"noseless" poems
John Scalla remembers
plain–clothed white coiffed nuns
in sunday school classes
who were the sweetest things
you’ve ever seen with a razors edge
carried proudly from an emerald isle
John Scalla spent his sundays digging
through big soft Bibles discovering
a father who loved everyone
as equally as he was thorough
a son born to wear a crown of blood
but never lost his most sacred heart
and a universal spirit’s open-armed
quiet embrace of your trembling frame
John Scalla was born to hold a communion
with something far more complex or
precise then our poor sweaty coils
wondering how bread could be body
and blood so eagerly consumed
John Scalla stole from complex pages buried
deep beneath outdated expressions
and miscommunicated messages
a simple cypher that condenses
all the rhetoric down to it’s square root
love
John Scalla locked the cypher
in that secret spot between heart
and stomach holding it close
dreaming on distant playgrounds
where it was slowly worn away
by bullies still casting long shadows
like limestone sphinxes now noseless
John Scalla’s distant playground dreaming
of a personal relationship with God are gone
because if He was there then that makes him
a single string of an infinitely intricate
vast woven narrative where he is only aware
of adjacent pieces unable to take a firm grasp
of the situation continuing to grow
John Scalla weaves narratives through
his prayers sending them nowhere
because they wouldn’t know where to go
with so many far-off stars dead and leaving
cosmic vibrations both here and everywhere
making it hard for them to escape with
their best intentions unmolested
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
That gold Saturn haunts my dreams
Kurt Cobain can't sing over my buzzing thoughts
I need to remind myself to breath
I scream
I scream
I SCREAM... yet no sound comes out
Drunken Fetus
The womb should protect
Yet it poisons
They say I'm crazy
my therapist doesn't agree
You're privileged beyond imagination, stop wallowing in self pity
His regrets have ruined my bliss
All I remember is the strobe lights illuminating the Constitution and the whisper SHOUTING over the mix of techno and Bohemian Rhapsody
He is just a faceless memory
*** Drugs Rock 'n Roll, I wish
Noseless
That gray cat's face is so ugly it's kinda cute
Newly christened shot glasses
The cancer and chemo have eaten away at his patience
Illusions of happiness
I hate her
I hate her
I hate her
but she gave me life
White seas shells on head stones
God I Miss you...
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
There stood a boy with a broken crown in his hands, not knowing that from these shards would one day come the gift of imagination. Later, much later, inside of a body having outgrown the sweet smelling palm trees of his childhood, the eyes of the same boy would light up, looking up and finding, in the red and grey of the afternoon sky, the one who wore it.
The smell of the midday rain still clung to nostrils, much like its defeated foe, dust would, on a dry sunny day. I do not recall, or rather, cannot wrap my mind around the reasons which pulled me out of the shop to look at the sky at that moment, from that angle, with my eyes tearing up ever so slightly. There he was, and the grey and red of the sky were his tears and blood. He had fallen, a giant king magnificent and ridiculous at the same time, like fallen statues or noseless sphinxes, and the clouds carried his life away.Slowly, inexorably, a pilgrimage towards the east, as if returning the rays to the birthplace of the sun. They disguised themselves into grotesque shapes, imitations of clouds, in the pink velvet of exposed organs or smiling skeletons of red. The sun shone through his wounds. He looked down and knew I saw him. In this moment, in the moment our eyes crossed, I knew he saw me, I knew he recognised me, that boy with a broken crown in hand. That day I was the one bleeding, but those were only the blades of sugar canes against my skin, but today, I looked at him, expiring his last with my throat burning with a thousand questions but my lips dry as the summer dust. Who was he? What was his name? Why did he did? Was it worth it? One question my mind did not dare to ask though, was the name of his killer, for the deeper recesses of my souls knew the answer to this question and my heart engaged into that little dance which makes the ribcage suddenly feel like a cramped place.
As I walked back into the shop, a tear fled from the confines of my ducts and died on the floor, most probably trampled by couple of minutes later by an unknowing customer, not able to see me scrape off the blood from under my fingernails with the shards of a broken crown.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
But still, here I sit
toying with blackened words seeped in sadness
thinking lines like slow decline
broken hearted
so cliche and tear stained pages
clawing my way back from the brink
while shedding verbs of loneliness
isolated desperation clinging like my second skin
slowly flaking from my shoulders leaving only subtle traces
where my new skin yet feels to raw to pick up and carry on
stamping signs of happiness across black lines of begrudged depression
as though a noseless yellow face could succeed where I still fail
to vanquish the unease slowly eating at my restless mind
give me peace from these swinging moods
catapulting me between a selection of unfounded aggression and broken sobbing
I don't want to sit and think
words of how the light seems dim despite its heat
to take beauty out of sunrise
starlit nights and humble silence
take it back and leave me be
though I might not sleep for a week or three
as least I wont sit here late at night
and write depressed poetry
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
The idiot couldn’t believe his phone, that his heart’s text were all gone,
His hearty smile was now a frown, cold and lost like a noseless clown,
So he begged the rain and he begged the sun, Her heart’s of gold and skin so brown,
Even told the sun that her *** was grown, Sun did smile and the rain poured down
so it’s in his tears, he’d almost drown, for his heartfelt empty like a brideless gown.
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 3:49 AM UTC
Slept the slumber of exhausted thought process and still came out numbed and humbled to the prospects
Higher living is imagined in cloudiest view form and hard as ever to earn, I could have nothing or everything
Given the chance to perform
I'd share what I've learned
Had it given gifts of light and had it taken by needy individuals revolting for their own lot in life
I'm talking revolution in looting
And sinners with spite, noseless sight seeing and forests that block trees
I've walked long enough for the vantage point
Poked the bear to bleed
Patched the relativity with a higher power I find awkwardly daunting
The back and forth of fuck'em but save me in the moment is all together haunting
A never ending melodic type of heathens dance
When all I'm saying, is take a deep breath, right?
And give peace a chance
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC