"corey" poems
As Captain Jack kisses of the last roach
Lavender's in the boathouse window shouting that she's grown wings that she's gonna fly
over Old Casey's boat above the painted lake past where the music surrounds
permeates with the pulse of noise
Green Hat pulls me over says my name is Corey
or Kelsey
Kelly's a **** name I tell him back home people call me Blow
Enter Tennessee the cinnamon sipping reds smoking sonofagun
Are you Kevin?
I ask the fingers that familiar flight of touch leading me
down and
down and
down towards our game
"Never have I ever" howls the young Indian chief, scarf draped in madness
the fearless warrior Peepeeohpee
Someone has trapped the moon behind the window the house on the hill someone has fed the fire with its secret light
This stranger this enigma this Laura I am her cousin
and everyone I touch is Kevin
Then with the sun Tittas steps off the boat as Jesus
sacred palms slashed from last night's ritual
Bums a cig from Drew or Not Drew with the thousands out west and the lotus flower arms
Floats on her back French exhales
As I look at our feet stained red with ink all slow spirals soft wind ***** flowers
then to the shore the fireflies still dancing through the dawn
Flying high
Secretly praying to each outshine the fade
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
In pressing times truth oft' lies so oppressed
And falsehoods rouse to speak in joyed debate
That burdens brought to bear upon the breast
Might anchor nought but will of one testate
What courage leant upon a graven guest
Not thrift of fear in bearing of his fate
But silent as all untruths so expressed,
Except to cry with cursed tongue, "More weight!"
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
What
((holds)) you
to unyielding self?
Petrified
you stone your sins
and still miss the mark;
attempt to beat soul
into healing.
Fool.
Even this
nascent struggle
to understand
casts another rock.
Would you lobotomize...
****** a stick
into your eye socket
to see more clearly?
The peine forte et dure is
in the resistance;
you know,
and do not accept
grace
in the hands
easing you toward
the gentle current
of Spirit
washing around you.
Why?
Entombed by need
to atone,
you cannot roll
the rock aside alone.
Stop asking for
"more weight",
Giles Corey...
you are a fearsome man
standing upright.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
What drives men to do such terrible things?
Am I exempt from such a judgment?
From chaos given and innocence stolen
This world is hellbent
On suffering,
One writes
to be left
On misery
one night
is enough
On loneliness
Oh, how I greet it
With open palms raised to the sky
Tonight is a fine night to die
My belly full of pills
Only prescribed
By men and women
Garnished in white
Oh, this will help me sleep
with kings and counselors
For if you look too long,
bloodshot eyes,
The abyss will grab you from your home
Ode to joy
Hallowed be thy name
My eyes burn as I grip this pencil
And an odd smell lingers in this room
The smell of sterilization.
The smell of cleanliness.
The smell of godliness.
It's far too white here
It's far too bright, I fear
I fear for these students
Fellow and brave
Taking this test
While I'm painting my cave
My cave is solitude and I have picked it out from it's mountain
Rocks fell soon thereafter
Now I cannot leave
This was my choice
But I have one regret
I wish I could have stood still
and been crushed to my death
Much like Giles Corey
I am a sinner
More weight, he cried out
From his pressing board
And much like me, his please were ignored
What drives man to do such terrible things?
Passion, my friend
The same passion for which
I sing
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
it's the morning of Tuesday
June twenty fifth, and the fog, again
rolls in against lima and listlessly scales the escarpment
and Dana (like I) high on ******* and circumstance
has gone with Chris and Cameron, to watch from the cliffs
(this time something loose has shifted, and I hope they kiss).
and Corey is here
asleep to my left
tired from a whole day of travel and
Dana calls her an insomniac but
I think she's at rest.
And an empire is how she took off her shirt
and gold is the way she doesn't object
when I trace maps in her back and put an ear to her chest.
because I don't know who this is or why
my fantasies fixated here, but they work, unbidden
behind purposed eyes
buena vida es buena ficion y
good fiction is impossible to expect.
like when under your skin, New England, dunes
drift and dance to the hand at your neck.
because I have everything I could ever want and for
me in my figured out life, these flighty daydreams aren't problems but
more like preproduction films to maybe see, to get lost in, given breath and a bit of sunlight.
because I have never heard Corey complain or object and until I do I
will continue to give to her everything I have, will continue to
try to understand the invisible hairs at the base of her spine.
try to reward what goes unrecognized.
because we're all bent up patchwork machines, and
I'm sure Corey crumbles inside as much as I, but
when you fly to peru and lay with certainty your head against mine,
into a stranger's neck, and lie still
when you could struggle to explain but don't even try
when you are beautiful, but keep on going still...
the ******* can't what my hands will,
in walking the staircase of her spine.
keep me watchful, and up all night,
to try in fingertips to recognize,
that you are beautiful and someone needs
to see you to sleep. to feel you to fly.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Dylan Klebold (17)... Senior.... September 11, 1981- April 20, 1999
Eric Harris (18)... Senior.... April 9, 1981- April 20, 1999
Cassie Bernall (17)... Senior.... November 6, 1981- April 20, 1999
Lauren Townsend (18)... Senior.... January 17, 1981- April 20, 1999
Rachel Scott (17)... Senior.... August 5, 1981- April 20, 1999
Corey DePooter (17)... Senior.... March 3, 1982- April 20, 1999
Daniel Mauser (15)... Sophy.... June 25, 1983- April 20 1999
Daniel Rhohrbough (15)... Sophy.... March 2, 1984- April 20, 1999
Dave Sanders (47)... Old **** October 22, 1951- April 20, 1999
Kelly Fleming (16)... Junior.... January 6, 1983- April 20, 1999
Steve Curnow (14)... Freshmeat.... August 28, 1984- April 20, 1999
Matt Kechter (16)...Sophy.... February 19, 1983- April 20, 1999
Isaiah Shoels (18)... Senior.... August 4, 1980- April 20, 1999
John Tomlin (16)... Junior.... September 1, 1982- April 20, 1999
Kyle Velasquez (16)... Junior....May 5, 1982- April 20, 1999
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
Funny how some people
steppin on my laces
skippin spaces
underrated conversations
weak excuses
scribbles on the walls these days
left behind from ghost trippin
on the brownies
left out from the party
down the block
sorry
didn't mean to over do it
too much THC over used it
seeing doubles and triples
riples in the vortex loopin
my colors echo in the hallways
cant help but think bout
next time i get paid
get laid by a girl from third floor
story
with green hair and a name like
Corey
Sorry that my issues
seem so boring
tv screen blasting
and they're snoring
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
I sit here this morning and stare as he sleeps.
So precious and perfect in every way, if I could only erase the memories he keeps.
He was born into this world to love and raise ,
to teach him morals and respect and give God his praise
He's seen more in his life than a little boy should .
I would take it all away only if I could.
He looks up to you now in every way.
At least he has up until he asked me today.
A question I didn't want to hear or respond
Although I'm sure I know the answer and it's all wrong ..
You're the one special man he was so proud to say .
Maw maw , Corey is going to be my step dad one day.
I can only hope that you love him enough that you won't let him down.
This little boy, my grandson, deserves a happy home and a good father figure around.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
If you look a little closer
On the sandy beach covered with shells
A group of teens are bashing gays
One kid goes as far as to say that
He’d **** the first queer he meets
After a while a tall blond, muscular guy asks
“Do you think I’m strong?”
The others are sheep nodding in approval
“Do you think I can get girls?”
Again they agree
“Am I a good friend to all of you?”
He seems to like all of the admiration
Suddenly in the midst of their praise
He states,
“I’m gay.”
If you look a little closer
Out on the peacock blue water
Rests a tiny motorboat
A boy and a girl sit far out on the lake
The boy is yelling at the girl
Leaning over her at the edge of the boat
Between them is a pink cell phone
With a text reading,
“ok, I love you,” from Corey
The boy is calling her a slur of horrible names
She doesn’t get a chance to say it’s her brother
He slaps her across the mouth
The girl isn’t going to stand another minute of it
She pushes back,
Sending him plunging into the peacock blue water
If you look a little closer
There’s a girl on the beach
She’s a little fat
You can see straight pink scars
On her thighs and stomach
She’s with a cute boy
Lying in the sand together
A group of girls park themselves
Within ear shot of the pair
They start commenting on the whale at the beach
When they spot the lines on her body
They talk about attention ******
How insecure they must be
The boy walks by the posse to get a drink
The girls stop him on his way back to ask
Why he’s with “that thing”
The girl holds her breath and covers her stomach with a towel
“Because I love her.”
“Well,” says the lead *****
“You must love everything that’s fat and ugly.”
The boy pauses
“I don’t love any of you.”
He walks back to the girl and kisses her right there.
If you look a little closer
You might see
The courage to stand up for what’s right
Strength within
That love conquers all.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 1:46 PM UTC
There was sweetness far too savage
In the sweat of your embrace
A window reflection all too simplified
For the flesh we bite just to taste
There was piquancy in saccharin tea
Spiked within promises we chase
A line confined within passion’s poison
Cursively articulated in voided space
There was a wholesome serenity in anticipation
Diluted with the sins that desires trace
A confessional ridden with dishonesty and hellfire
Fueled with the shadows in the sunlight’s wake
Passion will be as
Passion does
We will **** each other
Like the other does
And all will be
What never was
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
I didn't know it was that deep..
I didn't know that lust was embedded into my DNA..
Until I picked up every mans battle to read
Embedded in my chromosomes
Lord change the thoughts that flow through my dome
Inside my mind is like a flood, braking the Hoover Dam..
Gods grace is efficient
I am married but my mind is still fishing. .
This lust is a killer can I get a witness
I know I am free but I am use to prison..
Yes I am a ex-con
Reruns play back, my mind has my ex-on
Lord erase the tape..
For marriage to have *** why didn't I wait..
Will this sin seal my fate .
Should I throw in the towel and embrace hell..
Stop fighting and stop thriving for heaven
I have been dealing with lust since a year before seven..
My life a combination of fighting and embracing.
Lord you know all, did you know that this would be what I'd be facing..
Running hard but falling just escaping
The clutches of Jason..
I did this to myself after I realized it was damaging and kept watching...
I kept choosing lust like you didn't give me more options
I knew to study the Bible
But I choose naked models
Lust has became an idol..
Lord save me from time that is idle...
Tattoo my heart with your undying truth..
Deep in my heart I want to be like you..
Is it my heart to have choose ****
Is it my heart to desire a ****
When she lost and need to be fired and I too
Satan is not the boss..
My body is flesh.. Death is in every part
So my heart must be spiritual
Like you
But I cannot be fearful of what spirits can do..
Your all powerful your might is true..
So I should be a warrior through you..
Like hand me the sword of the Spirit
The belt of truth
The breast plate of righteousness
Show these demons what fighting is
Slice a jugular vein
Attack a demon I am not insane..
They shoot arrows Lord I need my shield of faith
Angels are friends and demons are enemies they are not fake..
I will not walk around blind ..
Lord let me see what you want me to see
What you want me to beat
The helmet of salvation..
Run in head first I am not bluffing
Cross that line then guts exposed disgusting
The shoes of the Gospel watch me walk on flames..
Not by sight but by faith Lord direct my aim
Whenever I choose something outside of your will I am the one to blame..
I deserve flames
Yet Jesus took it all
I am forever blood stained...
Lord will I ever change?
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Giles Corey
What is there, really,
Left to say
When you cannot trust
The honest pay?
Do you, really
Hear the sounds,
Of the clocktowers
coming down?
I do not, really,
Know the time.
We're just acquainted..
No friend of mine.
No friends at all
Are mine, per say.
Just folks to call,
From day to day.
From day to day,
And dusk to dusk.
There's nothing left
But empty husks.
I'd gouge my eyes
With forks and knives,
If that would bring me
To Saint Ives.
Gouge my eyes
At sight of her
Hopes I despise:
empty aquifer.
That saturate the souls
Of bedazzled bums
And homeless ******
Sent to pick the crumbs.
Great fallen father
Oh, dying mother
What way is water?
Who hid the shelter?
Your sons and daughters
Are frightened now.
They cannot win
They don't know how.
We all have fears
Of how we'll fare
When you say,
"We need more engineers.
To build the cities
And the gutters
And the gluttons
And the guillotines
And the gilded glaves that gorey Giles brings.
To pile the stones
On our frail young frames
As we're forced to cry
To **** our names,
"More weight."
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
When we **** I shout: s. o. s. la vida
‘Cause our bed is more like a corrida
But when I stare at my ring with a pearl
I ask myself again, am I that girl?
When I take Mexican tic tacs with Corey
I feel like Christ is sending me that glory
But when I’m on the ground and start to curl
I whisper to myself, am I that girl?
And when I’m dancing ******* on a bar
I feel like killer **** movie star
I finish twenty lemon drops and swirl
While crying to myself, am I that girl?!
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
i am broken
there is a darkness within me that creeps across the underside of my eyelids with each blink
a gnawing fog that doesn't let me sleep
a rising flood that refuses to weep
a burning brand in your chest
A yearning to be free from the weight, even if just for a moment. Even if those moments are stolen in the darkness, shame-filled secrets that scorch your hands and your spirit.
Scars that clearly show a battle has been fought, but no one can be sure it has been won.
A tightening grip around your throat that you wish would just finish the job and put you out of your misery
A plea like Giles Corey for "more weight"
/this wicked unrest threatens to tear your soul in two
...but silently, lest anyone should hear./
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
Life is not quite life until
Your walking in the Kings will
Have you noticed his sovereignty
Sun rises and falls
But full moons are seldom
Imagine the sun gleaming like the reflection of a coin adjacent to a diamond
Corey in wonderland yeah I'm rapping spitting rapid fire while chasing a rabbit
Im good in the dark like a solar flare bright
Watching out for goblins like the copper Bulgar the penny filcher..
Imaging the days when I was a kid raised on a section 8 voucher..
Throwing pennies in the well wishing for heaven
Like rubbing a lamp but real life is not aladdin
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
I promised to write a poem for every city in peru
the eager, the sleepy, the proud, the sooty. even cusco, rude and slow.
but there's nothing to say
having come back here twice, besides:
why, freed from home into endless space and time,
why why why we couldn't find someplace new to go?
I'm trying to write something that makes sense.
and growing frustrated at that.
which shouldn't be a surprise, but is, because I've
been looking for the same skin all night, in
old hills in new muscles, in
the way I probed the tones in Corey's back.
in the way I'm exhausted but can't sleep, shaking still.
in the way I stand in the shower thinking surely
if human warmth won't work hot water will.
then it's too quiet there too much like a tomb so
maybe outside.
maybe I'll go maybe I'll
look up at the sky maybe I'll write
how cusco's hills can be alive
despite such fickle fragile lights.
and how romantic, here, I know.
but the air sticks in the mouth, the throat
it tries.
and the throat is tied.
and the little lights are little coals.
reach for the tap.
try to turn the faucet back to cold.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Corey Sobe
It's not that easy being a Zombie
Having to spend each day, in search for brains
When I think it could be much nicer being human or a cat or a dog
Or something much more lively like that
It's not that easy being a Zombie
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things
And people tend to pass you over cause you're
Not standing out like flashy pimps on the streets
Or prostitutes in the cars
But Zombies are a lively bunch and Zombies can be cool and friendly-like
And Zombies can be big like a riot, or important
Like a team, or tall like a human
When Zombies are all there is to be
It could make you wonder, but why wonder why Wonder, I am a Zombie and it'll do fine, it's beautiful
And I think it's what I want to be
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
Her baby was buried
in a grave alongside 827 other babies.
Who knew no mothers.
Her mother thought it best
to let the nuns help her sell the child to the Americans.
The babies would have had names like Dermot, Aoife, Sandra and Sean
"Would have" isn’t an awfully good thing to think about.
It was a typically miserable November Sunday
When they brought her over there
after that last mass.
Unrelated to this, there is a launderette named the Magdalene
in the city I live in, which is nowhere near Tipperary but in the East of England.
In fairness, it is located on Magdalen Street, without the second “e”,
A once rough and tumble but now an up and coming kind of place,
where among the students and young professionals getting their whites cleaned
the only ones likely to take offense at this are students of history or the named émigré children of
Irish parents.
I’ve been told it’s now a chain of launderettes, but I imagine the owners have enough on their mind
without constantly Googling their services.
When they let her out of the home for troubled girls,
it was the warmest July she’d ever seen.
Some days the baby’s name is Michael, others it’s Matthew, recently, it’s been Corey, Ryan, even Sean.
But she never wishes that it would have been a girl.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
Dana: there’s skin, bed, today.
Snow we’d make.
Land, air, sun… wrote rain.
Running, tired, west.
Cold winter half started.
‘Sweat’, says summer.
Gonna, moments ago, die.
Hit. Lie. Believe.
Broken. Felt. Sat. Lives hurt.
Fragile tomorrow wind:
Hell outside.
Fucked flowers.
Eat brittle regret ***
Lima couldn’t Damian;
break wave forever.
Kind times, leaving wondering days.
Dead drive; fly hard, wishing legs.
Lights turned bones.
Growing rich soon, lines
raised: broke fog.
Easy fighting names.
Drove car. Dinner. Worked.
Survive Monday, certainly.
Hung grief. Drank *******
Expect usual ceremony rocket:
Sarah. Puck. ******* Cusco.
Connor, Corey: we’ve gone.
Stone **** hot soft body.
Dying, wanting. Undress.
Tied. Nights used.
Dawn gave secret pause,
Painting blood poems:
likely self story.
Gods weak, fall asleep.
Surely meaning darkness happen.
Suppose **** stayed, brought knowing?
Shower…
Mountain hair.
True thousand strings, grasp getting
Gently heard. Endless floor.
Sand.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
Tonight I watched young Kirsten Dunst get her baby neck ****** by two fully grown men on camera and it was done in the name of art. And if not art, money. And if not money, control. The painter and the profiteer want the same thing. So go Hollywood consume youth to produce martyr material madonna / ***** **** clones. So go cutting edge auteur headfirst for prestige with beans in full exposure as you cock-stuff and engorge those ***** throats with your muscular masculine meat sword. Tonight I watched Corey Feldman become the thing that men made and felt the shudder as he realized it's been over, baby.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
Be there life after death
I shall look for you there
If not, then there too
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
Last week I got a call from
one of my friends. He sounded
scared, like he just got caught
5 yr old with hands in cookie jar.
He said, “I gotta tell you something,
gotta get rid of some weight off
this heavy burdened chest. Will
you listen?” So of course I told
him to hand me his hurt.
But when he told me that his
cookie jar
was a sorority girl with too much
liquor and not enough consent,
that his hands took dessert before
dinner, I had to tell him
to take his hurt back.
I couldn’t stop seeing the small boy
from a big town who’s hands
shook at the thought of talking
to strangers. How ironic it was
that no part of him trembled when
he spoke that night because she
couldn’t hear him.
I though of his midwife mother
and how devastated she’d be
to know her son is now building
graveyards in the bodies of
drunk women, how she may be
the one to have to remove this
tombstone.
I thought of the times
i’ve been decimals away from
unconscious in his dorm room.
How party
turned blackout
and I wonder if his hands
stopped trembling then too.
I wonder if he thought
of becoming the 3rd man
to make me his midnight snack.
He came to me to find solace
but instead he found me repeating
the word “no”
because he needed to hear it
because no one taught him that
blackout meant “no”
that if you can move their limbs like
jello, that is not ***
that is a puppet show and you are
just controlling the strings.
No —> Adverb; used to express
negation, denial, or refusal.
Example: No, I’m not going.
Example: No, don’t touch me,
Example: No, I don’t want this.
Example: No, she didn’t want this
but you gave it to her anyway.
How do I tell someone who has
lifted me up from my depths
to take this weight on his chest
and let it crush him.
Gyles Corey yelling “more weight”
as we press boulders on his sternum,
bone-crushing pressure.
Maybe then he will finally
understand “no”.
Two weeks ago, I got a call
from a friend. But last week
I got a call from a ****** who still
wanted to be called my friend.
Who has seen me shattered bottle
over my own cemetery of a body
and still wanted to be called
my friend.
But yesterday, I deleted a contact
from my phone book,
told my parents not to answer
if he knocks, but to be careful
because he may try to enter anyway.
Just so they know
that they have other hands to worry about
besides my own
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
Fluorescent messiah born in a haze of marijuana smoke,
Baptized in stale beer basins to be sacrificed to the hallucinogenic sunset
Half blinded by the stars like iridescent angels swimming in the reflecting pools at the edge of periphery
And of their blood and body the people lined up for miles to make offerings,
To pay tribute at the feet of the once and future king of the wasteland
One by one by one the wisemen wept and the shepherds sang blind hymns to the flock
And the Sphinx was the only one brave enough to ask the question,
If the form is blessed and the essence black, should the Son be blamed for what the Father lacked?
Swept up in a tidal wave of holy disgrace and blissful in deranged glory
Hallelujah, he is Risen!
Like the flag hoisted above embattled Eden
Kicked in like a broken door by savages on the prowl for petty victory worthy to hang above their mantle
But indomitable still, even crucified, martyred on a cross of felonies
And on the day of Last Judgement, when the Second Coming is at hand
Will Paradise echo the elation of the believers?
Will the kingdom of the Most High relive it's former glory?
Will the wasteland know peace again?
Maybe, brother
Maybe Eden is for the birds, and Paradise is better off burning
But the faith, and the love, are not so easily destroyed
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC