"morosity" poems
The Village was nearly swallowed by darkness,
Until I stumbled upon a fresh fluorescent light,
Emitting an eerie glow out of a subtle all-night diner.
Suddenly, eyeballs projected a noir-style movie.
This unique heaven lit a cemented pathway,
Which led toward nowhere but American desolation.
Exploration of blank stores was not an option;
A disconnected joint across the open street was obvious.
The cornered beacon called to me as if dreams lived,
Though the seamless wedge of glass deflected observation,
Onto the viewer I represented, isolated from the anonymous.
Lungs were not interested in Phillies, only graveyard shift.
The scene held four strangers shut in spacious congregation.
The figures filled in the white void with physical presence,
While each owl was remotely lost in their own thoughts.
Was it the tragedy that occurred at Pearl Harbor,
Possibly the hopelessness World War II offered?
Could it have been the disappearance of happy innocence in ’42?
Hopper alone can probably discover a whole to the loss of words.
Somehow the constructed simplicity was overwhelming:
When late night minds meet morosity yet still produces beauty.
Subjected into one, the loneliness of a large city can exist too.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
You say,
"I'm sorry for dragging you
into my life"
and I want to laugh the loudest
laugh possible for my lungs to emit, my
chest heaving with the irony, the
actuality that I was not dragged in forcefully
I stepped in willingly
to a door already closing
-
I hope she loves you as well as
I never got the chance to
I hope she speaks about
how full her heart is and how
easy it is to be with you
I hope this half ton of weight that
is finally off my chest makes
its way on to yours
I hope it's not too much to carry but
then again I do
-
You say,
"I'm sorry, don't hate me"
but my dear,
don't you know that it is myself that
is always the target of disappointment?
-
I hope I'm washed out of your mouth by
the time you kiss hers
the sour, the whiskey, the passionate hatred,
the coming back again,
tonight the neighbors are having a party and
all I can think about is
us at 2 in the morning dancing
to the noise of each other
-
You say,
"I'm sorry, I've tried calling"
but we both know the lack of dial tone in your voice and
the absence of ring in mine says enough
I waited for an answer but
you hung up
-
I am certain that
I will spend the rest of my time in this city
searching for you in other people,
I am convinced that
I will need sleeping pills to forget
the music in your voice, your singing in my ears
has become nothing more than a repeated knocking
-
You say,
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry"
I say nothing but
in my head I say thank for
untying this knot we
got ourselves into
-
this is about a future that does not have you in it
one where I will pick at my food while you
pick at her shirt, pulling off clumps of cotton, laughing,
while I try to fill this empty stomach with anything but
sorrow and morosity
this is a poem about a song that isn't for me
she's a poet too,
how fitting
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
you make me want to listen to Alkaline Trio
ironically,
for their morosity
is no longer my own. and maybe
they'd be happy for me. happily
singing their songs
with a different
lung.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
I have found the other ghosts,
who wander 'round these dead of night streets.
Who sulk and slink and glide
in suits and dresses,
torn jeans and tank tops;
in moon glow shoes and bare feet.
The ghosts who are but revelers and fools,
thieves and dreamers,
flailing arms frantic at the lights,
all the lights!
Who bask in the sweet summer rains,
washing clean the night's gaiety.
The cigarettes and ***** and starry-eyed ecstasy;
crawling hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder,
lip to lip and promise to love.
Love if only till dawn.
Ghosts who hide in the street lamp shadows,
smiling fools masking their morosity.
Another night wasted chasing the memory of a dragon
only to return to their haunts' and fade;
decay under the sunrise rays.
Dreaming and scheming
of the next nights jollities.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Laugh and tears equals joy.
Tears and weeping equals morosity.
Tears and laughs and weeping equals madness.
Tears and laughs and weeping and madness equals insanity.
Sanity leads to insanity.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
FATHER!
I know/that place you've been going,
That land where your dreams/were once ample and growing,
Yet lately it seems a darker life you are sowing.
Father I know/that place you've been going.
FATHER!
Shadows of Angels sure do amuse...
Each week that passes my hope dies a little too,
Now I'm heading south/headed straight down with you.
Father I know/that place you've been going.
Father I know that place you are going.
*Father! -father,
father, father
father, father
-crushing you to pieces
father, father
father, father
-grinded into dust
father, father
father, father
Mortar/pestle if you must
father, father
father, father
To ashes with your trust
father, father
father, father
A man of morosity,
and I'm in your dust.*
*A man of morosity,
and I'm in your dust.*
You're a man of morosity and I'm in your dust.
s h a t t e r e d
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
With great alacrity your soul ignites,
a barrage of electricity
The aberration so far away,
reaching out with shiny talons
of the darkest cobalt and,
grabs ahold of you, unrelenting
An arcane desire
cajoled through the longing
and hurt of oneself,
never demure
So eloquent,
fabricated from swift sightings
and lust for another
Fractious, gratuitous
An incisive monster,
innate to every being
yet only released when by chance,
an insatiable need arrives
and not leaving until utter morosity
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Blood lashes in the rain as the wind buffeted the Plains of Detritus.
Fetid smells plagued the air in torrents of swirling effluence.
The red moon shone beyond the bending and bowing trees slashing the horizon.
A lone figure stood awash in the downpour yet firmly unaffected by the gale.
"Stay" said the statue.
Unmoving in his conviction that all trespassers be swept away with the storm.
White lighting struck the ground mere feet from his outstretched palm.
The explosion reaping a cacophony of destruction resulting in smoldering craters.
Glare obstructed the morosity but did little to extinguish the rotten fumes of death.
As sight regained clarity another flash lit the scene to reveal a writhing mass
Emerging from the rent earth like the oscillating arms of a millipede.
"Come closer" said the Devil.
In a blink a thousand wails descended on the land.
Baring teeth and grabbing hands.
Reaching...
Reaching...
To grab hold of the light of the last soul holding claim to its life.
Stubborn, it resists the touch of darkness by force of will alone.
Until even the last spark of hope became entangled within the putrid hellscape,
Winking out of existence and forgotten;
Consumed by evil.
"Such is the price of the blood moon" cackled the fallen angel.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC