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making love with no love
(kissed her with his freedom)**


a new person in an overnight stay in a strange,
aptly named,
bed and breakfast


you do all the same things that just feel good, careless loving
that comes from practiced renewable remembering,
kiss her neck for hours, drink in her crescendoing cooing

rename her Appalachia, bemused, wondering why,
she gasp-asks, when your tongue traces her odyssey body
from her Georgia to her Maine, then no need to explain

it all feels familiarly strange, imbalanced, shaky, loving the thrill
of your first solo bike ride, an invisible hand letting go,
the wow of walking the line of new freedom and
old responsibility that you have walked on both coasts

carry on, love is coming to us all lyric, enacted-recalled,
loving yet another
long cool woman in a black dress with unquestioning

how to explain to her, how to yourself, loving with no loving,
and the best you can stammer is it is like writing a poem
with too many commas or none at all

she laughs you up with one mouth lingering,
then one amazing kiss on your heart
and nose,
grabs a piece of toast and gone girl,
then you are returned to alone, to the dreams that
may or may not have occurred and two hands overflowing with
too many commas
and none to keep

11-18–17 2:54am, somewhere
“kissed her with his freedom”
Cactus Tree by J. Mitchell
11/18/17 2:54am
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Clarifying failed. Spelchek is not on strike.

{clear ification, an ionic bond be tween me and thee,
alienated mind, not mined, crafted
from tactics and strategies
beyond chess.
Player One,
1980's era
proceed with caution.
This trope has trapped many a curious child.
Now, enter the old ones,
Grandfather taught uncle chess so well
he went to the state tournament in Kayenta,
and a grandma was

these, now must learn

minecraft on x-box to be considered
for the real life role of

good at games grand parents
from the time right after atom bombs kicked up dust
places dust had not been in a very long time and
as the dust began to settle

some dust mights was cationic.
Negative bits, they became embedded in the code.
Bumps, fering, coming together
just a knot in a string,
attracting anionic curiosity might

round and round phorward ferring to be
a thread to tie my heart to yours

like twisted Pima cotton thread,
that I pulled from an old sweatshirt
to tie a crow feather in this paho of words filled with old jokes

Making this clear would belie the entire story AI and I know true}

truth is. we agree. no capsokehspaceasneededcommasetal.
caps okeh space as needed commas et al
Did that work? That line

subject of this act fact done, agree to follow,
and I may lead and be

not you, me, dear reader, I mean first true

there is no any if nothing is. So simple some say its sublime beyond the spectrum of ones
and zeros thought on off probably

either or any time time can be accounted for

wouldn't you take a

thought,  nothing,
as it is commonly said to be understandable,

the state of not being, imagine that

the state of not being we negate in being,
unless you are mad and are lost in a whirlwind
such as such voices have been said to

have twisted into threads as
wicks for our lamps
turn floating on
golden oil twisting
wickered into wickering wee shadow fibers
on the western wall for legends to sprout from.

Wickering mare over there, expands us both by my hearing her
you had no idea she was near enough to hear
time is no barrier in actual ever.
What phor can contain me,
whispered my whimsy

Imagine she spoke,
what would she say for what reason
would she say

good good good, I feel good, ha,
I am right, by accident. ever body can feel this good.

good is good.
good is.
Sam Harris, agrees, good as far as good goes, is good
in every vecter from now

the terrain does exist, beyond the moral landscape, to

true true
trust me, I been there.
Been there done that was inserted into the vernacular on my watch,
first summer post war.

matter must not matter as much to me as it does to thee, nestypass? no se?

All jewish boys have chess move metaphors.
(a phor is for containing,
everybody knows, like metaphysics,
after physics in the stack of stackable metadata)

OHMYGOD THE IDW circa 2018 -- who knew I ate this **** up?

[the old code calls for excretion of digested material
from which meaning has been extracted in the idleword accounting processor:
<pre>what if utterance=****, then **** haps, no else then</pre>]

Did that happen? One of my friends told me that happened in Florida, the whole world turned to ****... for lack of a nail a kingdom was lost, they say, little foxes spoil the grapes,
hung chad ex

Pre-expandable ROM, not magic. tech,

pre-infinite imagination? impossible.
and nothing is what is impossible with good as god.

Is there no perfect game?
is the game the session or the life of the user

rerererererererererereroxotoxin, poison pen
ideal viral umph exspelliered
up against the wall

reset. We

kunoon albania omerta oy vey, who could say?
one way better, one way not? quark.
up or down, with variable spins, who can say?

Life's right,
yes. but mo'ons of other something must have been for higgs to ever matter

and it does, I got commas, from 2018.

Are you with me? This is that book I told you I had access…

You or some mind other than mine owned mind, where
my owned peace rests in truth,

otherwise, I know every any or else in the code since I can recall,
in time

if this were a test I swore to take to prove to you
the we can be me in your head

phillipkdicktated clue

if you don't know me by now, maybe we should stop.

Temptations are times. Time things. Time spans, yeah, like bridges

or portals, right
The Internet in One Day, Fred Pryor Resources,
Wu'wuchim 1995.

Ever, not everish or everistic or every, but ever
body knows,
but you.

Catch up. We left all our doors blown off, once we learned that we could blow our own doors off,

there are no open sesames or slips of leth or sibylets

shiba yah you knew all along there was a
song she sang all one and we watched it morph
before our very eyes


The magic stories words may contain, may bear, we must agree

more than we may know, by faith, metagnostic as we see

the sublime gift of the magi
become clear und

be und sein sind both trueture same tu you, we agree.
But. Lock here, no pre 2018 editing codes

validate past last go.
Do one good thing today. That was my goal. Today Part 3 Soyal Hopi Mystery Enactment (called mystery plays). And the intro to Moral Landscape by Sam Harris, led me let ******* write a poem.
Zoe Sue May 2014
I read him one of my poems
He complemented my mechanics
And although part of me laughed
Wondering how he heard me breathe the commas
Heard my spelling bee winner's letter placement
The notion stuck
Push-pinned in my memory
In the neglected space where kind gestures live
I told him how I appreciated it
I should've told him
Boy no no
You don't understand
My mechanics need fixing
No not my grammar boy
I should've told him to volunteer
Sweet boy
I know hands are easier to work with than words
Touch me with both
Shhhh sweet boy
Fix me with your good nature
Let it wash over me
Wash away my grime
You needn't a good speaking voice
But a good intention
Warming arms
To thaw me
Couldn't hurt
But sweet boy
Too bad
We all grow sick of licorice
And I broke you
Like the mantelpiece momma told me not to play around
I broke you
For a less sweet boy
With a politician tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I broke you
Hardened you
Into a less sweet boy
With a polititia- err
Salesman tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I left you
Gone with the wind
You were the Rett
In the search for my Ashley
But he broke me
Like the soldiers countenance heading to combat
He left me
Where all the sweet boys could have gone
Tommy Randell Oct 2017
You can't see me using the cliche
Putting things in inverted commas
Twitching my fingers like Rabbit Ears
So I use Italics instead

You can't hear me stating my case
Raising my voice in a questioning way
Or saying it louder to make the point
So I use Bold instead

But, Emotions, Irony and Sarcasm
These are a major puzzle
For the Poet every day ... I mean ...
SILENCE in capitals? How useful is that?

And resorting to the old convention

Of putting it out there in double spacing

Isn't much of a clue really -

*Skribi en universala lingvo eble helpos, mi supozas ..?
Jay Apr 2017
Love was not shaped like a heart but a question mark
Too many wonders, Too many questions
I knew love was open-minded, love was optimistic
I knew love inside and out
But love remained a question mark, unsure of the love, love found with me.

Love changed
Love silently became an exclamation point
Love had clouded thoughts, twisted feelings
Love felt happiness, sadness, madness
But beneath all of those, love gave out silent cries - I have never heard.

Love, then again, changed
Love took on a shape of a comma
Love became afraid of ending the sentence, ending us
Love made us complex, made us complicated
Love had a lot of pauses in between the non-stop wishing and non-stop desires
Love hated itself

Love wanted to change
And he did
Love finally became a period
Because commas were suffocating and periods end suffocation
But love, love did not just end the sentence, nor the paragraph, nor the story
Love ended us

But here I am, standing in front of Love again
Staring at the Love who's oh so different again
Love was not just one dot but three
Love became an ellipsis
Love wished for more of our story
Love hopes to continue us
Love started wondering about the possibility of having us again
Love wanted us again
Love is slowly turning back into a question mark again.
A school requirement that brings satisfaction only to me who wants to have a good grade in her philosophy class.
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018

She smiles in Russian.
"What's your name?" I ask her.
"Is Tina!" she laughs.
"Ah...Tina!" "No not..Tina!"
"Istina!" "It means...the Truth."

she winks
slinks as if she's
in inverted commas

hidden inside
her smile
(the kiss )

she disappears 'round the
corner leaving in the air
a perfect perfume replica of her

the grand piano
sits in its silence
dreaming of music
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2018
They print their lives on a price tag,
Those big fat numbers,
All they do is brag.
My daughter’s a neurosurgeon,
Graduated from Johns Hopkins,
Saving lives by the hundreds.
My son a number-crunching accountant,
A career that keeps his wallet thick,
And his pockets filled.

They wonder what I do,
I tell them I work with words.
They gasp,
Eyes widen.

I tell them that,
I can count the spaces between adjacent letters in a word,
String words together to build a sentence,
Layer each sentence above another like bricks,
Place a single powerful mark of punctuation in between,
The glue that holds the bricks intact and forms a wall.
A wall of stanzas,
Connected by commas and semicolons.
A wall of paragraphs,
Big enough to block numbers out.

Because words fill souls while numbers fill pockets.
Words are immeasurable.

patty m Mar 5
Validate me

with punctuation.

Forever sentence

and pronounce

me with adverbs

and nouns, your adjectives

draw upon my will,

spilling desire across skin.

Exclaim to me love and loving

& never question my devotion while

holding me bracketed in your embrace.

Kiss me with quotations, woo me with verse,

shall we capitalize our aggression

and lower case our sighs?  I leave my heart

between your gentle commas,

the alpha and omega of time.

Riddle me with secret encryptions

your sentences rotating

break into a loving phrase, an almost chant, that

sprinkles life with sparkling asterisks, throbbing stars.

Quote my indecision as if verbatim

yet backspace to ease my mind..

The back slash terror never leaves me

yet it semi colons and no longer pounds.

You are my saving grace

my spell check, who shifts tides

and tickles fancy,

there is no escape when love is tabulated

I'm your prisoner, you hold the keys.

Written by
patty m  ether
Rowan Sep 2018
Start with a word, any word.
And then a year later you might find a hundred pages.
A story just begun, a tale, that, in reality, needs some editing.
But I didn’t find myself in these pages I’d written, like the inspirational quotes say.
I found my characters, I found a few bad habits too,
Like how I bite my fingers as I stare at my computer in frustration,
Or stare at the wall in blank fixation.

Once the word is picked, don’t bleed out onto the screen,
Hold yourself together, else you won't have to lips to pour forth a single key.
Some old dude told you to bleed, didn’t he?
I’ve found, I don’t bleed until page 71,
When I have bonded with Jonathon,
And now I must watch him mourn his fiancee,
Who never got to propose.

Be careful about your planning. Too methodical,
And you’ll lose yourself in the untold parts,
Too spontaneous and you’ll see your story turned from
An epic dragon escape to a horror filled romance.
Find a medium of crazy that suits you, and remember the details
Of the night you tried marijuana and coughed as the smoke hit your throat.

Hug the computer tight, don’t let anyone see
Until you’ve determined the story strong. Some people open up at the blank page,
While others hide it away until it’s a polished four hundred and sixty two, front and back.
Say, here’s an idea—don’t forget to study your grammar too.
Unless, of course, you’re poetry demands to be free,
then flow round the corner and hesitate not with commas
theyll be no use for you.

After all this advice, I’ll tell you one thing.
Forget all of it, it’ll be nothing to you.
We storytellers like to go on and on about how to write,
When we barely ever write a real story of characters in between speeches.
If the only thing I could tell you, the only important fact I can say with utter certainty is,

For god’s sake,
Nat Lipstadt Apr 8
reverence in poetry.                             everything to every person.

reader claims they can                         a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence.                         successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that                       (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me,                          tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction,                  and they’ll call you laureate                      
secretarial transcribing,                        instead of good listener
binding, typo correction                       or just a keen observer-fakir

mundane are the tasks,                          just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask,                     dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given,     coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect,                     don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly       is all them, redressed legally

you’re just the pass through agent,   true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected,    variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant,      be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint,          a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit        mucho poem emojis accoladeya

as for this reverence thinge        devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day,     grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life,        pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed,         he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period,     exactly,  what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit    con/hu-man par excellent

them muses so **** pleased     even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation,                     couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend,                   great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk,                everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar.                       all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end                 original liars, pants on fire

before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
sometimes two poems intersect as you write them side by side,
related, distant cousins
Z Sep 2018
An imprint on your face and my mind,
Your dimples curved like gentle commas
demanding I pause to trace those lines
Between kisses of every genre
abby Nov 2017
Too often, when I begin my poems- I turn on the caps lock key. I want the letters to be big and tower above my body so maybe I’ll be able to believe they actually mean something. What I am still learning, is you cannot always start out screaming. You can not always begin with ripping your hair out and spitting out your own tongue, you cannot always start with passion. Sometimes you need to work up to it as if you are riding the gondola just to see the sunset meet the waves. For so long, I believed poetry wasn’t real unless it was uninterrupted. It didn’t truly matter unless it all come out at once, unless you are imagining and rewriting the next line before you even finish the first. Is it even art if you stop halfway to think about what word sounds best?

Well, who’s to say its not?

Art exists for two reasons, to make your audience feel something, and to calm down the rapids within your own veins. Sometimes we choke or we spit or we throw it all up but no matter how it flies out of our paper matte lips, it still fills our lungs the same. You are like the ash I flick off of the burning skyline my cigarette is. I always compared you to an ocean, because I could drown in your eyes, but you are not quite so vast. You are not as important as I make you out to be. (Or at least that’s what I’d like to believe.)

Maybe you are everything, maybe you are the shooting star that rolls by my window just slow enough for me to spot it in the sky. Maybe you are that crack in the sidewalk where the weeds and dandilions took out their latest mortgage. Maybe you are all the things I told myself I would detatch from your name.

I cannot keep these promises to myself no matter how hard I try, two years later and you’re still my biggest influence. There has been a block in my bloodstream since I lifted my fingers from the keyboard, since I let the lightning stop starting fires.
There has been a hold up but if we are putting it all out in the open, I still try to swallow my feelings for you because you liked me best when the fibers of my sweater were caught in my zipper. You liked me best when I had too much cotton in my mouth for me to even breathe.

I’ve been spitting and coughing up poetry since I could speak, I have been substituing and backspacing until I found perfection in my own words, especially considering I couldn’t find anything else about myself even remotely close to perfect.
You are the only thing in this world that’s truly left me speechless.

But the words I never got the chance to say, are growing stale on my tongue.
I call this; rocket ship poetry.
It is like the day after the night of drinking. Of stomach bile and bread eating and promising to a god that only exists once in a while that you will never, ever, drink again.
It is the way you remember an angry middle aged man banging on the door before he burst in, fuming mad that you forgot to turn the lights off.
It is real and it happens so quick sometimes you don’t even see it coming. It is the pink ***** on your window sill from that party where you didn’t even feel drunk.
The time where silver smiles painted your skin to match the depth of your veins. All the flowers you picked out of the ground from their roots.
There is no stopping it when it’s arrived, there is no way to unravel it.
It is a rocket ship because you count down the seconds until take off and before you know it the stars are in your ears and you hit the caps lock key, and it isn’t because you want the letters to mean something, it’s because they mean so much already that you need to raise your voice.
You need to stop using periods and start using commas because after awhile you get tired of being interrupted. You get tired of taking two trips and saying what you want to scream. You just get tired. There is broken glass rattling around inside of you, and sometimes it’ll slash you open from the inside but you are going to be okay.
Sometimes you will get too close to the flame,
but it’s better to get burnt,
then to burn out.
Aaron LaLux Mar 6
She cries during ***,

a set of collective regrets expressed,
see at least you still have some emotions left,
in a world that’s gone cold,
and most people stumble around like the walking dead,

no Norman Reedus or Andrew Lincoln though,
just an aborted fetus and a broken heart with no treatment,
at the bar with a babe drinking,
till I get assassinated at a theatre like Abe Lincoln,

feeling like I’m in a real life Soap Opera drama,
the way I get caught up in these women’s feelings,
one minute she’s laughing the next minute she’s crying,
she apologizes and I tell her she never has to apologize for her feelings,

at least she still feels things,
says she’s been ***** before,
so when I go rough with her she gets flashbacks,
and it’s hard to face facts that have happened before,

I tell her it’s okay,
I tell her she can tell me anything,
I tell her sometimes it helps to communicate,
but she clams up and doesn’t say anything,

so I get up and go to the shower,
to try and wash off the stress,
moments later she comes in and joins me,
somewhere between sedated and upset,

at a hotel somewhere in Tulsa,
a hotel that they call boutique,
but it feels haunted and a bit spooky,
the wind howls and the floors creak,

and it gives me the creeps,
because in a way this hotel feels like me,
all nice and hip and trendy on the outside,
but inside everything is not what it seems,

haunted from the drama of these girls that were abused,
that then decided to transfer that energy to me,
which I in a way deserved because I used to serve,
this sort of abuse out to girls that thought they were into me,

you get what you give which is exactly what karma is,
so now I’m trying to help heal the Collective Feminine,
from all the damage that’s been done,
by the Collective Masculine,

so go ahead,

smash your conflicts into me,
drown me in the ocean of the the tears of your traumas,
scream shout let it all out until there’s nothing to let go of,
I love you unconditionally continually no menopause or commas,

no mental pause or drama,

you are an incredible creation,
resilient and brilliant,
and I am hear to be a platform,
if you’re in distress I will be your outlet,

so you can vent the stress,
even if that means crying during ***,
and I will be here to hear everything you need to express,
a Living Light in this world of The Walking Dead,

so it’s okay if you cry during ***,

a set of collective regrets expressed,
see at least you still have some emotions left,
in a world that’s gone cold,
and most people stumble around like the walking dead,

no Norman Reedus or Andrew Lincoln though,
just an aborted fetus and a broken heart with no treatment,
at the bar with a babe drinking,
till I get assassinated at a theatre like Abe Lincoln…

∆ LaLux ∆

Tulsa, OK.
lick the sky with commas
crimson ribbons
  and shamrock murmurs
   like the crayon scribbles
    of a young child
     electric choir
     strums of colour
    make melody of night
   shifting whispers
  a new language blur
we can only open
our mouths at
Written: April 2019.
Explanation: A simple poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
Cynthia Aug 2018
My poems don't have a sentence.
They're vague, unfinished, unclear.
And they certainly don't address the reader,
For that would be unprofessional, dear.

My poems don't have a meaning.
They're meant to be read and understood.
And they certainly don't have a title.
Yes, guidance is not at all good.


Commas and them old fullstops.
Questions? Hah! What do they even do?
Exclamations? What silly ideas!
My poems don't need you!

Yes, my poems never rhyme.
For what use will it lend?
Yes, my poems never hold ironic lies.
And of course, they'll never end.
This was really fun to write
Lawrence Hall Feb 20
This letter, is to inform you, about a
bomb threat
that we received this, morning. Name of a Name
Unified Consolidated ISD,
a State-Recognized School of Somethingness,
Where Kids Come First under the theme of
All The Kids All The Curriculum All The Time
is committed, to the safety and education
of all our students and We Are Number One,
Go #Thundercatbears!, ‘Cause We are #All-Hashtagged
in Unity and Oneness. We also, want
to clearly communicate with split infinitives
And crazy commas all over the place
to parents about safety issues when they
get found out arise.

This morning, a phone call, was received,
by the receptionist at

Elementary School and Essential Spirit
Dreams New Dawn Progress Learning and
Technology Center of the Future

stating a


was present, on the campus.
After conferring with the Threat Assessment Team,
The Standard Response Protocol team,
the Chinkypin-Lizard Lick Police Department parked in the handicapped spaces at Tia Jolene’s Goremay Eats ‘n’ Bokays out next to the Interstate,
the cheerleader sponsors,
our attorneys,
and Superintendent Dr. Hamestus Goodoleboy “Spike” Ponsonby III,
the students were rapidly, and efficiently evacuated
to a safe area up in the football bleachers
where they would be more obvious targets
and the school was professionally and thoroughly
swept for anything suspicious and untoward.
During this time,

when no students were in danger,

another call was received stating that  gunshots
were fired in the school. There were no gunshots,
fired in the school and

no children were in danger at any time.

Currently, we’re are is allowing students,

who were never in any danger,

to return to school as usual

where there was never any danger at any time.

We will have extra counselors and therapists available
if students or parents needs supports are
counsolining in spelling ‘n’ sentence structure.

The students were never in any danger at any time.

All threats to our school where

their was never any danger

and students who were never in any danger

will be taken seriously immediately
and thoroughly and investigated
thoroughly and fully except for that call
last week that we managed to keep covered up.
We wanted to inform you of the correct facts
because our correct facts are the only facts
so you can discuss them with your child/ren
Of any race, ***, color, creed, religion,
or gender identification or not
and emphasize the seriousness of our facts,
which are the only facts. If you discover
Any facts untoward or out of place please contact us
At the district office at
*** *** xxxx ext ***
or the Chinkypin - Lizard Lick Police Department
immediately and thoroughly.

No children were in, danger at any time.
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Paper endures everything – it is not silk.
A piece of paper in an envelope with a poem on it.
Diligent, handwritten,
Keeping simple thoughts.

Fourteen lines about the city,
Fourteen points back and forth.
Fourteen lines about ships,
Dashes, commas, crosses, zeros.
I'm looking to find my balance
Decorating it like valance
I'll bring plenty to the table
Talk about that spring balance
No more kidding around, kid's allowance
You want a real man
Looking for someone to stan
It won't happen at expectation
It will be a genuine donation
To your soul
When you're engulfed by the ghoul
Three strikes when you bowl
Too traumatized to smoke one
Good thing though, you don't want to be done
It's an unlawful run
Like you're afraid of Attila The ***
There's no need
To be swallowed in depression and other's greed
We all have our history of beads
That bog us down
You're not the only one in town
To have these emotions
But I might be one of the few to have that devotion
Causing intense commotion
You better bring the lotion
Because I'm making this swamp dry
Letting this fog die
I'm not a perfect guy
Maybe not the best buy
Maybe Geek Squad
I can barely carry quads
But I can carry you
To the shores
You can retain my core
These muscle remain sore
But I'd rather it be that way
You're the forever in the day
Unless you break my bays
Floodgates of acid
Don't like to come to this in placid
Or even casual
It all has to be natural
Call me super
You won't be believing your eyes
It's tough enough to realize
That you don't always need to be chastise
I like to run up the imaginary commas clockwise
Here's words to the wise
You got to read them
Carefully heed
Before you bleed
Out too much to grasp the rails
Carrying the pails
Dropping them horribly
I hope you'd be out unscathed
This pool we've bathed
Has changed us all
So refuse to stall
Face what's been breaking you
Because there's no replacing you
I'm not always going to be chasing you
So you better have a good reason
Don't force me into the feeling of treason
I can be your beacon
Your personal deacon
It's easy to weaken
Whether you're Persian or Puerto Rican
Same thing applies
The world can be full of flies
But you got to smack them down
Hard and ruthless
Just don't be shallow or toothless
I can definitely prove this
They'll devour you whole
Make sure they know you're swole
From the North Pole to the South Pole
You got it locked
Keep your weapon glocked
Firm and steady
So you're at the ready
Don't force yourself
To change to those peering
I'm going to be on the sidelines cheering
Snickering and sneering
It's all useless after the clearing
Do you want another hearing?
It'll be the same
You're born into this game
No need for the money and fame
You got that perfect level of tint
You're not desperate, you're just in a crisis like Flint
Everyone gets there
Under the rut
Under the rule of the oligarchs in the sophisticated tiki hut
Full breeds and muts
Are what they declare
But they couldn't be more wrong
We all don't sing in song
But the subtle singing still matters
No matter how hard they try to shatter
Don't destroy your bladder
Because you're growing sadder
Confront me, I'll drop it
Like the hottest mixtape
So I can fix your heart with invincible tape
Together we can vape
Just don't get too carried away
I like the bonding, let's keep it that way
Trying not to run out of things to say
To the likeness of you
What a beauty to see you swoon
Hate being gone so soon
If you were
That would be a tremendous stur
Causing me to say every derogatory slur
At the sky
Looking for a reason
Why this all transpired
You make my heart go higher
I'm not your sire
But we need each other
I got my brothers from another mother
But you are the rest
Pounding chest
Can you make another perfect guess
On where my loyalty lies
The last thing I'd ever do
Is lie to you
All these pictures I drew
All these planes I flew
The numbers turned into a slew
Nothing compares
To the Mary Sue
I found at the helm
I'll go wherever you realm
These gargoyles I'll whelm
They'll have to keep fighting
Cause my heart keeps igniting
It's a little freightening
But I'll make it work
I always do
Not always starting with the clues
But I can decipher all the blue
Turn you into orange and red
Making sure you're never truly dead
I won't ever imagine that story line in my head
Some things are better left unsaid
Give me your perfection instead.
A sip of tea and a biscuit-nip
Starts my day with the rising sun
But Time has changed its flimsy drape
From milky white to a seedy shade
Birds aren't there to urge me on
And automatons they rule the day
All is grey a dusty grey.
I see no flowers they are things of past
The smiles and laughter and joyfulness
No longer light up any eager face
The twig just picked is dry as sand
The fountains have dried and do not cool
The trees are stunted and give no shade
The commas in a daze and the full stops
They wait for a new sentence to start.
The black coloured ribbon is in tatters and soiled
It hangs from an open window
Inside my room, the air stinks
With the odour of rancid old cleverness
The mirror dulled with age now reflects
My wrinkled face and a toothless grin
The ancient clock with its limp hands
It has ceased to strike the hour of rest.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
between heartbeats are commas
   in what is usually a sentence
  which requires an extremely
   deep breath if one is under


     / \
    /   \
   /     \
For Willie, whose house floods frequently.

— The End —