"contraptions" poems
the hour slips by without a sound
and through the looking glass window
the days unfolding scene
gives life and motion
to the surreal stillness within
the silent theatricals of man and beast
strive and fail under the shifting skies
like the rise and fall of nameless empires
their brilliant banners swiftly stirred by
the storms and seas
i walk along the fresh laid carpet
with bare feet feeling the texture
and stand at the doorway
with its wooden contraptions ajar to allow breezes
to walk into the dark house
the heavy presence of paint on the air
and the devices of workmen underfoot
soon will fade to memory as our polished lives
are neatly adorned and trimmed
we have become what we dread
civilized
she walks from the bedroom
wearing nothing but her dreadlocks
as i finish making dinner
we have duck and wild rice
i teach her some ballroom dancing steps
we laugh and whisper
the night has come to its fading
and though we are restless
we trek to our bed
and wrestle eachother to sleep
this is evening with her
and our elegant love affair
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
SATOR
AREPO
TENET
OPERA
ROTAS
Cropsman,
Alpha-Omega is with you, and bids you go forward with a patient but steady momentum.
Keep yourself to the Old Truth.
Your work
Is that of the seasons which are cyclical as the wheels of your sowing and reaping contraptions.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
I see it
A change is taking place
The good in all is nowhere
Every life is taken for granted
Memories are strung together
In a lost papier-mâché craft
Gaining dust in a Kindergarten classroom
Where the boys and girls of tomorrow live
In a crazed life filled with
Devices and contraptions
It makes us all feel blue
But we caused it
What we see is what we want
We see what we caused
We kissed the sweet lips of evolution
And it opened its legs to innovation
Save the stress for later
We'll all worry about it another time
When silver bullets are sprouting
In the garden of our beautiful
African-American brothers and sisters
And a disillusioned land of education
Save them from this misery
Such a shame that we gave our best
Now you see it -- our paradise is ******
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
parents telling you one thing
and the internet insisting another
brainwashed bobbleheads of corruption
lies stained with the tropical freshness of 5 gum
everything is a bore, and nothing excites anymore
blank faces, straight mouths, eyes half open
the generation morphed into mannequins
faces glued to apple contraptions
the struggle to express emotion and wondering why
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
there was a girl who dreamed of flying; over mountains and oceans and forests and beaches. She searched and sought ways to soar into the horizon. She tried to construct wings of wax and feathers, like Icarus. She tried to fashion contraptions similar to Orville and Wilbur’s. She tried to mix potions and find fairy dust and jump off high buildings with large sheets tied to her wrists.
She had almost given up hope,
until one day she met a boy. With startling brown eyes that shocked her into living. With rough, but soft, hands that cradled her porcelain fingers. With careful lips that whispered what she didn’t know needed to hear.
And after waiting so long,
the boy had finally filled her with such sunlight, and warm oxygen, and such life that her feet lifted off of the ground. Her toes curled and her fingers splayed in the wind, and she grabbed his hand to show him the insides of clouds.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
distraction
contraptions
i don't work right
haven't enough reason to fight
please distract me
in your arms
enwrap me
when i can't sleep
i'm up thinking
and when i have you
my thoughts fade from dark
without you
i'm in my own head screaming
i wind up bleeding
and not holding you
but
distraction
contraptions
...
you are the better distraction
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Gene Wilder's ***** Wonka* once asked me
to step into a world
of pure imagination
and I danced to his voice
of sugary imperfections.
The swelling strings drizzled
on top falsetto inflections
captured me childishly
with candy-coated attentions
But even the finest chocolate melts,
and I learned to let purity be
pushed by treacly lyrics
or stern midgets secure
in their fudge-topped zealotry.
It sifts too pretty for me,
powdering my grown-up
infatuations with petty
wants, getting a little messy
What I crave instead's stained-glass contraptions
to propel me past the stretches
of biblical proportion
where light and dark don't mix.
I'm no Idiot, good-hearted
in the veins of Fyodor
or Akira, and I can't see
beyond the pure tedium
of a blurredly driven snow
I like my mental drifts grime-choked and splotched
with some savory do
dropped in to dissolve flossy
confections to a salted soup
of imagined impurity.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 6:08 PM UTC
“Thanks for the ride.”
I often say.
With no car and only a bike or a bus
To get me around.
If my friends (or even strangers at times)
Will give me rides I can only
Say I’m blessed.
I hate those contraptions that
Buzz around.
So cut off from others unlike a bus,
Yet so fast unlike a bike.
It can take you anywhere unlike a bus.
I’m in love with cars just like every other American,
But please cut down on the greenhouse gases
For the future.
I still hate cars.
Maybe even those that have them think the same.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
These things we wear,
sometimes feel like contraptions.
Restricting freedom but
providing protection.
So many ways and styles,
the possibilities are endless.
Through heat and cold
always an accessory,
even if they are not on our feet.
They go everywhere with us,
seeing even what we do not.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
Talent.
So so Far I've seen the talent-less and the talented
**** heads until their skulls cracked and we peered in
and saw a garden growing green leafy creativity
Gallantly trotting across the right brain like the breezy morning wind
And as we looked away and declared the winner had won
but cracked his skull on the stubborn brick wall
the talent-less had spun
out of hard jealousy and mortar crafted from their own lack of self discipline
The sun even sighed
died for a second
then came back alive only to find the talentless
still forrunning their forte
up every frigid full soul he found on his way
So the days saddened into rainy Saturdays
19 in a row
with the downpour too vicious to even kiss on the cheek as a pity way of putting across that
"you should really go"
the rain rained down boulder sized bouts of concentrated creative energies
only able to be ****** up by sponges with cracked skulls
and thus made into uncracked skulls
mended skulls
Talented unabridged uncensored skulls
that may drown out the talentless
just like the rain and storms tried to muster a try at
And by that we only see the talented come out walking with rain pouring Into their brains
getting ****** up by extracorpus veins
Not because they were born with contraptions
but because they avoided distractions
and gained traction in this multiverse where everything happens with struggle
and pain.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
The earth’s been our playground, beautiful and vast.
A utopian world on which the human race was cast.
In the sliver of time, we’ve been an industrial culture
We’ve preyed on her resources like a ravenous vulture.
A carnivore hunting for bigger and fatter game,
All in the guise of improving and seeking for fame.
Inventors create contraptions and devices,
Never bothering to notice how much smaller the ice is.
Carbon is aplenty, spewing forth in filthy emission
Ozone suffering from man with limited vision.
Many animals hunted to extinction, and more on the way
Ecologists fight to be heard, to government's policies sway
Our waters suffer abuse and lose their purity
Advances in culture, lend earth no security
Oil and garbage circle the earth killing the wildlife off it,
Inventions and efforts to save us, offer no profit.
Efforts must be made to lower and stop pollution
All species soon will be dead without a solution.
Let’s work together and help clean mother earth.
What’s our future generations’ health really worth?
A partner we should be, and not a voracious parasite,
We are cognizant beings; we should know to do what’s right.
Love the earth, give back more than you take,
Do it now, do it fast, for our children’s sake.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 6:55 AM UTC
I waited too long
to mow my lawn
biopsy my lung
yet lived long enough, anon,
however long is long.
Whatever. It's not wrong
to count along
while busy living. Sing
and stay strong
absorb the sun's photons
and store them in your bones.
Those bones
outlast slights and spurns
are white as lightning and strong
as sticks and stones.
Inside is one's
spirit, soul, the nameless one
the one that's never known.
It has no cell phone
can't communicate or even moan.
Therefore. Why complain?
Have some fun.
Soon
I'll be undone
subterranean
my garden burned down.
So what. John Donne
died and so did Milton.
Emerson too, and Whitman.
Get over it. Vote. Love. When
the train comes in the station
whistle with it, wish on
stars with passion
or careful hesitation.
Anything's fine, within reason.
Season by season
things get done.
Algebra and calculus, Malcolm X, George Washington.
No taxation
without representation.
A gun
in every den.
People will be governed
one way or another, by a sovereign
or trusted friend. Corporation.
Men
are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than
to right themselves by abolishing the Evils to which they are
resigned.
I'm too young
to die! I cry. My generation
cannot outrun the sun
but I want to see what happens
next, a tsunami or tornado, rain
and wind beyond our comprehension
hit in the head by speeding debris, irony
of ironies! plastic contraptions,
rotting computers and yogurt cups, pain
in the baby! Moment's
notice. None,
I notice, live long
enough to see the end. Amen. A million
years hence
human sense
has so modified and mutated among
other moons
we share one mind
and everything's remembered by everyone.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest. A perfect tan
is possible, and work is fun.
I'm going there when I pass on
because souls will travel at warp speeds, using nuclear fission.
About suffering, religion
was right (and wrong) all along.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
It started with existence
just a lowly perspective of a mute
time when I was able to
make sense of this pressure
make sense of why
you are now here to guide me now
on this looser journey; a lonely crabapple
still grappling at shriveled skin creating a face
that I still
cannot
distinguish.
With the end of presence as we know it
you have finished, rightly
in my dressing room
bright screen lit up
but only for a moment do I dare look away.
It started with you, and it will end with you
Closed off from me, shortly
your bioluminescence radiant,
your perfection incomplete.
I’ve known you for six straight years
or was it five
just enough
construed construction, a bloated
piece of mind that left me free to wander
aimlessly down I path I cannot recognize.
It was you who caused my blunder,
keeping me awake every night
with your brightness and distraction and amiable personality.
I decorated you with bits of me,
tangled in and out like woven webs of cybernetics
optimal connections, you died twice and I revived you.
But that was in the past
and you still cling on, for how much longer
I shan’t not know.
Only that what it means to exist
when I should be letting go.
I have to face the trust of reality and its weakened points;
that dangerous, well-formed world I find myself in.
I hope you can follow me
as long as you are able,
my clunky plastic compadre
your heart is metal mixed with other
kinds of fragile contraptions.
I know this end to my happiness is not your fault.
You were there when I needed you most,
even if you are a tool of innocence turned foul.
I once learned all of existence from your knowledge,
gleaned myself raw
trying to let you help me
understand myself.
We are not truly over because I am bound to you
somehow
even though I’ve used you for my own gain
abused your trust and have my own heart slain.
All I ask is for you to give me a chance
to make it right
again.
And then I can move on to better things.
And not be obsessed of what you think of me.
And find a way to pull myself together.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
Hairy little men
I've got, hiding in my ear.
Verbal Contraptions:
By means of saliva,
deep sighs and black
tongues
Has anyone seen the Barber?
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
let’s watch whales together
let’s catch stars together
let’s collect jars together
let’s put our dreams in those jars together
let’s write poems together
let’s play with foxes together
let’s sail together
let’s count asteroids together
let’s save penguins together
let’s read books together
let’s sing together
let’s eat Poptarts together
let’s paint together
let’s talk about elephants riding unicycles together
let’s listen to the willows whisper together
let’s cry of laughter together
let’s ride horses together
let’s discover the beauty in hidden places together
let’s build contraptions together
let’s get lost together
let’s live with different tribes together
let’s…
together
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
Racing across the hilly meadows,
Racing across the dusty plains,
Scorching sun up high above them,
Their bodies drenched with cooling rains.
Not caged in with wooden fences,
Land as far as the eye can see,
Independent of man’s ways,
They are free.
Hoofbeats pounding the Earth,
Thundering through the sky,
Not held back by man’s contraptions,
This is where they live and die.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Hasina had gums of a prune colored play dough, much like the type which he used to mold and model into similar contraptions and cases. Contrasting with the teeth of a superb suburban plaster, the ***** contusion continued its conversation. Collecting admirers and adolescent adonis’ innocent of their sins. Since the inoculation, passed away, a pretense to nervousness approached the very essence of our chest; the bead of the brooch where we found the philtrum too close to the nose. Curling inside its own bare curves. A bed without sheet, hindered, harnessed, the horse dragged on.
We soon found that the things we feigned to hate would come close to fame, In a magazine cover sheet, handed in late.
Hasina, and her mother, certainly did not suppose that that beneath the floor boards, neither harm nor concern would be discovered. And neither was. With the way their will worked things became distributed. Disturbed guests of unwanted presents and gifts soon re-sent to other more malleable means of hospitality.
Hungered as the hundredth wolf come to late. He too howled, but not at the moon, or rather not its simulacrum of a glowing truth, its silver light, or any movements its clearly showed. Growing loose the tumor slipped out, slowly. And with a plop, pressed against the walls, The jaws dropped and the mason jar closed and posed on exhibition for lessons, and interests, obsessions, dreads, things grotesque pressed against the walls.
To be captured, resting above the skyscrapers. Where in the hours of dawn, space overlaps, a frowned pace of a clock grows fondly of the time that is lost and past.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
once then a time been a morn' shine a day grown
into a full year it seems stunningly glare-ing
me into a sudden reality
it spoke commonly about
a heart and a wink a kiss a soft shoulder
pink
on a bank of a river flowed
small animals testaments
they gathered round
for this was magical
a story of
many textual diddy contraptions and she
was sure
me was her one
and it hearted warmed calmed me
and felt me like I needed
all surety and conceptions with dreams
all colliding
in stardust dreams and moonbeams
with moon pies and hot coffee
and confessions
penetrations are awaiting
ears are amazing
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 4:34 AM UTC
My life is usually unraveling quietly inside various states of disarray
Its my own doing and I am a professional
I know I sound self absorbed and self afflicted
I hope I didn't steal your time
I am a lot of things
but I am not a thief
I suppose I could take comfort in some small consistencies streaming through our species
In comparison to the time we spend dodging trains
Or pursuing another 0rgasm with an animalistic momentum
This is light speed fleeting
Still
Only a small step away from creating black holes
Anyway...
I say obsessive compulsive disorder
the red tape says crazy
I say these 60 hours of consciousness are the product of a restless mind
the white suits say its surely a chemical inbalance
but upon what scale are they operating?
(eyebrows raised in disbelief)
THE SCALE OF SANITY OF COURSE
oh
The only thing that provokes a serious need for vacancy in my life
Is full pockets
That's not a half baked metaphor
nor is it an obscure display of nerves crumbling
...forever deconstructing inside a failed attempt at demonstrating the burdens of existence
I really cannot stand crowded pockets
My lifestyle does not accommodate such a condition
Tobacco boxes and plastic flames
Cheap contraptions for times subtraction
A wallet absent of evil
Still
Chalk full of all the proper identification for existing
and depending on the day
The necessary tools for twisting reality into compliance
A touch screen distraction full of pain and despondency
Its disgusting I know
we all stay cozy and space phone faded
When I come home
The first thing is excavating pockets
an act of defiance towards my own brain
I throw it everywhere
my disease has broken three phones
This has no purpose
Nor does is contain the thread of my own insecurities
its merely the ramblings of a mind finally breaking
its clearly time for the sleep that keeps eluding my trajectory
it will be a microscopic moment on a backdrop full of faceless collisions
My off switch is stuck on the green light
I wish I could wake up for a sun rise
instead of avoiding it like a criminal caught up in circumstance
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
Not complaining, it's just all these god forsaken *** semon demons, suckling sucubus
Take my animal, then sell the stock, it's high treason
Contraptions arachnid, stick it to me ****** and shmozy.
Lady, shady, it fades me. But by all means phase me like ******* wild eyed vixens, oops who's slipping missy.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
your ears are jammed with
energetic beats and good melodies
though accompanied with
lyrical lies that
distort
our views on what really matters and
define
who we are and how we should be.
and your eyes:
glued to the screen
as you await to see
if your face
is worth enough of those
tiny blue thumbs up.
but
you've absorbed
too much nonsense and radiation
from those handheld contraptions that
you have grown
too deaf and too blind
to see anything beyond yourself
but I say that it is time that you
look up,
open your eyes,
and see
His holy
glory setting upon
our minds waking
our hearts stirring
our passion blazing
our generation rising
our people fighting
our nation triumphing
look up,
open your eyes,
and see that
hope is alive and abundant!
because Hope is with us,
Hope is in us, and
Hope is through us.
all these chaos is translating
into something beautiful and exciting
so come
look up,
open your eyes,
and see.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
Someone should invent
mechanisms for opening and closing
the best parts of ourselves
so we don't have any destructive contraptions
interfering anymore.
We could also really use
subtle reminders to
make eye contact with ourselves in mirrors
and dance to the sound of our own heartbeats
at times when we can't hear the music.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Despite the right to spite the far away
Of only what I know is nothing as a word
Only what I know is everything as a meaning
******** **** in this early morn
******** love of that metal music
ENOUGH OF THIS (will make you crazy)
Heterosinea contractual echinacea of aviary actual sack attack
ATTACKING SACK INSIDE A RACK O' FLACK
FLACK BOMbardment of horse willed ensnarement
Wiley wicker writhing in illness
Loose found youtube through fool rude nudes
Useful contraptions trap attraction for creative adoration and many more "things"
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
N64 Flow
Controllers Rattling
Mario Battling Bowser
Solar Traveling
Star Foxin for hours
Toy Boxes, Trinkets, and World watches
Sipping Soda fizzing
Eating crunchy Frito Snippets
Watching ***** Wonka
wishing I had a golden ticket
Scraped knees, Bicycle Tracking
Wilds woods equal childhood
Blueberry & cheery picking
Kisses from a girl who was
older are still vivid
No witnesses were present, but presents were still given
In the form of innocence
It's was nothing but child play
Assorted memories
Become a part of my current day
Who's to say that I've changed?
As I reminisce, my past was forged of oddities, deceptions of tall tales and everyday Odyssey's
Pictures of wild women, explicit ***********
Disney diluted story's and fictional prophecies
Depictions that lacked religion
Late night Toonami dreams
Insights from other youth
that didn't make sense logically
Visits to the water fountain periodically
Teacher said there's no such thing as dumb questions
but they never answered honestly
Everything I've learned from life
I've already learned from Monopoly
I'm always landing on GO,
therefore I'm moving with the green
House rules obviously
You can interpret that as currency
in our current state physically
But I just see it as a
constant stream of positivity
To create is a state that is channeled by electricity
Childhood memories is my youths ticket for authenticity
Those days were full of fun and madness
This excitement couldn't have been replicated by a smartphone nor tablet
Sunshine & green grass actual outdoor access
Inhale curiosity, exhale the astonishing
Running at full speed, gunning at high velocity
The excitement was never ending
a continuous lottery
Summer books I would never read
Instead, I drew in the summer breeze
Illustrations of disfigured stick figure's and murderous scenes
I realize that I have no idea, who I'm destined to be
I don't know where my next travels will lead
I am but nomad upon a land with no wagon or steed
**** these contraptions for my actions speak louder then screens
An N64 and one controller is all I need
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
To be a bird with
Their sharp beaks,
Their soft feathers,
They long for all the attention
Waiting for a curious eye to find them.
Like humans long knowledge
Of being able to master flight.
Only birds can master flight.
Humans have gotten pretty close,
With their many contraptions,
They try to imitate flight.
But you will never know what it feels like,
To have the wind surround you,
To have the wind ruffle you feathers,
And then fold over, around, and through you
Like a soft blanket the wind will comfort you
You will never know what it is like to land on a branch,
Your scaly yellow talons gripping the rough bark.
To feel that small moment when you fell like you will fall,
And you are surprised that your small talons,
can hold all of this weight
You will never know what it is like,
To fly with beautiful iridescent feathers,
Changing from green, to blue, to gold and back again.
What it is like to have jet black feathers,
That some how change color as well,
Subtly changing from pink, to blue, to gold
As smooth as satin,
We will never know what it is like,
to be comforted by a soft layer of down.
So soft that when you touch just one feather,
It feels as though there is nothing there
Nothing to touch,
nothing to feel
But there is something.
Something so magical that only a bird can feel it.
We will never know what it is like
To sleep in a robin blue egg,
To live for so long in something frail,
yet strong at the same time.
We will never know what it is like,
To hatch,
to bang against a shell with our egg tooth,
and feel the joy,
Of being free.
After being locked away for so many weeks.
We will never know what it is like,
To be birds.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC