The one us swimming in the lake some summers ago
The one of us sleeping in a bathtub because all the beds were occupied
The one of us playing foosball in our pj's while on vacation that one winter
I stared at them for what seemed like hours
Reliving the memory of each photo
And then I had an urge to rip them all down
To tear them from those pink walls and douse them in gasoline
Cause they left me yearning and wistful
They represent a time and a place I want back
A me I want back
A friendship I want back
You were an irreplaceable friend
To look back on it is bittersweet
Part of me looks back fondly at it all
We shared so many moments together it's hard to pick a favorite
We chased the unknown together like storm chasers in the scariest of weather
I can't quite put into words how much you meant (mean) to me
And I will never forget you, even if I tried
Then there is the other part of me
The part of me that is left with this insurmountable emptiness
This longing for something that is so far gone
Because I know that is a time and a place I will never get back
That is a me I will never get back
That is a friendship I will never get back
And the realization that time travel does not exist
Is the most sorrowful thing of all
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
THE SEA at its worst drives a white foam up,
The same sea sometimes so easy and rocking with green mirrors.
So you were there when the white foam was up
And the salt spatter and the rack and the dulse-
You were done ********* these, and high, higher and higher
Your feet went and it was your voice went, "Hai, hai, hai,"
Up where the rocks let nothing live and the grass was gone,
Not even a hank nor a wisp of sea moss hoping.
Here your feet and your same singing, "Hai, hai, hai."
Was there anything else to answer than, "Hai, hai, hai,"?
Did I go up those same crags yesterday and the day before
Scruffing my shoe leather and scraping the tough gnomic stuff
Of stones woven on a cold criss-cross so long ago?
Have I not sat there ... watching the white foam up,
The hoarse white lines coming to curve, foam, slip back?
Didn't I learn then how the call comes, "Hai, hai, hai"?
2.1k
cracked out
humble with heaps of pride
braggadocio Pinocchio
I haven’t slept in days
so watch the hours turn into haze
blown out of barely open windows
hide me from the world
I’m making a pristine machine - unbreakable
foreseeable as a weapon of poor taste
chasing wasted with chasers
are you shaking?
only with excitement
rage
hunger
My dad says get a job, get an education
so I chose a dead vocation with no hopes of vacations
and everybody is talking about the future as if it exists
it only exists in clenched fists and endless lists
of all the wrong turns you made on the journey
from then to now
I’m eating sacred cow meat - medium rare please
coming up with ways to scare these dumb ******* kids away from apathy
to put the shield over their hearts and the rifle in their hands
but wah wah nobody understands blah blah blah
shut the **** up for once
act like you actually have a pair of *****
even if you don’t
back in the day when we used to rob neighborhood garages of beer
and played with pills like candy
nobody threw tantrums about how unfair it all is
so you think the world owes you something?
the only thing it owes you is one death
so why are you wasting all of our time with your I could have saved the world
cry baby ********
I’m looking for slutty girls
pearl necklace on her checklist
so I can slam her on page verse
me versus the world, right?
left out by all the cool kids
drinking boohoo flavored kool-aid
so I made myself a parody of pretension
cunning, coming, ***********
you are the joke so I guess that makes me a punchline
I’m running sprints from the baseline until I’m throwing up the right choices
so continue with all of that angsty impotent sadness
so long as you stay out of my part of town
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
You see him at a bar
And suddenly your hair
falls on your face.
You see him at a bar,
With another girl
And your heart starts to race.
You wonder how he replaced you
Like a red balloon
that escaped his fingers,
And floated over the buildings
And disappeared into the blue.
You wonder if he actually ever loved you.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
and there i was.
all of 3 and a half,
draped in hopping silhouettes;
neck deep in swaying hips
and blaring tunes
tied to kick drums.
dramatic rim taps
and wingtips cluttered
cross the wooden floor.
surrounded by tall men with
tall women whose heels
unforgivingly grazed
the groaning floor boards.
their gowns thick
as kitchen curtains
that seemed to flutter
like butterflies in hurricanes.
i heard the summer whisper;
her hums sweetly floating
through grand windows
tall as ten of me;
tasting the rhythm
with her tongue,
she blew a cool sigh;
flooding the steaming stew
of old souls with young bones.
sunk real deep between
4 counts and hi hats
to twirl her way
into their step;
a type of swing
'cept it had a bounce to it
like steeple chasers.
those ladies with copper faces
and stone seasoned roots
with joints as old as time
played tag with the down beat.
those daddys dodging
in their tailoreds
like taxis in traffic;
toxic with a plague of ghouls
like the Count, King Cole
and Billie, Fitzgerald, Gillespie.
Then,
just as the summer silenced her hiss,
just as the sun
dug its heels into the dirt,
making its last ditch efforts
to remain present,
dusk untied its bows;
unwrapping a gift like glory.
and we were bathed in glory
that laughed like lovers
and kissed like dogs.
it drenched us in sloppy showers
glistening gold like sweat.
yet still,
we emerged refreshed.
so as the night
began its usual
chocking down of day
and good afternoons
cacooned into goodevenings,
i stood there;
all of 3 years old.
surrounded by silhouttes
that could only belong
to old souls with young bones
who belittled big bands
with their own vibrations;
those copper ladies
and skyscraper sized fathers
in tailored suits
who two stepped
to both sunsets and groove
grew into shadows.
and i stood in the midst of
those dimmed stars;
stamina riddled.
knowing that as
a summer day died,
a summer night
had only just begun.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Was it so long ago
Under the old oak we built our dreams?
So tiny, we were,
The world seemed like such a big place
For two dream chasers, like us.
Was it a thousand years ago
When you in all your innocence
Said that you'd check under the bed
In all your childish valor, and clear me of my fears?
Do you remember,
When we sat by the cold stream
With the water running through our feet,
How you picked up a few daisies
And crowned me as the queen?
And how I picked up a stick
And made you my knight of honor?
Remember running back home,
When it got too late,
Scared your old man, a drunk,
Will beat your Ma and make you cry?
How when I waved good bye from the next door,
All I hoped was that you'll make it out alive
The next day.
Was it so long back,
When we lay in green fields
And looked up to the blue skies,
Dreaming one day, we'll make it up there
And never have to look back in tears?
Flying paper planes and trying to catch our dreams
Doesn't seem so long now,
That you said goodbye
And made it first to what lay beyond the blue skies.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
Chasing you was like trying to chase a tornado... I was headed towards total destruction and unspeakable beauty..
My only problem was that I wasn't going to make it through the destruction to see that beauty you hid within.
Chasing you was like chasing a hurricane...I was headed towards terror and unimaginable wonder.
My only problem was... I wasn't going to be able to live through the terror long enough to wonder if I would swim or drown.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
I quite like plastic sandals;
**** shaped candles;
and big assed women in my bed,
I like artistic folks n artichokes;
n piccalilli on rye bread,
I like big gay men n Tony Benn:
loud mouthed scousers and Steven Fry,
I like The small faces whisky chasers;
n come home Lassie - makes me cry
Jun 4, 2011
Jun 4, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
Old Milwaukee raised me.
Groomed me, shaped me.
Prepped me, made me.
I must have been born for the wild..
Bright lights, long nights.
Skyscrapers, paper chasers.
Yellow cabs, livin' fast.
Dream chasin', heart racin'.
Crowded trains, heat and rain.
Livin' right, rockstar life.
Heart breakers, money makers.
I was definitely born for the wild.
Baited me, hooked me.
Caught me, took me.
New York City has my heart.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
Oh baby I can tell
You've got that self destructive
Streak in you
You like to drink hard liquor
Without any chasers
Smoke too many cigarettes
And dip if you're offered
You'll try any drug
At least once
But marijuana and Molly
Are your favorites.
Staying sober isn't on your agenda
Because when you're intoxicated
Life is a blur, a movie
Your tumblr is littered
With too skinny girls
Who you wished you looked like
And pictures of
******* **** and *****
Are every other repost
And inbetween them are soft little
Poems about being alone
Or being in love
And you've never felt so empty
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 5:02 AM UTC
I heard a rumor part of the reason Amy Winehouse died is she abruptly stopped drinking and her body did not adjust well.
She harmonized with poison.
She needed this.
Isn't that interesting?
I wonder if a similar rule applies to other poisons.
Let me tell you about the time I got really, really wasted in Spanish class.
The bartender sat directly to my left.
She would give me dopamine bombs with oxytocin shots and serotonin chasers.
She poured me love in a pint glass.
I was drunk every day.
One day the bartender cut me off.
My body did not adjust well.
I harmonized with poison.
I needed this.
But it's okay, I have different flaws now.
I have SSRIs for synapses.
I have whiskey for frontal lobes.
I have potassium cyanide for contemplation.
I have THC for memories of her playing symphonies on heart strings.
Also the guy who sold me these colorful pills is a ******* liar.
Ecstasy feels like those fingertips.
Now every birthday I wish for smiling wrinkles when I'm old.
I'll do with these blisters on my passion and these calluses on my character and if she really is gone I hope sunshine takes it's job back.
I apologize.
Blaming her isn't fair.
I'm just tired of my reflection at the bottom of whiskey neats.
But I do hope she pours sparingly now.
Over-serving is ******* reckless.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
soap and water
dishes
laundry
or shower
brick from mortar
boys against girls
urban velvet smog
city vapors clog
this train -- there is a line
beginners
quitters
this parking lot -- there is a line
shoppers
influencers
open bar pharmacy, bottled water
no pity
no guarantees
dragon chasers
chin music
lapsed short term memory loss
opening mail for grandmother
the obituaries
that ****** fly
a discussion among men
about a woman's voice
come sit and listen
one last cigarette couple
walking home through the park
driving alone in the dark
on the heels of
a reflection
of Christ
or an hourglass
in remission
them or not them
just arrived
just married
too many stairs
not enough elevators
worry about it later
them, definitely them
sharing beds
under the leotard
under the candlelight
a helping hand
finely manicured fingers
one stationary
then two in missionary
word upon words need aspirin
orchestrate
headache
pillow is the threshold
tomorrow...soap and water
Mar 17, 2024
Mar 17, 2024 at 10:13 PM UTC
Around the backs of houses:
Overgrowth cloaked a
Horde of little rascals with
Pockets full of pennies.
Some were almost as tall as the
Highest stalks and jumped
Once a minute to gauge the number
Of silly long strides left to spring from.
Eyes fixed forwards, soldiering
On to the treeline and then just
Beyond - Through the ditch and
Brambles, emerging onto stones:
Ten feet towered with a
Steep ascent as a clear warning
Raptly ignored by the imps --
The chasers of thrills and stories
And melted misshapen metal -
Wherein lies the innocence of their
Treacherous endeavors. Those
Pennies would return mangled and bent
Enough to weave a tale of valiance
And near-death peril so captivating
It couldn't possibly be spun;
For in your hand you held a token.
"The world vibrated and ear drums
Exploded, running to cover from
The screaming, steaming demon:
Dublin to Belfast express!"
They would say.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Rain chasers,
how I've known them.
They smell rain from a far distance,
watch the clouds in precise anticipation,
catch the first drop and raise to their lips,
and it either turns sour or sweet.
When they know the rain will go foul,
they tell themselves to make another round,
to seek more rain, more rain, and more rain,
until they lose their conscience and become vain.
When they know the rain will be sweet,
they do their best to hold on to it,
knowing it will not stay forever,
but rain chasers despise the laws of nature.
Once I joined their force and began the game,
and I found my first sweet of rain.
I tried to preserve it, like all the chasers,
then it was gone, like sweet rain always was.
Many raindrops have touched my lips ever since that day.
Some sweet, some sour, yet they never stayed.
And somehow it is still quite hard to forget
how I felt after that one left.
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 12:36 PM UTC