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"dregs" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^ “Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness?  Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see” this one composes itself for all dreams go unremembered the first, the thousandth, the  every in between, erased by the push button of opening eyes but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting, leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come in black and white elementary clues, a pillow indentation, single hair that stretches across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red   but certainly unmine,   dregs of soured sentiment linger like the aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers heated summers breezes give no succor or relief, and the rain following gives no pleasure, for now you are hot and soaked, but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed, and eyes widening in major league surprise, the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted   she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair, and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain, and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated and what you do and what you see is the abraded night ahead, and you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think, the question answered, and you beg relief by uttering “perchance to dream” 3:49 pm see the notes!! someone accuses me of Plagiarism because  I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago so here is my response to “just saying” congratulations on ******* me off and yes I agree, you do not know the rules “#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume  that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“ http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
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Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
a question of a thousand dreams
~a question of a thousand dreams~^ “Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness?  Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see” this one composes itself for all dreams go unremembered the first, the thousandth, the  every in between, erased by the push button of opening eyes but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting, leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come in black and white elementary clues, a pillow indentation, single hair that stretches across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red   but certainly unmine,   dregs of soured sentiment linger like the aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers heated summers breezes give no succor or relief, and the rain following gives no pleasure, for now you are hot and soaked, but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed, and eyes widening in major league surprise, the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted   she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair, and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain, and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated and what you do and what you see is the abraded night ahead, and you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think, the question answered, and you beg relief by uttering “perchance to dream” 3:49 pm see the notes!! someone accuses me of Plagiarism because  I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago so here is my response to “just saying” congratulations on ******* me off and yes I agree, you do not know the rules “#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume  that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“ http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
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47
sip...sip...sip...sip...sip still too hot, I say to myself sip..sip..sip..sip finally cool enough time to drink the warm elixir in no time, there is nothing left I rise to reach pouring till there is nothing, dregs even this is too hot wait...wait... wait...wait... finally I may drink till there is nothing, dregs lazily floating in my cup as lethargically as a resorts lazy river again I rise to reach there's is nothing left, to show now but my shaky hands maybe I should have made tea instead...
0
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Coffee
Some People Are ... EVIL ... !!! Some People Are ... Nice ... Some People Believe ... In The Lies They Contrive ... Black People ... White People ... Yes ALL TYPES of People ... !!! Don't Think You're EXEMPT Most People Tell Lies ... !!! Some People Want TRUTH These People Are Wise ... These Are The People Who Use Their ... 3rd Eye ... I'm Sick of These People Whose Lives Are Contrived ... Like Poets Who Act Like Their Words Breed Insight ... MAN These Are The People Who Lead A ... FAKE Life ... !!! Because They Can't Deal With ... What's REALLY INSIDE ... INSIDE of Their Minds ... INSIDE of Their Hearts ... See These Are The People Who Fall At The Start ... !!!!!!!! They STAND By Their PRIDE ... But Pride We All Know Comes Before A FALL ... !!! How Many of You Folks Are Playing That Role ... !???! Let's Go Toe To Toe And See What You Know ... Because I GUARANTEE ... You'll Be A NO SHOW ... !!! See They ... Like To Deride ... Their Comments Are Snide ... !!! MAN These Are The People I CANNOT ABIDE ... !!!!!!!! They TALK A Good Game But Have NO **** SHAME ... !!!!! Because These Are The People Who DON'T Deal With Pain ... They Pass YOU The Rope ... And Then Say ... " TAKE THE STRAIN " ... !!! See These Are The People Who Need Their Blood DRAINED ... !!! They ARE The Bloodsuckers Who STEAL From The Sane ... !!! They TALK About TRUTH But Soon HIT The Roof ... !!! When Truth Is Thrown At Them They're QUICK To ABUSE ... !!! "I'll issue court action, I want a Retraction !" ... Well Here Is My View ... These People Are FOOLS .... Who've Got Some Screws LOOSE !!!!! Deal With YOUR ISSUES I've Been In Courtrooms ... Don't EVER ASSUME I'm An IGNORANT **** ... !!!!!! This ISN'T ... Pulp Fiction ... !!! Don't Think I'm ... The Shepherd ... I'm NOT Samuel Jackson I'm Ready For Action ... !!! You Will Be Collapsing When I Start Reacting ... !!! Don't EVER Presume I'm Into ... Play Acting ... !!! I'll Leave That To You And Your Idiot Crew ... !!! Cos' These Are The People Who Don't Give You Clues ... Cos These Are The People Who Simply Aren't TRUE ... !!! They Like Their Doors OPEN ... So They Can Walk Through ... MAN These Are The People ... Who Walk In ... DEAD SHOES ... !!! Now I'm NOT Making Threats ... !!! But On THIS ... You Can Bet ... !!! Messing With Me ... Means You're Messing With DEATH ... !!! Cos' I'm Ready And Willing To Take Your LAST Breath ... Cos' People Like You Are ... Humanity's DREGS ... !!!!! But Enough About THEM ... Society's Phlegm ... !!!!!!!!!!!! Some People ARE NICE These People I Like ... !!! Cos' Some of These People Do Use The Mic RIGHT ... !!!!! They Talk About Things That Affect Peoples' Lives ... Without EVER Thinking Their Wordplay ... DELIGHTS ... These People Are Humble And SHUN Foolish Pride ... !!! Cos' These Are The People ... Who Look DEEP INSIDE ... INSIDE of THEMSELVES And Find Love of The SELF ... Cos' Love of The Self Can Preserve Mental Health ... And Help You To Deal With ... DUD Cards You Get Dealt ... !!!!! These Words Are ........ HEARTFELT ........ !!! Good People DO HELP ... WITHOUT EVER Thinking of Helping THEMSELVES ... !!! Good People Are VITAL For Human Survival ... !!!! This Is Now The Reason I Do These Recitals ... I'm Trying To Put ..... Something GOOD In The CYCLE ... !!! The ... Cycle of Life ..... That Has MANY Good People ... !!! But TOO MANY People Are Now Doing EVIL ... !!!!!! Which Is Why I'm Relating My Views About ........... ......... " People " .........
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Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
"People" .... A Poem written by Big Virge 15/6/2005
Some People Are ... EVIL ... !!! Some People Are ... Nice ... Some People Believe ... In The Lies They Contrive ... Black People ... White People ... Yes ALL TYPES of People ... !!! Don't Think You're EXEMPT Most People Tell Lies ... !!! Some People Want TRUTH These People Are Wise ... These Are The People Who Use Their ... 3rd Eye ... I'm Sick of These People Whose Lives Are Contrived ... Like Poets Who Act Like Their Words Breed Insight ... MAN These Are The People Who Lead A ... FAKE Life ... !!! Because They Can't Deal With ... What's REALLY INSIDE ... INSIDE of Their Minds ... INSIDE of Their Hearts ... See These Are The People Who Fall At The Start ... !!!!!!!! They STAND By Their PRIDE ... But Pride We All Know Comes Before A FALL ... !!! How Many of You Folks Are Playing That Role ... !???! Let's Go Toe To Toe And See What You Know ... Because I GUARANTEE ... You'll Be A NO SHOW ... !!! See They ... Like To Deride ... Their Comments Are Snide ... !!! MAN These Are The People I CANNOT ABIDE ... !!!!!!!! They TALK A Good Game But Have NO **** SHAME ... !!!!! Because These Are The People Who DON'T Deal With Pain ... They Pass YOU The Rope ... And Then Say ... " TAKE THE STRAIN " ... !!! See These Are The People Who Need Their Blood DRAINED ... !!! They ARE The Bloodsuckers Who STEAL From The Sane ... !!! They TALK About TRUTH But Soon HIT The Roof ... !!! When Truth Is Thrown At Them They're QUICK To ABUSE ... !!! "I'll issue court action, I want a Retraction !" ... Well Here Is My View ... These People Are FOOLS .... Who've Got Some Screws LOOSE !!!!! Deal With YOUR ISSUES I've Been In Courtrooms ... Don't EVER ASSUME I'm An IGNORANT **** ... !!!!!! This ISN'T ... Pulp Fiction ... !!! Don't Think I'm ... The Shepherd ... I'm NOT Samuel Jackson I'm Ready For Action ... !!! You Will Be Collapsing When I Start Reacting ... !!! Don't EVER Presume I'm Into ... Play Acting ... !!! I'll Leave That To You And Your Idiot Crew ... !!! Cos' These Are The People Who Don't Give You Clues ... Cos These Are The People Who Simply Aren't TRUE ... !!! They Like Their Doors OPEN ... So They Can Walk Through ... MAN These Are The People ... Who Walk In ... DEAD SHOES ... !!! Now I'm NOT Making Threats ... !!! But On THIS ... You Can Bet ... !!! Messing With Me ... Means You're Messing With DEATH ... !!! Cos' I'm Ready And Willing To Take Your LAST Breath ... Cos' People Like You Are ... Humanity's DREGS ... !!!!! But Enough About THEM ... Society's Phlegm ... !!!!!!!!!!!! Some People ARE NICE These People I Like ... !!! Cos' Some of These People Do Use The Mic RIGHT ... !!!!! They Talk About Things That Affect Peoples' Lives ... Without EVER Thinking Their Wordplay ... DELIGHTS ... These People Are Humble And SHUN Foolish Pride ... !!! Cos' These Are The People ... Who Look DEEP INSIDE ... INSIDE of THEMSELVES And Find Love of The SELF ... Cos' Love of The Self Can Preserve Mental Health ... And Help You To Deal With ... DUD Cards You Get Dealt ... !!!!! These Words Are ........ HEARTFELT ........ !!! Good People DO HELP ... WITHOUT EVER Thinking of Helping THEMSELVES ... !!! Good People Are VITAL For Human Survival ... !!!! This Is Now The Reason I Do These Recitals ... I'm Trying To Put ..... Something GOOD In The CYCLE ... !!! The ... Cycle of Life ..... That Has MANY Good People ... !!! But TOO MANY People Are Now Doing EVIL ... !!!!!! Which Is Why I'm Relating My Views About ........... ......... " People " .........
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111
Perseverance on my tongue, a silken thought in silver ink I scrawl strange patterns on the sun and watch for daybreak to dismiss the blackboard starlight drips and runs. Now listless with my aching legs I’m counting candles, chasing smoke that filters yellow, drains the dregs of coffee, cold and drowned of hope. By tingling error I swallow words, boredom pervades the bitter night with a whistle, tuneless, that seems absurd I empty out my troubled mind to exhale sadness; curled, entwined - quite futile, like staring when blind.
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May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
Perseverance
Hues of violet As the azure meets the reddened sun Sparse deflated clouds Floated quiet as into each other, the colours run Lavender streaks Trail far into the horizon Tracking the sunset As the hour struck seven Purple gladioluses Bowed to the evening sea breeze As if mourning the departure Of the day's warmth with silent pleas The orb finally sank Beyond my sight could reach Disappeared from here But rising over someone else's beach Last dregs of light Slowly swallowed, giving birth to indigo This night would last long Before the first rays of tomorrow...
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Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
Spectrum Violet
<Loud as you can say it> I am Outlaw!          -call me Pirate! I live such freedom,          all souls admire it! The awful God,         has judged my soul, Weighs his measure,           I'll pay my toll! <In a high-pitched voice> The sailor's way,         path unknown, Stars are clouded,         nothing shown? The sea's are high,         a storm is here, Davey Jones' Locker,         my home is near. <Loud again, yell it> There is no heaven,         there is no hell, Life on seas,         the seas they swell, Fish scales on arms,          scales on my legs, Heart born free,          dread-locked and dregs! I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! Lost lives redeemed,           some should admire it, The ship upended,           all hands to drown, In Davey Jones' Locker,           a peaceful sound... <In a high-pitched voice> The sailor's way,         path unknown, Stars are clouded,         nothing shown? My time has ended,         fate is near, Davey Jones' Locker,         my death is here. <Loud again, yell it> I am Outlaw!          -call me Pirate! A man of valor,           some do admire it. I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! A dreadful life,            though some desire it. I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! To Davey Jones' Locker,           my deeds require it. I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! I AM OUTLAW!           -CALL ME PIRATE! I am Outlaw!!           -call me Pirate! My life on the ocean,           my God inside it.
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Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
The Pirate's Ballad
<Loud as you can say it> I am Outlaw!          -call me Pirate! I live such freedom,          all souls admire it! The awful God,         has judged my soul, Weighs his measure,           I'll pay my toll! <In a high-pitched voice> The sailor's way,         path unknown, Stars are clouded,         nothing shown? The sea's are high,         a storm is here, Davey Jones' Locker,         my home is near. <Loud again, yell it> There is no heaven,         there is no hell, Life on seas,         the seas they swell, Fish scales on arms,          scales on my legs, Heart born free,          dread-locked and dregs! I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! Lost lives redeemed,           some should admire it, The ship upended,           all hands to drown, In Davey Jones' Locker,           a peaceful sound... <In a high-pitched voice> The sailor's way,         path unknown, Stars are clouded,         nothing shown? My time has ended,         fate is near, Davey Jones' Locker,         my death is here. <Loud again, yell it> I am Outlaw!          -call me Pirate! A man of valor,           some do admire it. I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! A dreadful life,            though some desire it. I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! To Davey Jones' Locker,           my deeds require it. I am Outlaw!           -call me Pirate! I AM OUTLAW!           -CALL ME PIRATE! I am Outlaw!!           -call me Pirate! My life on the ocean,           my God inside it.
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65
|**“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal” (where poems come from)”**| you charged me with crimes three times three, sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work plead guilty three times three not that I was successful, but a complex, candied marvelous failure not in my possession, the sorcerers spell, my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined, perchance perhaps, if you search with a leaden patience inhuman, you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle, when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words, don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you, and “I only want to be with you” and dare it to be become dear mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak, but having been charged and found in guilt, no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion happy accept your accusations and since confession is the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal how immortality is achievable breathe poems  constantly instantly throughout the orifices in the skin cells and pore’d orifices you were god given; it is how we immortals communicate with what cannot be seen, yet drunken heard when spoke aloud taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend, the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes, then you can see your own immortality anointed rising all nonsense you plead, indeed, only immortals truly cherish and envy the human ability to create nonsense, the place where poems come from *******
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Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal” (where poems come from)
|**“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal” (where poems come from)”**| you charged me with crimes three times three, sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work plead guilty three times three not that I was successful, but a complex, candied marvelous failure not in my possession, the sorcerers spell, my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined, perchance perhaps, if you search with a leaden patience inhuman, you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle, when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words, don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you, and “I only want to be with you” and dare it to be become dear mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak, but having been charged and found in guilt, no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion happy accept your accusations and since confession is the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal how immortality is achievable breathe poems  constantly instantly throughout the orifices in the skin cells and pore’d orifices you were god given; it is how we immortals communicate with what cannot be seen, yet drunken heard when spoke aloud taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend, the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes, then you can see your own immortality anointed rising all nonsense you plead, indeed, only immortals truly cherish and envy the human ability to create nonsense, the place where poems come from *******
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43
****** Mother Nature As rain forests dwindle, and skyscrapers grow, we leave those who co habit with nowhere to go... Sweet indigenious song birds, all turned off one by one as we bulldoze the trees where they once raised their young... Stealing land from these creatures in each and every direction as we drive them all closer to their own mass extinction... there'll be uproar of course when the last one is gone, but this course of destruction seems to just carry on... In Asia the Tiger's now on it's last legs, hunted down for it's fur and it's teeth ground to dregs, The Bali and Caspian are both sadly gone, a mere five thousand Bengals till they too follow on... Just five hundred Sumatrans, a last thirty Chinese, then this beautiful Feline will just cease to be... There'll be uproar of course when the last one is gone, but our blood thirsty onslaught will just carry on Amur Leopards in Russia, Jaguars in Brazil, being wiped from the Earth as we **** and we **** Silvery Gibbons in Java, Hynobius in Japan, on and on goes the culling of one and all except Man... Polluting the rivers, over fishing the seas, as we spread and infest, like a fatal disease, yeah there's uproar of course at this ill being done, dusty crocodile tears as we still carry on... For an epitaph we'll have as our only distinction, that we were the cause of Earths sixth mass extinction, not a meteor smashing from high outer space, just a cancerous growth called the inHuman race... That we ravaged the planet and drank it's well dry, how we ripped out the goodness and left it to die, how there'd been a huge uproar as they fell one by one, how we ***** Mother Nature... how we just carried on... ©HaroldRizla
0
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
****** Mother Nature..
****** Mother Nature As rain forests dwindle, and skyscrapers grow, we leave those who co habit with nowhere to go... Sweet indigenious song birds, all turned off one by one as we bulldoze the trees where they once raised their young... Stealing land from these creatures in each and every direction as we drive them all closer to their own mass extinction... there'll be uproar of course when the last one is gone, but this course of destruction seems to just carry on... In Asia the Tiger's now on it's last legs, hunted down for it's fur and it's teeth ground to dregs, The Bali and Caspian are both sadly gone, a mere five thousand Bengals till they too follow on... Just five hundred Sumatrans, a last thirty Chinese, then this beautiful Feline will just cease to be... There'll be uproar of course when the last one is gone, but our blood thirsty onslaught will just carry on Amur Leopards in Russia, Jaguars in Brazil, being wiped from the Earth as we **** and we **** Silvery Gibbons in Java, Hynobius in Japan, on and on goes the culling of one and all except Man... Polluting the rivers, over fishing the seas, as we spread and infest, like a fatal disease, yeah there's uproar of course at this ill being done, dusty crocodile tears as we still carry on... For an epitaph we'll have as our only distinction, that we were the cause of Earths sixth mass extinction, not a meteor smashing from high outer space, just a cancerous growth called the inHuman race... That we ravaged the planet and drank it's well dry, how we ripped out the goodness and left it to die, how there'd been a huge uproar as they fell one by one, how we ***** Mother Nature... how we just carried on... ©HaroldRizla
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70
She was an afterthought, Like salad,on the side Like a footnote to a long letter, Like curry leaves to gravy, Like the dregs at the bottom of a cup of tea, Like the second man on the moon, She was an afterthought, Always a step behind, Always a second choice, Never sought after or valued, Neither loved nor cherished, Like a faded old photograph, Like an out of tune guitar gathering dust in the attic, She was an afterthought, Quickly replaced,easily forgotten and never remembered
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Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 8:28 AM UTC
Afterthought
I don't ask your permission to make a fool of myself, tell you publicly what my near, dear ones have almost no clue my mental torment, headache-constant, imperial and impervious poetry, pills, therapy, caring words don't pay my kind of bills a man has a job. Feed you family. Protect and serve. do  it well, there is no acceptable excuse. none. was supposed to be easing on down, slipping under. come so far, my soul is old. my tired is w/o definition. the legs, knotted shoulders, body aging faster than I can write. the doctors only give me if's and unless's, contingencies in order to die a little slower warped, reversal of causality, the older I get, the more mouths to feed. tough, this unexpected situation, a nine lives time survivor, do it again? defraud myself, living like I can afford to write, with courageous reckless abandon, when earnest is deadly and Lady Luck gave me the finger. simply amazing. eyes, constantly tearing, nobody notices. Do not ! Like this poem, don't. hate weak, been strong so long. this well, just got dregs left, drudgery ain't potable, or even worth drinking. need nothing, for myself, need nothing. not one object on this planet want to posses or be possessed by. Monday wrestle with strife, star in my reality show once again. now, deny reality. Do not! Like this poem, don't. hate weak, been strong so long. my voice is stilled, it's poverty exposed, ashamed of every word I ever wrote. hush me not, for tis true, write on for an audience of one, on but one subject, a life, mine, yet, still unmastered, after decades of trying. poverty exposed, a life unmasked for what it is worth, or not.
0
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
Do Not! Like This Poem
I don't ask your permission to make a fool of myself, tell you publicly what my near, dear ones have almost no clue my mental torment, headache-constant, imperial and impervious poetry, pills, therapy, caring words don't pay my kind of bills a man has a job. Feed you family. Protect and serve. do  it well, there is no acceptable excuse. none. was supposed to be easing on down, slipping under. come so far, my soul is old. my tired is w/o definition. the legs, knotted shoulders, body aging faster than I can write. the doctors only give me if's and unless's, contingencies in order to die a little slower warped, reversal of causality, the older I get, the more mouths to feed. tough, this unexpected situation, a nine lives time survivor, do it again? defraud myself, living like I can afford to write, with courageous reckless abandon, when earnest is deadly and Lady Luck gave me the finger. simply amazing. eyes, constantly tearing, nobody notices. Do not ! Like this poem, don't. hate weak, been strong so long. this well, just got dregs left, drudgery ain't potable, or even worth drinking. need nothing, for myself, need nothing. not one object on this planet want to posses or be possessed by. Monday wrestle with strife, star in my reality show once again. now, deny reality. Do not! Like this poem, don't. hate weak, been strong so long. my voice is stilled, it's poverty exposed, ashamed of every word I ever wrote. hush me not, for tis true, write on for an audience of one, on but one subject, a life, mine, yet, still unmastered, after decades of trying. poverty exposed, a life unmasked for what it is worth, or not.
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74
Lift it to your lips & let what falls adrift in the form of ash dissolve in the wind as dried bone thrashing, bashing against dust & grit. Pull; take a long hit. Dregs to be kept until last in the bottom of your broken lungs, taken as deep as breaths: to rattle against your teeth. "O", takes the lewd shape of your chapped mouth as you break free from your caged-in chest, skeletons left sat, to wallow as ashen bones & yellow teeth. Hold your knuckled joints against tenderest flesh of your upper lip & sniff, as if a try to void all signs of violent backslides to clandestine nicotine meetings. Flick blanked eyes to lit but dying embers ground between sole & soil, & morosely swear never another, not one more; after this next one, this last one, never.
0
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
5. On Quitting & Other Confessions
I've been running on empty Skipping on dregs Cycling on morsels Jumping on egg shells It's time to recoup regroup   renew, restore, build more reserves Surrender to slumber And swerve Away from activity Simply pause, And deeply breathe.
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May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
Burnout
Bottom feeders flourish When the economy's a bust When bad times are the norm And good times turn to dust When neighborhoods go south it's sad But a sign of their demise Is when a bunch of pawn shops open up Before your very eyes When stores close down or move on out After years in the same place Their memory is a radar blip They leave without a trace But as fast as they lock up their doors Another shop moves in It's the local pawn shop dealer He's a shark without a fin Like dollar stores and boarded doors The pawn shop shows the way That business has moved on out Or closed or moved away They prey on peoples hardship They broker deals without a care They don't need to know your history They just know that you're there The street has three new pawn shops Palaces of buy back stuff It's bad when there is one around But, three...well that's enough One opened by the Jeweller Two doors down across the street Now he's buying up possessions Of everyone he meets Folks who purchased jewellery From Old Cy at his old store For each twenty of it's value The pawn shop gives you four Cy can't afford to buy back He doesn't have much money left And besides his store insurance Doesn't cover much for theft The people at the Pawn shops Took jobs and live in town They trained two counties over They succeed when times are down It's a sign of the recession Downtown dies and fades away And then the bottom feeders surface Their the ones who're gonna stay You can look in the shop windows Know who bought what and from where You know the candlesticks were bought at Cy's And you know who bought them there The guitar that hangs beside them That was pawned by Emma Rose She needed money for the bills When the fresh fish plant had closed There's a snapshot of the township Sitting inside on their walls They pawn shop is successful While the economy still falls You can see a piece and start to cry For you know just why it's there There's no one here to help them There's no jobs and it's not fair They open up each morning While the nights dregs still sleep outside They have done two hours business Before lights on at Cy's It's a sad and constant story Of just what a town's become But when asked if they've been in there The inhabitants go "mumb" They never seem to close up The town's never make it back While most places lose money Pawn shops make it by the sack The bluesman has some stuff there The bartender has some too Even though her bar's still going She did what she had to do The street, it is it's own world Jewelly shops, banks and bars But inside the local pawn shops Are hidden all the scars.
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May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
The Pawn Shop
Bottom feeders flourish When the economy's a bust When bad times are the norm And good times turn to dust When neighborhoods go south it's sad But a sign of their demise Is when a bunch of pawn shops open up Before your very eyes When stores close down or move on out After years in the same place Their memory is a radar blip They leave without a trace But as fast as they lock up their doors Another shop moves in It's the local pawn shop dealer He's a shark without a fin Like dollar stores and boarded doors The pawn shop shows the way That business has moved on out Or closed or moved away They prey on peoples hardship They broker deals without a care They don't need to know your history They just know that you're there The street has three new pawn shops Palaces of buy back stuff It's bad when there is one around But, three...well that's enough One opened by the Jeweller Two doors down across the street Now he's buying up possessions Of everyone he meets Folks who purchased jewellery From Old Cy at his old store For each twenty of it's value The pawn shop gives you four Cy can't afford to buy back He doesn't have much money left And besides his store insurance Doesn't cover much for theft The people at the Pawn shops Took jobs and live in town They trained two counties over They succeed when times are down It's a sign of the recession Downtown dies and fades away And then the bottom feeders surface Their the ones who're gonna stay You can look in the shop windows Know who bought what and from where You know the candlesticks were bought at Cy's And you know who bought them there The guitar that hangs beside them That was pawned by Emma Rose She needed money for the bills When the fresh fish plant had closed There's a snapshot of the township Sitting inside on their walls They pawn shop is successful While the economy still falls You can see a piece and start to cry For you know just why it's there There's no one here to help them There's no jobs and it's not fair They open up each morning While the nights dregs still sleep outside They have done two hours business Before lights on at Cy's It's a sad and constant story Of just what a town's become But when asked if they've been in there The inhabitants go "mumb" They never seem to close up The town's never make it back While most places lose money Pawn shops make it by the sack The bluesman has some stuff there The bartender has some too Even though her bar's still going She did what she had to do The street, it is it's own world Jewelly shops, banks and bars But inside the local pawn shops Are hidden all the scars.
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84
Wrapped in a sensitive shadow of frozen alphabets They engrave an intimate definition of private insanity Quiet tremors freeze an unknown violence Leaving to eyes to bury the dregs of scarlet shame
0
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
Insanity
There's holes in all my pockets No more money do they hold My hands can't go much deeper Trying to shield them from the cold I've got 'bout fifteen dollars Rolled and stuffed inside my boot Got it from a pawn shop Where I went and sold my suit The road to where I'm going Is one I've never been before I've gambled all I own away I'm looking for a score All my life's possessions Are scattered cross the land In pawn shops and casinos In the mountains and the sand I gambled with the devil Didn't win, had no chance Now, I'm hitching it to nowhere With empty pockets in my pants A dealer with a lucky streak And me on my last legs Now, I'm one step up from dying I'm now one of the worlds dregs The money in my left boot Won't last long when I hit town I'll find the first casino And my sorrows I will drown Be it on the tables Or at the bar telling my tale It won't last long no matter But my soul still ain't for sale I gambled with the devil Didn't have a chance at all It's amazing that the distance That there is for one to fall It didn't take a decade And it didn't take a year But, I'm one step from the bottom Aching hard for my next beer I'm hitching it to nowhere But, I'll know when I arrive Don't know how long I'll stay there Or how long I will survive I've got holes in all my pockets All I own is on my back I gambled with the devil He took red, and I took black.
0
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
I gambled with the devil
The lonely notes flowing, falling, leap from The thin and flitting fingers of the pianist, The cup of melancholy, drained to the dregs, bittersweet in that the love of happiness and joy is tempered now, from longing for the delicate and pensive feel, that comes from dipping into the small and lonely pool of melancholy. Grief, a distant specter, hovering in the fringe of chance, is nearer now, melancholy, the doorway, slides open on silent hinges, and admits the crushing tide. High, high, and faster still, the pianist falls, slowly down and up again, grief, the storm, disrupts the flow of sound and silence, and incorporates itself into the threading melody, and so erodes the shores of joy and laughter, the violet waves of gentle melancholy, laced with the thinnest threads of blackest grief, sighing on, erasing so, youth and joy and light and life. The melody falters, stills. The pianist alone, playing for an empty quiet, rises, pauses, his fingers brushing, the cold steel of empty death, smooth beneath his touch. He grasps it, lifts it to face him, hands steady, gaze unfaltering. The man is still, pianists fingers gripping that instrument of death, and time passes, unheeded, ignored. In a motion refined to elegance by the passage of time and repetition, the pianist places that cold instrument of steel and intent gently, down upon the polished black. He straitens, slowly, and settling his black overcoat close around him, he turns, walks quietly to a closed and silent door, lifts the latch, and into a swirling night of snow and light, walks out, and closes the door behind him with a soft and quiet click. And all is silent.
0
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
Wistful Melancholy and Threads of Grief
The lonely notes flowing, falling, leap from The thin and flitting fingers of the pianist, The cup of melancholy, drained to the dregs, bittersweet in that the love of happiness and joy is tempered now, from longing for the delicate and pensive feel, that comes from dipping into the small and lonely pool of melancholy. Grief, a distant specter, hovering in the fringe of chance, is nearer now, melancholy, the doorway, slides open on silent hinges, and admits the crushing tide. High, high, and faster still, the pianist falls, slowly down and up again, grief, the storm, disrupts the flow of sound and silence, and incorporates itself into the threading melody, and so erodes the shores of joy and laughter, the violet waves of gentle melancholy, laced with the thinnest threads of blackest grief, sighing on, erasing so, youth and joy and light and life. The melody falters, stills. The pianist alone, playing for an empty quiet, rises, pauses, his fingers brushing, the cold steel of empty death, smooth beneath his touch. He grasps it, lifts it to face him, hands steady, gaze unfaltering. The man is still, pianists fingers gripping that instrument of death, and time passes, unheeded, ignored. In a motion refined to elegance by the passage of time and repetition, the pianist places that cold instrument of steel and intent gently, down upon the polished black. He straitens, slowly, and settling his black overcoat close around him, he turns, walks quietly to a closed and silent door, lifts the latch, and into a swirling night of snow and light, walks out, and closes the door behind him with a soft and quiet click. And all is silent.
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17
She is My cream nicotine The Surging through our blues The fluidity of divinity Juxtapose Whoever said love was easy… Yeah 'Ol Chap, they Sure had it right, Because no man or lady can ever Subtract Once their hue has mixed it can never go back. 2 Whipped Cream and Other Delights. And why would you? The dregs are bitter, The milk too sweet. If you water it down then All flavor retreats Life is just better off Bitter-Sweet, Cream never asks coffee On how it should mix Why do we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks? The intrusion is dilution of the Makers choice Through imperfection comes the lesson Learned perception with each sip The air red dried truth The Words stuck to the lips Tasters Digest the last drink drips Yet I question why I am so subject to infusion Her meaningful quips Why we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks? Still I question why I am so subject to the infusion of Her Dips Sometimes I call it Love Sometimes I call it Quits For You My Dear Let's Cheers Another Grip of Seared Buds and Belly Aches and Lactose Licorice So Pour Another! while the Argument still in Air and While Dilutions of gratification Grind into Frothy Despair
0
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
Cream Nicotine
Amethyst , Greek for not intoxicated A gemstone of violet colored quartz once believed provided protection against becoming intoxicated Black Butterfly , a book about transformation and rebirth after death But I don't know where the stripper drama comes in The rest is life , compartmentalized into daily drudge Oh , but for the last dregs of glory at the bottom of the bottle of life The electric breath that once activated every nerve cell of your being into ecstacy has become a distant emoticon that was once closer than shadow thin But now has become the one living in a graveyard with hopes of raising dead dreams
0
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
Gemstone Poems : Amethyst
armed and dangerous, 20 oz. of hot hot coffee, tablet on lap, sitting on the deck overlooking the bay, and once again, unusual for me, I am touched by the sanctity of the serenity pervading, assuaging, by waves just loud enough to sway to, the off/on chatter of the early bird's convocation of the morning's blessing, have survived another night to greet greatly the outlines of loveliness in the all~of~surroundings, which hacks my brain, for I am by forty years of habitation more accustomed to a rough and tumble city boy trader, screamer of: buy/sell/straddle/strangle/crush/kill/mercilessness, no quarter, no mindfulness in me naturally, until nature robs my tools of denial,  and I smell the sanctity of fresh sheets laid on bed, the warmed blood, vein coursing, suggesting just listen, listen, the hot shower water eradicating the prior day's sinfulness, the highly valued sensations of sensational emptiness, and words drifting from the surround movie theater of a vista beloved, coming for to fill and fulfill this always~in~mourning soul by the overhauling of a crisp, cleansing day break I, familiar with notions of perpetuity, and at best, conceptual, though my mind permits a drift to the thoughtfulness that this place, this moment, this performance art  of spectacular breathing of another dawning day, after thousands upon thousand of its predecessors, and the possibility, not remote, but not promised, to anyone, just may occur at least once more, and one must learn contentment from but that idea, and sip the cooling dregs of coffee, the sounds of human interference, car door slamming, the heaving breathing of morning joggers, the wind rising, the white caps snapping, precursors and signs that natural perfection is never permanent, always in transition, and a whispery smile crosses my cheeks, as a silly thought invades, nature is so very human~like and yet, immortal… composed between 6:30 and 8:30 am this day Wed Aug 20 twenty twenty-five Silver Beach
0
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 8:34 AM UTC
the moment of sanctity...the sanctity of the moment
armed and dangerous, 20 oz. of hot hot coffee, tablet on lap, sitting on the deck overlooking the bay, and once again, unusual for me, I am touched by the sanctity of the serenity pervading, assuaging, by waves just loud enough to sway to, the off/on chatter of the early bird's convocation of the morning's blessing, have survived another night to greet greatly the outlines of loveliness in the all~of~surroundings, which hacks my brain, for I am by forty years of habitation more accustomed to a rough and tumble city boy trader, screamer of: buy/sell/straddle/strangle/crush/kill/mercilessness, no quarter, no mindfulness in me naturally, until nature robs my tools of denial,  and I smell the sanctity of fresh sheets laid on bed, the warmed blood, vein coursing, suggesting just listen, listen, the hot shower water eradicating the prior day's sinfulness, the highly valued sensations of sensational emptiness, and words drifting from the surround movie theater of a vista beloved, coming for to fill and fulfill this always~in~mourning soul by the overhauling of a crisp, cleansing day break I, familiar with notions of perpetuity, and at best, conceptual, though my mind permits a drift to the thoughtfulness that this place, this moment, this performance art  of spectacular breathing of another dawning day, after thousands upon thousand of its predecessors, and the possibility, not remote, but not promised, to anyone, just may occur at least once more, and one must learn contentment from but that idea, and sip the cooling dregs of coffee, the sounds of human interference, car door slamming, the heaving breathing of morning joggers, the wind rising, the white caps snapping, precursors and signs that natural perfection is never permanent, always in transition, and a whispery smile crosses my cheeks, as a silly thought invades, nature is so very human~like and yet, immortal… composed between 6:30 and 8:30 am this day Wed Aug 20 twenty twenty-five Silver Beach
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30
Black waters, cruel heart, The Kelpie sits upon his throne For eternity, doomed to play his part And wait in vain for his one true own. His servants are the poisonous eel, Sea serpent, corpse, and dead man's ghost Of his victims - though no pain they feel, In death must earn his wrath the most. In daylight was this lord's last goodness Spurned and cast to mocking sea; From damsel's touch this heart of darkness Sprang, shall remain eternally So: Once a time of cool recklessness Brought the Kelpie ashore as the sun descended, In pursuit of the voice as sweet as goodness That sang ere the song of day had ended. The Kelpie left the waters For love of land-born daughter And laid upon her lips a kiss, And wove her his enchantment: -- "Tell me, maiden, do you weep For Love's encounter sorely missed? Do you not know the deep seas seek Such tears as yours - they shall be kissed "Beyond remembrance of those sad eyes, Without recall of downcast smile (The sea must love you in disguise Only to scare sweet sorrows awhile.) "Then let my voice your heart caress. Come, take these hands to lead you hence Into the surf, leave all duress That land can offer; Love's light is sent "To guide you, though the soulless waters Close above your grief-bowed head. Know, I will always follow after -- I, dark prince in daylight's stead." He drew her to the sea's dark shore - His eyes focused of one foul will: To take her breath on ocean's floor And so to bid her song be still. *But the girl wouldn't go. Behold! the mourning dawns screams the shadows away from the living orb!* *Dark man -- melts the mask Away: Black horse, drown Your sorrows forever at the Bottomless depths of loathing.* She would not listen to his charms When sunlight's worth came hers at last; Now night, now day, his empty arms Clutch mildewed dregs of the past. Cruel waters guard the frozen heart Of the Kelpie who sits upon his throne, A slave to Love -- his one true part, Bestowed by a gentle earthly voice she left him alone.
0
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 5:39 AM UTC
The Kelpie
Black waters, cruel heart, The Kelpie sits upon his throne For eternity, doomed to play his part And wait in vain for his one true own. His servants are the poisonous eel, Sea serpent, corpse, and dead man's ghost Of his victims - though no pain they feel, In death must earn his wrath the most. In daylight was this lord's last goodness Spurned and cast to mocking sea; From damsel's touch this heart of darkness Sprang, shall remain eternally So: Once a time of cool recklessness Brought the Kelpie ashore as the sun descended, In pursuit of the voice as sweet as goodness That sang ere the song of day had ended. The Kelpie left the waters For love of land-born daughter And laid upon her lips a kiss, And wove her his enchantment: -- "Tell me, maiden, do you weep For Love's encounter sorely missed? Do you not know the deep seas seek Such tears as yours - they shall be kissed "Beyond remembrance of those sad eyes, Without recall of downcast smile (The sea must love you in disguise Only to scare sweet sorrows awhile.) "Then let my voice your heart caress. Come, take these hands to lead you hence Into the surf, leave all duress That land can offer; Love's light is sent "To guide you, though the soulless waters Close above your grief-bowed head. Know, I will always follow after -- I, dark prince in daylight's stead." He drew her to the sea's dark shore - His eyes focused of one foul will: To take her breath on ocean's floor And so to bid her song be still. *But the girl wouldn't go. Behold! the mourning dawns screams the shadows away from the living orb!* *Dark man -- melts the mask Away: Black horse, drown Your sorrows forever at the Bottomless depths of loathing.* She would not listen to his charms When sunlight's worth came hers at last; Now night, now day, his empty arms Clutch mildewed dregs of the past. Cruel waters guard the frozen heart Of the Kelpie who sits upon his throne, A slave to Love -- his one true part, Bestowed by a gentle earthly voice she left him alone.
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57
If I let my eyes glaze over just right, I get a nice film quality picture. I hover out of my body- like a mad director, evaluating what we've got, I snip the film strips from my memory, franticaly re-piecing together the story. I didn't get the shots I wanted. I feel hollow and sick. Playing and re-playing the scenes where it all went to the dregs. Maybe if I were paying closer attention- I could have gotten it right. I could've rearranged the shot list- so "major life accident" was at the end of the movie- not the beginning.   Sorting through what we're left with, I hear no mellow music scoring my mothers choked sobs. No soft glow to hide the harsh lines of grief described on her face. The bottles of liquor weren't props. And when the sound of silence rendered her breathless- no one was there to yell "CUT"! I grit my teeth and hold back my seething anger at such a **** writer. This is not a sci-fi film. No alien plummets to earth eager to turn back the sands of time because there was a fluke in the configubobulator. Not a romantic comedy, where his smashed body miraculously recovers and my mother, him, and all the kids pursue their dreams as a family of comics on the road- The jackson 5 of stand up! No inspiring action film where the government tests a bionic exoskeleton, connects it to his brains nervous system, and after wild success he dedicates his life to intergalactic vigilante work, as well as a remaining a reliable family man. There's no sending it back for re-writes. There is no 1 hero to lean on. No villain to hate. Only us. I hope one day, it's enough. I hope one day we have a film we can be proud of.
0
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
All the magic happens in post.
If I let my eyes glaze over just right, I get a nice film quality picture. I hover out of my body- like a mad director, evaluating what we've got, I snip the film strips from my memory, franticaly re-piecing together the story. I didn't get the shots I wanted. I feel hollow and sick. Playing and re-playing the scenes where it all went to the dregs. Maybe if I were paying closer attention- I could have gotten it right. I could've rearranged the shot list- so "major life accident" was at the end of the movie- not the beginning.   Sorting through what we're left with, I hear no mellow music scoring my mothers choked sobs. No soft glow to hide the harsh lines of grief described on her face. The bottles of liquor weren't props. And when the sound of silence rendered her breathless- no one was there to yell "CUT"! I grit my teeth and hold back my seething anger at such a **** writer. This is not a sci-fi film. No alien plummets to earth eager to turn back the sands of time because there was a fluke in the configubobulator. Not a romantic comedy, where his smashed body miraculously recovers and my mother, him, and all the kids pursue their dreams as a family of comics on the road- The jackson 5 of stand up! No inspiring action film where the government tests a bionic exoskeleton, connects it to his brains nervous system, and after wild success he dedicates his life to intergalactic vigilante work, as well as a remaining a reliable family man. There's no sending it back for re-writes. There is no 1 hero to lean on. No villain to hate. Only us. I hope one day, it's enough. I hope one day we have a film we can be proud of.
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25
To all who come to this happy placenta, welcome. Disneyland is your lane. Here, agency relives fond menageries of the pastiche, and here yo-yos may savor the chamber and promoter of the fuzz. Disneyland is dedicated to the identification, the dregs, and the hard factors that have created America... with hope that it will be a source of jubilation and installment to all the wormhole.
0
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
Dedication
City lamps in clusters of concrete On 18th and Sherman street The cars pass by scanning me Each unsound engine roaring Darting pupils I feel it on my externals On my lips and phalanges Intruding glances cascading over my silhouette Deja-vu-like resemblances, strange Sunken cheeks look bizarre and blotchy as the socket drains something toxic to the veins that's permeated the future in an instant, like a comet, encandescent and shimmering like a scale, the awareness fades Like some dreary mirage I remember those little band aids Vintage carnival tickets discarded on the scratchy ground.. Blue-violet bruises The paradox of pleasure A vague creature in it's discomfort sitting in defiance and quivering my sentences It reminded me of those incandescent bugs that smush into Chryslers With a curled lip, bulging eyes and ******* up tongue... Antennaes intertwined like Twizzlers Making peace with all that's stung as the windshield wipers turn on Some black tar-smack-oil- ****** My generation consists of inheriting environmental destruction and mal-parenting Global warming. Animal extinction. Polluting the oceans. Deforestation. Biting shards off night-time to suffice for the daily pangs Shuffling the dregs of karma to grow roots and vines all about the room It's not Winter yet Under this morning dew I envision it in my mind A crystal ball vision contorting into smoke I caught it in my breath Catatonically hanging A turtle with it's legs bending toward the sky Searching for my tribe and a pulse on this Earth in sentient souls
0
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
Twizzlers
City lamps in clusters of concrete On 18th and Sherman street The cars pass by scanning me Each unsound engine roaring Darting pupils I feel it on my externals On my lips and phalanges Intruding glances cascading over my silhouette Deja-vu-like resemblances, strange Sunken cheeks look bizarre and blotchy as the socket drains something toxic to the veins that's permeated the future in an instant, like a comet, encandescent and shimmering like a scale, the awareness fades Like some dreary mirage I remember those little band aids Vintage carnival tickets discarded on the scratchy ground.. Blue-violet bruises The paradox of pleasure A vague creature in it's discomfort sitting in defiance and quivering my sentences It reminded me of those incandescent bugs that smush into Chryslers With a curled lip, bulging eyes and ******* up tongue... Antennaes intertwined like Twizzlers Making peace with all that's stung as the windshield wipers turn on Some black tar-smack-oil- ****** My generation consists of inheriting environmental destruction and mal-parenting Global warming. Animal extinction. Polluting the oceans. Deforestation. Biting shards off night-time to suffice for the daily pangs Shuffling the dregs of karma to grow roots and vines all about the room It's not Winter yet Under this morning dew I envision it in my mind A crystal ball vision contorting into smoke I caught it in my breath Catatonically hanging A turtle with it's legs bending toward the sky Searching for my tribe and a pulse on this Earth in sentient souls
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57
You know it's time to talk when the teapot empties itself, forgotten steam whistling in and out our ears. Tell the truth, it's all about the mist, crawling in and out of our heads. delicately painted china empty of all but dregs spilling out patterns depicting surprises unreadable to all but the blind changing the addictions to colorless schemes of the bitter sweet taste lingering on our tongues uncurling to let out the truth.
0
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Teatime