"newest" poems
Keep rolling, like sailing, rowing the science voyage.
Discovering a new discovery, then much happens:
a new crescent, new moon on a new turn is found,
yet a night to be invented eclipses it furthermore.
Will the voyage float at the newest dark energy frontier?
Will it now pierce verily the virgin-skinned heaven’s last barrier
that divides the seen and unseen, holds the uncharted water?
Will it by design decode or recite the word, the language
the lock is coded in, the very command written on the stone?
Till then it won’t move, nor does one see the skin black or white,
and till then one won’t stop the sun lighting up the night!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
Of death
the barber
the barber
talked to me
cutting my
life with
sleep to trim
my hair—
It’s just
a moment
he said, we die
every night—
And of
the newest
ways to grow
hair on
bald death—
I told him
of the quartz
lamp
and of old men
with third
sets of teeth
to the cue
of an old man
who said
at the door—
Sunshine today!
for which
death shaves
him twice
a week
14k
I get accused of a lot of things at first glance
"You're simplistic, you're hiding something
You have no convictions, you don't think deeply"
Usually by those who I consider to be on intellectual crutches
If you're gonna come up to talk to me from a religious context
from a spiritual context
from a hierarchical, metaphysical, eat this **** popsicle mindset
Don't expect me to swallow
Don't expect me to talk
You won't like what I have to say
Because really you just want me to agree with you
If you want me to respect your framework
When you have nothing but the claims of quacks
and the feelings you gleaned from your last psychedelic trip
to back you up
While I have to sit back and listen to how I'm close minded
Close minded for wanting some real truth in this universe
unfiltered, raw, verifiable, and in my hand
and that anything other than that is a spray paint over
my true awakening
Then I guess I'll just have to be that *******
to die for these intellectual sins
The Eldest Son of Matt, hater of pretense
Hypocrite to the highest level
Build me up into a figure of idolatry
Just like you do with the rest of your ego cases
Priests, Gurus, Rabbis, Rockstars, Poet sensations
Tell me how wonderful it is to listen to them
Tell me how I should be more in touch with a tree
Tell me how I don't dream
When all my life is but that
Tell me how I'm not deep when you make no attempt to learn
Who I am, and where I have come from
Misinterpret my teachings, and claim me to feel
As if I was the newest son of god
When all I want is for people to get beyond blinders
and love each other, and to get beyond the metaphysical rat race
Tell me that I'm supposed to live and let live
While you jam your beliefs down my throat
and expect me to respect getting philosophically tea bagged
Tied up to the crucifix
and asking me to repent for my search for truth
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
freshman year
Happy, scared, young, full, and ready for whatever it is thats about to hit you.
You loose your bestfriend, and your virginity.
You gain a new clique, and a body count.
sophomore year
your freshman expertise kick in and you think youve got the feel for the highschool life.
You fail chemistry, and go to your first party.
*you are now a ****
You think youre cooler than your ex
bestfriend because you have ten bucks saying that shes never had a boy see her underwear or that shes never been as drunk at you.
junior year
You spent your summer in therapy, in
and out of mental hospitals because your eating disorder became deadly, and all of the friends you partied with cut you off because your newest bestfriend convinced you to sleep with one of their exs.
You come back to school as dead as
you have ever been and you spend every lunch period in the art room painting your sorrows away and you spend every night at home doing the same only this time your wrist becomes the canvas.
seinor year
Your down to one medication a day now and you have commited social suicide all summer by staying in to gaurd yourself from turning to drugs and alcohol again to hide the pain. Graduation is arround the corner and you realize you could finally be happy once this is all over.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I planted a mango seed,
Hoping?
Not sure what...
But the mango grew
Out of its context,
Poked shiny green leaves
Looking for sun and surf,
But found itself awakened
In a land of snow and cold.
Seven leaves into its
Exponential Mango growth,
The newest leaf
Yellowed...
Shriveled...
Died.
The Minnesota Mango
Meditates now...
Watered, but waiting....
Slumbering?
Planning a spring break?
Meditating?
Waiting for summer sun?
Perhaps....
Today
I heard about
A neighbor boy
Who smuggled in
A baby alligator
From the Bayou,
South and warm.
At least my Mango
Stays inside its
Crockery planter,
And an alligator jail break
Will leave him
Freezing in his tracks...
We'll see what happens
In the summer.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
(I love) Dignity
*tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot
explain or share exactly*
knew a man once,
forty two years gone,
died too soon enough,
soon enough,
he and I will be
the same age
this man
a duck out of water,
a stranger in an adopted land,
trouble-stooped, a hard life, well lived,
never bent,
dignified in every step
I cannot remember him
ever kissing me, tousling my hair,
holding my hand, loving me in
a manner I wanted beyond desperately
yet here I am, 5:22 am
weeping tears recalling him
in glimpses long ago seen,
adding them all up to get a
single sum
Dignity.
*tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot/explain,
share precisely*
dig
in
to
my
chambered memory storage units,
unlocking those rusted locks with freshly oiled
tears
and loving the dignity he exampled
to the son he could not kiss, hand hold,
but taught him the one lesson, digging deep
to respect life and stand apart,
stand with dignity.
all else will follow
the son kissed his children plenty,
in a vain attempt to make up his missed
homework
now the grandfather,
now the grandfather
is still kissing
his last hope, his newest babes,
rolling on the floor,
so silly kissing belly buttons,
smelling their skin repeatedly,
in a manner most
undignified
still weeping
the son,
he tries to sort it out
and forgives and does not forget
the man that taught dignity
in everything,
even, especially,
in slow dying,
forty two years is a long time to wait
to weep.
it takes two hands in the dark
repeatedly
to collect all the waiting patiently
wetness and the
accompanied sniffles,
so undignified,
the son smiles at himself
declaring unabashedly,
digging out from himself
a poem, a self-reflection
on time tarnished reflections
clear enough to make him
sob,
believing*
I love dignity.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
Its just a fantasy the only regret is permanence,
The life of a modern day gypsy, an unknown destination.
I wake up to new faces from past day's bruises,
A long journey into some town, exploring the unknown.
Green sanctum reflecting the temple top,
Woken up by the gong of the ancient metals.
Treated like a royal guest, offered a lot of the harvest,
Walking down the symmetric coconut grooves.
I see vessels carrying newest of the goods,
But here they still stick to their roots.
True its a gods own country, abundant beauty,
I'm lost amidst the hills sipping the Malabar coffee.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Oh master of chemistry
What wonders you devise
Some make us happy
Some save our lives
Sterile lab coat
In a white sterile cell
You toil all hours
To create the newest pill
We never acknowledge
Your struggle and strife
For the chemical wonders
That are part of our life.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
i always find myself
laying my heart out to
the people who love stomping
on my heart for the pure fun of
watching blood pour out
but it wasn't always this way
it all started when my dad started
promising me security to constantly
watch him walk out the door
but every time that promise was
proposed, I always accepted it
even when I knew it was a **** lie
hopeful little me, how adorable
manipulation, that's what it is
finding reasons to get rid of me
i guess i do that too
but when it's consistently happening
to you with every new friendship
or relationship?
you find clarity and warmth
in the words
"i won't be leaving anytime soon"
and it becomes a twisted cycle
of just
constant
manipulation
the manipulated becomes the manipulator
when your newest begins the manipulation
tactic that you were taught at the age
of 5 when your dad said
"I'll be right back" and doesn't for days
that's when you're all ears to your newest victim who says
"it's so nice to find someone like you"
i wish you didn't say that
ever
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
The robotic surgeon didn't blink
Smoke, swear, or fool around;
He was the newest design of science
His metal feet firmly on the ground.
Robotic surgery was the latest
Improvement over the manual kind
There were no variations in technique;
No reliance on flaky mind.
He was diligent and precise
Cutting flesh to invisible templates;
He never erred and he never missed
Never once paused, to vacillate.
Trusted beyond the regular surgeon,
Using his fragile, shaking hands;
The robotic surgeon could do anything
Because he wasn't just a man.
The newest miracle of science was hailed
As the end, to the older style;
But one day the program blew a fuse-
And he cut her head off, by a mile.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 8:20 AM UTC
Today,
I swallowed down
my newest shade of lipstick,
in hopes
of bringing some colour
back to my soul again.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
A Response to Thought Catalog
Number One.
"She won't touch your stuff
because she doesn't want to do anything"
Which also includes leaving her bed
before six pm
meeting your friends
or seeing the movie you've been begging her to see
since the trailer came out last year
Number Two
"She'll probably forget you borrowed
money from her"
or to pay the bills,
or your birthday
or getting groceries
Number Three
"She's a cheap date"
more than likely because
she doesn't care where you go
but she wants to be back in her bed
the minuet she gets into your car
because now her insecurities
are buzzing in her ears
and clawing at her throat
Number Four
"She probably doesn't want to
meet your family"
sitting in her room terrified that
she's not good enough
that she will never be good enough
and they won't accept her
Number Five
"She will probably get drunk
and you can have *** with her"
Number Six
"You can get free drugs!"
she knows about her missing
pain pills and antidepressants
but she won't say a thing because
you love her, right?
it's selfish of her to think she needs those
she has you. right?
Number Seven
"She has poor memory
and a short attention span"
Unaware of whether its Monday or Thursday
or if she ate this week
Number Eight
"She won't talk that much"
instead she can soak up your words
and turn them against herself
until they infect her insides with acidic words
ugly/fat/ugly/stupid/ugly/useless/ugly/worthless
Number Nine
"She'll pamper you because
she's sensitive"
Here's the newest game you wanted
I hope it makes up for me not being good enough
Here's some money, go out with friends
I don't want to bring you down
Number Ten
"It'll make you look better"
She's a charity case
a lost cause
who lost herself
but she's so lucky she found you
She's like an accessory
that you drag around
she'll make you look perfect
won't she?
It's supposed to be simple.
Dating the dead girl walking.
besides the fact she'll
bawl her eyes out every time
you grab your keys
or the fact you have to deal with
the burden of having to hide
your mother's steak knives
so you can sleep in peace
without worrying whether
you will find her lifeless body
on your bathroom floor
Number ten
You can romanticize
the pain she goes through everyday
while her hourglass hearts
last grain of sand falls to the bottom
but you will NEVER
be able
to say you were the hero.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Pervert
I'm a womanizer and a pervert,
love to mingle, love to flirt.
Like Fonzi, all chicks flock,
they like the size of my clock.
Ever since I was born,
loved naked women and ****
Nothing like playing with my favorite toy,
with the newest edition of *******
Sorry I have a ***** little mind,
all men do, women don't be blind.
Lots of women have tried to convert me,
but a fun loving pervert, I will always be.
Been with a **** been with a *****
only difference is, the **** wants more.
Been with singers, actresses and models,
done it underwater, with a snorkel and goggles.
Been with a doctor, lawyer and a crook,
each time, I somehow got took.
I'm a pervert it a good way,
just some innocent ****** foreplay.
If you ever see me, I'm not threat,
they haven't invented x-ray glasses yet.
I now have a woman I really love,
all other women, I got rid of,
Gave my black book to a kid named Bieber,
now he's in jail and feeling very eager.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
remember to always follow your dreams.
starting this conditioning early instills the message so deep
that you're never quite aware, that in order to follow
your dreams you must first remain asleep
this is how they've created generation after generation
of obedient, self absorbed, consumerist sheep
where nothing is more precious to yourself then
the possessions that we keep
conforming to what's cool
owning the newest technology
and never looking cheap
join the hottest trends, stay in the loop
you're rising high on the social ladder
a fall from here is awfully steep
the fear of this fall turns you into a materialistic creep
these social constructs we all need to together break
or no one in our western society will ever truly be awake
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
I sit on my back stoop,
alone in the moonless dark
lit only by a window glowing
in my neighbor's new spa room.
Spikey tropical plants.
backlit by warm yellow light
are all I can see
from my vantage point
only yards away.
But my imagination runs
to visions of two lovers
delighting in their newest acquisition,
bathing in clouds
of fragrant steam,
a couple still together.
They have each other,
while I sit alone,
me minus you.
Eileen Auger
4/4/2010
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Solemnly and silent
In subtleties she calls to me
Falling into my heart caverns
And running through my veins
Through my body
And where I am she’s close to me
Exuding watercolor dreams
Like a painter reacquainting me
With once greyish reality
And every morn, I hear her sing
In voice that constructs melody
As if to say to newest sun
To shine ever still
All subconsciously
And I would follow lyrically
Each instruction as they ring
Like notes in my mind harboring
This subtle, silent calls to me
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 12:53 AM UTC
***
***
-
I cannot be something I'm not.
If I do, I'll be living a false
life.
I won't give pride to have
my heart and soul bound
by a script just so people will
like me
Just because I want to be renown
I don't want that
I want people to focus on my
words, not my life
My passions, no pretenstions
My flaws, not perfection
For there is no perfect being in this world.
I want to be proud to be me
To own all of who I am and
to live without judgement
But how can I when people are
ready to throw stones because hate
is the newest trend?
I won't be a copy of someone I'm not.
I can't pretend to be something I'm not.
Life is short and there is only
one me.
I've done and said alot of things I shouldn't have...
And looking back, it makes me
feel ashamed, to be and not be seen
Shame hangs over my head each time
So please,
I'm begging you
just let me be proud of being
and showing the real me...
-
***
***
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 3:15 AM UTC
It’s early Friday afternoon and,
over plates of greasy spoon dinner,
the musician and the businessman
repeat their weekly ritual.
The businessman has his problems at home
and spills his guts to his musician friend.
“It’s been a real long time coming,
but she’s still been such a bitter *****
They’ve met this way since
their college days and nights
spent studying the bottoms
of whiskey bottles. And, as usual,
the businessman’s hair sits sprawled
on his head like a rag, and his tie
is loosened. The musician doesn’t understand
divorce: “You look like hell.
You know, if you need a place to stay,
Helen and I and the boy
can always make some room for you.”
They light a pair of cigarettes and wait
for a waitress to kick them out.
Into the haze of a Lower East Side crowd
the musician and his band play
his newest pieces, riffs on the happy swagger
of the Duke. His critics—
and he has many—
write that his jazz sings
the inescapable *********** of suffering
through the life of every oblivious body,
which makes the musician’s music
sound more like the blues
than jazz. But it’s jazz all the same
and perhaps it was the intensity
of the growling bass that shot
spirits down the throats in the audience,
reeling drunk in time to the beat
of the musical suffering.
The weekdays die and it is Friday again.
He has a big view of midtown,
the businessman, and though the window the falling
sun horizons over his socked toes,
parked on his desk in triumph over
all those stockholders. It’s a pain
to lose your family,
but the businessman puts on
a good face, and drinks.
This Friday, the musician and the businessman
are not in the mood for talking.
But a scotch thrown down,
and the two are tighter than
thieves.
The businessman complains of life at home
and the musician’s eyes cross.
That night, the musician skips his performance.
His wife cries in their bed,
shuddering with worry and asking him
what makes him so distant? she asks—
it’s a mystery even to himself.
He is sweating whiskey—
which suits him fine—
and he spends his night on the bridge.
One week later and it is Friday, finally.
Today, the businessman will see
his children at his former home
for the last time for a handful of months
at best. The musician has not been home
for three days. He stays at a friend’s apartment,
puts on his ***** blazer
and a record of the Duke’s
before he throws himself down the airshaft.
The businessman jumps on the 5:44
out of town and calls his friend the musician
to cancel their usual Friday meeting,
but his phone keeps ringing,
ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
Weeks past
Having no motivation to pick myself up
The universe smiled upon me
And sent a boy with his head in the stars.
Blank
My mind draws a blank.
Having burnt my past I'm speechless
My heart races and I can feel my face flush
An unexplainable sensation overpowers my body.
Starting over.
Its almost as if the frozen winter forged a blank slate
And the affections from this boy melted away everything...
The rush, the butterflies, it all feels new again.
Like I have never fallen in love before
My new sensations are accompanied by a changed mindset
I was truly a new person.
Memories from past loves
Cannot compare to my heart's newest obsession
Such sweet words...
Sugar coated but genuine.
Everything...
His gaze, his walk, his talk
It all makes my heartache
My tongue is tied as he showers me in compliments
Oh his eyes
The way he looks at me and tells me I'm beautiful
I feel as if im drowning
But why?
I'm an experienced lover and swimmer.
But the fog caused by his intoxicating scent makes my past seem ages ago.
Why is this all so fresh...
My thoughts are spinning
And before I can even ask my mind for advice
We're dating.
I was following my heart entirely.
I'm so stunned
It's as if I was wiped clean of my past (and confidence)
Starting over.....again.
Never thought it would feel so
Natural
And so the winter trudges on
His arms around me keeping the fire alive
Snuggling while watching Star Wars
Fueling each other's passions.
I would have never guessed my fate just a month earlier.
Thanks universe.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
The news comes to us
Running all around
Coming from the air
And from the ground.
Happy news sad news,
Any type of feed,
Computers are shoes,
Running us what we need.
You can surf it you can scroll it,
Or even search google
You can find the perfect color
To match you white poodle.
You search all day,
And even all night,
And the results are run to you,
Like they are running from a fight.
You can search sitting down,
You can search standing up,
You can search foreign languages,
On how to say whats up.
Want to impress you girlfriend,
Show her you can cook,
Pull up a recipe on google,
You don’t have to search a book.
Want the newest fashion news,
And the newest styles,
They are only a click away,
Within the internet files.
Shoes are the foundation,
That we live on every day,
And computers are that foundation,
That we use everyday.
Computers run information,
Going and coming to and fro,
They can tell you the directions,
for where you want to go.
Computers are shoes,
They are solids we rely on,
You can use them for your homework,
To find a certain ion.
So this poem is over now,
And I think you get my point,
Computer are shoes,
This is my poem joint.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 11:14 AM UTC
Thirty years of monthly
payments for a roof,
garage, and backyard,
The house burns down
the day you pay
it off,
A brand new model,
heated seats, leather
wrapped steering wheel,
more speakers than
you can hear,
pride and joy,
taken from you
by some careless *******
focused on "Me"
not focused on red
lights or stop
signs.
The frame is bent,
airbags deployed,
the insurance
writes you a check
and sends a form
apology with next
month's bill.
The newest clothes
aren't so new,
once they're washed
twice,
but we base our wealth
on fleeting things,
wood, status symbols
and cotton,
We pay ourselves
by saving money
already spent,
and paying old bills
so we can have new ones,
Wealth isn't tied to these
temporary things, easily
replaced by more
work and money
No
Wealth is created,
easily sustained,
by good night kisses,
road trips just because,
and matching shirts
for family pictures,
things that make us
remember how to be
happy,
because we are all temporary,
but our love is
not so easily
replaced.
So even if
you rent, or
you take
the bus
or you have clothes
in your closet for years
The time spent
with people you love
wil always cover
you until the
next paycheck
you've already spent
anyway.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
1010
Up Life’s Hill with my my little Bundle
If I prove it steep—
If a Discouragement withhold me—
If my newest step
Older feel than the Hope that prompted—
Spotless be from blame
Heart that proposed as Heart that accepted
Homelessness, for Home—
4.6k
When we are born there are hopes and dreams,
On the path we follow, enemies are made,
Cruelty forced upon us, tearing at our seams
The existence of the world is enveloped in flames, fire and decay.
Everywhere we turn – a wasteland waves,
Isolated, ruined, desolate
Negativity runs deep, tagged metal in their waist bands
The urge to be free, unchained, untagged.
Meadows of green grass and daisies and yellow roses,
towering the shadows, no worries about,
Winter creeps; silently, swiftly, suavely. Now
an ocean of black roses remain in power.
Oh colourful canvas, how beautiful you used to be,
Now you’re smothered in the greyness of despair,
An intimidation of words aggressively written,
And the pain never ends
That desperate wish that someone could care!
This noose I tie is never tied tight enough,
The glistening light shivers a hope for eternal sleep
Such a shame the cut never succeeds
And an only friend has gone
Facebook, MySpace, Twitter;
He made himself the target and ****** in,
He took their advice, took the bullet,
Their words are a complete and utter sin
My, my it was that hilarious! Honestly.
The world corrupt, no social networks,
What a laugh it was; all fits and giggles
The importance never occurred
We- the kids of this generation- know nothing
but how to navigate the internet
Them- the adults of the era- that want the best
ignorant to the life on the information highway
This world is changing,
This world is ending,
This society, will become my newest nightmare
This society, will become your newest warfare
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Here’s what a divorce does:
Divorce
Takes a remnant of a family from the house they moved into 10 years before
when their family numbered 6
then added a 7th
Divorce
Takes them from the house where a new daughter came home
a new Marine came home
the first daughter-in-law came home
the first grandchild came home
the newest daughter to be came home
where we battled illness and survived
where we laughed till we cried.
Divorce
Takes them from the house where friends have gathered to celebrate
birthdays
bonfires
a prom
a dinner dance
a wedding.
Divorce
takes one away
puts two in limbo
makes three leave
four-legged family members
who can’t live
where they are going.
Divorce
shatters family
abandons dreams
mutilates memories
condemns the future.
Divorce
only helps the one who wanted it.
4/13/2012
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC