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CK Baker May 2017
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!

duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar ***** wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
Now upon Age my Ripe Lantern will give
The Rose of Thirty-Four for his Best Joy
Sister, the Token of my Purpose, live,
Brother, the Promise of a Knighted Boy
Which Rose, purple or red, will compensate
A Decade's Sin I rehearse to atone
Pride, one Raven crowed I pluck without Hate
And gently shift my Psalms for her Behold
How another Labour I justly Failed
Must submit to her Needs before my own
For me the Decoding Concept derailed
The Troll called Pity transforms your Heart to Gold.
You both planned to defer in New Year's Lift
Still for you both I sing this Sterling Gift.
Sharon Thomas May 2017
When it rains here once again
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And we trailed down that railway track on a cloudy noon
We weren't alone did you know?
In a place unknown to fog and snow
The weather had lost its temper
The train had been blinded enough to lose track.
Who doesn't know it's all a knack!
Derailed, they say.
Before the next I wish they simply care
These are not mere accidents you bare,
But testimonies you claim on a paid fare.
Indian Railways or any other for that matter I say,
When they pass the word 'happy journey'
We simply wish it's not our last.
When it rains once again here,
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And I wailed down the railway track on that tragic day,
I do not understand which side to stake.
Or wish for summer once again in my life
Or curse the rails, frames and journeys that shatter.
Shatter! Solely due to human hands that fell short,
short to value the lives that derail.
ryn Feb 2015
He motioned for her to take her place on the back.
He braced himself steady as she slid herself onto the rack.
Once she had settled, he handed her his gunny sack,
He told her keep it safe as he tackled the offbeaten track.

The night was quiet, save for the crickets chirping in unison
Hiding behind the clouds, the moon gave out a dim ominous glow.
The tapper finally felt a tiny sliver of trepidation
He wasn't sure of the outcome, that night would eventually show.

The whole time, he was thinking in his busy little head...
He tried to devise ways to thwart this playful, mischievous being.
But those thoughts of his were quickly derailed instead.
For her perfumed presence was very much intoxicating.

Soon they had arrived at the foot of the hill
He hastened his pedalling to meet the uphill *****.
He would have continued slamming on the pedals until...
He felt her hand on his shoulder clench into a tight *****.

He tilted his head back towards his beautiful passenger.
In a calm manner he mouthed the words asking, "What's the matter?"
Her voice came right after in a nervous stammer,
*"Would you mind slowing down because last night this was where I had fallen over..."
The end.
ryn Nov 2014
Have you seen it?
Seems like I've misplaced my mind.

I had it for a while...
Now it seems like I'm flying blind.

Can't piece out my thoughts,
a cacophony of riled up birds.

An **** of broken lines...
Overlapping and blurring into incomprehensible words.

Wandered in almost every direction,
but seem stumped at every end.

My mind is rapidly turning,
more foe and less a friend.

Confused is what it is at best.
Derailed far from its once reliable track.

Need to quickly regain my centre,
need desperately to get it all back.

Conjured this up...
With much difficulty.

Strenuous exercise...
For what once flowed freely.

Could it be...
That I have too frequently misused.

The welcome I've received,
that I have carelessly abused.

Ugh... Makes no sense...
Never have for a while.

Conflicting thoughts and words.
Crash into each other into a pile.

Need a reboot,
a reset and a restart.

Need to find my muse,
that stems from the heart.

Curse the mundane!
These excruciating hours of the day.

Begging for the nights,
to take me and my mind away.
One day I will depart the train at a station without a name,
Pull emergency cord and take the plunge thru parted doors.
I'll pack no suitcase or bindle, in my head young, free and single,
I will be a living swindle - wherefore art prat poet of before?
New job doing something I've shown no interest in before,
Change my name to 'Neville Moore'.

I'll do a Reginald Perrin, leave red herring threads at Sherring-
ham, then dice-rolled palookaville of new self I shall explore.
When Palookas call me Neville, they won't see this wasted rebel,
But numpty Neville, on the level, who misplaced his wasted days of yore.
Amnesiac clerk stoical over mist-shrouded days of yore.
Only knew my name was Neville Moore.

Neville will moonlight at night-school, pick up a trade that's practical,
In minimalist digs post-dossing on unforeseen saviour's floor.
Time's sandstorm obscures lyrics, John Doe-penned hieroglyphics
- lost soul Lysander's from Norwich. His mind shut like a shoved closed drawer
To Poesy's Pandora's box of ******* in indigo iron drawer
In Norwich. No bones to Neville Moore.

Neville will be a straight arrow, nice chap whose mind is narrow,
Tepid tryer temping at call-centre, lockjaw forevermore.
The blandest of mystery men, what was Neville's name again?
Man with no memories blends in; my dead ringer, stunky, strong-jawed.
Eye-witness testimony of 36 years will gladly be abjured
- done myself good deed poll: Neville Moore.

I'll  abscond so left Lysander might be eternal loose end, the
Inner poltergeist confined to an indigo iron drawer.
Tomorrow I'll do a John Stonehouse bog-snorkelling, a grandiose
loser who fled being infamous in his own dinnerhour, a bore
Unto myself.  I'll abandon ship,  then life will be less of a bore,
Being much more boring Neville Moore.

And I'll meet a girl called Sybil, Palookashire an idyll,
Where a man with no past can just wash up upon the shore.
For if child is father of the man, Neville'll be an upbeat orphan!
Labels torn off the clothes from Oxfam what Memory's Outlaw wore,
Newfoundhometownbound Mister X such clueless clothes wore,
Clean the pockets of Neville Moore.

Sybil won't be the type to probe, at night she'll pop her Zopiclone,
Cuddle up to normal Neville, earnest the embrace of average amour.
We will rent a little bedsit and expend a lotta effort
To make our place seem white-picket-fenced, tho'  we resided on 3rd floor.
Down updrafts of Fate, untempted to faceplant from the 3rd floor
Is plain ol' sane ol' Neville Moore. 

No temptation, but something racing, the unexplained midnight pacing,
And murmurs in Nev's sleep there's reams in an indigo iron drawer.
But in daylight we'll have daughter, from nowhere the name 'Cobania'
(Nev wouldn't dig Nirvana, fin de siecle scream's aural chore,
nihilistening not for Neville in zen of playful household chores).
Shrug-a-lugs of numb Neville Moore.

Neville wouldn't get promotion, Neville doesn't have much gumption.
Frankenstein's **** domesticus by design, Nev's a swollen snore.
Lice would have mocked, 'Call this living?' Lice is dead, would always give in
To windmills' wheeling withering, watched like a raven, set no store
In what life we have worth living, which is what life life has in store
For unquestioning Neville Moore. 

Neville, don't be snarling ***** to snafus by another self made,
Be complete now the only piece is the missing piece of the jigsaw.
Radio receives no 'roger', they won't see Cobania as a toddler,
But for famalam, there's succour: lines left in indigo iron drawer.
For Lice did leave literally living will in indigo iron drawer:
Poem entitled Neville Moore.

Nev and Sybil will have ups and downs, in facades cracks gouge frowns;
Castaway's fury in his eyes curdles Florida coleslaw.
I don't need Sybil's mithering, I mean 'Nev' dint, thinking about writing
- did we do Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', too nuts too soon in Neville Moore?
Polter-Lice rattling in indigo iron liar's den re Neville Moore's 
Writer's shock swan-song for Neville Moore.

And sweet phantom Cobania, I hope she ends up saner
than her Canoe Man old man, sent reeling by subconscious southpaw
Of split personality punch-ups,  one-man-band fight clubs,
punchdrunk on bad self burps, tho' he burped Cobania with awe.
Pneumatically patting doting dad, errant soon so overawed
By humdrum Heaven, Neville Moore's.

Witness protection program to hide me from self-hate's hitman,
But Miltonic Satan's heart held ****, for killer within is law
Unto himself. Thus phoenix photo album of my alter ego
To ***-end before Year Zero was burnt down, act of soul at war.
Greener grass scorched earth, everyman Eden sacked by selves at war,
Lysander negging out Neville Moore.

His ship's sailed ment'lly down the toilet - can't see the dream, it's ultraviolet!
Sybil wagging her finger with ****** of a fishwives' wappenshaw.
Cobania's cantankerous tween, Nev hears fin de siecle scream
- call the toilet 'Kurt', it's flushing the dream! Behold:  tombstone beneath 
                                                        ­    a sycamore,
Man from nowhere nowhere now beneath suicide's sycamore.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Beneath me to quote Ocean Colour Scene, beneath sycamore willow-leaned,
But day I caught train derailed: no malaise of glory, Anon no more.
Cobania in black with ***** highlights will grieve Daddy on the quiet;
Sybil indignant that the senseless,  existential eyesore
Option all her lost-and-found, found-and-lost, haunted hubbie saw.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Nev won't see Cobania grow up: she doesn't exist - s' good job!   
Yet I'll miss driving lessons and wedding, even if shaggy dog's dewclaw
Scratched itself out, vestigial scythe: Neville was never alive.
But this 2.4, 2.0 narrative smelted indigo iron drawer.
Cenotaph recast as mask, new visage's vista dark as in a drawer
Now quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

After Poe's misnomer, well, misnumbered: one short, 17 stanzas  
Ironically encode birthday of old dud cub who overroars
Last-ditch striped leopard, tame un-me. Lord Lucan, he WAS lucky
-  there's freedom in fake ID! But Neville grew sick, sick of me no more
Now as one two selves expire, same sigh of relief 'low sallow sycamore:
Thank **** Lice is nevermore.
My birthday is 17/05.
ryn Sep 2014
Partly darkened and part in light
A time when the stars and sun shared the sky
Bear witness to two behemoths wielding might
Impending clash foreseen to go awry

Two trains of thoughts charging from opposite ends
Each bearing their own solid ideals
Their flags that flew with conflicting brands
Convictions they carry on beaten, weary wheels

Almost an eternity, the time is soon
Seconds lasted before they finally would meet
Feeling of dread like the cloud covered moon
With war cries of whistles, they would greet

No possible way that they could miss
War waged in steeled wills and forged metals
Anticipate the moment, their couplings would kiss
Unleashing a barrage of predestined reprisals

Sheer destruction as they ate into each other
All in tow haphazardly derailed
A clash made of brute strength and power
A result of when decisiveness had failed

All was motionless save for the light of day
The two lay dead; spent currencies in coal
Fire and smoke had emerged from the fray
Signifying that the two have met their goal

Their cargo now freed, engaging in petty skirmish
Lunging and wrestling as they fought for dominance
Determination to overwhelm; never to languish
Jousting fists fueled by pent-up vengeance

Almost at end this long drawn battle
Much like a storm to be patiently ridden out
When the last of the debris should settle
Then would be lifted the dusty veil of doubt

The sun has now risen revealing the aftermath
Shedding light on the devastation incurred
Dark thoughts possess the most potent of wraths
But nothing could beat the muscle of the written word

Looking back I've realised the harm I've caused
Found great solace in the dark words I've governed
Life still hurls; it can never be paused
Just dust yourself off for you're better off enlightened
I'm back! (Well at least until the next train arrives... :))
Thank you everyone for your support throughout...

See "Doom Train"
See "Light Train"
ryn Aug 2014
Sigh! It's so boring! Life's but a loop
Wish I could run with a circus troupe
Or maybe join a rock climbing group
Why doesn't 'coup' sound exactly like 'coop'
'Coop' rhymes with 'soup' which is 'coup' with an 'S'
I'm late, in hot soup! What a mess! Gotta get to work. I'm late
Aww man...did you really have to lock the gate??
Splendid, terrific, this is just great!
Who the heck puked on this floor made of slate

I'm out and it's pouring now. The rain will wash it away
Sht! It's pouring and I'm stranded, no brolly. Yay...!

Stranded...thank goodness I have music
Choose shuffle and then click
Through my plugs, stream out N'Sync
I know... I know... I know what you must think

I think I have to think of something
Take shelter for now is what I'm thinking

Or maybe I should call in sick It's the last day of the week
A taxi! A taxi I should seek!

A taxi would quicken my pace
If I can get one in the first place
If only I hadn't sold... I still had my bike
My head wouldn't potentially be on a pike

Miss my bike, her knobby tyres, she was my Winona Ryder
Sensuous and sleek, my Yamaha with jet black fender
Ride a bike, must wear shoes. Much safer

Love my shoes, I own more than a dozen
Nails need trimm... Oh look! A ******* raven!

No... a crow... Well, some bird stranded like me
Can't fly on wet feathers seeking refuge under a tree

Wait a second! Where was I?
Oh nails! Trimming tonight, I must try
Clean fingernails, everyone likes
***! I'm still stranded! Yikes!

Brave the rain, walk briskly, no time to waste
Move quickly, go on...make haste!

Care not for getting wet
Go now! Ready...get set...
Awgh! Didn't zip up my bag
This just adds on to my lag


Tripped over a stone
No one saw, luckily I'm alone!

Gee... I have 21 bags, perhaps too many for a guy
Must go jogging tonight, next week or maybe next July
Oh shoot, shoelace's I've got to tie
Text message in on my phone, volume set on high

Work just texted, asking so many questions
Among which - "Have you submitted last week's requisitions?"
Why do we text when we can talk
People don't meet anymore, on Facebook they rock

Hmm beginning to hate Facebook but I still do check
Woohoo! Found a coin by the grass verged track
Oh ten cents, well it's still money
I'll save it, it'll come in handy
Perfect! Now I'm wet
Because of the coin I tried to get

Hmm...where was I again?
Gosh my mind's like a derailed train
One of those days I guess I'll remain...

S CA  TTE  RB RA  I    N
And I'm still NOT AT WORK!!!! But at least I'm 10 cents richer!
Francie Lynch Jan 23
Fewer adults are laughing,
It's not funny any more;
We leaned on poles to direct our titter,
Quite harmless in its day.
And Engine 9's been derailed,
We're catching tigers,
But It's still okay.

We rolled our eyes at Jewish jibes,
And salesmen in the barn;
Or the Newfie warning,
Don't slip on the ice,
Don't ya know, bay, it's hard frozen

We've pulled our collective heads out,
We're sniffing old world air.
I liked the self-effacing glibs,
Affected with a brogue.
Now there's a hard line on a country bridge,
Across a brook, or penal school ditch.
It's just not funny any more.
Big Virge Oct 2016
Why does ... ?
My Appearance ...
Offend most folk ... !?!

I DON'T ... sell Coc'... !!!

I'm NOT ...
An Ignorant Bloke ... !!!

I DON'T LIKE ... " ***** "... !!!
But sometimes ... like a smoke ...

There''s Nothing ... quite like ...
A ... Cuban Cigar ...

After food ...
or with a drink ... at a bar ...

NOT Beer ... but ... Brandy
Suitably warm ...
in a ... " Brandy Glass "...

THAT'S ... who I am ...

I'm NOT ... an ****... !!!

Unlike those ...
who judge from .................................................................­........... far ...............

His incentive, is to Rob,
and start, MOLESTING !"

"Who on earth ?
Do you think you're addressing ?
Your judgements are Distressing !
Your thought waves need, progressing !
Stop your second guessing !
cos when I start, *******,
your state of mental being,
you'll wish you had, Gods' Blessing !"

Girls or Men ...
just ... Can't defend ... !!!

Their NONSENSE ...
as I ... count to ......... TEN ... !!!!!

See .....
That's my way of ...
Teaching Them ...

I'm NOT ... That Man ...
on .... " News at Ten "... !!!!!

NO ...
NOT Trev'....
but those ... "Locked"...

Inside ... Prison ... !!!

I'm RARE ...
Just like ... " True Gentlemen "... !!!

Girls have said ...
Such ... " Silly Things "... !!?!!

"Upon introduction,
my heartbeat raced !
I thought you were gonna,
punch me in my face !"

"That's what you saw ?
when you, looked in my face !"

Such attitudes ...
are REALLY ... lame ... !!!!

It's ...
" Funny "... to some ...
but let's ... Get This ... CLEAR ... !!!!!

These ... " Stereotypes "...
are ... REALLY ... Dumb ... ?!?

I deal with this ignorance ...
Day to Day ...

" Some guy ... "
tried to bar me ...
from his place ...

Without ...
even looking me ...
in ... " My Face "...

WHY ... ?
because of ... " e-mails sent "... ?!?

But ...
when he ... " Traced "...
The mails ... i'd sent ...

His thought waves got ... DERAILED ... !!!

and then ... some ...
" Common Sense "... prevailed ... !!!

I've met him now ...
His stench seems ... " FOUL "... !!!!!!!!!

A ... " Money Man "...
just like the ... " Dow "...
Index ... Direct ... !!! ...

Until my words ...
got in ... " His Chest "... !!!
and proved to him ...
My ... " Intellect "...

whilst ... giving him ...
A ... "small complex"...
about what could ... just happen ... NEXT ... !!!?!!!

Sometimes ... YES ...
Just like ... " The Wu "...

I do ... suggest ...
You PROTECT ... " Your Neck "... !!!!!

It's Better ...
NOT TO ... Get me vex ... !!!!!

cos' plans I make ...
are so ... " Complex "...

You may just need ...
A ... " Bullet-Proof "... vest ... !?!?!

For me ... you see ...
Life's Posing ... tests ...

From Living ... to ...
Just getting ... *** ... !?!

These problems ...
leave my mind ... " Perplexed "... ???

Well .....
Perplexed or ... NOT ...

I'm still ... DIRECT ... !!!

from things I say ...
to ... Written Text ...

to earn what's due ...

Some **** ... Respect.
from those who watch ...
Their ... TV Set ...

Then .....
" Pre-Judge "... me ...
That's ... INCORRECT ... !!!!!

Well .....
Here's the deal ... !!!

Instead of ... " Surfing "...
...... " Internet "......

Try .....
PULLING ... The Plug ...
Yes .... DISCONNECT .... !!!

Deal with those ...
In Front of ... you ...

Some of us ...
are people ... TOO ... !!!!!

Whether on ... PC ...
or on ... " TV "...

You're receiving ... INTERFERENCE ... !!!!!!

Your thought waves ... NEED ...
Some .... " Clearance "....

and ... Maybe then ... ?

You'll... FINALLY See ...
Don't judge folks by ...

... " Appearance "...
I'm STILL, not the only one suffering such ridiculous judgments clearly ! According to the story today, about the Doctor, who probably won't be flying with Delta airlines any time soon !
The realm no eye's seen.
Between sleep & awakening.

The domain in which unhinged,
Lies perpetually derailed,
& by the same — held still.

Not bridging -
Dead nor living.

As both prevail.
Merely existing,
In separation.

By its thin black veil,
or parasol coating.

Prior to history.
Beyond the present.

Before the sea.
After the mountains.

Below the peasants.
Above the Kings.

Exists a world, much like a dream.
Some call it "Heaven",
             Most don't believe.

—Ashton Conor Amstutz
Evan Stephens Sep 2018
Anger soaks the room abruptly,
I'm thinking of you.
Cleaning out my black bag
I find my tarot deck, waiting
in its green tin tomb.
I shuffle and deal across
the face of one of the paintings
I've been working on,
a red face scratched out.

The brown lid of night
hinges closed hard,
and lamps take up the slack
with yellow spittings.
I draw the Tower,
the Ten of Swords,
the Hermit.
Past, present, future tenses,
all corrupted.

But who's surprised?
I derailed it all myself.
Only the cat,
the palette knife,
and the lonely guitar
bring life to days
made thin with the grim
solipsism of therapy,
intolerable solitude,
and the conviction
that I am unsuited
for all of it anyway.

Of course, sometimes
the depression rots away
back into the sickly loam
where it first bloomed.
It's replaced by the mocking
low-key mania that howls
half-hopes, that each throb
like a throated singing bowl
combined with the profane
drone of an air conditioner.

In those moments,
things get done.
Bills get paid.
I reach out to other people,
breach the indifferent yawn
I feel between each of us.
I splurge, scrape a stool
up to a bar, borrow
an acquaintance for an hour,
or else drink hard liquor alone
until my teeth sing and drown.
rgz May 1
"Thirty grams of gold leaf, please."

"Have you got i.d.?"

I thought for a minute
about what she asked me
I could see in her eyes
she wasn't looking at me
Could I really provide
an identity?
If I'm a reflection
is the reflection me?

Or a distorted projection
of imperfection
perfectly sculpted
through self-taught lessons
that contort perceptions
and preach of rejection

         Is that me?
                Are they me?
         Is that other me, me?

Meaningless meanings
and deceiving reflections
you see what you see
what I see
you can't guess
you feel how you feel
what I feel
is infection
diseased by the fear
of perceived perceptions

         blessed with quick wit
        cursed with quick fists
         tattooed with
         blemishes, self-inflicted

Flesh built from incisions
of artisanal precision
a well of bad decisions
my third eye's seeking visions
now I'm witnessing
the witlessness
of giving up on living
now I'm sampling
every single thing
my lips will let me sing
but I seem to
keep on clinging

Self-destruction is my thing

         It's in my waterfall
         it's the ***** in my lens
         it's the river of ink
         that flows from my pens

To the sea of relief

but on a dry day it feels
like a basin of grief
an insane, faithless leap
a fall into a cold
dreamless sleep

         but I need
         to cling
         to something

even if all it can be
is a glass guarantee
an etch a sketch contract
a washed out receipt
for the dream of a kiss
before reality hits
a toothless bite
concealing poisonous lips

         forever second-guessing
         every thought
         every lesson

Reflections get messy
when you stare too long
rippling and bubbling
they silence your song
hijack your mind like
a derailed train of thought -

"Have you got i.d.?
What did you need?"

"Yeah, I've got it here,
thirty grams of gold leaf..."
More on Reflections
but is it long enough..

(gold leaf is my lung cancer of choice)
shout out the smiths, what she said and etch a sketch
derailed-trains Nov 2018
the amnesia lane to my heart is littered with derailed trains and debris from car collisions/ the stop signs now read tried and tired/ i'm struggling to go on every time i am reminded that things have gone awry/ but i really tried, you know?/ because i had high hopes in the beginning that we could make this work/ i went to the cemetery to mourn for all the time i wasted/ and all the chances i forgone where i could've treated myself better/ these self-loathing sessions keep coming in waves like how downpours go on for days/ sometimes it holds me hostage indoors/ but some days i dance in the rain
so how's failing at life going?
Sometimes this sadness
Creeps up my throat
Choking me to silence
These tears screen my eyes
As a thousand lives play out
A thousand perfect hearts born wrong place, wrong time

Delicate lines adorning different eyes
Short stories of lives hard-lived, plans come undone
Often I encounter them as they pensively sit
And I can’t help but hope
That even though life wasn’t as their mamas planned for them,
There was love and peace and comfort
Weighing heavier than the struggle did

Some fill me with guilt
The ones that’ll likely become angels when they die
Who chose the path less traveled as shepherds in someone else’s night
The ones you don’t often worry about
Wise, who step confidently, one step at a time
Grateful for the journey, regardless where they arrived

Some make me rage
The ones who derailed future angels from their path
Who constantly need saving
Unable to see the forest green
For their every step like matches sets the trees aflame
Eyes unadjusted to a world dim
I hope the ashes from these arsonists’ flames
Nourish a new forest, a new beginning for them
I often drive past the same characters, none of whom I know. Sometimes, a face strikes me to tears, recounting a life I’ve never known.
For a relic of honor
my onward progression and patience has to once again,
gear up for its most lengthy and wearisome, waking battle

Out beyond the center light of diving snow
And spiraling wind
Where shade sustains itself with duplicated shadows around the lake of envy

Under the hood of the forest
that stretches under serene pinholes of sprinkled radiance
Is a rehab for hollow reaches of emptying brittle skin and perpetual bubbling
Inviting fruits along with blackening kindling and timber reduce to ashes returning the cycle
A cure of open arms that create parallel warmth
the genesis of what makes fruit so inviting

If tomorrow opened path for that first step to be taken
Winds would blow so hard:
the hood of shade would push right passed the forest
splitting cracks multi directional into the pinhole for sunbeams
Allowing all collected snow to flood over the lake
Soaking all the wood
Causing any potential burning to be blackened
derailed by a dense heap of soggy innards
Consequentially taking away any chance of warmth
The initial make of comfort that raise up her open arms
Navigating through darkness
All the energy gone!
No matter what you blast in your earphones
The doors could be open
it's up to you to close them

You've been derailed
walking exactly where they want you
and you feel so nervous
patterns that **** you and save you

You've been here before
This Christmas pain is a lot
IDLES won't save you so far
Not if you leave yourself out
and start wandering again
in the high street
Remember when you were 19?

It's a wrong move
it's a loose *****
But I will fight this, I do
Just need a little time
to do what I do

It's the scariest ride
it's the darkest side
The beat of past lives
past reactions, past ones
and it all began
with a *****
falling loose

Did something die?
If so, what it was?
I can truly say
I never knew myself
until I named you…
Bamboozled and derailed,
I never knew my wealth
until I made you

I love you, Kemet!
Matt Shaw Feb 3
And even if everything fell,
It was the most graceful fall there ever was
Eyes were woven from nothing
And teeth ripped open flesh
It lay bleeding in streets
Hollowed out in seconds' time
Though what is not already hollow I'll never know.

But if the heart of my heart is a void I felt the caress of everything,
And life and language fell between my arms
And clarity never eluded me once
And not a piece of everything, but the whole thing came to me
Once exactly,
And its curvature and shapes will be lost forever, but not right now

Because I am here, exercising this pen
Beware Satan of my great ictus, for I am 24 and virile
I am not low but I am an obscure celebrity
And so are you

I am angry, frustrated with the legal system.
You uphold negative laws
You let people's lives become dilapidated out of ignorance and poor governance,
You hurt my outlook on the world but I am a lucky one
I am lucky to possess the traits I do
I rebel against the depression you have perhaps ignorantly set on my back

And my anger does not disqualify me from being reasonable, there are good reasons I am upset with them.

But it was the most graceful fall, even if I became derailed
Eyes were woven from nothing
I was born in a place called America
It was confusing and loud
It all exploded before I was born
It grabbed me by the ankle
It put handcuffs on me
It threw me in a jail cell and said **** it up kid
It said maybe that's why you changed,
It lauded itself on its court program perched atop a broken system
It labeled me a criminal and poisoned my future.
But it was the most graceful fall,
There were good people and hospitality
Doctors and good cops, good moments
There was an Earth with humans and they breathed and felt the world with human detail inside their impossible minds
There were corrections made, hard to take but right for everyone in the end

I didn't try to be an *******,
It just happened,
But I fixed it,
And now I want my money
And a big bag of ****.
I volunteer.

I don't care what you think about this exceptionally crazy poem.

Oh if you were wondering I got upset about life and threw rocks at this train station LED sign because life was being difficult, as it often gets, and I know that's not a good response and I totally agree that warrants a punishment but that was 2 1/2 years ago. I would have done a year in jail but I did this court program because they said they'd take the felony down. I dont think I deserve to be a felon for that!! I have changed, unmedicated, on my own, and have always known I would change. I used to break things when I got upset and argue but now I don't. And trust me, I was trying to. I would have fixed it on my own.

It's really more age and the need to be independent and make money that motivate me than the legal system. They have messed up my stuff several times, for example a false ***** test and sending me to jail for 2 days forgetting two therapy appointments, not believing I am invested in therapy... I know these things sound small. There is more, it's a long story.

I always wanted to change. I just ****** up while I was starting to do a little better.

I guess people would doubt that. I'm totally just venting here, it's late at night. But whatever, it's out there for people to see if they want.
Wyatt Feb 14
Bursts of creative passion,
they used to come often for me
but now it visits for mere hours
every few months like a
distant relative that might as well
be another stranger.
That passion I had was a tool or a weapon
for attacking these things I hate about me
but slowly it turned into a question,
what didn't I hate about me?
I had no clue.
Practically I was
holding the pen to my throat.

What comes next after admitting
that you have some kind of problem?
I had no idea, so I would just
kept admitting it for years
because I was afraid
that the next step forward was
surrendering my sense of pride.
Giving someone else the keys to my mind
and letting them take it for a test drive.
They'd take it back to the shop,
get it's oil changed and
upgrade it's parts until it
resembled anything passable.
At that point could I even call it me?
Is changing everything
even an option for me?
Upgrading cars costs money
and so does their kind of therapy.
I just wrote until I couldn't,
I thought that was therapy
but I guess it didn't go so well for me.
So what comes next?
"Real" therapy? Drugs? Depression?
Looming doubt from everybody?
Disappointment? Embarrassment?
People asking what's wrong with me?
Decreasing health? A lack of help?
People mocking me and my struggle?
It's like an empire that crumbles
because there's a double agent
who makes moves from the inside.
That's like me versus me
'cause they're on different sides.
Dual-personality, a lost sense of self?
What can I make of my life?
What scares me?

Condemnation for my past?
Am I ultimately ****** to ****?
Have I derailed off-track?
I let my opinion
deter me from meeting fact,
when am I going to realize
real life doesn't have a hack?
Who knows?
I sure couldn't say.
If I ever did
I think I'd throw a parade.
See? That's what I do,
I make jokes because I've
got nothing left to lose.
What pride can I claim?
There's none in the truth.
I spend unhealthy amounts of time
thinking about learning to tie a noose.
Where's the joke in that?
Maybe it's me, I'm the joke
so maybe I need to meet the noose
for it to then be found funny.

I got no laughs for that, it's expected.
I think I killed the mood instead,
yeah it's pronounced dead.
I acknowledge there's a problem with me
but I'm too scared to take the next step.
Where do I go from here?
These shattered pieces of my life,
Failure, repetition, constant strife,
More dark than light, more cons than pro's,
The times I've tried, heaven knows!

Rarely happy, more often sad,
The brightest spark, those calling me dad,
When things seem on track, I'm soon derailed,
And yes I've tried, then failed and failed.

My social circle is very small,
Look very closely, it's only Paul,
I let people in, then I get burned,
Build barriers high, the lesson learned.

I don't need anyone to make me complete,
But a shoulder to lean on, that would be sweet,
Someone to hold, it's been a while,
Someone to care for behind the smile.

Struggles, stresses, over thinking,
Feeling like I'm always sinking,
An outlet for friends, that's never in doubt,
But can anyone hear me when I shout?

A humour so dark, I make others cringe,
But if I let it all out, their soul I'd tinge,
A cry for help you'll never hear,
I just need to know there's somebody here!

To live with loathing, to live with doubt,
Has become what life is all about,
The person you know, warm, sincere,
Has become a mask, my thin veneer.

Branded flirty, often shameless,
Tho deep inside, I know I'm worthless,
And so I share me in this verse,
To help other sufferers lift their curse.

Cinco Espiritus Creation - 2019
I ask myself why I was sent on Earth to die
But why even ask why I blaze thoughts to the sky
from a natural high hopefully catch a glimpse of a spy
I see the demons leeching from miles away
So I gotta stay away from all of those adversaries who prey say
I make doomsday look easy judgement upon thee
How *****? I'm just the devils son kin to realist the one
A revolutionist at heart so I know I'll part
Soon to be in a grave see Moses rod save
Me parted polarities of heaven and **** my thoughts dwell soon to sail
Over the oceans smooth coastin'
Yo I got more brothers than the Isleys
Despite the distraction most might see
But I knock em out like Mike Tyson round one in the eighties boxin'
My wit you'll see ya third eye pinched like a ***
From a babies grip these days fools actin' like ladies
D'angelo rappin' in angles I smoke mics like Monte Cristo take sips slow
Of Dom Perignon
Then get back on my grind embrace the shine
My face is in the sun my platoon is the moon
Army of darkness watch me spark this
Flint damage braincells til it swells
Bodies smell from that gats that derailed
Ya body off of the tracks my flows loco-
with the Motives rhymes explosive
Take em down like Otis don't try to quote it
Hip hop i re word it you heard it from me
I'm that last of the dying breed holdin'the seeds
Of hip hop replanted the crops
Now all the weaklings begin to drop
Feelin' victorious once I reclaimed the top
Of the pyramid ya dig I'm Michael
True ****** snatching ya title you don't want a rival big Yosef the fittest for survival
Sketcher Feb 28
Love you the slightest? Love you off the scales!!! Feeling like nukes dropping and trains derailed. Like pill popping and **** inhaled. Like time stopping and towers scaled. Like the whopping beauty being all unveiled. Super intense like fifty different drugs being shoved down the throat all at once. Super serene like a beautiful view on an oceans shore, classic music on cue. Super insane, like who in their right mind would fall for a guy with half a brain devoted to **** that seems basic and plain and cant ******* flirt without a bottle of champagne and the other brains half is going through pain  and my current life path has me in the wrong lane and I cant go through anything that causes major change, cause I'm a xenophobic ***** that likes to complain. Yeah, sure, everybody's got problems. Yeah, sure, there's always a way to solve em'. Yeah, sure, I look like a hobo druggy. But **** yes, I'm hella ******* lucky! I'll continue to love you off the scales while I'm slowly spilling out my entrails through lyrical stunts and poetic rhymes. I'll continue this until the end of time. <3 <3 <3
Ameliorate Jan 9
I have hair dye all over my face, and yet haven’t been able to recognize myself in months.
It all hurts, knowing that what you felt was supposed to be forever got derailed somewhere along the line.
You aren’t mine, but I’ve been holding on desperately hoping that you’d come back to me.
That first month, the year and a half that followed.
I guess I believed you when you said you weren’t going to date anyone anytime soon.
8 months isn’t soon, but it’s pouring salt in wounds that haven’t healed.
That wide **** over an excessively bleeding heart.
But never with you.
You gave everyone else so much more than you gave me.
I don’t know how to come back from this... pain.
This feeling that I was never enough through the unfolding of our lives.
But seeing you wrap your arms around someone else, when I craved physical affection from you and you couldn’t give it.
That’s the worst part.
The idea in which you can be happy without me.
And they keep getting younger.
Twenty six.
I guess I’m getting old, thirty in a few months.

How do I bring yourself back from months of heartache after you?
bur more importantly, how do I manage to still stay friends with you while you date someone else.

Will the hopeless romantic be anything less than hopeless?
And when will someone love and dedicate time to me?

— The End —